The Jungle

by Joe Robertson

  Mohammed runs in.

  Mohammed They are here! They are gassing! They have bulldozers!

  Derek They can’t. The Judge said a soft eviction.

  Members of the Compagnies Républicaines de Sécurité (CRS) shoot tear gas into the restaurant.

  Paula Amal! Amal!

  Derek It can’t end like this!

  Paula Where the fuck is Boxer?

  Mohammed It’s time, my friend. To the port.

  A huge explosion outside. Salar smiles.

  Salar No. We resist.

  He stands on a table, raises a sign which reads:

  WE ARE SEARCHING FOR FREEDOM IN EUROPE BUT WE FIND NONE

  Sam Beth, come on!

  Beth I can’t.

  Sam We have to go now!

  A CRS Officer enters in full riot gear, stares at them both.

  CRS Officer Bouges-toi!

  Beth I won’t move.

  CRS Officer Don’t understand you, girl.

  Beth I’m not leaving him here. I can’t leave, I’ll never leave.

  CRS Officer You are in France, you speak French!

  Beth stands and faces him.

  Beth Look at yourself! This is not France!

  The Officer aims a pepper spray canister into her eyes.

  Safi walks calmly into the pandemonium.

  Safi Stop.

  TWO

  THE BIRTH

  In peace and quiet, he addresses everyone.

  Safi They warned us in Libya. The smugglers. They advised us about safe passage. How to stay hidden, avoid arrest. And one thing they say to me, again and again, I remember …

  ‘Beware the French. They have absolutely no manners.’

  My name is Safi Al-Hussain, thirty-five years young. Former student of English literature and languages in my home town, Aleppo, so I know a little bit about telling stories.

  Another quotation for you. ‘If you open me up when I am dead, you will find Calais engraved upon my heart.’

  One of your queens said that. Is it true for you? Maybe because your armies fought over Calais for so many centuries, which is bizarre to me – have you ever been there?! Or maybe, if you like history, it is because you know Julius Caesar invaded you from Calais in 54 BC. Or maybe the other BC? Booze cruise.

  Open me up. You’ll find it there, engraved upon my heart. Like many before me, I lived there to get here. And it takes pain to live side by side. If you are born in the same country as another person this is true. If you are born in a different country, a different continent, even more. Some people will tell you it is easy, but you mustn’t trust them. These are difficult things, my friends. I do not pretend we did not make mistakes.

  And many more will be made in the telling of this story, I am sure.

  March 2015 is the date of birth.

  Salar and Mohammed meet. They are cleaner, more awake, looking years younger.

  Mohammed What a dump.

  Safi Mohammed Abboud. From Darfur.

  Mohammed This is the worst place in Europe.

  Salar Tonight we will be free.

  Mohammed If we live that long.

  Salar They said this land is ours to use. We can build here!

  Safi Salar Malikzai. From Karz, near Kandahar.

  More people enter, carrying bags, tents and sleeping bags.

  Mohammed Let’s count the things that kill us. Chemicals, snakes, the filthy land, all rubbish –

  Salar Is better than bombs, Mohammed.

  Mohammed Cold, wind, rain –

  Salar Terrorists, the Taliban –

  Mohammed The CRS –

  Salar Drought, famine –

  Mohammed Each other?

  Salar We are safer than at any time in our lives.

  Mohammed There are tensions between our people. Before, we lived in separate places. Now, we must live together.

  Salar So we live apart.

  Mohammed There isn’t space to live apart.

  Salar Look around. It’s already done.

  They divide the land.

  Ali This is Kurdistan.

  Yasin Here is Iraq.

  Omid This Iran.

  Helene Eritrea.

  Safi Syria.

  Salar Sudan?

  Mohammed If this is going to work, you and I must stand together.

  Salar We will, my friend. We will.

  Mohammed Sudan.

  Salar And this is Afghanistan.

  An Afghan flag is raised as Norullah and Maz sing the national anthem. Salar translates.

  This land is Afghanistan, the pride of every Afghan!

  The land of peace, the land of the sword – its sons are all brave!

  This is the country of every tribe!

  Safi We were forced from many places into one, and this place we called:

  Salar Zhangal!

  A drumbeat begins.

  Safi A Pashto word. In its great wisdom, France made Zhangal only a short walk to the ferry port. Everyone tries. You know this word, a good word, all languages understand. Try is the reason we are here. Try for train. Try for boat. The first nights, it is like the sea is in two parts and we walk to UK on a simple path. So many try, so many succeed!

  People try to cross the border.

  Little Amal darts around, person to person.

  All Yayayayayayayayaya!

  Safi The sound we make when someone arrives safe. This is good chance. Good chance is the dream.

  Norullah No chance!

  Okot Police at port!

  Safi So we go for the trains.

  Norullah No chance!

  Okot Police at train!

  Safi So we go back for the port!

  Norullah Dugar! Dugar! Dugar!

  Safi Dugar is a miracle. Dugar means traffic jam. When lorries begin to slow and horns are loud, we see our dreams may happen.

  All Yayayayayayayayaya!

  Safi We call it the game! We are young men. Strong, brave. We climb fences, jump lorries, escape police. And, if I can say, it is fun. Yes, sometimes they catch us. But French police are strange. They let you go every time. To try and try again! Go back to Zhangal –

  All No chance!

  Sunrise.

  Safi This was night, and in the day we built. Everywhere, the sound of saws, hammers, work. In the absence of any help from the French state, we did it ourselves.

  Henri enters in hi-vis, with protection.

  Henri (French) No, no. We built a centre. Le Centre de Jules Ferry. With sleeping places for women and children. Showers.

  People object to his speaking in French.

  Safi My friend, no one here speaks French.

  Henri We built a compound for women and children. There are sleeping places. Showers. Funded by the generosity of the French state. And we will give one meal a day.

  Safi For how many people? There are hundreds arriving every day.

  Henri exits.

  For the marathons we run each night, one meal is nothing. It is hungry work, trying for your country.

  Mohammed lights a fire.

  Sudanese sits all day with three logs of burning wood. He blows, cares for it.

  Mohammed Tomato, tuna fish, big bread!

  Salar fires up a large gas cylinder.

  Safi Afghan cooks stewed meat.

  Salar Tender. Fluffy rice with sultanas. Red bean sauce. Chicken liver.

  Safi People meet and laugh and eat together. Share stories of great journeys, with excitement like I have never heard.

  The call to prayer sounds.

  This was five times a day at home. Now it is from mosques in Zhangal. It means, ‘Come to pray. Come to success.’ At home they were fighting. In Zhangal they were praying, Sunni and Shia together.

  Helene sings ‘Lord Have Mercy’.

  Christians, too. The church of St Michael, protector and leader of army of God. With a makeshift steeple, six metres high. Images of the Virgin and Winnie the Pooh. The church of your imagination.

  Helene Everyone i
s welcome to bask in the glory of the Lord!

  Safi Beautiful words.

  Helene God gave me them to help refugees.

  Everyone joins in the song.

  Safi You know this song? Maybe you learnt it in school. ‘Lord Have Mercy’. In Tigrinya.

  Yasin (to Ali, in Arabic) Can you get me across the border?

  Ali What?

  Safi Speak English.

  Yasin I’m so cold. France police hit me. No food. Sleeping bag wet.

  Ali It is not a good place.

  Yasin You can help me?

  Ali What kind of help are you looking for?

  Yasin You know.

  Everyone looks at Ali.

  Ali You want help too, my friends?

  Ali hands them pieces of paper with his number on.

  Call me.

  Safi More people means more opportunity.

  He is nearly knocked over by a young boy on a bike overfilled with Lidl bags.

  Safi You OK, my friend?

  Norullah Fucking dick!

  Safi Where’s all this from?

  Norullah Lidl.

  Safi Lidl. Another Pashto word?

  Norullah Fucking shop.

  Safi This is a lot of food. Is it all for you?

  Norullah I sell.

  Safi And people buy it?

  Norullah If I sell, people buy.

  Salar Bambino! Quick!

  Safi Clever boy.

  Norullah runs to Salar, who sends him back to retrieve more bags.

  Salar If we do this, we do it properly. You understand?

  Norullah I’m not bambino.

  Salar Norullah, my man. My restaurant man.

  They begin to build a restaurant.

  Okot enters and rifles through Norullah’s bags.

  Safi A restaurant. Mosques, churches, shops. And people from many countries for the first time living together in peace …

  Norullah notices Okot.

  Norullah What the fuck, fucking black man, fucking thief!

  Okot I was only looking! Crazy fucking Afghan.

  Norullah All you fucking black man same. Big problem!

  Mohammed and Salar separate them. After consulting Okot and Norullah, they meet where the boys were. It could be a stand-off, but the situation settles.

  Safi Problem. Another word. (To the group.) More people means more problems.

  Mohammed The Galloo squat has been evicted. Three hundred people are waiting under the bridge.

  Salar What are they waiting for?

  Mohammed There aren’t enough tents!

  Helene People are sleeping in my church.

  Salar After good chance tonight, there will be tents tomorrow.

  Mohammed And then more people again.

  Safi Eight thousand landed on Lesvos yesterday.

  Salar How do you know this?

  Safi The Facebook and WhatsApp groups say it. The same number crossed to Macedonia over the weekend. The Balkans route is full.

  Salar Always on your phone.

  Mohammed Phone is how we got here.

  Helene When I crossed it was three or four boats in the week.

  Salar They go to Germany.

  Ali Not all. Many are coming here.

  Salar Why is he in my restaurant?

  Safi He speaks for the Kurdish people. Mohammed, Sudan. Helene, Eritrea. And I speak for Syria.

  Salar Speak for?

  Ali Doesn’t look like a restaurant to me.

  Salar It’s not finished.

  Ali I’ll make sure I come back when it is.

  Salar No smugglers allowed.

  Ali You can afford to turn away business?

  Salar I made it this far without you. I think I will manage.

  Mohammed Gentlemen. We’ve come here to talk about violence. Not make more. We have a duty.

  Salar Duty to who?

  Mohammed Our people.

  Salar Our people?

  Mohammed These boys, Salar.

  Salar To make the sun shine? To make the rain stop? To open the border?

  Safi To work together.

  Salar What problems?

  Helene Toilets.

  Salar Tell your people to shit properly.

  Ali points to Maz, who is pissing nearby. Salar shouts at him and he runs off.

  Helene It is difficult with so much infection.

  Safi Another problem.

  Salar So they should wash properly!

  Helene Police violence.

  Salar It is their job. It’s the same everywhere.

  Mohammed Fighting. Our young boys, Salar. It is not long before someone is killed.

  Salar The Sudanese are thieves.

  Mohammed Afghans are racist.

  Salar If a black man steals can we not say?

  Helene Always, always problem!

  Safi This is what I’m talking about. We need to act before it gets out of control.

  Salar How?

  Safi We ask our Imams to talk about peace in their khutbas tomorrow.

  Salar Fine.

  Safi And we should walk through the camp together. Speak to everyone. Hand in hand.

  Salar We needed a meeting to decide this?

  Safi Yes.

  Salar Do you speak for Syria or the whole camp? I am not an elder.

  Mohammed But you are respected. Afghanistan is one of the largest communities –

  Salar The largest.

  Safi Without you there is no hope, Salar.

  Mohammed We can meet here in your restaurant, when it’s finished?

  Ali It will be good for business.

  Safi What do you think?

  Pause.

  Salar (Pashto) Norullah, come here. Shake his hand.

  Norullah (Pashto) I’m not touching him.

  Salar (Pashto) You do what I say.

  Norullah steps towards Okot.

  Mohammed (to Okot, Arabic) Go to him. Shake his hand.

  They shake hands.

  Salar No more fighting. We are hated by enough people. We do not hate each other.

  Mohammed Thank you, Salar.

  Safi It is August. We have been in Zhangal five months. More and more people arrive, making journeys across the terrible sea. Walking through Europe, like we did, with our phones, to safety. To our dreams. Yes, Zhangal is unclean. Yes, it smells. Yes, nowhere to shit. Sometimes good chance, sometimes no chance. Yes, little food, water, space, tents, clothes. Yes, you see children play in European mud.

  Residents from many nationalities start to arrive at Salar’s restaurant.

  But more. More hope than you have seen in all lifetimes. More people of heart and song than you have ever heard. When you do not have enough of anything, you make from nothing.

  Salar My restaurant is open!

  Norullah My restaurant!

  Salar The Afghan Flag. A traditional Afghan restaurant, serving traditional Afghan food.

  Afghan music and dance commences.

  Safi Great is the hope that makes man cross border.

  All Yayayayayayayayayaya!

  A celebration, driven by tiredness and squalor. A collision of music and dance from many nationalities, as Salar, supported by workers, serves the first meal.

  Into this walks Beth. She is holding her phone, which displays the photograph of Alan Kurdi.

  The restaurant falls silent.

  Safi Then, in September, everything changed.

  THREE

  THE ARRIVAL

  Beth A photograph of a boy. A little boy. Washed up on a beach.

  Safi Alan. Alan Kurdi. From Kobani in northern Syria. Please, come in. Would you like –

  Norullah goes to her, stuffs fresh naan into her hands.

  Norullah Best bread in France!

  Beth Thank you!

  Norullah You are UK. You have good seat.

  Beth I don’t need –

  Norullah Sit. I am Norullah.

  Beth Hello, Norullah. I’m Beth.

  Norullah Miss Beth. I am o
ne-five.

  Beth Fifteen. I am one-eight.

  Norullah But I am not bambino. I am restaurant man.

  Beth It’s a beautiful restaurant.

  Norullah English no good. Kabul.

  Beth Afghanistan?

  Norullah You know?!

  Beth I haven’t been, but –

  Norullah Afghanistan best country in world. Except one. You know!

  Beth Do I?

  He bursts out laughing.

  Norullah You stay. I bring tea.

  He runs to the kitchen.

  Safi We spend months trying to get to UK. And in September, UK came here.

  The music returns and slowly builds as each volunteer arrives.

  Paula enters.

  Paula I’ve got a thousand tents in the back of a truck. Anyone? Who the fuck’s in charge here?

  Little Amal runs towards Paula.

  Hello, love. She’s a baby. (To Safi.) Where’s her mum and dad?

  Safi Not here.

  Paula Go and get them. She shouldn’t be running around the mud on her own.

  Safi I mean they’re not in France.

  Paula This isn’t France, it’s a fucking joke. Where’s the UN?

  Safi They have to be invited.

  Paula Save the Children?

  Safi Haven’t seen them.

  Paula Fucking Red Cross?

  Safi Who?

  Paula Have you called them?

  Safi Me? I’m a refugee.

  Paula She’s fucking soaking. Come on. Let’s find you something warm to wear.

  Paula leaves with Little Amal.

  Derek follows Mohammed on.

  Derek On behalf of my country, I am so sorry.

  Mohammed You don’t have to apologise.