Yesterday I met Salim. He was kicking some rocks around in the middle of the forest near his temporary migrant camp in Dunkirk, France. Around him, all that was left of what had been his home for the last two weeks was an extinguished fireplace, a can of beans thrown on the floor, empty bottles of water, and clothes hanging to dry on trees.
On Tuesday morning, French riot police had surrounded the camps, evicted the 700 people living there and made some arrests. Scared, Salim ran away with other dispossessed people, deeper into the woods. All he had in the world...a few beans he'd been cooking for his breakfast trampled into the earth. His only shelter from the sun, the flies, the dirt and the wind...a tent...gone who knows where?
Salim is only 14. He’s from Iraq. A country scared by decades of war.
