Wishing luck to one young Afghan refugee
Yesterday I was helping out with English classes at a distribution when I got talking to a young Afghan refugee. He was about 18, the same as me, and we were getting along well when I somehow managed to get a little cut on my finger. The boy, who I’ll call Tariq, suddenly disappeared, only to reappear a few moments later with a sticking plaster. It was such a moving thing to do – he had been through so much, but he could still notice and help with my little problem. I have only been in Calais for a week …
