I smiled and perched on the edge of the bench as far away as I could. It was The team for the day was a GP from Leeds, a junior doctor, a trainee nurse and four medical students. The first patient came in with his friend and the translators, Mustafa and Ahmed. I asked how I could help and then sat silently as Mustafa and my patient had a long conversation, often laughing, sometimes an indignant shake of the head and once a broad smile at me.
The most common problems we encountered were this range of coughs and colds and lung irritation caused by smoke and tear gas. Scabies also featured high on the list, as did diarrhoea. We saw all manner of minor traumas: burns from the endless fires in camp; bruising; stab-wounds and broken bones from fights either between residents of the camp, or between residents and the CRS, the French riot police.
Such ailments formed the backdrop to the living conditions and politics there, all underpinned by endless mental health problems. Mental health care in the camp was largely non-existent, despite the miseries that almost every member of the camp described, from separation to starvation to rape.
We had nothing to offer, not even a quiet room to talk. Analgesia and wound dressings were the best we could do. We saw one patient who was bright yellow from hepatitis A, a disease that spreads quickly in the cramped and unhygienic conditions. One day someone came running over to us shouting that they needed a doctor β there had been a fight. Near the edge of the camp a group of CRS officers were standing around two men who sat slumped against each other, covered in blood.
One of the men was holding his side, blood seeping between his fingers, and the other was vomiting between his legs while his kaftan saturated with blood.
