Enveloped in an oversized puffer jacket and cap, the 14-year-old boy in front of me looks anything but tough. True, he has made the perilous journey from the conflict in his country, travelling alone across the mountains, dodging bandits and snipers on the way. He also survived being robbed of all his money and violently beaten in the Calais “Jungle”. But now he’s rocking in his chair, arms wrapped around himself like a much-needed hug as tears stream down his face. “I’m all alone,” he wails, doubling over in pain. “I haven’t got anyone.”
Said isn’t one of my scheduled clients, having been referred to me by a children’s section colleague when he arrived this morning after a night on the streets. I know there’s little I can offer in practical terms – my colleagues, who are experts in helping young people in these circumstances, are already on the case, finding him a solicitor and emergency accommodation. Instead, I sit quietly listening, giving him the space he needs to cry the tears he’s been holding inside since fleeing his country, leaving behind everyone and everything he knows.
Source :- theguardian
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