"How could I tell my mother that I was sleeping on a sidewalk in Paris?": Younoussa's first days in France, from Guinea

“On July 20, 2023, I land in a shelter in Briançon [Hautes-Alpes] , after crossing the Italian border: we were given clothes that were too big, food and, above all, a train ticket to Paris. “Life is tough there… Don’t you want to be transferred to Marseille?” a volunteer asked me. “No way!” At the time, France meant two things to me: Paris Saint-Germain and the Eiffel Tower! So, off to the capital.

My first night outside is spent in the drafts of the Gare d'Austerlitz. I'm all alone, yet I'm not afraid. Lying on the ground, I clutch my backpack and listen to the rumble of the trains. I imagine my future: I'll learn plumbing in Paris, a trade my cousin taught me in Guinea, and one day, I'll help my mother back home with my three brothers and sisters.

The next day, I gather my things and head to the reception center for unaccompanied minors in Tolbiac. This is where the minority of young exiles who present themselves at the counter are assessed. I have no choice: without official recognition of my minority, there is no accommodation, no protection. On the metro, I discover a whirlwind of movement and noise: the clicking of heels in the corridors, incomprehensible announcements, loud bells. All of this worries me.

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