The abandonment of unaccompanied minors in Marseille: Sleepless nights

Some 300 teenagers are currently living in Marseille, in country’s south, while waiting for a judge to recognise their status as minors. Although they should be entitled to state care under the principle of presumption of being a minor, these young people have been abandoned by the public authorities. On the streets, with no protection and no dignified care adapted to their vulnerabilities, they are paying the price for France’s policies of non-reception, which are worsening their mental and physical health. 

A dozen teenagers attend to their business in the courtyard of this former logistics centre, located a few hundred metres from Marseille’s Velodrome stadium. It’s 10am, and some of them are helping to prepare the meals that will be served that day; others are still drinking tea or hot chocolate. Some of them have travelled from across the city to join their friends and spend the day at GR1, a day centre for unaccompanied minors. 

The facility, which is celebrating its first year, was set up by a number of partner associations: Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF), Yes We Camp, Just, Secours catholique - which owns the facility - and Ligue de l'enseignement. “GR1 welcomes up to 80 young people a day, who have access to French lessons, recreational activities, legal support and healthcare, including psychological care, provided by MSF,” says Pierre Baglin, project coordinator for MSF. “For these teenagers, each day spent at GR1 is one less day spent on the street, and one more chance to rebuild their lives.” 

Many of the teenagers at GR1 experienced difficult family situations before setting off on their journey; some were orphans, some lived on the streets, some were victims of violence. “These children may have suffered physically or psychologically, both in their countries of origin and during their journey,” explains Léa Janvier, MSF psychologist. “Our teams have observed recurring symptoms in unaccompanied minors: insomnia, nightmares, headaches, as well as post-traumatic stress and anxiety disorders, depression and even suicidal thoughts.” 

Talking about their origins or their backgrounds is not an easy task for these young people. They have taken different routes, some through Libya, sold by smugglers to human traffickers, or through Tunisia, managing to board a boat bound for European shores. Most arrived via Italy, while others entered Europe via Spain, Morocco and Algeria. Each journey involved its share of risk, violence and suffering - up to and including their arrival in France. 

Bakary*, a 17-year old young man can't really explain his departure from Côte d'Ivoire. He followed some friends who were going on an adventure. For a teenager, turning back and crossing the desert again can be more complicated than moving forward.

These teenagers have many things in common, including being refused minority status by the department. This refusal comes after an assessment considered biased and even incriminating by the associations that support unaccompanied minors, including MSF. For many, the assessment itself and its outcome are yet another act of violence.  

Demba, 17, who arrived in Marseille from Guinea-Bissau, and was quickly referred to Addap13, the organisation that manages assessments of minors for the department of the Bouches-du-Rhône. He was able to stay in a hotel in the days leading up to his official appointment, before the final decision was made. “I did the assessment and then got the result: refused. I was told I had no proof. Then I was given a piece of paper explaining that I could appeal if I wanted to. I was told to leave the hotel. I asked where I could sleep; I was told I could just sleep outside.” 

Faced with this organised abandonment, the local association network is trying to make up for the shortcomings of the French state. After finding himself once again on the streets, Demba was able to benefit from meals provided by volunteers and a lawyer helped him lodge an appeal with the courts. “Some people find it traumatic to spend a few nights on the streets,” says Léa Janvier. “I've had young people tell me about the cold, about having to scavenge for food, about not knowing who they could trust.” 

The only solution offered to them by the authorities to avoid sleeping outdoors is emergency accommodation with the 115 hotline, a national service providing information for the homeless. They then find themselves sharing spaces with adults they don’t know, who may be suffering from serious problems or addictions. Bakary spontaneously recalls his sleepless nights in a hotel room allocated by the 115 services, with residents screaming all night and others relieving themselves in communal areas that have become unsanitary. 

Shuffled from hotel to hotel, with no guarantee of being able to stay, sometimes suddenly put back on the street, unaccompanied minors who have filed an appeal and who have been living in Marseille for several months suffer from this situation. “Some have already been housed in six different places in the space of a few months,” says Léa Janvier. “They never know how long they’ll be able to stay. They’re still living life like they’re on the streets, even though some of them have a roof over their heads.” 

After receiving a negative response from the Bouches-du-Rhône department, which manages child welfare, these teenagers have only one way of asserting their rights: to take their case to the children’s court judge. Subjected to lengthy administrative and legal procedures that can take more than a year, they wait anxiously. Every day that passes brings them closer to coming of age at 18. “The more time passes, the more you think,” worries Bakary. “And at some point, you think too much. And when you think too much, it drives you crazy. You can lose your mind.” Throughout the appeal period, and despite their vulnerability due to their age, unaccompanied minors have no protection from the French authorities. Yet there is a principle of presumption of minority, defended by the UN Committee on the Rights of the Child, which France does not respect. 

Faced with a system over which they had no control, a number of young people in Marseille took action, and occupied the church of Saint-Ferréol located at Marseille’s famous Old Port, in July 2024. It was then that the Binkadi collective was born, which brings together around 50 unaccompanied minors, and of which Souleymane is one of the members. “What we want with Binkadi is for the State and the department to take their responsibilities and not put young people out on the street,” says Souleymane. “We are children. We’re human beings. It’s not human to sleep in the cold.” 

The occupation took place in a tourist area of Marseille at the height of the 2024 Paris Olympic Games. The teenagers were quickly referred to hotels. “We realised that there was no problem with accommodation places,” says Souleymane, who until then had been sleeping in a squat or on the street with several friends. “It hurt me to know that; that it’s not a problem of resources.” 

The streets also expose unaccompanied minors to the dangers of crime. “Marseille is marked by the presence of drug trafficking, prostitution and organised crime networks,” says Pierre Baglin. “More and more young people are being tempted to join these networks in order to earn a living. They are in a weak and vulnerable position, and the people who run these networks are well aware of this.” 

Faced with the roaming and violence of the streets, GR1 offers a safe place where teenagers can finally give free rein to their youthful fantasies: playing cards or games consoles, taking dance classes and, of course, learning. French as a foreign language classes are very well attended, with a full class every session. Souleymane takes part to help his classmates. 

While waiting to find out whether the courts will rule in their favour, and before returning to their precarious accommodation, these young people are seated in the middle of the courtyard, enjoying a hot meal together. Faces open and they become talkative, speaking about anything and everything. “I feel like part of a family here,” says Souleymane. “We’re made to feel welcome, as if we were living with our fathers and mothers. It also makes you forget how lonely you are. The GR1 makes you forget that.” 

* First names have been changed to protect people’s identity.