Of all the crossing points between France and Italy, that of the Saint-Louis bridge is undoubtedly the most picturesque. Imagine a road suspended on the side of a rock between Menton, a town in the Alpes-Maritimes, and Grimaldi, the first transalpine locality: on one side the mountain, steep and dug with caves; on the other, a landscape of terraced crops rolling down to the coast. Far below, the Mediterranean glows mauve, in this early autumn morning that the sun has not yet lit up.
A sublime place, therefore, and yet perfectly hopeless. Because this stretch of road, framed by the police stations of the two countries, welcomes every day a tragic ballet of migrants who pass back and forth, a long procession of unfortunate people expelled from France. Handed over to the Italian police, they will try their luck once, ten times, twenty times, until they are able to cross this border on which France has reestablished controls since 2015. “In the end, most of them make it”, observes Loïc Le Dall, member of the local branch of the National Association for Border Assistance for Foreigners (Anafé). Including taking the most dangerous paths, like the roof of trains or this dizzying path that we call here the “not of death”. But in the meantime, they are caught in a strange game of political-police ping-pong, a legal and humanitarian puzzle.
What is she thinking, this woman stopped along the parapet, between the two border posts? With her face pressed against the fence, she looks at the sea and beyond, the lights of Menton. Near her, two very young children are shivering in their cotton clothes. Further on, her husband climbs the slope pulling a small suitcase. They are Kurds, fleeing Turkey for political reasons, they say.
Large cubic boxes
In their group, formed by chance contact with a smuggler, there is another family with children and a teenager accompanied by his mother. Poyraz is 17 years old, headphones around his neck and he wants to clarify something by sketching a sign of the cross at full speed, his back turned so that his companions don’t see him: “We are Orthodox, he confides. It’s very difficult for us in Türkiye. »
Three steps away, two Nigerians look towards a blue sign on the roadside: “Menton, pearl of France, is happy to welcome you. » Their arms dangling, they look helpless, lost. They have nothing, no suitcase, no phone, no headphones and not the shadow of a bag, even a paper one – even in poverty, there are hierarchies. Above all, like many migrants, they have very few words to explain their situation. The oldest managed to formulate a question, gathering together a few scraps of English: “Why won’t they let us in?” »
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