Since June 21, France has been experiencing an intense heatwave. The capital Paris has not been spared; temperatures already reached 38 degrees early this week. To combat the heat, everyone has their own gear — from stainless steel water bottles and hand fans to misting sprays and damp towels. However, beneath the Stalingrad metro line in northeastern Paris, early in the afternoon on June 22, the roughly 1,000 migrants living in makeshift tents are primarily focused on avoiding the sun.

Many are shirtless to cool down, while others wear jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts to protect themselves from the scorching sun. All appear groggy, having just endured one of the hottest nights ever recorded in Paris.

Dehydration, heatstroke, and fainting

On-site, aid groups are conducting outreach rounds and distributing water bottles, reusable flasks, and food, though supplies are limited. Eve Derriennic, the Médecins du Monde coordinator in Paris, manages the line of about ten men waiting outside the organization's truck to see the doctor on duty.

"The most common issues are obviously heatstroke and dehydration," she says with concern. "The heat can also aggravate infections, which worsen due to sweating and poor hygiene. Some have conditions like asthma that are exacerbated by the heat. We called the fire department [that morning] because a migrant had collapsed. He had been in his tent for five days without food or water. It was a critical emergency."

The Médecins du Monde coordinator emphasizes the unprecedented nature of this year's heatwave: "It’s prolonged. That’s what makes it different. The longer it lasts, the more the body is strained. Temperatures don't drop at night, and that changes a lot of things."

Amid the tents, trash litters the ground, and the displaced people must coexist with pigeons and rats. Some have no choice but to remain exposed to the sun due to a lack of space, lying half-naked on mattresses. The "luckiest" ones are those who can rest inside their tents—with the flaps open to let in some air—or those who gather in groups in the shade, sitting on makeshift chairs or even directly on the ground.

'The ground burns our skin'

Abu Talab, a 24-year-old from Sudan, has only been here for a few weeks. He is settled on a mattress in the shade amid the makeshift shelters. "Many organizations come to help us by providing food or medicine. To cope with the heat, I go to French classes; [the organization] lets us stay in the air-conditioned room until 11 p.m. They also offer activities, like visits to Notre-Dame or parks and gardens. It keeps us busy."

Some have no choice but to stay at the encampment. Zachariah, another 25-year-old Sudanese man, is unable to move around. He arrived in Europe via Greece and made a long journey walking during which he injured his foot. "The injury got worse because I didn't treat it, and now I can't even walk," he explains. "In any case, the ground is far too hot to walk barefoot; it burns our skin."

Sitting beside him, a friend is wearing jeans, long socks, and bulky green sneakers to shield his feet from the heat of the asphalt, as he lacks lighter footwear. "I’d prefer to dress differently, but I have no money."

Temperatures hotter than last year

Here, migrants pass the time however they can—scrolling through their phones or making trips back and forth to the camp's only water point, which was installed a week ago and is already leaking. Others chat with one another to keep their spirits up.

Damar, originally from Sudan, is one of the camp's veterans and one of the few who speaks French; he has been in Paris for nearly two years. "It’s even hotter than last year. But we’re used to the heat; we have the same kind in Sudan. The worst part is the night—we can't sleep. On top of the temperatures, there’s the noise of cars and people. It all makes it impossible to fall asleep." Despite the afternoon’s 38-degree heat, "I prefer summer to a Parisian winter; at least you don't get sick,” he says. Because he fell under the "Dublin Regulation" in Italy [meaning his asylum claim is tied to the first EU country he entered—Italy, editor’s note], he had his asylum application in France rejected. He has since consulted a lawyer to try to move his case forward and remains hopeful about leaving the encampment.

But until that happens, the ordeal for him and all the other camp residents is far from over. The forecast predicts several more days of a heatwave, with temperatures exceeding 40 degrees predicted for Friday (June 26) and the weekend. For Amar, a 30-year-old Sudanese man whose tent is pitched less than 10 meters from the water tap, "the heat is actually the least of [his] worries." Having arrived in France two weeks ago, he is anxiously awaiting his asylum interview. "I have suffered — and still suffer — from so many other things that the temperature is the last thing on my mind."