Reporter Graham Stothard is in Calais today where he has been talking to migrants caught in limbo at the French port, risking their lives on a nightly basis in an attempt to make it to Britain.

“Don’t take my video please, I don’t want my family to see me like this.”

The words of a Sudanese migrant I got talking to outside Camp Jules Ferry.

He’s confused. He doesn’t really understand why he’s stuck in Calais - and he’s not alone. Many come to me and when they find out I’m from England one question soon emerges.

“How do you think of us in Britain?"

I can’t say. It’s too embarrassing the way they’re talked about by so many people, swarms, invasions and the rest of it.

“Some people hate you sure”, I say. “But others want to help”.

“What do you want to do”

“I want to help”

“Good, you can take me across tomorrow then”, my new Sudanese friend grinned.

It’s astonishing how similar their humour is to the British. It’s the position they’ve been put in I guess.

Made them cynical and warped their minds to make their destitute situation the butt of their joke. In reality, nothing could be farther from funny.

Trapped in a country they’re not supposed to be in, trying to get to a country they’re not supposed to be in.

"They ask the same questions. Why do your government not want us? What do the English think of us? If people know we’re here why aren’t they doing anything about it?"

When they get caught trying to get to the country they’re not supposed to be in, they get dumped back in the country they’re not supposed to be in. Mind bending right?

It’s odd is what is is.

There’s an almost universal attitude amongst those I speak to, a sort of bewildered determination - heading to the Tunnel every night knowing they’re likely to be found.

They know the odds are stacked against them but don’t know why? Why so many police? Why all the fuss?

They don’t know - but they’ll go to the Tunnel nonetheless. Whether they see it as a moral duty or just a way to stave off boredom, I’m not sure.

They ask the same questions. Why do your government not want us? What do the English think of us? If people know we’re here why aren’t they doing anything about it?

I shake my head indicating I don’t know, I’ve failed their test. But they weren’t trying to make me feel guilty - it’s a genuine curiosity, a longing to try to make sense of the nonsensical situation they’re in.

Unfortunately I can’t help them do that, congratulations to the guy that can. They deserve an explanation.

I don’t want to sugar coat it.

There are men with their faces hidden, men who shoot furtive glances at me from across the compound.

But they are outweighed immeasurably by those going about their business - washing, praying, eating, cycling, skateboarding.

The people here are like any other. You get good ones, bad ones, funny ones and strange ones. A completely normal community plopped in an abnormal situation.

My taxi arrives to pick me up, it’s time to say goodbye to my new friend.

We shake hands. “I’ll see you in England,” I say. “Buy you a coffee”.

He smiles and walks off. I forgot to ask his name. I hope he’ll be OK.

Further reports from Graham will be posted tomorrow