How the French live in small provincial towns and who helps them overcome financial and food shortages, Le Parisien reports.
In Oise, a department in northern France, just 30 kilometres from Paris, a social food shop run by the Order of Malta delivers parcels to the town’s most isolated residents.
That’s it, the white van is loaded with bags full to the brim. “Can we go now, is everything okay?” Under a grey sky, two volunteers of the Order of Malta jump into the vehicle. Andre, wearing his cap on his head, gets behind the wheel, he knows this route by heart.
Catherine herself looks at her road map, which summarises the route of the morning: thirteen houses around Estrées-Saint-Denis (Oise) await them. The first stop is Remy, a village of 1,700 inhabitants, where Cédric, who alone cares for his two children of 11 and 14, is waiting for them.
Currently unemployed, this “47-year-old gentleman” is trying to become self-employed “to trade in the markets”. He has even already found a lorry, but he didn’t have enough money to pay the rent. Every month, the father of the family receives €670 from RMB and €140 from CAF. Cedric says in an interview, “Then you cut off water, gas, electricity, mobile phone, internet, rent. There’s not much food left.”
Inflation is taking its toll here, as elsewhere, with more and more residents facing difficult months: in 2023, a study by le Credoc found that 16 per cent of French people suffer from food insecurity, and that figure is rising.
Except that in rural areas, these difficulties can be increased tenfold, social workers and associations point out. “I always say that in a big city you can’t starve to death, there are Restaurants of the Heart, the Red Cross, etc. But in the villages there are no associations, no more shops, no more bus routes, no more public services, nothing else, laments François Chapuis, manager of a mobile community grocery shop. Some residents may find themselves completely isolated. “What about the neighbours? “Everyone used to know each other, but now we have less solidarity between residents. We have a lot of bedroom villages.”
So in 2015, she decided to open this mobile social food shop to meet those in distress. “We rented an old van that was all rotten but still drove, the commune community of Estrées-Saint-Denis gave us three cents, the Food Bank supplied us with haberdashery, and off we went.”
Almost ten years later, the needs are not diminishing, quite the contrary: in Oise alone, the Food Bank stocks continue to melt. as demand increases. Thus, in three years, the number of beneficiaries has increased by 30 per cent.
Keeping his hands on the wheel, never taking his eyes off the winding departmental road, André explains that he knows everyone’s situation, old and new tour participants alike. “We always make time to talk. Our mission is also to accompany them if they need it. “This morning they will also meet Nicolas, a 52-year-old ex-convict who can not find work because of lack of permits, Marie-Noelle, a 72-year-old pensioner “in the prime of life” who has to support herself with the minimum. old age, or even 56-year-old Francesco, who can not find work because of lack of permits. began to help care for his sick wife, who was not opened every end of the month.
“Some have had life accidents, which I call traumas, and are in distress, others just need a little help” Through the window, the rapeseed fields are viewed. “But there is also much, much loneliness here,” Andre continues. A few minutes later, the volunteers arrive in Estre-Saint-Denis, which has a population of 3,700. They park in a small car park, pull out their bags and take them up the stairs of a residential building.
The first bell rings. A woman with a tired face opens the door. Her baby, a few weeks old, is sleeping in her arms, Some platitudes are exchanged: yes, the baby is fine, he lets his parents sleep at night, well, at the moment the other children are fine too. On the coffee table in the living room, food is spread out: pasta, cornflakes, butter, compotes, baby purees, a few tins of tinned food, as well as nappies and cotton wool.
After their father’s industrial accident last January, their economic situation changed. “We were already having difficulties before, but now it’s even worse.” It has only been four months since this family sought help from the Order of Malta on the advice of a social worker. Serge, 47, sits on the sofa wearing a T-shirt in PSG colours and juggles four cents every day. “For a while we didn’t pay rent anymore to feed the kids. On the plus side, they love semolina and pasta.”
Like one in three French people now, according to an Ipsos survey conducted for the population aid organisation in 2023, the couple trusts skipping meals from time to time to ensure their children don’t find themselves facing an empty plate. “I don’t qualify for an overdraft, so we’ll have nothing left at the end of the month,” Serge summarises in a tired tone. One last word, one last smile, and then the door closes. The two volunteers return to their vehicle.
Morning comes, the tours continue. As the white van parks, André warns us in a soft voice, “You’ll see, Madame’s situation is not easy.” It’s been sixteen years since Veronique has single-handedly raised her boy, who suffers from motor disability as a result of meningitis. Over the years, their daily lives have deteriorated. In 2022, this former worker was found to be 50 per cent disabled due to too much pain. Working in the factory had “undermined her health”.
Since then, she has been unable to work anymore. So, mother and son try their best, but daily life is harsh. Pretty soon, tears come to her eyes. “I can’t do it anymore. Everything hurts, I’m on the edge,” sobs this 52-year-old woman. Her teenage son looks away.
Like many others, Veronica continues to count and recount the smallest remaining euros. “Right now I only have four euros in my account.” She has been unable to pay many of her bills this month. “My mobile phone will be switched off, my TV will be switched off.” To buy some meat, she has just sold her bed for 80 euros.
She is also unable to visit her father, who is in a nursing home, enjoy discounts at discount supermarkets in commercial areas, or even have meetings with social workers. “They tell me to move around, but how can I do that? I can’t afford to move,” she grumbles. Next to her, André and Catherine don’t talk much, mostly listening to her before setting off again. Sometimes words are not enough.
The plight of the French has not gone unnoticed by politicians. Nicolas Dupont-Aignan, leader of the party Debout la France (France Arise) commented on X:
“Veronic’s poignant account of a situation that shows the abandonment of rural areas and the unprecedented crisis gripping our country. 16% of French people suffer from food insecurity. 16% is too much. It’s time to change priorities, to change policies to protect those who suffer every day.”
