“I wanted us to control our own narrative,” says Metalsi, a citizen journalist who single-handedly runs the social media news channel Grenfell Speaks. “That was the reason it started. A few days after the fire I was walking outside Rugby Portobello [a community centre close to Grenfell Tower] and there were camera crews everywhere. I remember thinking, how are these people going to portray my community? And is there something we can do to control that?”

His answer took shape over the weeks that followed. Metalsi, who has a background in web development and branding, started posting footage of council meetings and community protests to Facebook and YouTube. Using his phone camera, he interviewed relatives of the victims, some of whom were speaking publicly for the first time, and talked to locals, celebrities and politicians about the events surrounding Grenfell. “In a nutshell,” he says, “the channel is a way of telling community stories from the perspective of a member of the community.”

Metalsi grew up in North Kensington – he lived on the Lancaster West estate at one point – and his flat is about 300 metres from the tower. A friend woke him around 4am on 14 June and Metalsi can remember going out and watching the fire in a daze, unable to take in what was happening. It became real to him when he bumped into a friend (Metalsi declines to give his name) who had lost his whole family in the blaze. “I couldn’t comprehend what he was saying to me: ‘Everybody’s gone.’ I still don’t now how to process it a year on. But then something clicked: I realised I needed to help.”

He went to the Al-Manaar mosque on Acklam Road, where he directed traffic for a few hours – vehicles bringing donations were “bumper to bumper”, he says. Later he helped deliver nappies and other much-needed supplies to community centres in the area. “I did that for a few days. Then I thought, there must be something else I can do.”

Zeyad Cred, who organises the monthly silent walks around Grenfell, felt a similar urge. Like Metalsi, he awoke shortly after the fire began and spent a while trying to reckon with the scene of devastation at the heart of his neighbourhood. “For the first 15 minutes, I just stood and watched – your brain is telling you, this is not normal.” After dawn, Cred, who grew up in the area and worked in customer service for a clothing retailer, went to help out at the Clement James centre. He remained there for the next few days, lifting boxes, dividing up clothes and shoes, searching for fridges to keep fresh produce from going off.

“That first night,” he says, “I went to bed thinking the council or the Red Cross would turn up tomorrow. So the first day was very much work, work, work. Let’s do everything we can until the cavalry arrives. But the next morning, I woke up to see the same faces again and nobody of authority anywhere. It felt like we were in the Jungle at Calais to be honest, not in one of the richest boroughs in the country.”

Cred and Metalsi are talking to me outside the Kensington leisure centre, just metres from the hoarding around Grenfell Tower. They met the day after the fire, introduced by Metalsi’s neighbour, and bonded amid the fallout – Metalsi helps with the silent walks and Cred has appeared on Grenfell Speaks. Both men express deep-seated frustration – and outright anger, in Cred’s case – when conversation turns to the council’s response to the disaster.

“Not having help and support from the authorities in a time of despair was a slap in the face,” says Cred. “And that lack of support led to anger and tension, it really played into people’s emotions. But even as I was getting more and more angry and frustrated, I knew we had to stay dignified and peaceful.”

On 19 June, four days after the fire, Cred attended the launch of the Justice4Grenfell campaign, marked by a silent procession from Ladbroke Grove to Latimer Road. “That felt very empowering, the silence in a time of so much confusion and panic.”

Afterwards he gave a speech appealing for calm. “I begged for the community to stay peaceful, to stay united.” It was a lesson he took from the 2011 riots. “When people talk about the riots now, they only talk about the looting, not about why London rioted that day, which was because police had shot a man [Mark Duggan] dead. I wanted to make sure that we didn’t follow suit, that this community didn’t get targeted as the aggressor.”

One month on from the fire, Cred organised a silent walk around the perimeter of the tower. Only a few dozen people joined him on the first walk, but the numbers have been growing ever since. In December, six months on, more than 2,500 people turned out, holding candles in green jars and carrying paper-heart banners reading “Peace”, “Truth” and “Justice”. Cred is hoping to double that turnout for the one-year anniversary walk on 14 June.

“It’s kept us peaceful,” says Cred. “It’s a time for gathering, a fixed date in the calendar where everybody knows we’ll come together. I get people saying it’s their therapy. People who travel in for it leave feeling changed, counted. And as the numbers grow, it shows the authorities that were so absent that we’re still here, we’re not going anywhere, we’re getting stronger.”

Metalsi, who says his posts have reached more than 8 million people on Facebook alone, believes that Grenfell has presented an opportunity for what he calls creative activism. “This area is so vocal, so creative, and it’s known for activism – the carnival started around here because people wanted to celebrate where they came from. I liken where we are right now, as horrible as the situation is, to that kind of time. Where people have had enough of being marginalised and undermined, not listened to, and have created something.”

Neither he nor Cred can imagine going back to their old lives and jobs after this. “Running Grenfell Speaks has become part of my life,” says Metalsi, explaining that he keeps himself going financially with “bits and pieces” on the side. “It’s made me part of a movement for social change. This is about participating in the future of my life and the life of my community.”

We look up at the tower, now almost completely hidden behind protective wrap. What do they think should happen to the site after the building comes down?

“I wouldn’t want to see housing there again,” says Cred. “That site needs to represent not just the fire but what we’ve done since the fire. It has to be something that comes from the community and and is for the community.”

“What’s happened at Grenfell should be a learning tool,” says Metalsi. “Learning about the mistakes we’ve made, allowing people to grieve in their own way, and figuring out ways that we can move forward together as a society. That’s what Grenfell should mean. It shouldn’t become a dirty word where a bunch of so-called immigrants died in a tower. It should be a movement that inspires other people to create their own destinies.”

• The student midwife who rushed to help on the night of the Grenfell fire