Calais — Day 9

Day 9 in Calais is one I would rather forget. It was my second weekend here and with experience also comes knowledge that in some instances one would rather not have. What I am getting at is, ignorance can sometimes be bliss.

The aid effort in Calais is hampered by the unavoidable nature of this place: Long term, burnt-out volunteers are trying to coordinate well-meaning short term volunteers (and sometimes volun-tourists) who come for a weekend and then leave, who can quickly and easily see all the faults with this place, are quick to offer suggestions (many of them good — fresh eyes see things tired eyes don’t), most of which are never taken up because it all just moves too quickly.

I know when I first arrived, my then room-mate came back after a taxing day of work tired, and I was so excited to be here, I just quizzed her without pausing to think that she might not want to talk. I was so keen to get in to the jungle and see things there. I feel so sick about that now and how it comes across, having had a few room-mates now who come for a very short stay, only help with the grunt work for a half day or day if we are lucky, who go to the Jungle, take their photos and leave. It is a two-edged sword. People need to see this place in order to tell their friends and inspire donations and assistance but at the same time, Calais needs volunteers, not voluntourists.

So on day 9 as I went down to breakfast and saw the bustling dining room full of people, I felt jaded. I tried to see support, but all I felt was worry. Worry about the work that would be done, the quality of the work, the time it would take to fix it if it wasn’t good, the impact good or bad on the refugees in the camp. I worried about people taking their photos without asking and putting it on social media. I worried about bloody everything. My head was not in a good space. I piled in to yet another van (my mother would be horrified by the amount of vehicles I have climbed in to in the last week not knowing who I was travelling with) and we made our way to the warehouse.

As the morning briefing was given (it seems to change every day) and jobs were divided up, I ended up supervising the men’s and women’s clothing section and shoes — a substantially large part of the warehouse. I put on the orange jacket that designates one as a person who can answer questions for new people and away we went.

I had felt good about proving myself to coordinate things in such a large part of the warehouse in just one week, but to be honest, I wish I never got that orange jacket now. Suddenly I inhabited a different space. I started hearing about the group politics, and the “them and us” culture that comes with separating leadership from others meant that I no longer fit anywhere. I was a new orange jacket — not there long enough to fit in with the long termers, no longer wearing yellow. I felt fairly well alone.

I tried to orient the team to our system of sorting and everyone set to work. Such is the nature of this place that more and more people turned up as the morning progressed and I was not able to track all of them in order to orient them to the process. It didn’t take long before things started to get messy. People come to help for just one hour before heading to the Jungle, or they start a job and are called away to help elsewhere because another big delivery has arrived and we constantly have to reassess needs. I had several occasions where I would just show someone how to do something and they would be seconded elsewhere. Amongst all of this, for 9 hours I fielded questions endlessly and ran from pillar to post. I tried to assign roles — 4 people on sorting, 2–3 “runners” depositing sorted items in to boxes. One person sealing and labelling full boxes, one person on quality control. Sounds great right? It just never happens that way. There are language barriers, different understandings of what is a “hoodie” vs a “jumper” vs a “fleece”, different ideas of what a medium sized man might be, etc, etc. You get the idea. If I noticed someone was not good at making simple decisions like this, I tried to assign them tasks that didn’t require decision making. I tried to hang on to my best people for quality control, but this place is like trying to juggle 500 balls in the air at once. If you are still juggling even 20 after 30 minutes you are doing well. There is a saying that goes something like “if you try to chase two rabbits, they are both going to get away” — this describes my experience of this place so far.

As we sorted, this warehouse that has a life of its own morphed and changed around us. The mountain of kids items near to the entrance disappeared and was relocated in just a couple of hours. A new kitchen storage area opened up. The whole place shifted as the bustling ant hill worked. I find myself torn between amazement and fascination at the energy and efforts in there, and wanting to bang my head against the wall in frustration at how so much energy could be better spent with some strong leadership and proper systems. I find myself wishing they would just STOP for a few days, get experts in to audit the place for everything from systems to OH&S, set it all up and THEN start. But this is an impossible pipe dream. The need continues to grow, you cannot simply stop. The systems have been and are there but as people come and go, what was once implemented is changed. What was fit for purpose last month might not be next month. It is like a giant physical experience of Chinese whispers. What started at one point becomes something totally different at another.

I met some amazing people. The little things matter: like Salma — who quietly worked in her hijab for hours and just got everything right. She asked questions, she checked, she communicated. Oh to have 50 Salma’s! ; like Jonathan who sealed and labelled boxes with such gusto and passion, a big smile on his face all day; like Beverly, who translated English to French and who took on the women’s section and coordinated new people when I got pulled off to other things.

Then there are the people who have been here before. You explain a process to them and they interrupt you and say “I’ve done it before, you don’t need to tell me” — they then work to a system that was relevant a month ago but no longer. They stuff it up and you work along behind them fixing it because it is just too darn hard to have the conversation that will go nowhere as you try to explain that the system they know is no longer.

I got back to my room bone tired. Still fighting this awful jungle-lung — it is relentless. I felt totally disillusioned with the whole thing. I know it takes a long time to turn a big ship but where the hell is the leadership here? These people are working themselves in to the ground and trying their best but there is no leader here who knows how to do this. Just a bunch of people trying to keep things going. I felt like a hampster on a wheel. What did we really achieve today? Is it really critical to sort thick socks from thin!? If I make good changes, will they even exist one week after I leave when someone else comes in and take it over for the next period of time? Am I just contributing to the problems that come from limited periods of volunteering?

I got on the phone and spoke to a trusted friend from Ireland. We talked it all through. She’s been at the warehouse, she knows exactly what I am talking about. I spoke to her about my hopes for this trip before I left Australia, how I was feeling, how I could better use my strengths and capabilities (including knowledge from my degree) and what I should do.

We decided that I need time away from boxes and shoes and orange jackets and volun-tourists. I needed to find somewhere in the Jungle to take a break. I went to sleep with a new manifesto. On day 10 I would find myself a new project.