Katherine, 19.10.2014
After 19 days of camping on the Manbulloo farm, we are
starting to wonder if the mangoes will ever be ripe for the picking. 19 days,
of which 1 was an induction, 2 were training and one week as been “work”. Why
the parenthesis, you ask? Because I wouldn’t call 3h and a couple of boxes of
mangoes work. Our first paycheck won’t even cover food (despite living off the
cheapest pasta with the cheapest tomato sauce, rice with canned vegetables and
toast) and “rent” for our little camp under the tree.
Our, and by “us” I mean every backpacker living here at the
moment, frustration is growing by the day. We were promised up to 60h a week
and just can’t see that happening at the moment. There are too many employees,
the envisioned day and night shift system apparently failed them last season
(one of the many rumors going around camp) and the farm’s decision to try again
this year is incomprehensible. But what can we do? Many of us are stuck here,
having spent too much time, money and efforts to get here and live here, in the
hopes of earning a good salary to continue traveling.
So we stay, work the few hours we are given and grit our
teeth, hoping that the next day will bring us more – more hours, more mangos
and more perspective.
Enough whining… As promised in the title, I’ll try my best
to give you a positive account of our days here – the days in the life of
Waiting-To-Work.
7:00am – The alarm clock rings and although I have been
awake a few times already – once because it got too cold (turn off the fan),
once because it got too hot (turn on the fan), once because the early rays of
sunlight shone straight into my eyes (turn around in the van) and once because
of the (literal) early birds catching the worm and being much too vocal about
it – I don’t really feel like getting up yet. The prospect of getting up,
making breakfast and tea, signing in at work and getting signed off, once
again, earlier than promised, is just not very enticing. But we do it anyways.
The mornings are cool and fresh, but by the time we’re sitting at the table
eating cereal with fruit (the only fresh vitamins we allow ourselves to spend
on), the sun creeping into our camp is already as warm as Germany’s midday
summer sun.
8:00am – We are all at our stations. Moritz organizes his
post-pack stacking crew and I pull down two boxes, label them with a sticker
that has my personal packer’s number on it, put in two plastic inlays and wait
for the first fruit to roll through the grading table, along the sizing-machine
and into my bin.
From then on, we work. A steady rhythm of grab two mangoes,
place them in the correct spots in the box (to hide blemishes), grab two more
etc… till the box is full. A quick shake to see it they are wedged in tight
enough and then send it on down the line. There is gets pushed onto the right
station, stacked onto pallets, which are wrapped and brought to the cool room,
from where they are loaded onto road-trains and dispatched all over the
country. And then one day, an unsuspecting customer at Cole’s supermarket will
pick up one of the mangoes that a contract-worker from Samoa or Fiji has
picked, I have packed, Moe has stacked and some sleep deprived road-train
driver has taken halfway around this very large country.
10:00am – Smoke’O is what the Aussies call the 15min paid
break that is given twice a day (considering you work a whole day). So we do as
they say – have a smoke, share a muesli bar and back to work. Or so we think…
Between 11:00am and 12:00nn – Mid-box all of a sudden the
dreaded call echoes through the shed: “Finished!”. We groan, pack up the last
box and walk to the table, hand in our packing-tags, grab a few rejected
mangoes and trudge back to camp. Yet another day with less than a handful hours
and over half a day of time to kill.
12:00nn – Lunch. Because we are not yet under the 30min time
pressure of a lunch break, we take our time preparing our pasta/rice/toast and
do our best to enjoy it. Our camp neighbors do the same. Conversations around
camp circle mostly around the same thing – Why are we not working? Though at
some point this subject is given up on and we go on to more enjoyable topics –
Where have you traveled to? What are your plans? What does your “normal” life
look like back home?
After lunch till bedtime – The day just has too many hours
when you’d rather be spending them earning money. But we find ways to pass the
time (we have to, to stay sane). During the first week, once of the favorite
pastimes was constructing a livable camp. The sounds of hammering and the
rustling of tarps created a constant backdrop of busy buzzing. Broken pallets were
turned into tables, kitchen counters and shelves. Tarps were hung to create
much needed shade. One German couple even built a little shed with old
corrugated steel, to shield them off from sun, noise and view. Lanterns and
colorful lights make some camps look quite comfortable and fun.
Our little corner of camp, consisting of an English couple,
two French guys traveling together, one French guy and his Pajero (which I am
totally jealous of) and us, all sleep in their vans/cars and have a tent set up
to store food and unnecessary stuff. The clotheslines between the trees look
like colorful garlands blowing in the wind. Though they are almost unnecessary,
as laundry dries here within 20mins out in the dry hot air.
Some do crossword puzzles, some watch movies. We also play
Uno. Many many rounds of Uno. I have read about 4 books – all of the Jo Nesbo
series. Detective Harry Hole has become my constant companion. I live
vicariously through him, as he brings me the excitement lacking in my day. I
read about him solving murders in the snow and ice of Norway, while the sweat
drips down my back and the glimmering heat distorts the mango trees along the
horizon. Feels a bit odd sometimes.
Every few days I do some yoga. Sweating (a bit more) feels
good and productive. And tuning into my breath helps tune out everything else
that’s not going as hoped. The heat makes me limber, but the amount of flies
(that seems to be increasing by the day) make it harder to concentrate. Also, I
don’t think that you’re supposed to breath in, breath out, breath in, puff out
to get rid of a fly on your nose, breath in, breath out, breath in, puff out to
get rid of a fly in your eyes, and so on… But either way, I am glad that I am
not letting that routine slip. Others go running – sheer insanity in this
weather if you ask me – or find hollow blocks to use as dumbbells, trees to do
pull ups on and do push ups in the dry grass. I wonder how long these exercise
routines will be kept up once work gets going.
The occasional trip to town to shop turns into a mission to
override boredom and we stroll through the aisles at a leisurely pace. Until we
don’t feel like looking at all the yummy stuff we can’t afford anyways and
leave.
The hot springs (which aren’t hot, but a nice refreshing
coolish-warmish temperature) are good for a little dip on the way home, but
kind of lose their charm after the umpteenth time.
Last night, Moritz and Tanis (one of our French campmates)
built a sink. After a clogged drainage system sent our facilities into a literal
up-whirl (yuck!), the sinks in the toilet and washroom became off limits for
dishes. But doing dishes under a little faucet under a palm in our plastic
basin was quite the ordeal. So old pallets, our little basin, a hose and some
silicone sealant were turned into a little counter with a sink. Highlight of
our Saturday evening!
And then it’s time to cook again. Usually before it gets
dark. Eating early is supposed to be healthier anyways. And for some reason,
doing nothing can make you quite hungry.
I shower around sunset. It’s a strategically well thought
out time – early enough not to be tapping around in the dim lighting of the
facilities, but late (and cool) enough to enjoy the consistently warm water
coming out of the solar power heated pipes (and by that I just mean the sun
beating down on them all day). It’s also early enough for the cane toads to
still be hiding in their holes, but late enough so you won’t be sweaty and
sticky again by the time you go to bed.
The evenings are cool and the last few days even cool enough
(for me) to put on a thin sweater and remember what fabric covering your arms
feels like. Some nights we bring our chairs to our neighbors, sit around and
chat. Some nights we crawl into bed and watch a few episodes. Then it’s lights
out and time to dream about different places, active days and ripe mangoes.
