There’s often moments of guilt in this business – for me anyway. That moment when I realise how much I have and how privileged I am. The latest moment came for me this morning.I was sitting on the verandah of our house having breakfast; I had just made two pieces of toast spread with that most delicious of spreads, vegemite (brought from home) and grape jam, and a cup of black tea. In that moment I was struck with the now indelible images of the families in our camp – little grubby half naked kids running to me, calling out ‘hey Joe’ and asking for bags of water, for food, for money. Reaching up to grab my hand and walk with me, touching my arm to see what this hairy white skin feels like, stand still long enough and they reach down to lift up my trouser legs to see if it’s the same down there! The older teenagers ask for food and a soccer ball. The Mum’s ask for milk, and for food. The Dad’s ask for food, water and ‘cash for work’.
As you walk through the camp you can’t help but be struck by the ingenuity of the people. In the context of a mass camp, there are some impressive structures. Some have laid concrete to strengthen their footings and make their tin shelters water proof, (at ground level anyway) most have hacked into either the mains power or our generator power to hook up lights and some TVs. One man has built a theatre by enclosing his 12” TV and Video player and charging people to come and escape the camp while watching movies.
But all of them last night endured another night of heavy rain, in a camp with inadequate drainage and as the light breaks on them this morning it’s to another day of cleaning out the mud, drying out the clothes, saving what food they can. They will again take their water containers to one of two communal water bladders where they will line up to get their water, and most will do that twice if not more in the day. Mum’s will try and clean their kids. Some kids will make their way to the Concern tents where they’ll join with others to sing, dance and do craft – and get biscuits and juice.
And as they do that, every single day; I will wake in my dry bed; I will get some bread from a fridge that works most of the time (power permitting), I will run around my cold water shower trying to get wet, I will boil water, which I buy in bottles, on a gas stove and I will have a few moments of solitude before my day begins in which I can try and centre my thoughts and prepare myself for another day. I will go downstairs to the office and someone has made a pot of coffee, I will have a light lunch, and later tonight, dinner prepared for me.
I am able to rationalise the unfairness of my privilege but I am not able to forget it. Maybe that’s a good thing?
