This time, the journey goes smoothly, almost routinely.
I arrive early at the NOC office, dutifully line up with the other assistants, and as soon as it’s my turn, I’m handed the phone number of my mission supervisor. I sit down at a table, send a WhatsApp message, and see both gray checkmarks that refuse to turn blue.
She has my message; now she just needs to read it.
In the meantime, I chat with a lady who is also assigned to a small team. She tells me that her mission supervisor doesn’t need her and that this is often the case. I think to myself that I won’t beg for work in this situation, but I feel sorry for the people who have traveled a long way only to be told they aren’t needed. After about an hour, I grab my bag, leave the village, and take a walk in the area. An hour later, I’m sitting in the volunteer lounge, treating myself to several coffees, a banana, and energy bars. Here, too, I meet stranded and frustrated volunteers. A lady who welcomes athletes upon their arrival talks about huge wedding photos from Uzbekistan that are only for decoration. Generally, decoration seems to play a significant role. A driver of the village’s electric taxis mentions having seen a Bahamian flag on the island. True, I haven’t been to the island yet. So, I pack my things again and head to the other side of the village. Turkey, China, Iran… no Bahamas. On the bridge, there’s a shady spot with seating, and once again, I check my phone. "Hello Robert. We are waiting in front of the Samsung shop. Cora." The shop is in sight, so I head over there. I first meet Roy, dressed all in white with a white hat, who greets me warmly. Together, we go to Cora Hepburn, who is standing under the bridge. They tell me there’s no accommodation for them in the village, and they’re now going to a hotel. That stings. How do I arrange a taxi? Why doesn’t a team leader have accommodation, and what am I supposed to do now?
A young man in a volunteer uniform comes toward us and points me to the taxi stand. Another colleague even accompanies us to the vehicles. There’s a whole fleet of them ready. I briefly explain our problem, and shortly afterward, we’re sitting in one of the Toyotas, which takes us to a nearby B&B. At the reception, I hear there’s no reservation, so I call my office only to find out that no one there is responsible. They’ll forward my concern, though. It’s getting embarrassing, and communication is proving difficult. Cora and Roy don’t speak proper English but rather a kind of Creole, as spoken in the French colonies. After several back-and-forths, the nice man at reception comes back with room keys. Our guests inspect their rooms, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
A few minutes later, they’re standing next to me again. The room is too small, and they can’t close the door. Again, I contact the office. Again, no one is responsible, but this time they forward me to the person in charge. This person bombards me with abbreviations—a French quirk done excessively, none of which mean anything to me. After half an hour and several phone calls, it’s decided that we should return to the village. A taxi is on its way. In front of the hotel, we wait, see taxis passing by, but none seem to be for us. I start talking to two police officers directing traffic and pour my heart out to them. I had just told Cora to lighten the mood: I’d get a tattoo of the Bahamian flag if they won a gold medal. We laugh, and when I spot a taxi from the village fleet, I joke that they should flag it down for me, which they actually do. Intimidated, the driver says she’s not allowed to take such a mission, but we don’t care and load the trunk. We agree to keep the action between us, and minutes later, we’re back at the main entrance of the village. Here, it’s noticeable how well Cora and Roy are connected with the other teams. Everyone seems to know each other.
Again, my charges have been assigned a room in the village, and I don’t understand anything anymore. A charming young Spanish woman accompanies us to their rooms, and we load one of the small electric vehicles with their heavy bags. Again, the driver resists, but again, we don’t care. We take them to their assigned room. The next day, Cora wants a vehicle. How am I supposed to organize that now? To finish, Cora strokes her upper arm and laughs. Oops!
I go to the office to complain. The main problem seems to be communication. It’s going to be interesting.
