It is Thursday, July 11, 2024. One day before the official opening of the Olympic Village.
For the first time, we, the NOC assistants, were invited to Saint-Denis to be briefed for the upcoming weeks. Since I haven’t tried on my volunteer uniform yet, wearing it is also a premiere for me. I had firmly resolved to subject myself to a strict diet and an extensive fitness program in the weeks beforehand, but my father’s passing put an end to that.
Nevertheless, I fit into the sports suit without having to squeeze into it. I still don’t find it particularly attractive, and on the train to Paris, I feel a bit uncomfortable. The Olympic Games are being received with mixed feelings in Paris, and I fear being exposed to too much attention or even insults. However, these fears remain unfounded, as I am largely ignored both on the train and in the metro, blending into the crowds. The only issue I have is with my ticket, as the metro barrier refuses to open for me. Stressed, I rush through the hall at Gare de Lyon, being sent from A to B until someone finally takes pity on me and prints out a free ticket that allows me entry. In the metro, I strike up a conversation with a woman who is also wearing a uniform like mine. Her name is Beatrix, she’s French, and from Guadeloupe. She tells me she’s been assigned to Morocco, and I’m a bit confused because I don’t know which nation I’m supposed to be working for. Using my number and a table she received a few days earlier, like almost all the other NOC assistants, she determines my team: the Bahamas. I nod politely and assume she must have made a mistake, as the Bahamas sound too far-fetched. In Saint-Denis-Pleyel, we get off and find ourselves in a huge but empty metro station. Another woman joins us; her name is Sabrina, and she’s from Turin. Together, we follow Beatrix, who doesn’t know her way around either but has already pulled up Google Maps and navigates us to the entrance of the village. We are searched like at an airport, but everything goes smoothly, and together we head to the Cité du Cinéma. This time, we can’t get lost, as there’s a person at every corner pointing us in the right direction. In front of the main entrance of the Cité du Cinéma, which is decorated with the flags of the participating nations, we are allowed to take a photo. It’s one of the rare moments when this will be permitted.
After each of us is given a Swatch watch and a Coca-Cola water bottle, we gather in a large cinema hall that is almost completely filled. We, the NOC assistants, make up the largest group among the volunteers: almost 900 people. A little over three hundred of them are now sitting with me; the rest attended the same training the day before and in the morning. We are offered the opportunity to take a picture with the Olympic torch. I hate pictures of myself and politely decline.
On the screen, images from the closing ceremony of the Olympic Games in Tokyo are playing. They are rather sad recordings, as the Games and ceremonies had to be held in front of empty stands due to COVID. A few trailers follow, and I wonder why I hurried so much to be on time. My German genes still force me to be punctual and punish me by making me wait longer because I’m always one of the first to arrive. Fortunately, Sabrina is sitting next to me, and on the other side, I meet Jonathan from Dublin, with whom I have an interesting conversation about the reunification of North and South Ireland and Brexit. This is a valuable moment for me, hearing firsthand the perspective of someone directly affected.
Finally, it begins. The heads of the NCS (National Committee Services) take the stage and try to motivate us further with phrases like “You are the crème de la crème” and “Be loud if you’re excited about the mission,” which only partially succeeds. I make less noise than usual and only wearily stand up when required. If I weren’t motivated, I wouldn’t be here. This is followed by information about the village, along with lengthy instructions on the rules of conduct. We are reminded not to exceed our working hours, even if the heads of the national committees demand it. There are words about wearing the uniform, which is mandatory, that we are not allowed to accept gifts, etc. Even the organizers don’t know exactly what tasks we will end up performing. It depends on the leaders of the committees and often arises spontaneously. So, we’ll have to wait and see, which keeps things exciting.
Divided into groups of 30 people, we take a tour of the Olympic Village. We are shown the places relevant to us while the volunteer drivers of the Navettes, electric shuttles that resemble golf carts, weave through the village and practice handling the vehicles. We are shown the National Committee Services office, the most important places and shopping opportunities, the village’s own post office, and, as we are told, the place where alcohol is smuggled into the village. We are shown the places where athletes can spend their free time, the training hall, and the canteens where we, strictly separated from the athletes, will be fed once a day. The dishes are supposed to be almost exclusively regional and largely vegan.
We end our tour at the building where we are to report daily. I take the opportunity to signal that I, like some others, did not receive the email from the day before. Additionally, they confirm to me that I am assigned to the Bahamas. By now, I’ve come to terms with the idea and am looking forward to meeting the athletes and their mission leader. The athletes from the Bahamas are surely no less professional than their German colleagues. There are definitely fewer of them—18 instead of 400—and athlete supervision will be more relaxed. So, off to the Bahamas!
When leaving the village, we are instructed to have a new accreditation card issued. We aren’t given a real reason, but I suspect that too many of these cards with readable barcodes have appeared on social networks. After all, these cards grant access to all sports venues, the village, the broadcast, and press centers. And I must admit that I initially published my card on this site as well, albeit with the barcode whited out.
Today, I ordered a Bahamas pin. 3 euros that I invested, which should serve as an icebreaker. Yes, I’m looking forward to the Bahamas team, and I’m looking forward to July 20, when my Olympic adventure finally begins.
