Rubbish - absolute rubbish : Ken Gibbs

Ken in Bam

In the latest New Scientist magazine, there was a lot of loose advertising material. Normally, I bin what I see as junk mail but this time, one item caught my eye. It was a rather clever piece by UNICEF focusing on child labour, child trafficking and the like. The first “advertising” item was for child scrap metal collectors with a photo of kids rooting around a rubbish tip looking for – well - scrap metal. It triggered a number of memories of Iran.

Not all letters that I wrote from the field to my wife were expected to be received with relish. Sometimes, field experiences were difficult to handle. What follows is an account of working post-earthquake in Bam, Iran, which had suffered grievously and where some UNICEF internal staff relations were problematic.

So, here I am in the Hotel-e-Arg-e-Jadid. Warmer, happier, probably better fed, and very much better washed. Yes, here we have hot showers and I can wash my clothes.  This is partly what it is about.

I brought my dirty washing into the tent yesterday and asked for it to be taken to the Hotel Azadi (where they wash). Nobody took it, so this morning I asked again to be told that I had to apply to the Coordinator before they could do it. Given the way the ****** (nationality redacted) have dragged their collective feet since they came, our washing machine (which is still some days from being plumbed in), I snapped. I told the Coordinator that I thought this was ridiculous that the ****** had come to support us and had seemed more interested in setting themselves up than supporting us. Why, I asked, did they set up their own machine the day after their arrival (or very soon anyway) so they could wash their clothes and left us with nothing despite my having given them a machine (paid for out my own pocket because nobody seemed capable of arranging this through the UNICEF administration) to put in for us ? Why, I asked, did they set up heating and cooling for their own tents while our tents have yet to receive any heating when the temperature was down to -5 degrees Celsius last night ?

By this time, one of our ****** staff was really upset and was shouting at me to stop it; but I would not. Why on earth should I when I see such injustice and a ****** mafia running the place - which seems to condone poor performance ?

Armed truce.

Then I asked for coffee which is supposed to be provided (by that same administration) with milk and sugar. No coffee. Why not ? I never did get the answer but I suspect that it was that I was supposed to apply to the Coordinator.

Then our morning meeting followed which should take 20 minutes but took 1½ hours. I was asked to do all sorts of things which I declined to do like setting up a huge tent; and distributing sanitary napkins. Naturally, by this time I am getting pretty steamed up because this is purely to waste time. I point out that I have a contract, the Terms of Which require me to produce a Plan of Action - and would they kindly let me write it ? No, I must take them to the Municipal tip - again I declined. I was the one who had visited the tip about two weeks ago and had noticed kids collecting stuff; and had mentioned it to the Child Protection Officer to look into. I don't need to do it all over again, thanks.

I work for a couple of hours and virtually everyone in the office disappears to see the Municipal tip - in three UNICEF LandCruisers. Peace reigns and some work is getting done when my phone rings. “Please come and show us where the tip is.” I am collected and I guide the driver (who has been there before) to the tip. Eleven staff members and not one can find the tip ? Really ?

This tip has been closed since I saw it, and cleaned considerably. No kids. The Coordinator announces that we won't see any children in the afternoon. In the morning and night, yes; but in the afternoon, no. I mention that when I last visited this site, it was afternoon and the kids were there. This guy seems to be in need of a shrink, by the sound of it. He decides that we must visit the second site, some 17km distant but nobody appears to remember the road. I guide them the 17km because I have seen a map showing its location.

And there was me, mistakenly thinking that as the highest paid consultant in the employ of UNICEF at that time. Not so. I was the highest paid garbage dump tour guide in the country at that time.

We went straight to the new dump where garbage was strewn everywhere with a number of piles of burning rubbish emitting a vile smelling smoke. Happily for the coordinator who seemed fixated on kids working the rubbish dumps, there were a couple of child litter-pickers in evidence. He pounced on one of them and looked into the child’s eyes and announced that he could see from the whites of his eyes, that he was being poisoned. The child looked terrified – and who wouldn’t when collared by a huge African man who grabs you and thrusts his face into yours ?

Interrogation

A discussion ensued between the coordinator and an Iranian national staff member who provided streamed translation services for the monosyllabic responses of the terrified child. I kept well out of reach of this little scene as I didn’t believe that this was the way in which to establish the facts of the matter. Besides, the coordinator had said he wanted to be responsible for garbage, so why should I spoil his fun ? It seems that the kids were collecting discarded metal as a means of earning a small income. We were unable to establish if they were orphans but we were told that they had been doing this for years and they made “enough”, whatever that might mean.

Later, when writing up my occasional situation report, I wondered at the value of spending so much time on two youngsters doing what they had done successfully for years, when there were probably still around 25,000 children under 5 in Bam a large proportion of whom were likely to be orphaned and probably much more in need of our help.

And so, we come full circle to my New Scientist and the junk mail, but I am very much hoping that the money which UNICEF raises this way, will not be being spent on helping to pay consultants work as unofficial garbage dump tour guides in emergencies, letting their field coordinators make less than sensible comments about child labour.

We eventually return to the office to be held up by Ashura, with the Shia procession remembering the death of Imam Hossein – a chain of self-flagellating boys and men dressed in black, which I am hoping has had a slightly sobering effect on the Coordinator.

When I arrive back, still no tea; no coffee; no milk; washing still in the tent; and no washing machine. That's it. No more. I phoned Tehran and said that I was moving to the hotel and was ready to tell them to take their job and throw it out of the window. Somehow, I think they had expected it. I point out that management should not use the most expensive consultant that UNICEF has in Iran as a tour guide to Municipal garbage tips.

The day after tomorrow, the Representative arrives who will have to stay in the camp after all that has been said about it; and I plan to stay in the hotel while it happens.

Later: The Rep actually stayed at the hotel, judging that the camp didn’t meet her exacting standards ?