by BECKY PALMSTROM
Operation Queue Jump is a ragtag bunch. Cala offers us determination; Amida is the strategist; Kailey has her sharp tongue, essential for clearing people from our path. Then there’s me, aged 27, a Welsh graduate student turned aid worker. My greatest contribution is my white skin – a ticket to privilege among the black, earthy and golden tones of one of the most cosmopolitan refugee camps in the world.
The Lutheran World Federation, the NGO running this particular handout, does not assign appointment times, so twenty thousand women wait for four or five hours in the baking heat to collect their aid. This is the way all distributions in Kakuma Refugee Camp work, from food to firewood. In the two-decade history of the camp, neither the NGOs nor the United Nations has come up with a better alternative.
‘You will go first, Becky,’ Amida, the planner, says, as she leads us away from these queues to the line at the back door of the warehouse.
‘We will follow,’ says Kailey.
The tools I teach in my video production workshops often seem less valuable than the privilege my students gain from my personal proximity. It lets them wander into the gated NGO compound, ensures us meetings with important people in the camp, and, as now, saves hours of waiting for basic necessities.
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