I'm now working in a factory. And living here too. In the arse end of nowhere. With absolutely nothing to do.
My brain has been temporarily out of order since I arrived in Waikerie, South Australia in mid May - hence the lack of blog posts, and the increase in Facebook updates about how shite life is.
My current occupation: Orange packer. Well sometimes lemons, and occasionally 'mandys' (questionable nickname for a mandarin). But basically I'm packing fruit Monday to Friday for sometimes thirteen hours a day. Life.
And why am I here? I keep questioning that on a minute by minute basis. Packing excessive amounts of oranges in the outback of Australia was something I'd never pictured myself doing two years ago when I graduated, or even one year ago when i was teaching those delightful Vietnamese six year olds. Life plans change, and I am the prime example of that.
Typical daily jobs at the factory include:
- Sorting shit fruit from good fruit
- Stabbing mouldy fruit with a nail attached to the end of a stick (actually quite satisfying)
- Pushing down box lids, as the machine that does this is broken. Sometimes these lids are down already, so you just have to give it a 'confirmation stroke'. Jesus.
- Sticking stickers on boxes.
- Packing oranges in boxes. Although on Friday I got threatened that there was no job for me if I didn't pack quicker, so we'll see how that goes.
- Finding really weird shaped fruit
I need to keep remembering that there is a point to this prison sentence. In order to get a second year visa in Australia, I have to complete 88 days regional work - basically anything that contributes to the country's agriculture. Definitely embracing those Norfolk roots.
This work has obviously been made better by the fact that they're soon scrapping this evil necessity, and those applying for a working visa in the near future can enjoy two years straight up. Fucking fantastic.
I am moaning a lot. I moan even though I should consider myself pretty lucky. I'm earning a shit ton of money, and after arriving only 7 weeks ago, my bank balance is the healthiest it's ever looked. What I got working as an ESL teacher for a month, I could earn in just a few days as an orange packer.
You also hear some pretty horrific stories where plenty of backpackers are taken advantage of just get those 88 days out of the way. People are falsely promised work, and told they can get signed off as long as they pay their rent. So I probably do need to be a little more grateful.
It was a spur of the moment decision to do my farmwork. Originally Australia was only meant to be for a year (actually it wasn't ever reeeeally suppose to happen at all) but a friend of mine who was already here said there was a spare space and asked if I fancied it. I said I'd give it a few weeks to see how it was. It is pretty bad, but I'm doing it and I'm persevering.
Waikerie itself reminds me of a really rubbish version of Swaffham. There's a Woolworths, a chemist and a library and that's about it. Going on a run here sometimes feels like being back in Go Vap, Vietnam. Getting stared at because you aren't local happens regularly. But whereas in Saigon it was a friendly curiosity on who I was and why I seemed to be the only white girl in the district, here it's probably because they're in a crystal meth coma.
I'm just over half way and that feels bloody great. My savings are looking good and I've got plenty planned to spend it on! I'm off to Sydney for a long weekend in a few weeks, and I'm also going back to The Philippines for a month in September. There is a light at the end of this very tragic, orange tunnel and I need to keep remembering that this isn't forever.
More importantly, my flight back to the UK has been booked after postponing my visit home for over a year. I keep picturing the emotional reunion at Heathrow arrivals and how Tony and Lou are going to think that I'm some sort of weird mirage. I'll be back for two months and after that I haven't quite yet decided.
No word of a lie, when that bell rings on the 88th day, it will be the happiest day of my life. Better than graduation, better than passing my driving test and better than the day Dominos started doing gluten free pizzas.
So this is me. Day 45/88, officially half way through and officially now dressing like a teenage boy.
I'll see you on the other side.
