When we were done, the woman rested a hand on Father Bousquet’s arm. She wore a shawl and sturdy hiking boots. She said, “Father, you look like you could use a coffee.” She turned to me, Miriam and the skinny bearded guy, whose name was Greg. “The youngsters can take this to the distribution center and come back for their reward.”

I didn’t mind being called a youngster, although Miriam and Greg were easily ten years younger than me. We piled everything up on two hand trailers. Rolled it through the forest for a while. People were everywhere. Mostly men, but not exclusively. Some small children were playing with a ball in a muddy clearing. Smoke from cooking fires was pervasive.

We arrived at a cluster of corrugated steel-roofed structures. Not exactly buildings, but not tents either. This was the distribution center. Greg explained it to me. He said the camp had a hierarchy. There were a couple of leaders and the rest did what they said. Greg said it was like wolves and sheep.

“No, it’s not like wolves and sheep.”

Greg looked at me, but I didn’t say anything else. Wolves and sheep are complicated, like an ecosystem. Like predators and prey, but complicated. This was simple, like abuse and domination, and underserved status.

The Welcome Foundation had to hook up with the leaders. Who were older men, or else nothing got done. Which meant the food and water and clothes wouldn’t reach the people that needed it most. So the old men chiefs had to be kept happy and respected. I knew the drill. Been there, done that. Same in every refugee camp from Iraq and Syria to the Congo. Want to help a woman and her kid? Got to grease the palm of a man. Tradition must be respected.

A couple of the old guys were sitting around smoking cigarettes and drinking tea. They didn’t bother to stand when we showed up. But they waved and smiled and indicated where the donations should go. Greg had a grin pasted on his face. He went over and shook hands, doing the rounds, obsequious. We unloaded the clothing and supplies into a tent with corrugated steel roofing. Nobody seemed too excited by the arrival of clothes, dry goods and nutritional supplements. Even in emergency situations there is business as usual. As I walked out of the tent, my eye was attracted by a blur of motion.

The blue Mercedes Sprinter van was moving through the forest, maybe a hundred yards away.

They must have taken another access road. I turned to Miriam and Greg. Said I’d meet them back at HQ shortly. Said that I wanted to take a piss.

Chapter Eighteen

I walked to the back of the distribution center until I was out of sight.