Well, turns out, Mildura wasn’t worth it and maybe we should’ve listened closer to our initial gut feeling. That came shortly after Annie was hurried off the phone with “Vicky” (the farming work organizer/hostel owner) when we first called about work opportunities. All Annie was able to get out the quick call was that, “Yes, there’s work and yes, there’s a bed. All expenses are paid for upfront for the week and they are as follows: $30 ‘Administration’ fee, $130 for 6 nights’ stay and the 7th night is ‘free,’ $10/day ‘transportation fee,’ and $50 linen & key deposit.” Total, $285 with no mention of how much we’d expect to get paid.
After that phone conversation between Annie and Vicky I made sure we’d call back and try to get a ballpark estimate of how much we could expect to earn per day or week. But, once again she was shooed off the phone after Vicky told us that, “you only make what you pick. I can’t tell you how much you’d expect to make because everyone’s different.” And, right then, our little “red flag” should’ve gone off in our heads after she refused to tell us how much we’d earn per box or kilo of figs we’d pick. She just rushed us into answering the question, “See you Wednesday or no? If not, I can get somebody else out here to do the work.”
Unfortunately, we decided to take the chance and see how fast our hands could pick to try to earn some money. And, if nothing else we thought of it as a new experience, completed blinded by the fact that it’d be an 8 hour bus/train ride to Mildura (costing another $37), factoring in the cost of food, and the amount of work physically required from us each week. But, because of the high demand for any work that most backpackers are also seeking made it extremely difficult to hear there’s work somewhere for us. So, we were quick to jump at the first opportunity given, I guess. Lesson learned.
When we arrived in Mildura (tired and frustrated our phone won’t work) we were picked up by Vicky in an old 15-passenger van with no greetings. Just 10 minutes into our ride she asked if we needed to stop at an ATM so that we can withdraw $285 cash to pay upfront. Unsure that this was a good idea (and could smell a little scam in the air) I asked her if she could break down the cost again. She did, slowly, but after I asked her to give detail of what the “administration fee” covers, or what kind of accommodations we were guaranteed, she basically changed subjects and raised her voice at me. “If you don’t want to stay here, go find somewhere else and GET OUT!! I can guarantee you there’s nowhere in Mildura but my place!!”
At this point, it was late at night and were too tired to even think about trying to find somewhere else to stay and we had no idea still if we’d pick enough figs to make it work. “How much can I earn per box that I pick?” I asked again, with no answer. Eighteen dollars a night for a place to sleep was a bargain (as far as we were concerned), but with the added $10/day transportation fee we’d have to pick $28 worth everyday to cover daily costs. And, too, we were already here and couldn’t think about getting back on the train to Melbourne without trying our hand at picking.
The next morning we woke at 5am, expecting a 5:30am pickup from Vicky, but we learned quickly that our $10/day for transport was essentially going to nothing (after she was 30 minutes late with no apology). And, after 20 minutes drive we arrived at the farm. Oh, glory.
Vicky had warned us the night before about the farmers. “Don’t be offended if they curse at you, tell you your shit, or tell you that you’re doing a bad job. On average, they fire 6 people a day and if they fire you- well, then, you’ll have a long hike back home and I’ll ask you to leave the hostel.” So, with no surprise the first thing I see when I arrive is the farmer wife screaming at their dog to “shut the f'*ck up,” which was followed by someone else yelling at me to pick up my sh*t and move it two feet.
The working wear was essentially this: closed-toed shoes, high socks, long pants, long sleeved shirt, a big brimmed hat, long socks (with the end cut off) to put cover our hands and over our sleeves, and latex gloves to wear on top of the socks. The reason for all of these layers? Well, the fig sap is so acidic it’ll eat through flesh if it sits there long enough, but at minimum it’ll instantly cause an irritable itchy red rash that you can't do anything about. So, for 10 to 12 hours we could not touch any part of our body. That meant there’d be no chance of readjusting our clothing, batting away the hundreds of flies that land on the face, wiping away the dripping sweat from our foreheads, or re-applying sunscreen anywhere until we showered.
And, the pay went something like this: for every box we picked of figs we could earn $3.50. Each box can fit between 40 to 60 figs, depending on size, and would take at least 30 minutes to fill if we worked at a constant, steady rate. But, because we’ve only just applied for a Tax File Number (TFN) and it could take several weeks to get it, we be forced to pay 49% tax on our earnings. Essentially half.
After 5 hours of picking we had only picked ~7 boxes each; not even close to being able to pay off transportation and accommodation expenses for just one day. At the end of the day we had picked 26 boxes between us, which works out to be $35 each before taxes, but would only be $17.50 after taxes. And, the sad part is we couldn’t imagine picking any faster, especially when dealing with such hot weather conditions! Such a rip-off. But, a good deal for the farmers who are making a good living off us slaves. Each fig picked can be sold at the supermarket for a whopping $5.
By the end of the day, Annie’s face had the rash all over it (from a mistake of re-applying sunscreen!) and my legs were covered in it. Vicky was an hour late in picking us up and by then, we had been on the farm for 12 hours with only $17 to claim.
The WORST part in all of this, though, is that there’s been no guarantee we’ll see our money handed to us after 7-days work. One girl at the hostel has worked a full week already and should’ve gotten paid on Tuesday, but because they told her “she missed the cut-off time” she has to work another half-week to be on the next payroll. Annie and I just read this as another clear sign that it’s a scam; and, working a hard, miserable 10 to 12 hours a day is definitely not worth the meager pay (assuming we would get paid).
At this point, we’re over this experience but are looking for a way to make it worth our time. Vicky’s threatened to kick us out if we don’t work (because I think she earns money off of every box we pick), but the way we see it is that she’d be stealing from us if she holds the accommodation and transportation fees if we haven’t used it! But, because we’ve paid upfront she’s used this excuse with us every time to allow us to keep our money. I wish I had a lawyer.
We’ve made the decision to stay until the police show up at the doorstep or, meanwhile, we might look into WWOOFing for the next couple days somewhere around Mildura.
So much for making the most out of using our “Working Holiday Visas” (that cost $230) to allow us to work here legally. Maybe later we’ll try getting a job again, but not farm labor! We need an hourly rate job through a trustworthy business.
The one good thing about staying at the hostel is that all the other backpackers are in the same boat so with that we’ve formed a bond. They’re from all over the world and it’s fascinating to hear four different English accents in one room. But, there you have the only “plus” of staying here.
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