Page 7 of Let the Games Begin
“It’s perfect, thank you,” she said, nodding like a bobblehead. She was doing such a bad job of playing it cool that as she reached out to shake his hand the iridescent notebook that was hanging precariously out of her bag fell out. Haruki bent down to pick it up.
“You’re welcome,” he said, putting his hand out to shake hers. “I’m Haruki.”
“I’m Olivia,” she said.
“I am feeling very Olympic today?” he said, reading the words inscribed on the notebook. Olivia felt a tinge of embarrassment; it seemed corny out of context.
“It’s a quote from—”
“Cool Runnings?” said Haruki in recognition.
“Yeah,” Olivia said, pleasantly surprised. “It’s my favorite movie,” she admitted.
“You’ve got to love an underdog story,” said Haruki, giving her the kind of smile that had created a fervent fandom of teenage girls.
“Well, I’ve got to go to training now… but I’ll see you around!” He walked away with a nod and one final smile.
Maybe shewouldsee him around? The summer that lay ahead of her seemed so rich with potential that it almost felt too good to be true. The sun was shining, and the Village was more stunning than she’d imagined it would be. There were busy officials with security lanyards and headpieces walking across the park with purpose, and energetic volunteers giving directions while holding up brightly colored signs. The energy was like the first morning of a festival, and for the first time in a long time, Olivia felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
6Olivia
ONE DAY BEFORE THE OPENING CEREMONY
She looked good, she felt good, and for the next two weeks, Olivia would be joining the Olympic International Relations and Diplomacy team as their summer intern. She looked down at her phone to check the time. She was an hour early; everything was going according to plan.
When she got to the first security checkpoint, she showed the guard her email confirmation. He checked her passport and then pointed her in the direction of the long line for the next security checkpoint. Her feet began to ache after minute five, she regretted wearing heels after minute ten, and debated going barefoot after minute eighteen. But it was her first day, and she had to make a good impression. She wasn’t going to be the girl who took her heels off in the middle of the Olympic Village. She just needed something to distract her from the pain. So, she opened LinkedIn and began to type.
@OliviaNkomo:I’m so excited to share that I have the honor of spending the summer working with the OOCas their summer International Relations and Diplomacy intern.
She attached the photo of herself standing next to the Olympic rings, then posted it, feeling a spring in her step as she walked to the final security checkpoint. By the time she got to the front of the queue, her mum, who had push notifications for her, had commented, “From Harare to Athens! Incredible! Sharing this with my students!” Olivia shook her head and laughed, knowing that a screenshot was probably already making its way through one of the many Zimbabwean auntie WhatsApp groups her mum was a part of. But, for once, she didn’t mind. Wasn’t every daughter of immigrants’ tale an underdog story?
“Welcome to the Olympic Village, please scan your QR code ID,” said the bored security guard from inside a glass booth. But Olivia didn’t have a QR code ID. She scrolled through her emails and searched through her spam, but there was nothing.
“What department did you say you were in again?” the security guard asked.
“International Relations and Diplomacy,” she said.
“Hmm, you’re not on that list. Are you sure you have the right department?”
Olivia reached into her bag to pull out her confirmation letter, but as she did so, something shifted. The security guard gave her a strange look, picked up his walkie-talkie, and muttered some incomprehensible words into it. Instantly, Olivia was surrounded by a group of very serious-looking men who began to lead her away from the gate, creasing her perfectly steamed suit in the process.
“Hey! What are you doing? Where are you taking me?” she said as they rushed her along. Her heels were already aching, but being marched along the cobbled pavement was making them even worse.
“You have not been cleared by security to be in the Village,” one of the guards said sternly. “And from the looks of it, this is a fraudulent confirmation letter,” he added, looking at her suspiciously.
“Fraudulent… what are you talking about?” she asked. Olivia had studied foreign imprisonment for exactly two weeks in her second year of university and decided that now was the time to advocate for herself.
“You can’t detain me without cause! You’ve got to read me my rights!” she said, unsure whether any of the things she was saying applied to security guards. “You don’t even have police badges.” But they continued to escort her in the direction of a discreet building just outside of the Village. As she protested, she noticed a group of volunteers glancing over at her and then looking away. As if making eye contact with her would incriminate them too. She was mortified.
The guards passed her over to a female guard who made her take off her shoes, hand over her belongings, and walk through yet another metal detector. She was relieved to be able to get rid of the heels for a moment, but was annoyed that they’d made her part ways with her phone before she could google what she was supposed to do in a moment like this.
They put her into an all-white windowless room and seated her in a chair nailed to the ground.Was this Olympic jail?she wondered.Did she need a lawyer? Was she about to be interrogated?She was mentally mapping out scenarios and trying to remember what she’d learned about foreign imprisonment, when the door opened and a tall, gangly man with a worried look on his face walked in.
“First of all, I’m really sorry that they detained you like that,” he said, sounding panicked. “I am an ally of the Black Lives Matter movement and…” Olivia did her very best not to roll her eyes; of course, this conversation was going to start with a disclaimer. She wanted to tell him to calm down and cut to the chase. But the man was on a roll.
“It’s never acceptable to detain a person of color without cause, and those guards do not represent the values of diversity and inclusivity at the heart of the Olympic Games and the OOC, and—” Olivia could already tell that he’d played out the PR disaster he would have to deal with if anything bad happened to her. But she really didn’t have the energy to comfort a white person who was so clearly looking for reassurance that she didn’t think he was racist.
“Could you just tell me what’s going on?” she said with a sigh.
