Out with the Friday night street crowd

BY NAOMI ARNOLD

Bridge St. 4am, Saturday.

"Time for us to go," says street ambassador Sally Wood.

We leave the fighting, the vomiting, the pashing, the discarded clothing and the screeching, and walk down a dark alley back to the street ambassadors' Halifax St headquarters.

"We never go down this alley any other time," says Sally.

At this time of the morning, there's not much left for them to do. She and five others have been out since 9.30pm, checking that fallen drunks are okay, flagging down taxis for lone women, and trying to defuse outbreaks of violence.

Rewinding through the past seven or so hours, it adds up to a pretty standard night out – some fights, minor dramas and lots of drunks.

Phat Club. 3.50am.

Two girls are fighting. Black stilettos are strewn over the pavement. A man stumbles past and kicks the shoes out of his way.

"Bitch!" one girl screams raggedly. "Give me my handbag!" She's falling out of her top.

A guy tries to separate them. "We're friends," she explains to him before launching back into it.

"Give me my f....n' handbag!" He picks up the stilettos and puts them on a ledge, then sits down and watches.

Sally tries to talk to them, but gives up. SAs can't physically intervene, and these two are violent.

Sticky Fingaz. 3.45am.

A guy – a boy, really – is clinging to a rubbish bin, retching his night into it. Again and again. His friend jumps around him, thrilled – as are those in the massive queue outside the burger bar.

"He's our sober driver and he's wasted!" yells his friend.

Heave, splatter. I have to turn away. "At least he made it into the rubbish bin," says ambassador Nikki Shaw. Sally walks up to them. "How are you boys getting home?"

The Dolls House. 3.40am.

A pack of guys are out on a stag, the groom dressed as Superman. They're playfully pushing each other around while a short woman in tiny tie-dyed shorts and high heels is coyly batting away the advances of several men.

A man in his late 40s leaves her; another propositions her; the original man comes back; she demurs. The boys wrestle on, in hysterics. Half of them flew out from Leeds, England just for the party.

"We thought we were going to Vegas but we ended up here," pants one.

A man with his shirt half-unbuttoned weaves past. "Hey! Got any condoms?" he asks ambassador Fili Koloamatangi.

"Yeah, but they won't be much use to you," Fili mutters as he hands a packet over.

Nelson police station reception. 3.15am.

We push a plastic bag of cannabis across the counter and give statements about an assault in Bridge St. I saw and heard the dull smack as the half-naked guy punched the kid in the red shirt in the face.

Fili saw him hit the pavement – I didn't. We head back to Bridge St.

Wakatu Hotel. 3am.

Fili finds a baggie of weed outside the pub. Following protocol, Sally tells her fellow SAs exactly what she's doing with it as we wander towards the police station to hand it in.

We meet a couple of cops on the way back out after dealing with two offenders they picked up on Bridge St for fighting. We show them the baggie.

"Oh great, we'll go around the corner and smoke it, eh?" jokes the shorter one. "There's a Nelson Mail reporter here!" Sally warns. We all have a laugh.

Rock Bar & Nightclub. 3am.

A woman and a man are in a passionate embrace outside the bar, tucked into a corner, perhaps thinking themselves invisible. Fili ducks off to give them a condom. The man disengages and takes the packet.

"Oh, sweet – thanks, bro." He pockets it and turns back to the girl, who giggles.

Bridge St. 2.45am.

We walk up towards Collingwood St, dodging drunks. A police car drives past. A dreadlocked guy is in the back seat with a cop sitting forward, on his right, talking urgently.

Bridge St. 2am.

A girl is wailing, wailing, wailing. "What am I going to do, Ari? What am I going to do? The kids, Ari! Five kids!"

Her partner, a guy with dreadlocks, has been taken away by the cops for fighting in Bridge St. He had strict bail conditions; he's breached them. Ari is one of her partner's mates.

"He's safe, he's safe now," Ari is saying.

"He's not safe! He's going back to jail! Youse were the ones that took him out! YOUSE!" Ari's trying to calm her down. Sally tries to intervene, but the woman is inconsolable.

She manages to shake Ari free, then goes and stands on the kerb, clutching herself, head down.

Sally talks to Ari, trying to urge him to go home. Ambassador Kay Guyton tries to start a conversation with the woman, who initially ignores her, then starts talking, anger alternating with tears. Kay listens, nodding.

"We deal with the nice elements and the police deal with the harder stuff," Sally says as Ari stumbles off.

Bridge St. 1.50am.

Two or three police officers are trying to subdue a guy with dreadlocks. He's drunk or on drugs, and desperately trying not to hit them – he's got his arms behind his back.

A woman is screaming at the police to leave him alone. "He's my boyfriend! Please!"

Fili and I watch from outside Stevens. "Don't do anything silly, please," Fili murmurs.

The man won't go, but he shouldn't stay. A policeman pushes him away.

"Oh, is that assault? What if I did that to you? Eh?" I don't see how it happens, but eventually the guy's arm is twisted behind his back, and he's cuffed and bundled, shouting, into a patrol car. It takes three officers to do it.

"I never disrespected you!" he yells.

"Please!" screams the woman.

"Quite entertaining, innit?" slurs a man in a white shirt, lolling on a nearby bench.

Bridge St. 1.45am.

Japanese jewellery makers and musicians Sada and Yuri have spread their wares on a green blanket. Yuri attaches a length of thread to her big toe and begins to weave. Sada is playing the drums with a member of the public.

We stand and listen – the beats and their flashing hands are hypnotic.

A bearded man in a black Metallica t-shirt with "Kill 'Em All" written on it is dancing, eyes shut and feet lifting delicately. Another couple stop to dance.

I stare at Sada's hands. The drumbeats throb on. I ask the jewellery makers if they ever get hassled or robbed.

"No," says Yuri.

"I think, I play music, music helps people relax," says Sada.

Across the road, a policeman takes a statement from a guy in a red shirt who has just been assaulted.

Bridge St. 1.30am.

One of the SAs' "regulars" has gone home and is no longer hanging around town with his mates.

"He just found out he's going to be a dad," says Kay. "I think he was a bit shocked."

"How old is he?"

"Seventeen."

On the corner of Bridge and Trafalgar Sts, a man of about 40 has collapsed on one of the cages that protects the street trees.

"Ah, I've had him before," Sally says. "He was comatose in a bush. We were ringing his wife trying to get her to come pick him up. Are you okay, sir? How are you getting home?" He can't speak or even lift his head.

Bridge St. 1am.

The guy in the red shirt is hopping mad – his mate's trying to calm him down and hold him back from going after the shirtless guy who attacked him. Sally walks up with a big grin.

"Gidday, guys, having a good night?" Out of politeness, they're forced to respond.

"Oh – yeah." They're steaming.

"It's not worth it," Sally says lightly. "Look, I've called the cops, they're on their way. It's over. It's not going to achieve anything. Just go home. How are you getting home?"

She talks for a few minutes more, and the boys start telling her excitedly what happened. "He was just really aggro, eh?" says one.

"Yeah, just real aggro and started hassling us and stuff," says the other.

Afterwards, Sally tells me that the shirtless guy who punched the one in the red shirt was probably on P, by the look of it.

"How can you tell?" I ask.

"Their eyes are huge. They're looking at people but not really looking at people."

Trafalgar St. 12.40am.

The radio chirps: "Yeah, there's a guy with no shirt doing a haka on Bridge St north," says ambassador Daniel Hawke.

We head up to take a look. As we turn into Bridge St, we see a shirtless guy in a half-crouch, hollering at Yuri and Sada, the jewellery sellers. They sit and watch, unperturbed.

The haka guy seems to get a bit more worked up, and in his fervour he steps on their blanket. When he gets too close, Sada stands up a bit and waves his hands over the blanket to ward him off. A few other people mill around.

When we're halfway up the street, Fili starts to run. I see the haka guy punch a boy wearing a red shirt in the face.

"WAIKATO!," he bellows at the sky. "WAIKATOOO!!" A guy with dreadlocks grabs him – whether to attack him or calm him down, it's hard to tell.

Community Groups Centre, Halifax St. Midnight.

Break time. We sit in the tearoom with instant noodles and cups of tea. All of the ambassadors – Sally, Kay, Nat, Nikki, Daniel, Fili – are interested in careers with young people.

With what they see every weekend, what do they think about the level of violence? They all grimace. It's hard to say.

"There used to be a lot more violence in town," Sally offers.

She hasn't had to deal with a fight so far this season, but "I've said all along that more police in the city would just push it out to the suburbs".

"Now they all go out to Richmond behind Pak'n Save," says Kay, who usually works in Richmond. "There was one night when there were brawls all night."

Part of the group known by the clumsy acronym HYPE-GS (Helping Young People at Events and their Gathering Spaces), the street ambassadors are now into their fifth year.

The Nelson City Council contracts them to "positively engage young people", and their work includes attending major events in the region to encourage safe partying.

There is much talk of building rapport, gaining trust, and safe choices.

Buxton Square. 9.40pm.

We thread between groups of young people, who see the bright orange vests and cry out "Condoms!" and "Lollies!".

"I only want lube!" yells one guy. "I never get laid, so I'm gonna go home and w...!"

We approach one group, and Sally asks them how their night is going. What are they up to tonight? Are they having fun? How are they getting home?

"I'm of age, I'm of age!" one drunk teen says.

"Got any lollies?" asks another.

"You guys are so cool! I love you!"

"Giz a lollipop!"

We walk past the Buxton Square toilets. A group of young kids gallop past on their way to Hardy St. Sally points out a few who have made trouble in the past.

Despite the ruckus, it's pretty quiet at the moment, she says.

"After break, about midnight – that's when it all starts."

- © Fairfax NZ News