And So It Ends

Nikom and his family got their new house today. Though I wasn't there in person, I know it was a very moving moment--for Nikom and his wife, who have greater hope for their children; for their children, who have a sturdier place to live; and for our team, who arrived 10 days ago, helped build a house from the ground up, and is about to leave.

Like most new homeowners, Nikom also has a mortgage. He needs to repay Habitat for the materials and the skilled labor needed to build his house. The terms are manageable, but they are still a debt. But he doesn't have to pay anything for the labor our team provided. That was our gift to him and his family. And to ourselves.

15 years ago two friends stood up at meeting and announced an ecumenical group was forming to help rebuild black churches. In the mid-90's, there was a rash of arsons of black churches in the Deep South, and groups were organizing all over the country to help rebuild them. I joined immediately. It was a disparate group religiously--mostly Jews and Catholics, a few Presbyterians, two Quakers, and one secular humanist (which I guess is a sort of faith.)

We journeyed to Johnston's Station, Mississippi to help rebuild the Rocky Point Missionary Baptist Church. The church had been burned down on the 25th anniversary of Martin Luther King's assassination. Two teen-age white boys from the community were arrested, convicted and serving time in prison. It was now time to help rebuild the church.

We went, we worked, and we found a new vocation--one that combined our interest in travel, meeting and connecting with other communities, and being of service.

Annually thereafter, many of us journeyed again to do the same. In alternate years, to El Salvador. In between, in Philadelphia, where most of us lived (I had quite ironically moved to Mississippi) and knew that people and communities needed us at home as well as abroad.

And then I discovered Habitat's Global Village program. I had worked on Habitat locally but had never known they had a global program, in 100+ countries, that combined my interests in travel, meeting and connecting, and serving. And so began the next iteration in my vocation.

Over the years, I've been on 15 Global Village trips. Taking me to places I couldn't pronounce or spell (Kyrgyzstan) or had a nomadic allure (Mongolia), to more typical places like Ecuador, Chile, Mexico and Guatemala, to Zambia with my long-time best friend, to India with my niece, and to other places as well.

In between, I also went back to New Orleans, a city I had grown to love (and still do) when we lived in Mississippi. We knew it pre-Katrina, and I wanted to be of service post-Katrina. And what better way, in the City of Music, than to participate in helping to build the Habitat Musician's Village in the heart of the upper 9th ward.

Eventually, after resisting for several years, I decided to volunteer to be a team leader. (I used to say I was in a 12-step program of recovery from management and was only in the 1st step.) I realized the Global Village trips only work when leaders step forward and volunteer, so I finally decided I had taken enough (11 teams as a participant) and it was time to give back (as a team leader.)

And it was what I expected it would be---a different experience. I was management rather than participant. I had to hold back and manage, forming the team, informing them, managing team dynamics and workplace issues (amazingly enough, they exist on a volunteer work site!), etc. And I grew to realize that the fun/not fun quotient was declining, as it did for me when I was working for money. While some of the same aspects were present (travel to fascinating places, connecting with "real" people that you simply can't do when you're a tourist, being a traveler rather than a tourist as one team member said), it was beginning to seem more like work and less like fun. And while I still always derived some of the same pleasures, I had to do them through others and their stories, rather than directly. Sort of like through my "students" rather than directly. But I wouldn't trade any of this--even my most challenging experiences--for anything.

And so, after 20+ build trips, to 17 countries on 5 continents (I've missed Antarctica, "and don't forget Australia."), it is time for me to find a new vocation.

My rear car bumper has an array of flag decals from the countries where I've built. With the latest decal from Thailand, the bumper will be full. Some time ago Anne asked "what will you do when the bumper's full--get a new car?" No, I'll get a new vocation.

Thailand: Nikom

Team up bright and early, ready for our first day at the job site. Hop in unique wildly colored open-air Thai vehicles, drive out to the outer edge of the city (land's always cheaper there), down a lane, and stop. Brief welcoming ceremony, primarily introductions of Habitat staff, ourselves, and Nikom, the owner of the house we'll be building.

Nikom is a 41-year old Thai, married with three children. He was there with his wife and youngest child, the other two being already in school. He is a junkman--finding valuable (i.e. marketable) waste around his immediate neighborhood and selling it. Recycling before it became big business. The family lives in a small house, shared with another family. The "house" is shelter, but only that--impermanent walls, corrugated metal roof, dirt floor.

Like most parents, Nikom hopes his children will have a better life. So some of his income goes to school fees for them. The government pays the basic costs of education, but parents have to pay for books, supplies, school uniforms, etc. His father has given him some land on which he can build a better house. But with his modest income, the costs of children, etc. he can't get far. And so he applied to Habitat Udonthani, qualified, and was selected. And today, a team of 16 arrived from America, Bermuda, Canada and Hong Kong to help him build his house.

The house already was started--the support columns were in place, the metal roof already forming a welcome canopy from the sun and any rain. This is a first for me--it has always been the opposite. The roof has always gone on last. (And I was just a little disappointed, since I especially love to do roofing.)

The house is the typical Habitat Global Village house. About 18 x 18 (a little smaller than a typical 2-car garage), divided into four equal rooms, with metal-frame windows and doors. It also has an appendage for the toilet (a first in my experience!) which will connect to a small septic tank we have to dig and line with concrete block.

Lunch each day is prepared by local women, brought to the build site, and eagerly consumed by all. Real Thai food, cooked by real Thai women, in their simple homes. No stainless steel appliances, Viking stoves, island kitchens, etc. Cooking pots, fires, and skill.

Our task for Days 1 and 2 was to tie together the re-bar, put the forms in place for the ground beam, mix and pour the concrete for the beam, dig the hole for the septic tank, and leave. We did all of that, and finished ahead of schedule on the 1st day. Impressive. Even they were impressed. Neighbors watch. Nikom comes home from work. And smiles.

Day 2 came, put soil back in the rooms to prepare for the eventual poured concrete floor, carry block and brick, mix concrete, and lay the first five courses (rows) of the walls. Again, accomplished this in one day, scheduled to take three. Nikom's oldest son (11) joins us after school, pleased to learn a new skill, proud to be able to help build his house.

Day 3 came, more concrete-mixing and block-laying, this time on some scaffolding (not OSHA-approved, but better than many I've seen elsewhere. And climbed.) Two walls completely finished. Window and door frames installed. Not supposed to happen until Day 6. Our scheduled Saturday half-day of work is cancelled, for obvious reasons. A full-day trip to Laos is substituted. Nikom's wife, all smiles, joins in on the work as well.

Day 4 came, continue to build walls, leaving little left to complete the walls. Ahead, after the weekend, we'll level the dirt floor in all four rooms, then (with the merciful aid of a rented cement mixer) have a marathon of concrete making/pouring/leveling of the floors. And the house will be finished, we will have a dedication ceremony, and we will leave.

And Nikom and his family, and especially his children, will have a safe, solid secure home to live in--and to do their homework.

Poland: Two Women

Alexandra and Magda are two attractive young Polish women. Probably in their 30's (everyone's young as far as I'm concerned.) They are social workers, have been working with the homeless population. There used to be two shelters for homeless women in this area. One was forced to close--didn't meet fire safety regulations, and either couldn't (or didn't want to) come up to code.

So Alexandra and Magda started a foundation. Began searching for a place and money. Operating money can come from the government. But not for the building. Found this building, which needed substantial renovations, but had no credit to be able to borrow the funds to renovate it. Partnered with Habitat, and together, their vision is (closer to) becoming a reality.

They have come each day to the build site. Big smiles on their faces as they see the progress we have made. Still major hurdles ahead--the leaking roof requires much money, they don't know where it will come from, etc. But still they smile. Have energy. And dream.

They came again today, our last day on the build. Lots of smiles, many pictures, and a few glistening eyes. We've finished 5 bedrooms, done some major demolition work in the basement bathroom, and scraped and painted an incredible number of window frames. And had a lot of fun along the way.

I came back to Poiand to see what 46 years have brought to them. Soviet era the last time, EU and NATO membership this time. Some of the changes are very obvious. It feels much more like a Western European city than it did in the 60's. People seem to be more open, more relaxed. They can travel freely throughout all of the EU. And do. They are more affluent (generally) and don't have to fear criticizing the government or wonder who's reporting them.

And some changes are less obvious. More economic insecurity, giving rise to homelessness. And much more income inequality. Giving rise to people like Alexandra and Magda--the opportunity for them to create a vision, start a foundation, and meet the need of those left behind. Like Mother Eva did more than a century ago when she started the orphanage whose building we worked on.

Mother Eva was rich. She used her family's wealth to help others. Alexandra and Magda are rich in another way. And their vision and energy will create new hope for others. And a rich opportunity for people like me to get to know them just a little bit.

My "adventure" travel began in Poland 46 years ago. My return completes that circle. For now. Time to head home.

Poland: The War & Holocaust

Most conversations with Poles include references to The War (and it's always spoken of in that way--capitalized.) And of course for them, the reference is singular since it's the only war that truly has mattered.

I think about this when I encounter Poles of my vintage as I'm walking around. Thinking about their life history, as I understand it, compared to mine. They were born during, or perhaps a little before or a little after, The War. They may have some very early memories of it affecting their family, their home. Or they just may have memories of their early years, say when they were kindergarteners, hearing their parents talk about it. They may have grown up with the sounds of machine guns, artillery, planes flying overhead, perhaps bombs (if they lived in other parts of Poland, further from the concentration camps.)

And then the end of The War came. Their families may have moved (or been moved forcefully) to or from another part of the country as the national boundaries changed. Or they may have stayed in the same village but changed nationality (German to Polish, or Polish to Russian.) Regardless, there must have been a feeling of some relief as the active battles ended, soldiers came home, families reunited (or not).

And the Soviet era began. Stalin's ruthlessness was expressed in Poland as well, and affected their family's life. And theirs. It changed what was taught in school--Russian rather than German--and what could be expressed. It restricted their religion, their travel, their thought. They grew up being far more cautious, more circumspect in what they did/thought/said and whom they did it with.

And Stalin died and there was an easing of the repression. But only an easing, not an end. They finished their schooling and went to work. The economy was closed, the state was all powerful, and there was security in that. There was a public security net holding up everyone at a very low level and a ceiling limiting anyone (except party members) from getting too far ahead. This was Poland in the 60's, the last time I was here.

They came of age in the 70's and 80's, had their children, raised their families in a country that was gradually opening up. They watched as the world became more open and envied what they were seeing/hearing. A few took leadership, at great personal risk, in such things as the Solidarity movement. But most (and I would be one of these) laid low, kept their heads down, and hoped things would get better for their children's generation.

And then the 90's and 00's. Great opening up politically. Boom/bust/boom/bust economically. Individual freedom coupled with decreasing economic security as the public safety net fragments just as they're reaching older age. Their children embracing the political, economic and intellectual freedom that globalization brings. Some of their children emigrate to other EU countries because of economic opportunities, then return during the bust when those opportunities disappear. Disillusionment about the glories and benefits of globalization and what lies ahead for their children, and their grandchildren. And even for them.

And the Holocaust, much of which occurred on their ground. To some of their people. And to virtually all of their Jewish countrymen. And to thousands of others from all over Europe.

I expect there isn't anyone of my generation who has not had a family member or very close friend killed or wounded in The War or the Holocaust. It is a constant memory and reference point.

Through all of this, I lived in a very different world. The War was historical, not personal or visceral. Postwar meant Cold War, Red Scare, communist under your bed, bomb drills at school (crouch under the desk), homemade bomb shelters and sermons on "should you share your shelter with your neighbor?", the unleashing of economic opportunities for my generation in the 60's when everything was possible and we dominated the world and had it all. We have experienced none of the deprivation, insecurity, or limitations that our generational counterparts felt in Poland. Or the displacement, politically, intellectually, or geographically.

And for me, the Holocaust is also historical, not personal. We toured Auschwitz and Birkenau today. The weather was appropriate to the occasion---penetratingly cold (50's), wind-driven rain at 45 degree angle, leaden sky, and most of the 3+ hour tour outdoors.

I remember visiting here before, in the 60's. I felt humanistic horror at the venality of humans to other humans. This time in addition, I was also cognizant of my German heritage and the fact that my cultural ancestors were capable of perpetrating this.

Despite having been here before, and despite having been to the Holocaust Museum and Yad Vashem Museum in Jerusalem, there is nothing that prepares me for the scale and scope of Auschwitz and Birkenau as they have been preserved. I remembered things from before but saw many more today. And this time, I paid more attention to the conditions for the living-while-dying (since virtually no one left alive.)

There is the "standing room" at Auschwitz. A small space, entered by crawling through a small opening at floor level. People who were being punished were crammed together in the standing room--4 or 5 in the size of a telephone booth--and had no choice but to stand all night, then work their 11-hour shift, then go back to the "standing room"....for days or weeks on end.

And the "dark room" at Auschwitz. A small room, completely devoid of any light, where 30-40 people were crammed together for days or weeks, some of them suffocating because of the close quarters, as punishment for violating some rule (perhaps sharing some food they found, or helping another prisoner, or anything else the guard didn't like.)

And at Birkenau, the sleeping barracks, using the design of a stable for 52 horses, where 800-1000 people "slept" on triple-stacked wooden pallets were the. 6-8 people lay on each pallet, crammed together so tightly, like packaged hot dogs, that it was impossible for anyone to turn over. The top "bunk" was preferred; human waste flowed down because of "accidents" during the night from people with disease or simply those for whom the scheduled two 5-7 second visits to the bathroom each day (one every 12 hours) were not enough.

I need space, light and the ability to move. These images make my heart pound and leave me gasping for air.

The War and the Holocaust can never mean to me what they mean to Poles and Jews. I did not experience war in my village, the loss of family members or friends. I did not face death solely because of my ethnicity and the desire of a world leader to wipe my people off the face of the earth.

But by listening, looking and living here briefly, I get just a little hint of what they mean. And how privileged my life has been, in so many ways.

Happy Independence Day. It is good to be able to return to scraping and painting.

Poland: Project Miscellany

One of the challenges of Habitat projects is having enough work for everyone, of different types, with sufficient materials and equipment. This is particularly true when we are building a small house, in a severely underdeveloped country, with little or no access to conventional building materials and where the construction is necessarily sequenced--you can't lay the foundation until you dig it, lay the block without the foundation, etc.

This project has less of a problem with this than any I have been on. Since the building is huge, there is less of a sequencing problem. At this stage, the work is all interior, making weather a non-issue. And most of the current work is painting the 20+ rooms, which involves sanding, priming and painting. And painting all of the countless windows, which involves scraping decades of paint off them, then painting them. And a little demolition work, for those wanting to do some "real" work. So there's no chance of running out of work, for not having a little choice of things to do and to be able to vary it, etc.

Materials are also not a problem. We seem to have plenty of them available, with a foreman who is very on top of his job. Piles of sandpaper, buckets of paint which he mixes, etc. And sufficient equipment (brushes, brooms, etc.), including a sledgehammer for demolition

Of course, we don't find all the equipment that many of us are accustomed to when we are at home or at Habitat in the U.S. Which always leads to teams saying "let's go get... and donate it" (as well as using it while we are here.) This then leads to the experience of going to the local shop(s), discovering what little is available, and making do with less.

This is also not a problem here. We compiled a list of desired items, then stopped at the Casterama on our way to the job site this morning. This is the local equivalent of Home Depot/Lowe's. Part of a European chain (one of about 5 similar chains that are all over Europe, including Poland.) We went in, sparkling new and clean, everything you could think of probably (including a vending machine for espresso, lattes, etc.) I asked Michal how long it has been here. "Seven years." When did Poland join the EU? "Seven years ago." A visible consequence of the EU, with clear benefits and less clear costs.

So we bought about $200 worth of stuff. A shop vac, a ladder, paint brushes, drop clothes, extension cord, etc. etc. Showed up at the site with all of this. Foreman took one look and exclaimed "for me?" When told yes, he just beamed. And walked around fondly admiring his new "toys" (as he referred to them.) We are making great use of them, and they will be used by other teams that follow us.

But what we are missing is the sense of completion. When we're building a home, we (sometimes) actually complete it during our time. Or at least, come close. But we will only have done a little on this project, leaving much for following teams of volunteers.

And the engagement with local people. Other than our foreman, it is just us and Michal (our Habitat guy.) No families, no kids hanging around, no villagers. I miss this. It's always been one of the distinctive and most beneficial parts of these trips. I often think that it is the most important part of the experience, since it is what changes me (and perhaps, them) most. And we won't have it. More of a problem for those for whom this is a first time, but even for people like me, a bit of a disappointment.

When I propose leading a team, I do not have a choice of project. Only (occasionally) of specific location (though that can, and has, changed at the last minute.) I am glad to be here, and the work we are doing is important to some of the least of Gliwice. So I set aside my own "it's all about me" and embrace the opportunity I have to be here, experiencing it all.

I have occasionally used the term "undermined" in its figurative sense. I have never thought of it in its literal sense. This area is a major coal mining region for the last centuries. The building was built in 1905. Since then, coal mining has been done underneath it. So the ground has subsided some, the building is no longer on solid/even ground. So one of the first tasks was to stabilize it by inserting iron beams running through it in a cross hatch fashion. The building is now stable, no longer suffering from having been undermined. (Wish I can say the same for myself in my earlier administrative life.)

When we bought our first house, we wanted to change the color of the living room and dining room. A good friend was a professional painter. We could afford him for the living room, but not the dining room. So one Saturday, I took on the dining room. Spent endless hours painting the ceiling, still more doing the walls. Sometime later, John came on a weekend to do the living room. I watched as he did the ceiling, swinging the roller from a long pole with long smooth swipes across the ceiling. He did in minutes what took me hours. I have always since admired the skill of a trained, experienced craftsman.

I thought of this as I was doing some roller swinging in the rooms. First the primer coat, then the finish coat. Have the long pole like John had. Have the body rhythm swinging it, similar to John. Didn't have his skill, but certainly had greater facility with it than I did so many years ago. I hope he would be pleased with his student.

John also taught me there was no shame in dripping paint. The only shame was in not cleaning it up afterwards. I did the former, and the latter.

Supermarkets are a novelty for me on these trips. Never had them before. Here, one is about 2 minutes from the guest house where we're staying, and another about 2 minutes' walk from our job site (both the same chain--and yes, it's a European chain, and yes, it came since Poland's entry into the EU.) Went there yesterday to buy some fruit and other stuff for us at the site--we have lunch delivered, but we want fruit, cola, and cookies for snacks. Went there again this morning for more of the same. Oh, and a freshly baked chocolate croissant, still warm. Paris patisseries don't have to worry, but it was a very good non-French-bakery croissant. Don't remember this being an option 46 years ago.

Gliwice isn't a tourist city. But it has 3 attractions (or so we're told.) One is the university where we are staying (30,000 students, the 2nd largest and best polytechnic university in Poland, established in 1946); a former silver mine; and a radio station where The War (which is how it's referred to) started in 1939. Michal tried to get us interested in going to the silver mine. No takers. Fortunately, he didn't ask us whether we'd like to see where The War started. Instead, we simply stopped there on our way back from the site. It's a radio station tower ("the largest remaining wooden tower in the world") where a confrontation between Germans and Germans-posing-as-Poles took place in 1939. And "The War" ensued. It's a beautiful place, beautifully kept. And clearly very meaningful to Poles. I'm glad to have been there. And to not have had the opportunity for the team to veto visiting it.

Poland: The Other

Kasimierz is the Jewish district of Krakow. It was established (I think) in the 1300's by King Casimir. He wanted to stimulate economic development of Poland and welcomed the Jews who at that time were migrating out of western Europe (probably because they were unwelcome, but I'm not sure of my Jewish history.) The area was adjacent to Krakow but physically separated by a channel of the Vistula River, which encircles most of Krakow.

Several bridges connected Kasimierz to Krakow which at that time was completely surrounded by the city wall. The district flourished over the next seven centuries. Synagogues built, cemeteries established, markets developed, money made. It is said that King Casimir was known as "King of the Jews" (but I'm sure not by the Jews.)

And then came the holocaust. At the outbreak of WWII, Poland had the largest Jewish population in the world--3.5 million. The holocaust killed 90% of them. Of that total, about 65,000 came from Krakow/Kazimierz itself. Today, there are 130 Jews living in Krakow. And since the fall of Communism in 1989, the Kasimierz district has been the "hot" place to regentrify. Lots of restaurants, clubs, etc. Lots of money pouring in to rehab the buildings, 6 of the 7 synagogues have become museums rather than being active synagogues. And the cemeteries exist to receive the bodies of Jews from elsewhere.

We had a fascinating guided tour of the district with a very knowledgeable guide. We started at one of the cemeteries. Beautifully maintained, quiet, filled with poignant monuments (some in Hebrew, some in Polish, some in German). I found it surprisingly emotionally overwhelming. I don't know why, I just did.

Krakow is in the southern part of Poland--a broader area known as Upper Silesia. It's a geographic area that has been part of various countries/empires over the last few centuries. At times Czech. At other times Austro-Hungarian. At still other times German. Or Russian. And very occasionally, Poland. Some families have lived here through all of that time. Gliwice, the city where we are living and working, was established in the 1300's and has lived through all of that time. There's a beautiful church in the center, built (I think) in the 1500's/1600's. Someone asked "did Poles build it?" and realized it was a difficult question to answer. Who was in power at that time? Were the people living there German? Czech? Austrian? Russian? Polish? Or just people?

Our project is working on renovating a building that was an orphanage. Built in 1905, it was started by the daughter of a wealthy family who felt called to minister to the poorest of the city. It is a beautiful old building--stone, high arched windows, beautiful wood beams, and perhaps 20 rooms arranged around a large open room. At some point, the orphanage closed and the building was abandoned.

Homelessness was not a problem during the communist era. If someone was homeless, the government identified a family whose house was larger than the "allowed" size for a family of their size. The homeless person was then assigned to that house.

But with the fall of communism, homelessness developed. Two shelters were built in Gliwice, but for reasons unknown to me, one of them closed recently. But the homeless didn't close. Two young women formed a foundation to open a new shelter, including providing a full array of services to women and their children to help move them back into society. At some point, it became evident that the former orphanage was available, the foundation took it over, is now partnering with Habitat to complete the conversion. By year's end, it should be open, able to house 20+ women and their children. It is good to be part of this work.

I have never been part of "the other." (Well, except when I was in a class of 17 black women, 2 black men and me intensively discussing Toni Morrison's "Beloved" for a week.) I don't think I'd do well.

Poland: Then & Now

Lots can change during the 46 years between my visits to Krakow. And some things don't. A few initial comparisons:

Then: Flew for 23 hours from Hartford to Copenhagen with refueling stops at Gander, Shannon ["look at that empty fuel gauge"], and London. Breakfast, then a few hours cycling around Copenhagen. Then overnight train to East Berlin, war-damaged buildings remaining, breakfast in a grubby cafe with surly waitstaff, attempt to take a picture of The Wall running through Brandenburg Gate without getting arrested by the Gestapo, another long train ride to Warsaw and finally, Krakow. Now: Flew for 14 hours from Raleigh to Krakow, with plane changes in Washington and Frankfurt. Only "refueling" was me--in the McCafe in the Frankfurt airport (my new best friend since it's the only eating place I can find in that airport other than one that specializes in duck.)

Then: One of the ways the Soviet era controlled its citizens was making their currency worthless outside the country. So unless you could (somehow) get "hard" currency, you couldn't travel. The "official" exchange rate was 4:1 (zlotys to dollars.) The "tourist" exchange rate was 24:1. The "dining table rate" (leave dollars on the dining room table at night, find zlotys at your place in the morning) was 80:1. And the "street" rate was 100:1 (unless the zlotys were counterfeit or the seller was police and arrested you for illegal currency transactions.) Now: Exit the plane, find an ATM, insert my bank card, take out zlotys. (There still is a "street" business, but I'm not sure why.)

Then: Sent hand-written(!) letters to family and friends. Written on thin, lightweight paper (postage was expensive) in tight cramped printing/writing (I failed cursive.) Take to the post office, send "air mail" and arrives 5-6 days later in the U.S. Now: Typing on my netbook, in my hotel room, when finished hit "send", and in microseconds, "you've got mail."

Then: Wander around the Market Square in the Old City part of Krakow. Cloth Hall in the center, centuries old building lined inside with shops. Ringed by stalls and vendors selling all manner of things--flowers, meat, produce. Basilica on one side, clock tower in middle that chimes the hour. At noon, large mechanized figures emerge to trumpet mid-day. Now: Wander around the Market Square in the Old City part of Krakow. Cloth Hall in the center, centuries old building lined inside with shops. Ringed by stalls and vendors selling all manner of things--flowers, meat, produce. Basilica on one side, clock tower in middle that chimes the hour. At noon, large mechanized figures emerge to trumpet mid-day.

Some things don't change.

Krakow is a beautiful old city. Once the capital of Poland, a major university center (Copernicus studied here). Largely saved from bombs during WWII because it was too close to the concentration camps. (I guess we knew they were there.)

The Old City was surrounded by the city wall, which they turned into a delightful green space that now surrounds the city. Leafy trees, flowers, grass, benches are much nicer than walls.

I don't remember there being a McDonalds or Hard Rock Cafe when I was here. There is now. I don't remember any shopping malls, either. Now there's a modern 7-story one alongside the train and bus stations. And all sorts of shops with international names (Diesel, Cardin.) And lots of sidewalk cafes, coffee places, gelato stands, etc. None before.

Then: A Soviet-era city. Now: A European city.

Haitia: Riotous Living

So I settle into my bed shortly before 10 (yah, I know, but after working all day in the hot sun, and with two rums, 10 would have been too late). The whir of the generator goes silent at 10, leaving me to experience one of my roommate's snoring which is totally indescribable and incredibly loud. Lying there and around 10:30 or so, hear some rising sounds of voices in the tent camp. Sound angry, with rising decibel level and what sounded like anger even though I don't know any Creole. Continues for a while, then several “pops” and I'm thinking “gunshots?” Louder and louder voices, a sense of a gathering crowd in the tent camp. Around midnight, Michael, our on site coordinator who is one of the Bishop's sons, comes down the hall and asks us all to leave our rooms and go to a “safe(r)” room somewhere else on the same floor. So we do.

About this time, the sound of rocks being thrown in the camp. With an occasional ping as they hit the walls of our building. “Just misses” I think—they're not throwing at us, just bad throws. About 12:30, Michael comes into our room and apologizes and says we will need to stay there for the night and sleep on cots they will bring us. And stay quiet, and stay away from windows overlooking the camp. “It's a gang fight between Block 8 and Block 10.”

Growing noise, sense of a crowd getting larger, beginning to chant something. More stones, and rocks, and an occasional “pop.” About 2 our leader talks to the Bishop who reports he has called the American Embassy to report that 19 Americans are in his compound and there is a “disturbance” in the camp. We don't feel consoled by this news.

Meanwhile, one of our team members is taking many photos—of us, of the camp, of the disturbance, each with a flash going off announcing our presence on the 2nd floor. We urge her to stop, and she does.

Police have been called, arrive, and take matters into their control. Which involves arresting Michael (we see him spread-eagled on the courtyard, then handcuffed and marched away, along with all of the security guards who are guarding our compound.) This does not strike us as good news.

Things become quieter...for a little while. Then, the crowd begins to reassemble, and the rocks resume, this time clearly aimed at our building and the iron gate that separates us from them. Our security officers have left—they were taken away by the police---as have the police. We see some of the camp members climb over the while and bang at the gate, then come into the courtyard below and try to get into the room below us where construction materials are stored. One remaining security member is with us. He drops a concrete block, attempting to hit one of the people trying to break in. Misses. The police are called, they return, and around 4:30, calm is restored. The sun is rising, the camp becomes quiet, I actually fall asleep for an hour for the first time that night. The rums have worn off, the camp order has been restored, and a mini-riot has been put down.

Strangely enough, for reasons I do not know, I never felt afraid. Others did, and any reasonable person might have. But I didn't.

In the morning, after breakfast, Johnny (another of the Bishop's sons) comes to brief us. Turns out the tensions in the camp have been rising significantly. There is a law in Haiti that anyone who allows someone to be on their property for more than a year is then responsible for them—and if they evict them, they can do so only if they make suitable arrangements for them. With the 1 year anniversary of the earthquake, residents of the camp have been informed that some will need to leave, and some have. But to what? They can't go to another tent camp, they have no means of support, they have no way of securing alternative housing even if it existed. So their fear, anxiety and frustration is evident, and directed at Grace—their landlords and the property owner. And we are residents of the Grace compound—collateral damage, I think, would be the term if something happened to us inadvertently.

The question became what our next step would be for us—stay? Leave? Move? An open discussion followed, options examined and considered. A couple of us (me included) felt okay about staying at Grace for the rest of the week. Many more wanted to stay and continue working, but only if we could move to another place to live. And a few simply wanted to leave for home immediately. It quickly became clear the only real option for the group was to locate another place to live—like the Auberge de Quebec, our new best friend. And so it was decided—most of us would go to the work site, 4 of us would leave for home, and Fuller would make arrangements for us to live elsewhere, perhaps the Auberge if it was available.

And it was—at least, sufficient rooms that we could make it work. So we returned from work, settled into our new digs (warm water, ceiling fan, some rooms with A/C, a swimming pool we could now use, and a bar) and reflected on our 18 hours from the last time we sat here.

I remember a decision I made at Millsaps, as we prepared for Y2K. Our security director asked me “do I protect people or property?” I looked puzzled. He said “when everything breaks down, people will surge toward the campus. Do I shoot them and protect the college's property?” I said “don't shoot, Wayne. People come first.”
In the immediate aftermath of the earthquake, the Bishop faced a similar choice. He had open property, and people desperately needed a safe place to camp. He chose people over property. And continued to do so, knowing the 1-year deadline would be approaching. And as it arrived, he is trying to retrieve his property—needed to continue the work he was doing for his people. Now he is forced to choose between people—those encamped, and those who would be served by his initial vision.

He is tending a powder keg. One that can go off at the slightest spark. As it did Tuesday night, when one security guard (Big Baby, who met us at the airport) got into a dispute with another security guard, pulled his pistol and shot him in the arm. And the keg was lit, and an explosion followed. We emerged safe. Others less so—several camp members were wounded, some had their tents intentionally destroyed, and revenge against the shooter is promised.

Meanwhile, I sit by a pool, looking out at a beautiful sea, write this using my netbook and wi-fi to send it to you. And return to my screwing on the roof.

Haiti: Screwing on the Roof

The major push this week is to complete the first duplex (of 63 planned.) Fuller Organization dignitaries are coming Friday, and “it would be good” if they saw a finished house so they could be part of the dedication and key ceremony (complete, no doubt, with photos....of them.)

First essential item of business: putting the roof on. The materials arrived yesterday, as planned. Safely put away. First thing this morning, we muled them down to the site—about 200 yards from the storage unit. Up goes the designated roofing assistant (me), poised with battery-powered drill for screwing in the corrugated roofing sheets. Roofing master (boss Fritzner) is there. We look around.....no screws. (For reasons I don't know, we're screwing the sheets rather than nailing them to the trusses. Can't figure whether this is a Fuller thing, or what, but it is “VERY IMPORTAN T”.)

Phone call made to someplace. Then to another. Then to another. Looking for screws. Finally, apparently find a place. Off goes the truck. Some time later, another call....no screws there. More phone calls (thank goodness for working cell phone service!), finally locate the screws. “About 1 ½ hours and they'll be back.” Turns out that's Haitian time---truck finally returns....about 1:30. But with a big box of screws!

Up goes the master and his assistant, and in our remaining time, we were able to roof ¼ of the duplex. Mule the materials back to the storage unit. Still, looks promising for finishing roofing tomorrow...if we are able to recharge the batteries of the drill, of course.

Each unit of each duplex is one room, 10X20, with a front and back door, and a small porch in front and back. I'm told Haitians only are inside to sleep. Still, one room, the size of a 1-car garage, seems a bit limited. Still, with a solid roof (I think), solid walls, a poured floor, and windows and doors, it's a huge step up from living for the past year (at least) in a tent.

Much discussion pre-trip about mosquito netting—did we want it, did we need it, etc. My fear of being smothered by falling mosquito netting while sleeping far outweighs my responsiveness to mosquito bites, so I am a definite “no” on that subject. Two of my roommates, however, put up very nice mosquito nets. So nice, I think all mosquitoes simply looked at it and figured “nothing here.” Have only seen one mosquito in my room so far—floating, dead, in my water glass.

Room is quite spacious—easily enough for the five beds and a couple of dressers. One plain light bulb, one outlet. Screened window looking out on Grace Village and beyond, the sea. Temperature in the room ranges from 82 at sunrise to 87 when we get back from the job site. At night, there's a constant layer of moisture while lying in bed.

Have caught a few glimpses of PAP as we go to/from the job site. It's a city of perhaps 2 million (or was), laid out pretty much along the sea coast. From a distance, the sea and sea coast look very pleasant—your typical Caribbean look. I'm told that up close, you'd see the sea was pretty well filled with garbage for perhaps 100 yards out.

Busy streets, filled with little stalls, people selling all manner of things, double-decker buses going past absolutely filled to the brim with people. Driving by horn is the norm as well. Hard to think of this place as a functioning city in any sense of that term. Don't know that it was before the earthquake, either.

After dinner, our first(!) excursion out of our compound, other than to the job site daily. Headed for the Auberge du Quebec, an up(per) scale hotel where many representatives of NGO's stay. Target destination: the bar. Down main streets, lined with street vendors, all vending by candlelight or lanterns. Many people strolling. Nice feel—an urban scene on a pleasant night. Turn off the main streets, on streets that are barely paved. Perhaps because of the earthquake, perhaps they never were. Evidence of rubble around indicating unfixed damage. Up a mountainside, arrive at the hotel. Looking for the bar (nicely situated around the swimming pool). After some discussion, allowed to sit in the poolside bar (which had already closed for the day) “if you don't put your feet in the pool.” We agreed (though I offered the idea that I'd put everything but my feet in the pool).

I've always looked with mild disdain at the rum & Coke option. Sort of for sorority girls, not for real guys. But was told that here, it was lots of rum, little Coke. So ordered. Sure enough, rum on ice in one glass, a bottle of Coke separate. Mix to your own preferences. A second order of rum (without the Coke—had plenty left) with a slight additional bit of Coke. Even nicer.

Slight buzz of two rums, a bit of Coke, headed back to the hotel, contemplating a pleasant night's sleep. Arrive to find the village unusually quiet—the quietest of the three nights we've been here. Peaceful sleep awaits.

2 Why's, 1 Because

Every trip, there is a moment when I ask myself (in a negative tone),

"why am I doing this?" It usually happens the 2nd or 3rd day in

country, when I'm still jet-lagged, haven't gotten into the rhythm of

the country, everyone's new, people are new, etc.

And then, always, comes a moment when I ask myself (in a positive

tone), "why am I doing this?"

I'm doing this for me. For the chance to visit countries I wouldn't

otherwise visit. To meet people like Kinfe, a fellow college teacher

and the visionary for the Debre Berhan Habitat community. And Wasson,

a young man with a thirst for learning that is unlikely to get slaked

because of where he was born, and to whom. And the women of the

community who cheerfully prepared lunch for us and 20-30 others, from

scratch, in a kitchen smaller than a garage, with no refrigeration, an

open fire, no vehicle, and no super market---and also newly baked

snacks twice a day for coffee time. And to become known by the woman

at the internet cafe who welcomes me each time I appear. To live into

the community just a bit, getting a sense of its rhythm and culture.

To experience the different, knowing that all too soon, it will be

back to the familiar. And oh yes, to work alongside families making a

dramatic improvement in their living situation, sharing a bit of my

time, my money, and perhaps most importantly, my presence.

Ethiopia is unquestionably the least developed country I've visited.

It has a rich history and culture, beautiful landscape that seems very

fertile for agriculture, a hard-working people that so far at least,

has not been afflicted by AIDS, without either the benefits or costs

of colonization. And yet, the global economy has left it behind. It

remains mired near the bottom of the bottom billion. Why?

Have begun returning to the 21st century. In Addis now, overnight to

Frankfurt, on to Toronto & Raleigh, home to Cary in time to make

chocolate mousse for Ethan's birthday (his request--the boy is

developing very nicely!) And to the family and the familiar routines.

This has been the best of the builds I have done, in every respect.

But there will be more--Haiti in April, Poland in June. (And if I'm

very, very lucky--Timbuktu with Nick Kristof.)

Until then.......

Building Community

Almishet received her new house today. I gave her the keys. We both smiled.

Five other families received their houses, too. No, we didn't "build"

six houses in our time. We worked on many more than that, at various

stages. But because there are so many under construction, there are

always some that are ready to be dedicated, which adds a nice touch

for the team.

We did many of the steps involved in building here--digging the

trenches for the foundation, filling in the floor with dirt and

tamping it down, weaving the eucalyptus bark to lash the eucalyptus

poles that make up the walls, applying the chika to the walls,

covering the exterior of the house with chicken wire (poultry netting

in Mississippi--"you Yankees sure are funny, asking for chicken wire

when everyone knows it's poultry netting), "painting" the interior of

the six houses using paint made of gypsum, water and animal glue

(don't ask), sifting the sand for the concrete floor.

There were some tasks we didn't do---digging the 10' deep hole for the

latrine and lining it with stone (did that--don't need to do it again,

thanks), breaking up the quarried stone for the foundation (did that,

too, before and definitely don't need to do that), framing the basic

house with no ladders--just climbing up poles and hanging on

(definitely don't need to do that), putting on the corrugated metal

roof (while roofing is my thing, this doesn't look all that

interesting.)

A few days ago, we visited the current homes of several of the new

homeowners. Rentals, in town, and much smaller than their new home

(hard to imagine smaller than 200 square feet, but they were) and with

shared kitchens. By comparison, these are McMansions. And theirs, of

course.

Each nation's closing ceremony is unique. This one involved the whole

Habitat community joining us for lunch, then gift-giving, a couple of

mercifully short speeches, dancing, and off to the dedications.

We also visited the Habitat homes of some of the "Vulnerable People."

This is unique to Ethiopia, as far as I know, and results from the

efforts of some people in Northern Ireland. There are many people who

are marginalized here, sometimes for physical reasons (leprosy,

blindness, physical disabilities), sometimes because the man has

died/abandoned the family. They resort to begging and are ostracized

from the mainstream of society.

Habitat works with the local service agency to identify families who

are in this situation, builds them a home at no cost to the family,

moves them into the home and makes them a part of the community. None

of this "you stay there, we stay here" thing---they become integral

parts of the community, send their kids to school, share

responsibilities in their community, etc., even as they continue

begging to make a living.

Habitat Debre Berhan not only builds houses; it builds community.

My Town

I've been in Debre Berhan now for a week. It's a town of about

70,000, was the capital of Ethiopia 500 years ago as well as the site

where (someone) The Left Handed slaughtered a bunch of people (and now

where John The Right Handed is writing.) Nothing left from the days

when it was the capital, and I don't think much has changed.

Main Street is the cross-country "highway," recently paved, that runs

across the country to the Eritrean border. Trucks travel along it,

but sufficiently infrequently that the road is usually used by

donkeys, horsecarts, and people (local advice: "walk in the street,

it's safer than the sidewalk.") And no cars.

Really, no cars. None driving along/through the city, and certainly

none in the city. (Okay, I've seen one--it's the hotel manager's, but

he's from Addis, which is sort of like saying "he's from Purley.")

People get around on foot or by taxi. There are two forms of taxis--a

swarm of tuk-tuks, which are basically enclosed golf carts; and

horsecarts (the lot for the latter is behind our hotel.) Kinfe, the

teacher who is also the head of the Habitat affiliate here, asked me

"do you have horsecarts in the U.S.?" No, I said. "They're really

very economical. There are 308 in Debre Berhan."

Main Street is pretty much lined with small shops, not much more than

storefronts with a counter. And the Petit Paris Cafe and Bar.

Electronics shops, a couple of produce stands, etc. On the street

corner, a couple of guys selling very recently available sheepskins.

Uncured, available with or without feet. (I didn't ask which was more

expensive.)

Went over to the street paralelling Main Street. It looks like a

movie set for an 19th century Western. Unpaved, lined with shops,

horsecarts going up and down, people walking, mostly in traditional

Ethiopian dress. Lots of butcher shops, each with meat hanging, none

with refrigeration. Saw a patisserie this morning---the first I've

seen. Between a butcher and a barber shop.

The ground floor of our hotel has several shops. A bakery (bread

only) next to the entrance, and a bar/butcher (odd combination) next

to it. Came back from work one day to find a steer teathered in the

yard. Inside the butcher shop the next day.

A wonderful pastoral scene by our build the other day. Horsecarts

passing by, men in traditional costume herding sheep or goats with

sticks, two men tossing hay with pitchforks, us using eucalyptus bark

to lash eucalyptus poles together to build a building around a

latrine, others of us throwing chika (mud and stray) to make the

walls. Straight out of the pre-industrial era.

I've gone in back in time. Except this isn't a theme park.

Festival Time

Timket is one of the biggest festivals in Ethiopia. It's a 3-day

event, centered on January 19 (January 11 on the Ethiopian calendar,

where it's also 2003--don't ask). So of course, we needed to include

it in our plan.

The occasion is comparable to Epiphany in the Roman Christian calendar

(January 12th), but instead of celebrating the arrival of the three

kings, it celebrates the baptism of Christ, complete with re-enactment

and sprinking of water on the devoted assembled.

The celebration includes three phases--the procession, bringing the

Ark of the Covenant (a replica of the 10 commandments) from each of

the 44 churches to a central point in Addis; a huge open air mass the

next day; and a reverse procession, taking the Arks back to the

individual churches.

We rode back to Addis on Tuesday, arrived in time to view the start of

the celebration. This includes processions from various corners of

the city, with people from each of the churches (Sunday school

classes, all in their matching dress; choral groups singing and

dancing, women along the roadside ululating, which I think is the

right word--a unique high-pitched sound repeatedly involving the

letter "l" that have only heard on African cd's), the priests ahead of

the Ark itself, which is "protected" by colorful umbrellas held above

it. Truly a unique and memorable sight.

The processions came from four directions, each coming into a circle

and then processing up to a huge hope field. The Arks then are

"guarded" overnight by the assembled priests.

At dawn the next morning, mass begins. We arrived shortly after dawn

and watched as people streamed in from all different directions,

joining many who had been their overnight. Many dressed in beautiful

religious finery, others just in finery, others just regular clothes.

Clearly evident that for many, this was a deeply moving religious

experience, one shared with family and friends.

Many of the churches had set up booths, complete with benches, where

their parishoners could rest. But the action was clearly out in the

open, as the sun rose higher, the day got warmer, and the religious

fervor increased. All watched over by soldiers with guns, standing

high above the festival grounds. We all had been patted down upon

entering, police on horses throughout--kind of took the edge off of

things.

Left just prior to the culminating event, had lunch, then rode back to

Debre Birhan. Along the way, encountered several other processions in

the small towns/villages we passed through.. Universal feelings of

happiness, joy, and religious fervor.

Couldn't help but think there is no such unifying experience for us in

the States.

Yesterday (Thursday) was the third day, a huge mass honoring St.

Michael, named because of the first miracle of changing water into

wine. Many of our family members were at the mass, so while we worked

the full day, we mostly had the work site to ourselves.

This was one of those experiences that make my trips so memorable for

me--the opportunity to see "real" people, gathered together, taking

part in something that I simply otherwise would not only not see, but

wouldn't even know about. What a pleasure it is to be able to do

this.

Back to work, now--festival time is officially over for Ethiopians as

well as us.

The Project

Time to talk about our project. We’re building in Debre Birhan, a community about 100 miles from Addis. Habitat’s been there for seven years, completed 340 homes. They have land for 500 more. Currently, 950 families are on the waiting list, approved but waiting for their houses.

The homes are simple and modest. Each about 200 square feet total, two rooms. Expansion possible by adding a kitchen later, as funds become available. Prospective homeowners must first work on other people’s homes for a specified number of hours before they can even submit an application. Then, after approved, they have to do the usual sweat equity.

Another interesting twist--the identify of the owner of each home isn’t decided until the home is finished. Then, there’s a lottery for determining which house goes to which of the eligible homeowners. So no one can do “better” work on building their own house, since they don’t know which house will be theres.

Another interesting twist---as part of the application process, they have to demonstrate a record of saving, setting aside funds to provide for the mandatory 5% at least down payment and the record of managing funds to be able to repay the loan. (Compare this to the no-money-down, no doc loans in the U.S.) So they really are working hard to build community and to build a corps of responsible homeowners.

Many houses currently under construction, in various stages of construction. So during our build, we’ll work on each of the phases. First task: digging the foundation, a trench 20” wide by 20” deep around the perimeter and down the middle for the room divider. With hand tools (pick and shovel.) All dove in quickly and we made great progress our first afternoon. Many local family members working alongside us. With sheep wandering around and bleating, an occasional donkey walking by carrying a load or pulling a wagon. Far cry from the world where I live. But beautiful scenery around, sunny breezy day, temperature in the 50’s. Hard not to enjoy this kind of life.

Today (our second) we switched to “framing” up the sides, which involves putting long thin poles of eucalyptus trees vertically, lashing them together by weaving long strips of eucalyptus bark in and around them, just like weaving a cloth. Easier work than picking/digging!

As usually happens, local workers quickly realize (a) I am taller and (b) I have gorilla-style arms, making my reach comparable to about a much taller person. So instead of having to go up on a ladder to help, I simply was able to stand there--much easier, and much less OSHA-concerning (you should see the ladders!)

Don’t know what the next steps will be, but know that we will be doing them in the days ahead.

My 2nd worst nightmare is getting stuck alone in an elevator. (My worst nightmare is going for the final exam in a class I’ve never attended and don’t know where it meets.) Elevator stops, doors don’t open. Breathe deep. Push other floor buttons. Nothing. Push down button, then up button. Nothing. Push alarm button. Nothing. Breathe. Eventually, hear voices outside, speaking German. Bang on doors. “Hallo, hallo!” Get a response. “We’ll call the elevator company.” Pause. Breathe. Pause. Breathe. Bang again. “Oh, forgot. I’ll call my brother.” Pause. Breathe. Eventually, voices prying the doors open, squeeze through. And don’t take the elevator again. (And still looking for where the class meets for the final exam.)

Nepal: Enjoying the Unexpected

Early on, I said my motto for my team was "enjoy the unexpected."  Having been on a number of previous teams, though not as team leader, I have had a range of "unexpecteds"--location changes, site changes, transportation snafus, difficulty getting supplies, weather challenges, personality conflicts, culturally inappropriate behavior by team members, etc.  So while the details might vary, the categories are the same.  For first-timers, of course, any or all of these could be real challenges.  Hence my motto.

But since this was my first time as a team leader, I expected there would be something unexpected---that even though it might have happened previously, I wouldn't have noticed it or known about it because it was handled by the team leader and the local coordinator.

So I had my first "unexpected", and I enjoyed it.

On all my previous builds, we never completed a house.  The houses were larger, so they couldn't be built in 8 build days.  So unless we were working on houses already under construction, we wouldn't finish.  

This time, we essentially built three houses from start to finish.  And that meant that at our farewell ceremony, we could have actual dedications.  And as team leader, I was expected to take an active role in the dedication.  Two unexpecteds rolled into one.

It was a moving experience, as you might imagine.  We pulled up to the build site.  The community was largely gathered already, matching chairs somehow obtained and set out for us.  The houses were decorated with prayer flags, banners, and other signs of celebration.  After a few minutes, we walked up the hill to the site of the smaller house.  There was a ribbon across the door, and as team leader, I was asked to say a few words to the family, cut the ribbon, and invite the home owner into her house.  With glassy eyes (both she and I), we did.  (Much later, as we were leaving, the man of the house made his appearance to thank us.  But he couldn't make the dedication.)  

I've always felt very emotional about the houses I've lived in.  Both the arriving and the departing are emotional experiences for me.  But I've always been fortunate to live in very nice, secure, safe homes.  Cannot fully imagine what it's like to finally be doing that yourself.  But I'm glad to have been a part of it.

The short (25 minutes) Yeti flight back to Kathmandu was an abrupt transition.  Flying at 11,000 feet, along the line of Himalayas much higher, fairly clear skies, beautiful lush green hills below, occasional clusters of homes into communities and villages.  From that height, the homes didn't seem small or simple.  All seemed very typical--the sort of thing I've seen flying over other places.  And then I noticed....no paved roads.  None.  

Hills ended abruptly and the expanse of densely-populated Kathmandu spread out.  Quickly descend to a very busy city of 2-3 million (depending on whom you believe.)  Visible pollution, extensive paved streets filled with vehicles, nothing green seen for miles.  Urban life as I've seen it so many other places only with a mountain backdrop.  But from the air, it doesn't look that much different.  It's only when you get on the ground, up close and personal, that you see the differences.  I continue to be appreciative for the opportunity to see those differences.

Dinner in a KTM restaurant known to be popular with trekkers.  Especially those who have successfully climbed Mt. Everest.  Totally by coincidence, at the next table was a large (12-14) group of people celebrating their achievement--a father, his 13-year old son, some Sherpa guides, their medical doctor, family members, probably some friends.  They summited Mt. Everest earlier this week.  The 13-year old is the youngest person ever to do it.  He has now scaled 6 of the 7 highest peaks in the world--the first when he was 9.  

Life is about experiences.  He and his family know that and choose to have experiences.  Though I wouldn't choose theirs, I applaud them for raising him that way.  Can't imagine what he'll do after 14.  Hope his obituary doesn't just read "scaled Mt. Everest at 13: youngest person ever."  But by all outward appearances, he's just a typical 13-year old California kid...who happens to climb tall mountains.

And so this adventure comes to an end.  Home beckons, after a little more KTM time and 30+ hours in the air.  And though this adventure ends, my journeys will continue.  Already recruiting a team to go to Bahir Dar, Ethiopia in January.  Until then, namaste.

Nepal: Soar Like an Eagle

Woke up this morning to a beautiful clear sky.  Great view of the snow-capped mountains from my bed.  A great day to soar like an eagle. 

So I did.

Paragliding is a very popular activity in Pokhara.  Cliffs to jump/takeoff from, mountains to create thermals, etc.  Attracts paragliders from all over the world, and people who want to paraglide with them.  So when in Pokhara.....

Begin with a ride up the mountainside in an open truck, twisting mountain "roads" (you should excuse the expression), to the parking spot.  Then, a 5-minute walk up a narrow path along the edge of the cliff, no guardrail, to prepare you for what's ahead.  Atop the cliff, overlooking the lake (far) below, mountains as a backdrop, eagles and hawks soaring above.  Harnessed up, since I'm flying tandem with a knowledgeable pilot (Patrick, from France.)  I ride in front ("the view is better for you"), he on my back, glider ready to inflate above.

Basic instructions: take several running steps to the cliff's edge, keep running until you're running on air. You'll feel the lift immediately, don't stop running, then when you're aloft, sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight. (Sounds like the usual flight attendant speech.)

For unknown reasons, I'm the first to go in the group.  Probably fortunate--means I didn't get to see what happens during takeoff.  At Patrick's command, start running.  Take a couple of steps toward the cliff edge, he says "stop."  Regroup.  Then, another attempt.  Take a couple of steps.  Then "stop."  Regroup.  Then, take a couple of steps, now running on air, and now.....we're flying.

It's really an indescribable feeling.  You're floating with the air, upcurrents, downcurrents, just like birds do.  Patrick is "steering" us to the best of his ability, but it all depends on the thermals and the wind currents.  The view is magnificent, the quiet is calming, but mostly, it's just the feeling of going with the flow.  Of the wind.  Literally.

One surprise was the constant motion--not for the weak of stomach, or even the strong.  (One of our guys asked to go down sooner.)  But in the wind, you're always swaying/rising/falling, so you're in constant motion.

At one point, as we were heading down into a jungle of trees, Patrick said "I'm not talking right now.  I'm trying to keep us in the air and have to find the thermals."  Fine with me--don't need my pilot to be a source of conversation.  Just fly the glider, Patrick.

Turns out the thermals were in an "unusual" pattern today, therefore difficult to find and fly.  Patrick said afterward "did you see the monkeys in the jungle? You had a real closeup view."  No Patrick, I was more focused on the treetops as we seemed to be approaching the side of the cliff.

A few more attempts to find some thermals and get higher, then he said we needed to land--a shorter trip than usual, for which he apologized.  Landing was easy, very smooth.

They talk about the  "unbearable lightness of being."  I thought of the "unbearable being of lightness."

One (overused) word: awesome.

Nepal: Mudslinging

Our last building task is "plastering" the interior walls and floors.  This involves mixing concrete (always), applying it to the walls, smoothing, repeat.  In my various journeys, I've seen it done in various ways, with various textures of concrete.  All end up the same--with smooth(er) walls which are cosmetically more attractive.  It's the sort of task that doesn't require much skill or training, just experience.

The Nepal technique of applying the concrete is to use a trowel to sling it against the wall and see what sticks.  (Concrete seems to be universally called "mud" hence the term "mudslinging.")  I've never mastered this, despite various attempts.  Can't seem to get the right flick of the wrist or something.  And this time was no exception--I didn't even try, having been frustrated many other times, watching other people succeed with their flicks while mine either plopped to the ground or never made the wall.

The good news (for us) is that several people quickly developed the right skill.  So mudslinging went very quickly and easily.  Others then learned the smoothing skills, while people like me kept to concrete-mixing, sand bagging, cement bag carrying, and other mule-like activities.

Before we began, though, one of our team members noticed the site didn't have a screed.  This is a long, straight smooth board, used for helping provide a uniform finish to the walls (and eventually, the floor.)  So on our way to the site, we stopped at a likely looking place to buy several.  No luck.  They couldn't quite figure out what we wanted.  Stopped at another place, same result.  Then decided to go next door, to a lumber shop, and buy some scrap pieces that would do the job.  Garry carefully sized up a couple of nice, straight suitable pieces.  The shop owner then hot-wired the sander and sanded them smooth and off we went, screeds in tow.

We made good progress our first day, in part because we mixed up another load of concrete before realizing it would require us to stay longer than planned to use it up.  But given the imperative to use all materials wisely, we stayed later.

Today, our second day of this, we finished up the walls and floors.  Since we were there, we also plastered the front wall of the larger house.  Turns out we are quite efficient overall, so we accomplished all the expected build tasks, plus a couple of extras, and in one less day of building.  So we decided to reward ourselves by giving us a free day.

House dedication will take place on Friday.  This will actually be my first time at a true dedication--I've never before been involved in actually completing a house.  And of course, it will also be our farewell gathering, a particularly emotional and poignant time for everyone--team members and local people alike.

Ten days ago we arrived at the site, which barely had any work done it except for the foundations laid out.  Today, we completed houses for three families--they will move in about a month from now, after the concrete has cured sufficiently.  Kind of remarkable, actually--take a group of 16 inexperienced but very eager people, put them together with a few local people, add some materials and a whole lot of good will, and you end up with new housing for three families, and a total of something like 12 people.  They aren't large houses, and they're nothing like we would tolerate.  But for them, they are a significant improvement in housing.  And along the way, they've learned there are people who care enough about them to come a long way, give their time, effort and money, to help them.

And we get even more, and have a lot of fun along the way.

Nepal: A Little Bit of Knowledge...

This is the part of the trip when things get a little tricky.  People feel as though they've  mastered the various construction techniques and are ready to do them on their own or start giving directions to others.  The endpoint of the trip is nearing, so people start to want to do everything, pack in everything, in the shrinking time remaining.  Cumulative fatigue is setting in for everyone, making tempers a little shorter, annoyances a little larger.  And yet, the basic team spirit builds and overcomes most if not all of this.

Had a good day building today.  Mixed and poured floors for both houses, put roofs on both houses, mixed and poured the porch for the duplex (larger) house.  Interior (and in some cases, exterior) plastering is all that remains.  Weather permitting, that should be easily accomplished before we leave.

As construction nears an end, the tasks become more concentrated, and it becomes harder for all people to be fully engaged all the time.  In my other trips, this always frustrated me--I always wanted to be busy, didn't want to have to "share" work.  In my new role, as team leader, I'm more willing to lay back, let others be involved, step in only when and as needed.  Probably makes me look lazy, but so be it.

Concrete is a mix of cement, sand, and gravel/stone.  The precise mixture depends on the purpose, the mason, and money.  Here, they have to buy the cement and sand.  They can gather the gravel/stone and a sand substitute along the roadside.  So the proportion of bought material vs. gathered material will vary depending on your budget and willingness to gather.

One family spends less, meaning we gather sand-like stuff from the side of the road and the mixture is rougher (read: "exposed aggregate", which in the states we pay extra for.)  The other family bought sand, meaning the mixture is smoother.  Money always affects the finished product.

Also learned that it's the family's responsibility to get the necessary materials there when we need them.  First house: irresponsible male (apparently, the village drunk) so he doesn't always provide the things we need when we need them.  Second house (two sisters): strong father around who makes sure they transport the sand delivered some ways away and get it there on time for us to use.

How do you make Rice Krispies?  Take rice you've grown, bake it over an open fire. ( Not sure whether it goes snap, krackle and pop if you add milk though.)

Nabin is a young man who rides with us on the bus.  He's 14 and I assumed he was the driver's son.  Turns out he isn't--his father is a drunk who has two wives (not uncommon, and legal in Nepal).  Nabin decided he didn't want to be like that, quit school, asked the driver if he could work for him for free.  He comes with us, has now begun working on the build site, learned how to mix concrete, put up walls, etc.  Not sure he made the best choice.  Regret that he even had to make a choice.

I love roofing, so I was looking forward to doing it here.  Turns out roofing here involves lifting up sheets of corrugated tin, overlapping them, then lifting up concrete block to weigh them down in the monsoon winds.  Takes perhaps an hour.  So much for roofing expertise!

Weather has turned--was hot and dry last week, cooling down some.  Recently, clear in the morning, hot until after lunch, clouds roll in, maybe rain at night.  Prelude to the rainy season.

Experienced the Nepali medical system today.  One of our team members stepped off a path on the way to the toilet and hurt her foot.  Just in case, we took her to the hospital to get it checked out.  Chose the "expensive", private hospital to get better service and better quality care.  Immediately treated upon arrival, x-rayed, seen by an orthopedic doctor, given a  prescription, filled at the hospital pharmacy.  Torn ligament in her foot, doesn't require surgery, just rest for a few weeks.  Being a foreigner, Habitat had to pay the whole bill upon discharge.  $28.  Total time at hospital: 1 hour.  Same care as in the states, same treatment, same diagnosis, different cost, different time.

I am always interested in group dynamics.  I enjoy observing and trying to analyze what's going on.  I enjoy in a different way trying to manage them in my team leader role.

On to plastering!

Nepal: Trekette

I once made the mistake of saying to an Englishman that I really enjoyed walking.  He asked what was my favorite walk--the Cotswald Way? or the walk from Devon to Scotland? or the Scottish highlands walk?  I said I was thinking more of a walk to a nearby village, or around the town square.  He said "Oh, you mean you like to stroll."

A trek seems to involve 6-15 days, guides, maybe porters, staying at "teahouses" along the way, going up/down/around the mountains.  I'm taking a 2-day trek that involves walking, eating at restaurants, back to the hotel, out the next day, back to the hotel.  So I guess this is more like a "trekette."

Bus took us up from Pokhara this morning, up from the river, along some mountain ridges.  Wonderful view of Fishtail Mountain, which is 21,000 ft. high (we were at about 3,500, so this baby really soars.)  Then started our walk, alternating between gradual uphill and fairly flat, for about 2 hours.  Stop for tea/coffee ("last rest stop for 2 hours", which turned out to be a lie, unless you were going the way we'd come from), then another 1+ hour to Sarangkot (5,500 ft. altitude.)  Along the way, wonderful views of the mountain and valley, the lake and city below, homes of "real" people living their lives.   Occasional water buffalo, a pond with people doing their laundry and swimming along with the buffalo, past a little gathering of people under a tree whose kids were getting polio vaccine and Vitamin A shot courtesy of a  UN program.

Basic local building material is the stone of the mountains.  Readily available for the taking.  So everything's made of stone--houses, stalls, sheds, stairways leading to the houses, stairways leading to the field, outdoor toilets, etc. etc.  I love stone, so I found it beautiful.

Hillsides all beautifully terraced for agriculture.  Hard to imagine doing all that without mechanization--just a draught animal and a human.  But do it for centuries and you get an absolutely beautiful mosaic of fertile fields.

Up at Sarangkot, have lunch at Beautiful View Restaurant, up from the outpost, overlooking the mountains, valley and lake.  Lunch cooked to order, so plenty of time to enjoy the place, and the pace.  Then about another 30-45 minute walk, this time totally down, so much easier in some ways.  Then back to the hotel.  While this may not qualify as a "trek" in the Sherpa sense, it met my needs perfectly--a stroll in the mountains, seeing people and incredible scenery, then back to the comforts of our hotel.

On the way home from dinner, began to rain.  Then a downpour.  Flashing lightening much of the night, heavy rain.  Loved being in my hotel rather than a teahouse, with a bathroom/shower rather than an outdoor toilet.  I'm a treketter, not a trekker.

At dawn this morning, a symphony of thunder crashes and heavy, gray skies.  Thinking "there goes day 2."  Guides show up, tell us the weather "up there" is good, roads aren't too slippery, so the trek is on.  Short bus ride, then a 1-hour climb up to the World Peace Pagoda.  And I do mean "climb." A beautiful stone stairway all the way.  I'm thinking 1-hour on the stairmaster, plus an altitude climb thrown in. 

Beautiful scenes along the way. The pagoda's on the top of a hill, overlooking the lake, with the mountain range in the background.  I asked whether it was new.  "Oh no, it was built in 1995 I think."  Counts as new to me.

While we were there, we ordered our lunch so it might be closer to ready when we got down to the restaurant.  I ordered sukuti (dried mountain goat--"traditional Nepali dish"), banana lassie (Indian), and Coke.  Felt very global.

The menu listed a banana split.  Several wanted to order one.  One said "does it have very cold ice cream?  It must have very cold ice cream."  "The banana split doesn't have ice cream--we don't have sufficient electricity."  "But a banana split isn't a banana split without ice cream?  I want one with ice cream."  etc.  So here they are, standing at the World Peace Pagoda, arguing about the "true" banana split.  The irony was lost on them.

About a 30 minute walk down (it's always quicker, though the knees complain rather than heart/lungs) to a wonderful restaurant along the lake, looking across.  Dried mountain goat is very chewy.  Very, very chewy.  Sort of like tough beef jerky I think.  And it seems to get tougher the longer it sits on your plate.

Then row across to an island visit the temple on the island back in the boat across to Lakeside of Pokhara into the bus drive to Devi's Falls (named after a Swiss couple who fell to their death in the falls) down long flight of stairs into the first cave past another temple into a second narrower and lower cave to the base of the falls look up admire the falls and retrace your steps.  If this sound like a blur, it's because it is.  Fortunately, some expressed a desire to cancel the remaining stop at a Tibetan refugee village demonstrating rug-making and rug-selling.  Some didn't want to go, others were indifferent, no one was strongly positive, all were tired I think.

And so ends my trek experience.  It was wonderful, in many ways, and I don't feel the need to do more.

And so ends the weekend.  With the trek, it was a very "group" weekend, complete with herding.  My groupiness tolerance has been exceeded.  Happily back to work tomorrow.

Nepal: Odd Bits

One of the many pleasures of these trips is the unexpected things that crop up.  Not necessarily that they're not typical, just that I don't know all that's typical and therefore, they're unexpected.

I've always thought a monsoon was torrential downpour. Well, based on one experience, I'm half right.  It's a torrential downpour, but coupled with high gusty winds--the kind that are roof-blowing, corn leveling, tree-shaking, roof-removing, hail-producing, and just plain wild.  We had one today.  Looked at the sky steadily turning darker shades of gray-to-black, then sprinkles, and then....the wind and driving rain.  We had taken shelter on the site so could watch it all.  Homes here have tin roofs that are nailed down, then rocks put around the perimeter to hold down the roof during monsoons.  Understand why today.  Parts of several roofs of other homes blew off (not Habitat homes though.)  Pouring rain, hail, temperature drops about 20 degrees.

And then it's over. After about 30 minutes.  Sky clears, and mountains we haven't seen before emerge--snow-covered majestic peaks, blue sky above them.  Bus-stopping-for-pictures worth--(we had by this time gotten on our bus to head back to the hotel.)  Another example of  John, pay attention--it doesn't usually look like this in your life.

Dinner tonight with a few others from the team.  Choose a place regarded for the best thin crust pizza in Pokhara.  Gelato, too.  Sit on the terrace, overlooking the lake, soft jazz music playing in the background, order a couple of pizzas to share (including one that's yak cheese).  Excellent chocolate chip gelato for dessert.  This is Nepal?  Well, it's a tourist part of Nepal.  But Nepal nonetheless.

More good building going on.  I think we've finished the block passing--new record (for us) this morning when we passed all 200 blocks that remained.  Meanwhile, walls going up, probably finished tomorrow.  Let them set for the weekend, then Monday we'll do roofing.  And then some plastering on the outside.  And then we'll be done.

Getting a little better sense of the local people in our build site, including one who was on an absolute rant today--screaming about something, at great length, for quite a while, with no response.  No idea what it was about--not knowing the language can be very relieving.

There's an older guy whom we call the President.  Seems to rule the roost.  Delightful guy, probably about my age (maybe younger) but looks many years older (he's had a much harder life than I can even imagine.)  Caught him napping today, a rarity.

Saw another woman cooking over her open fire, some sort of one-pot dish.  Only way she has of cooking.

Nepalese people are short of stature.  I am not.  Houses are designed for their size, not mine.  Lots of "mind your head" and ducking.  Only problem comes when I make an unexpected (for me) head turn.  Hit a pipe extending from the roof--wouldn't come close to a Nepali but whacked my head nicely.  Blood, nothing serious, but lots and lots of attention (we were at the restaurant for lunch.)  Clucking, bringing an ice stick, pulling a band-aid from his wallet (who carries a band-aid in their wallet?), others expressing concern, me just wanting to get on with the day.

The incredibly tiny nut that holds my glasses together came off.  Again.  Friends searching in the grass, but there's absolutely no chance of finding it.  Go to a photo/sunglasses shop after dinner.  "Bring it to me."  Empties a container of many different tiny screws, nuts, whatever.  Puts them together.  "May I pay you?"
"If you wish."  Give him 500 rupee note (smallest I have) and ask for something back.  "How much you want to pay?"  "50 rupee."  "That's nothing."  "100 rupee."  "How about 200 rupee?"  So I learn that "if you wish has an implied price.  I'm happy to have my glasses back, whatever the (small) cost.

I never seem to learn.  It takes me about a week to recover fully from a long airplane trip.  Always feel I'm doing pretty well each day, and then, about a week after, I realize my mind and body are finally fully together.  (Or at least as much as they ever are.)

Walking back to the hotel on a side street after dinner I encounter a cow moseying the other way.  We exchange appropriate evening pleasantries and go our respective ways.

Got involved in tuck pointing the final layers of block on house #1 today.  Involved going up high (my specialty of course.)  Decided it was best approached by going up on the roof of the close by adjacent house.  Sitting on the roof made the job easy.  The roof is tin.  The sun was shining brightly.  I gained new feeling for "cat on a hot tin roof."

A new insight into the electricity situation.  Most (all?) of the electricity is generated by hydro.  In the rainy season (approximately 5 months each year), the flow is ample to provide electricity 24/7 to the nation.  But in the non-rainy season, it isn't, hence the load-sharing scheme.

How do you fertilize the rice paddies?  Put a pile of cow dung in the middle, flood the paddy regularly and let that spread the fertilizer evenly across the paddy.  Seems better to me than our ways.

Some concern about the family in #1 house being able to repay the loan.  Seems a male has joined the household and he isn't very diligent about seeking work.  New arrangement:  we'll withhold the plastering of the outside walls until he/they have made 6 months worth of payments ($10/month.)  If they do, then their house will be plastered and the job completed.

I marvel at the ability of people in very poor conditions to keep their families in immaculate clothes.  Clean, pressed if appropriate, and always nice looking.  Wash in the stream, hang to dry, who knows how to iron?  But always, always clean.

We've finished building the walls of both houses, plus designed a porch for one and an enhanced path for the other.  Roofing on Monday, plus concrete floor Monday or Tuesday, then plastering the walls.  And then, they're done.

Off building work for the weekend.  Going on a 2-day trek into the mountains.  Nothing like "real" treks with Sherpa porters, etc. but it will be great to get into the mountains a little, visit a village, and see the surroundings.  Then back to building on Monday.