What's it
like as an “extranjero” to play an active part in the "desarollo" or development-
of Guatemala? ¡Que EXPERIENCIA!. Remember the movie “Bridge
on the River Kwai”? It’s about a group of prisoners- forced to build a
bridge for the enemy. They fell in love (ok, more or less) with the project.
The bridge was finally destroyed- by their own forces. The prisoners were
upset, to say the least, when THEIR bridge met its unfortunate demise.
Well, now for
me, I have the same feeling for MY bridge, not just for the effort that
physically went into its construction-, but for the experience of working
alongside some of the greatest people- and becoming a part of a community
far removed from anything I ever grew up knowing.
B.B.King’s
classic, blues, song “The Thrill is Gone” is one of my favorites. Too often,
I have been an observer of lost foreigners, who for one reason or
the other exhibit an attitude of “the thrill is gone.” Let me tell you,
there is no reason to lose “the thrill.” You gotta get off your duff and
do something!
That philosophy,
in this circumstance, not only served the country well, it served ME well.
To
be honest, I wasn’t too interested, when first asked to “schlep” out to
Puerto Barrios to supervise a construction crew working on the rebuilding
of three bridges for the railroad. For one, it’s HOT out there. I would
have to live in a make-shift apartment in the train station and take a
7 hour bus trip home on weekends. “Hmm. Don’t think so.”
But, with repeated
nudging, I agreed to “try it out” for two weeks. “Engineer Mac” escorted
me to “our” room in the train station, then invited me to “see the site”.
We rode on the flat bed of a train, which would be used to carry the supplies
and men to each of three bridges we would be reconstructing.
As we slowly
chugged along (It was a Canadian built diesel electric), we passed homes
that had been built along the railroad right-of-way.
A whole community
had been using the railroad tracks as their main roadway, even to the point
of building hand pushed railroad carts for transportation.
Mothers
with kids and babes in arms smiled and waved as our group passed their
front yards.
By the time
we arrived at the site over the River Escondido, I was hooked on the project.
The bridge’s rotting wood wouldn’t hold the weight of a train anymore.
We’d be pouring cement to make a base of support, and then inserting up
to 14’ wood beams from the Petén to support the structure.
There were
three separate bridges, but my responsibility would be the Escondido and
the Quebrada Seca bridges where my “function” would be to interface between
the workers and Engineer Mac, read plans, explain what had to be done,
and then somehow get the workers to come up with a “plan” for how this
project could be completed almost entirely by human labor.
All materials
had to be moved by the crew, piece by piece, loaded on the flatbed and
taken to the work site, unloaded and constructed “a mano”. The beams
weighed 100 lbs. per foot and were 6 to 14 feet long. All would be carried
and maneuvered into place by the workers, who were thin and tough, and
existed on a diet of tortillas and beans.
My daily
“uniform” was a pair of long pants, long shirt and a cap with visor and
flaps and plastic rain boots. We woke up every day before the crack
of dawn, and I found myself actually looking forward to the challenge of
the day. Now folks, how many of us are actually that excited? I was!
Walking into the “yard” exchanging “buenos días, mano” with
my fellow workers, asking the polite “¿Como amanasiste?”
and exchanging trivial “personalismo”.
Would you
believe, not one day did I experience “bitching” or an attitude of “Did
you hear the bad news on CNN?”
Everyday was
a new day. Sure, it involved putting on one pant leg at a time, yawning,
stretching and then catching the “9007” out to the construction site. But,
what a daily ride! The early risers walking the tracks, waving with
a smile. The school kids en route to early classes, all impeccably dressed,
smiling and waving.
The daily regulars,
giving the “thumbs up” sign, smiling. The railroad right-of-way was a constant
highway of activity and the construction site itself became the focus of
curiosity for the extended neighborhood. We became part of the family.
The regular merchants on their routes, the women of the area coming to
the river for their daily “oficios” (chores) of doing the laundry
or bathing the kids. The sidewalk superintendents. Everyone played a part.
And these
people are tough! When was the last time you walked across a high railroad
bridge, loaded with 100 lbs. of stuff, carrying a baby and coaxing along
a 4 year old? Or, balancing your bicycle on the rail and scurrying across
the open railroad ties…with maybe 50 lbs. of fresh baked bread tied
to the rear?
The local “women’s
group” was most appreciative when we constructed a “commercial size”
clothes line for them.
And every day
we tasted their delicacies. Someone would show up regularly with “atol”
(a rice or oatmeal drink) or “chuchitos” (a type of tamale).
For lunch, I’d buy some “frijoles” with bread and hot peppers,
a soft drink, and snooze in the shade with my fellow workers…relaxing before
our final two hours of work in the hot sun.
Rain…Back where
I came from, I recall rain, or even a sprinkle, causing concern to almost
any outdoor activity. Here rain was just as much a part of daily life as
sunshine. Barring a deluge, life (and the task at hand) went on.
As an “extranjero”,
I was quite an oddity to the youngsters, especially because I could at
least hold some semblance of a conversation in Spanish (OK, Spanglish)
with them, bringing them text books and other materials for their studies,
sitting down with them under a palm tree and doing basic math.
Day by day
we made progress. Elsewhere, other work crews were replacing the tracks
and “sleepers” which are the pieces of wood under the tracks. Engineer
Mac worked with his crew on a bridge spanning an estuary into the Bay and
spent his nights designing “mechanical devices” that would make the job
easier. But in the end, the work continued to be completed through manual
labor.
I’d tell Mac,
“These guys can move a mountain if you give ‘em enough time.”
We worked for
three months, and at the end we moved the steam engine in the above photo
(“maquina
de vapor”) out onto OUR bridge and took a final photo of the entire
crew, then had a party! Each worker received an “award”, a certificate
which they could frame which states that they constructed the El Puente
Escondido.
The Escondido
Bridge is going to be there for a bloody long time. Everyone, I think,
wants to leave this world with some tangible contribution left behind.
I guess I feel I have satisfied that requirement. Gosh, there it is. One
heck-of-a structure. But more than what is “left” is what it meant to me
personally in the “now.”
