“Deep Thoughts”

No ordinary Thoughts or Emotions! ?

Let us take a short 10-minute journey to Africa! Please allow me!

After driving through the savanna for a while, my head-shaking exercise due to the road corrugation made me close my eyes every so often! “We are near the concrete mixing plant,” Washington said. I vaguely heard him, as I continued to be intrigued by the bare-footed children, carrying water cans on their heads. I wondered where they were headed and made a mental note to ask Washington at the next opportunity; I could not see any village or settlements in sight.

I knew my concrete assignment task would end after a couple of weeks. My task and program were moving from project to project, absorbing the various stages. Each had a repetitive and familiar sequence but on different soil with different challenges. It was a wonderful way to see the land of Africa. For this project, my duty was to collect concrete samples that needed to be assessed before the concrete despatch would move location. I had 2 to 3 days to produce samples. I was intrigued by everything happening around me. Some aspects were quaint, others very primitive - but each moment fascinating. I could not wait to arrive at the plant. The name ‘plant’ sounded strange and made me think of a ‘bush plant’ or ‘transplant.’

Driving through the relatively flat landscape, I noticed how the trees and grass were patchy and dry. I always had a desire to see a typical village. Before reaching the site, everything seemed more interesting than concrete samples. We crossed the small river with some lush surroundings, almost like an oasis – but the closer we got, the more evident it became that the riverbed had almost dried up, while the hardy trees and plants still flourished. I guessed the trees must have had long, travelling roots.

I finally asked my question to the driver, Washington, whose name surprised me being associated with an American city.’ “Why are the girls carrying water on their heads walking towards the river”? He replied: “The villages are not too far away from the river.” Washington then added: “The water by the river is a wild animal’s paradise and not potable!” He further explained: “The reason for their water collection is daily use, but where we are headed, the water is clean!”

“Oh,” I replied. These young children could not have been much older than 9 -11. I had whispering thoughts: “My word, are we spoilt…” I asked a second question: “How far do they walk with the water on their head?” What Washington told me left me speechless for a few seconds, for these young girls were walking around 5 -10km, depending on their village location. They would walk barefoot, with plastic containers of water on their head, once - if not twice - a day. I did not want to ask any further questions at that moment.

As I regathered myself, I saw people standing around a fountain, pushing a massive lever to open the valve and let the water out.

It looked new, and Washington told me that the big company building the transmission lines had to distribute water to various strategic locations to mix the concrete. The companies placed the fountain where it could be accessible to more than one village.? I asked Washington where they got water from before, and he replied that there were running water spots along the river - but further than 8 km away. The river water had to be boiled to make it potable, but it was good enough to wash clothing.

It sounded like the freshwater fountain placement gave the villages a lease of new life. The children were having fun, splashing, and laughing happily in the water puddles on the ground. Back at school, I was always fascinated when the catholic priest (an African missionary) would show us slides and tell us stories about Africa. However, his stories had no similarities with what I was experiencing here. (Although his stories were based within the lush and green central Africa Congo Region.) Growing up, I had heard stories of missionaries and the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) feeding water pipelines to villages and settlements. This was a little more convenient than no water at all…

Eventually, we arrived at the plant, where two small silos and two tin sheds appeared - one shed with cement, and the other seemingly a small accommodation. There was one hump of aggregate and one hump of sand to manually mix the testing cubes. The silos looked as if they had been transported there purposely for the operation. There was also a small crane with a basket. I gathered that the silos had aggregate and sand, and the crane would lift the cement bags over the truck. A person would cut the bag to drop in the cement while the truck mixing body was turning, and another person would add water. On this same day, the truck arrived to start collecting concrete. It became obvious that the first batch would be a homemade formula, minus the testing.

Four assistant concrete “mixing engineers” quickly mixed a few testing blocks of freshly made concrete. The mix was made of sand aggregates and water, plus cement. They were using shovels and sticks to agitate and firm up the concrete. ?We had to use the same ratio for the larger quantities. Wow! I questioned myself: “What am I even doing here? Everything is done by individuals who know precisely what they are doing!” I remembered that I was only there to observe and take notes; I was meant to learn whatever I thought was important. I was good at observing and taking notes in my first real African job! I learned that using sticks in the concrete mixing process was not the recommended way, but a motorised cement vibrator was non-existent in that part of the world (it would have been a luxury or a dream).

While mixing concrete, I turned and spotted the fountain. My thoughts disengaged for a second, and I realised something was holding back time.

Time in Africa seemed no issue, as everything stood still; even the wind gently blowing under the midday sun had taken a rest. The foliage of the rugged trees did not move, and there was a strange silence, rather unusual and quaint. An instant flashback of my childhood place Switzerland came over me, and the only thing I could think of was lush green forests, cool soft summer winds, and the gentle noise of birds. I heard the sound of Sparrow birds landing on grain stems, bending as soon as the bird’s full weight was distributed.

My thoughts wandered 8,500 km away, to a country where making, watches, machine manufacturing, and finance were the number one economy; where hours were measured by minutes, and minutes by seconds. School bells would ring twice after the break to ensure everyone would return on time. Train station clocks were double-sided with bright red symbolising the ‘seconds hand.’ This would stop at the top for just under a second to synchronise with every other station clock in Switzerland (that is another story). What had been a serene moment felt like a slap from this realistic memory. I needed a moment to readjust.

Children's songs about visiting the mountain Rigi near Luzern can capture the joy and adventure of that experience.

Click on the link.

https://youtu.be/cHWLXJyQR4U

Back in Africa:

I learned that we were only providing the concrete by a mixing truck; the other teams, who were much further away, were concreting the Pilon bases. Remarkably, like today’s methods, the truck would park under a silo which would manually control open the flap to let aggregate into the truck mixing body. Sand, cement, and water were added manually. Each of the tasks was laboriously done by the four mixing engineers/workers. I was only checking the viscosity of the mix, considering the distance of travel, and deciding the quantity of water required to ensure the truck had enough water in its water reservoir to top up after arrival suitable for the mix on the location.

Look out for the next Article which is the second part of this afternoon!

Thank you so much for reading - I am overjoyed!