Aug 26th

            I sifted rocks like a gold mining manica, who’s name was Bill or Jed or something, for hours yesterday ‘till my biceps throbbed like golden nuggets rumbling down a river bed.  We were sifting to separate the pebbled sized rocks from the sand sized rocks to make concrete for the poring of the third roof on the schoolhouse today.

            I was trying really hard to impress the Guatemalan workers, as if to say “see, this gringo can do more than just take pictures.”  I don’t know if it worked.  They laughed a lot.

            Four o’clock came, usually quitting time, when the electricians came to install three, two ton concrete posts, spire like and about 50-60 feet long.  So I carried them up the mile long mud ridden road to ensure the impression I was to make upon the workers.  Well not really.

            It took everybody we had, probably 40 people to haul these big bastards up the hill.  This was one of the craziest tasks/things I have ever done.

            We rolled the columnular post onto a meandered rope on the ground, lifted one end up so the electricians could blance it horizontally on this two-car-tired-wheeler-device, that we then attached the same 100 foot rope to, to all grab and haul and pull this thing up the mud and rain diveted and trenched out road, up up up, the hill to the land were the school was being built.

            The wheels would get stuck on rocks and in trenches and the Guate electricians would yell “One, too, free” and everyone would cuss and dig and pull as hard as they could to get the momentum up again to haul this monstrosity up the hill.  The head electrician didn’t know much english, but he had perfected “Common bebe!”

            Once up the hill we had a 50 foot section of downhill, towards the dug post holes and that was interesting.  40 people hanging on to this thing for dear life, or the life of those below it, feet skidding down the mud and hands white-knuckled around the rope like a first time water skier in a lake of mud, sliding, cursing, laughing for lack of any other expression to make.

            Once to the hole, we then had to lift the post up vertically, while Common Bebe propped a 10 foot iron fork like device under the end that was being lifted, so we could make upward progress rather then the opposite, which the flimsy hard hats of the workers probably wouldn’t have helped much if the ladder were to occur.

            Once up to a 45 degree angle, four lasos were unleashed and we slit up into quarters to guid this thing up to a 90 degree angle.

            The whole time, the post flirting with the heads of those below it, tilting and falling from side to side.  But we did it, only two more to go.

            The first was adrenaline filled and kind of un because of how unsafe it was, doing this without any motors, man/female power only, but the fun slowly dwindled with the second and died with the third.

            But we did it.

            Finally at about seven, we finished and went to a fiesta the bombardos threw us (Long Way Home, the non-profit I’m volunteering for) for bringing them the firefighting equipmnt they now use from the States.  Anreas and I crushed them at foosball, I slid down the fire pole, watched a live marimba band and ate grizzly looking meat served simply with tortillas, homemade of course.

            No rain on the tin roof but I still slept like a drunkard at a distillery.  I dreamt of people I knew.