Bits and Pieces

Bits and Pieces

 

 

After getting all of the rock bags stacked, several layers of "soil/cement" must be applied to all sides while placing the nylon netting that will eventually be stretched over the outside to provide a flexible mesh for the earthen plaster to adhere to.  Soil/cement is a mixture of sand, cement, a dash of clay and water.  It is one of several mixtures that will be used in the construction of the house, each with its own recipe for its own purpose.  In this case, we are encasing the bags of rocks into an integral whole while anchoring the netting.

 

The process takes several days and, like all foundation work, seems long and tedious (at least to my western brain).  But it is, as they say, the foundation and one must realize its importance and give it its due.  The guys doing the work do not seem bothered by it in the way I would.  They are just as happy as always.

 

The nylon netting is new in my experience.  Several layers are used, each with its own objective.  Managing what could easily become a hopelessly tangled web takes some practice and patience, both of which these guys have in abundance.

 

 

 

Surkhab, Zamurad and I were parked in our van waiting for an appointment when a Pakistani woman walked by.  She was unusual because she was the first woman I'd seen that did not have her face covered by a veil.

 

Now I understand why the women here cover their faces.  This woman was stunningly beautiful.  If that's representative of what is behind those veils, then clearly they must be covered or none of the men would get anything done.

 

And many countries would be invading.

 

 

 

Haddi continues to crack me up.  He knows just enough English, and uses it in just the right places to make life interesting.  This evening he and some co-workers/friends came over after work (I'm rarely alone here) and while eating some unknown piece of citrus, he piped up with, "vitamin C" out of nowhere.  He's got a great smile, as does most everyone over here and along with his large nose and playful nature (both also ubiquitous), he reminds me of my grandfather, Bolla.  Bolla came over from the Italian part of Switzerland when he was 17 so he always had a strong accent.  He smoked these small, black and shriveled up cigars and whenever he would hug me he'd whisper in my ear, "you little shit."

 

 

 

Today (9/29) we drove up towards the mountains (some with snow on the peaks) to the Mansehra area to order some cgi (corrugated galvanized iron) and pick up a truckload of straw bales.  On the way back we got something to eat at a truck stop.  This is the kind of truck stop you would only see in america if you were very high on acid.  The trucks are amazing, all decorated with bits here, do-dads there.  Some have whirling fans of one sort or another and all have a very distinctive, and, continuing the theme, playful horn.

 

While we were eating I rearranged my legs and managed to bump the table a bit, spilling some of Zamurad's tea into his saucer.  I had a moment of discomfort and instinctively said, "Oh!  I'm sorry."  Without missing a beat, Surkhab gave me one of his angelic smiles and said, "no one will yell at you here, Mark."  I immediately knew this was true.  In the same way that Haddi just says "kui bat nahin" when something does not go quite "right" at work, folks here just don't have the same attitude about blame here.  There really is no chance that someone would yell at me for anything but the most egregious transgression.  We all had a great laugh thinking about how different it is in america.  Surkhab said it was good that I would be going to a 10-day retreat just before returning home so I could become calm and peaceful enough to withstand the culture shock.

 

And we all laughed again.