Well Managed

Well Managed

I spoke to Aruneshwar Gupta, a lawyer from Delhi, on the flight to Udaipur. He had seen the book I was reading, "Web of Debt" by Ellen Brown and asked me what I thought. I told him I was dumbfounded by how utterly corrupt the entire world's financial systems were. He had a jovial nature about him and he chuckled when he replied in his thick indian accent, "they are not corrupt, mark, they are well-managed."

Of course, from the perspective of the rothschilds, the rockefellers and the handful of others who call the shots, he is absolutely correct. And since it was beginning to make me too serious and too upset, it was good that he could get me to laugh about it.

He was very interested in the straw bale housing project I had been working on in pakistan. He invited me to look him up when I get to delhi and made a suggestion about building some straw bale homes in India. It would certainly be worth talking about.

Other than that, the flight to Udaipur was uneventful until I picked up my backpack at the luggage carousel. It was then that I realized that ½ of the belt that attaches around my hips was…gone. I was more than a bit surprised to find that the very thick, very wide and very tough piece of plastic that previously held it in place had been ripped apart. This is not something that a human, not even Arnold Schwarzenegger, could do. Clearly it got caught in some machinery and I won't be able to repair it until I can get a replacement part back home.

But Koi Bat Nahin, I still have my shoulder straps.

I arrived at Rita and David's house tues. (10/19) afternoon. They are both gone but I was met by their business associate, mr. kabra. Rita is in delhi and I hope to stay here until she returns on the 23rd. The place is spectacular, with a view of lake pichola from a rise just a bit out of town. It will be a very relaxing few days here and I find mr. kabra's company quite agreeable.

More First Impressions of India

More First Impressions of India

One thing I failed to mention in my haste to get some sleep last night was that while I was at the golden temple I was greatly impressed and soothed by the music that was broadcast throughout the area. I learned later (from, Shera Singh, my internet café owner/guru, that the music is called Kirtan and it is the recitation of the holy Sikh scriptures from the Sri Guru Granth Sahib (Sri = "Respect", Guru = "teacher", Granth = "Sea of Knowledge", Sahib = "beloved one"). It goes virtually non-stop for 19 hours a day, every day.

But when I got inside the Golden Temple, I was surprised to find that this was not some recording, it was a live, 4-piece band. The "drum" was a Tabla. There were 2 harmoniums and those guys were doing most of the singing. They were backed up by a stringed instrument played with a bow called a Srangi.

Today I went to the Durgiana Temple and where I ran into some drummers. They were playing and trying to entice folks to start dancing. Now when I was in Africa I decided from the outset that I might never get back there and I was not going to waste time and opportunity being shy about enjoying myself. So I never hesitated when they would invite me to get up and dance to THEIR drumming. In fact, after one such event, an African guy came up to me and said, "You…You number 1 African Dancer!" That was quite a compliment coming from an African.

So when the same opportunity arose today, I took the same course of action. When I did this in Africa the universal reaction from the crowd was utter delight and this was no different. In short order quite a crowd had gathered and even though I'm not particularly interested in being the center of attention, I don't hide from it either. Once again we all enjoyed ourselves immensely. Perhaps I'll become the best dancer on TWO continents!

I also learned something about Indian hospitality. While walking along a guy pedaling a rickshaw came along side of me and asked in English if there was anything he could do for me. I said no but he persisted. "Can I get you a gul?" he asked. "A gul? I asked back. "Yeah, can I get you a gul?" Finally I put it together and said, "No, I don't need a girl."

Gotta get up at 4:00 am to catch my plane to Udaipur tomorrow and I'm already up past my bed time. More later.

India

India

The "last lunch" with the guys went about as expected. They all said something, some of which Surkhab was kind enough to translate. Then I responded and only choked up for a moment. In the end words were not necessary. We all knew that something special had happened for all of us and I believe we were all very grateful for having been a part of it. I think we all hope that I can return, In Shalla.

The trip to the boarder was a bit brutal since the bus leaving Abbottabad left at 11 pm. I Got to Wagah about 7:30 am at which point we found out the crossing did not open until 9:30. Zamurad had done his job and if he left straight away he could catch the earlier bus back to Abbottabad. So with another little catch in my throat, I saw his cab pull away.

I wasn't there long before I heard the distinct sound of…English. I went up and said howdy to a couple from Germany who had been traveling for months by car through just about every place you could think of. We shared our impressions of Pakistan and found them to be identical. Wonderful place, wonderful people.

The boarder crossing was a bit strange. I must have stopped at 6 different places to show my passport and fill out one form or another. It took over an hour but I finally got into….

India.

There are many differences between India and Pakistan. First off, there are lots of people who want to get between me and some part of my money. They'll pick up my bag, without me asking them to or even wanting them to, and expect a tip afterwards. At first I was a bit resentful, particularly after my experience in Pakistan where I literally could not give folks money, even if they had done some act of hospitality to earn it. But then I got adjusted to what the exchange rate and what they were asking for, a few bucks, and I lightened up right away. I could also have bought a fifth of Jack Daniels or pretty much anything else in the duty free store. And of course, the women are out in full force again. I even saw some driving for heaven's sake. Along with their exposure are the accompanying ads with all the standard cutesy women with their cutesy smiles selling whatever is the order of the day. And I've also noticed my reaction to seeing more than just the eyes of women again (which had become quite attractive to me). A month of abstinence was not enough to change the way I respond to women, particularly those I deem good looking. But at least I'm a bit more aware of my objectification.

And then there's the driving. Here the horns are louder, and used much more frequently and with much more gusto than in Pakistan. To be fair, Amritsar is a bigger city than anywhere I was in Pakistan, except for a brief period this morning in Lahore. Still, I think the difference is probably more than just that.

The cab I got at the boarder pooped out about 4 km from the hotel. The guy said it was a bad coil, and he arranged for me to go the rest of the way in a rickshaw. That's a human powered 3-wheeled bicycle with a seat and cargo bay for the big sahib, that would be me, to sit. I probably broke some sort of rule when he got to a hill and had to stop pedaling and start pushing. I not only got out (which was expected) but also helped push (which probably was not).

The room is small but there's enough room for a bed and a chair, which is good enough for me. This one is actually a deluxe version because it has an attached bath. It doesn't have ac but it does have a swamp cooler and a fan, which for this time of year is fine. It costs about $13/night.

After freshening up with a lovely luke warm shower I was surprised to find that I felt good enough to go out into the street. My first order of business was to try and get my cell phone to work here (it needs a special chip). Turns out I need 2 passport sized photos, a copy of my passport and my visa and evidence of where I'm staying locally in order to get it activated. This is all done for security purposes which is the same reason given for why the hotel could not give me a local map.

So I went wondering and it all went well. I had a guy come up and offer me a rickshaw ride to wherever I was going but at the time I wasn't really going anywhere. But after he described some of the places he could take me, I decided that I might as well go on with him. His English was good enough that we could talk some, and he did know his way around. He took me to a museum (same sort of glorification of war that I've seen too much of in too many countries already) as well as a couple of temples. The last one was the Golden Temple, for which Amritsar is famous. As well it should be, it's pretty spectacular.

I spent 3 hours there before getting something to eat and coming to this internet café.

And now I really AM tired so this'll have to do for now.

Winding Down/Gearing Up

Winding Down/Gearing Up

Construction of the house continues. We've begun mixing and applying the earth plaster to the straw bales. Between the rough and 2nd coats the nylon netting is pulled up and attached to the top plates. This is a very important aspect of the system as it adds a lot of tensile strength to the plaster and is a critical component for earthquake resistance.

I encourage everyone to view the video of the shake test on the Paksbab.org home page. The first of 2 tests duplicates the energy and acceleration of the 1994 Northridge earthquake in Los Angeles. This 6.8 magnitude earthquake damaged 114,000 residential and commercial structures, took 72 lives and caused damage estimated at $25 Billion. The Paksbab structure, built from straw, shows no sign of collapsing and little damage as a result of this first test.

Then they upped the ante and tested the house at twice the energy of the Northridge earthquake. This time the house shakes violently and there is clear damage to the plaster. But when it was over, this remarkable little structure that could is still standing.

I have also been involved in a couple of "extra credit" projects. Surkhab attends the COMSATS Institute of Information Technology in Abbottabad as a Masters student in developmental studies. He arranged for me to speak at a seminar there last Monday (10/11) to a class of about 50 of his fellow students. I was to deliver a power point presentation on the Paksbab construction method, as well as any other issues important to developing nations that I might have a knowledge and interest in.

I had about 30 hours to prepare, and I used about half of them getting a presentation together, much of it from information Surkhab provided. 2/3rds of the talk was about the Paksbab construction method. Then I discussed several aspects of energy, both renewable and not, with a special slide titled, "Evil Energy Sources" in which I discussed the problems with nuclear energy. This was followed by a short discussion of a remarkable method of filtering water, even water contaminated by typhoid or cholera, using nothing more complicate than sand. Then a short discussion of biomass, ending with a description of how I make biodiesel at home.

I felt the talk went well and was well received. Afterwards a dozen of the professors invited Surkhab, Zamurad and I to the cafeteria for tea and cakes. The discussion continued to be lively and animated and I felt I made some more friends. The next day Surkhab confirmed that everyone enjoyed the talk and they even wanted me to address another class on environmental studies. Unfortunately, there is not enough time to do this before I leave.

Then on Tues. (10/12), Zamurad, Haddi and I drove to the village of Garhi Habbullah Khan, a few hours north. Lying along the Kunhar River, this town was affected by the floods but because it is up in the mountains, only the area near the river was damaged. We were met there by 2 locals, Aamir Ghiyyas and his partner, Sajjad. They are working with Engineers without Boarders (EWB) to build temporary, emergency shelters for some of those who lost their homes. They gave us a tour of the area and without them we would not have known how much damage was caused by the flooding. They brought us to a bluff above the river that reminded me of the northern California coast. While there were some damaged homes along the cliff area, it looked serene enough to the uneducated eye. But then Aamir told us that between the current cliff and the river there used to be more homes, and a road with shops on the other side. They are all gone now.

The homes these guys are trying to build are stick framed with a rock/mud mixture placed inside the framing. Corrugated metal is used for the roofing and sometimes for the walls, particularly when they could salvage it from the destroyed buildings.

The materials for these homes are being paid for by EWB. Aamir and Sajjad are doing their best to manage about 20 of these homes at 3 different locations but since the homes are essentially built by the owners, mistakes happen. Some of these Aamir and Sajjad were aware of, but we pointed out others that they had not noticed and ways of mitigating errors they had not considered. At the end of the day, they were grateful for our input.

I leave on Sat. and Surkhab said that all of the guys wanted to go with me to the boarder. I'm not certain how serious this offer was since it's an 8 hour trip. Each way! But the sentiment expressed by the guys choked me up for awhile. I will miss them, they've become dear friends. And it is clear the feeling is mutual. I often express the hope to them that I will be able to return to Pakistan, In Shalla.
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In the end it was decided that Zamurad and I will make the trip by ourselves. We will board a bus in Abbottabad Sat. night and arrive in Lahore sometime Sunday morning. Zamurad will then rent a car and take me to the boarder crossing at Wagah. From there I will make my way to my hotel, near the Golden Temple in Amritsar. I'll spend Sunday and Monday there, adjusting to my new life as a tourist. Then I'll fly to Udaipur on Tues. to stay at the home of someone I first met this spring in Santa Cruz just a few weeks after I learned I would be going to Pakistan and India (yes, it's an interesting world).

And thus will begin phase II of this remarkable journey.

Becoming a True Pakistani

Becoming a True Pakistani

With only a few days left before I leave my friends in Pakistan, and with several important subjects I'd like to write about, the Gods have determined that this is what I should write about now. I'm not in control of these forces, I can only submit to them.

But before I can discuss this issue, I need to provide a bit of background information.

For some time now it has been clear that native Pakistanis mistake me for one of their own. Being naturally sociable, they are always shaking my hand even though they do not know me. All I can do is say, "as-salāmu alaikum (peace be upon you). Often they respond with alaikum as-alām (and to you peace) and then go on to tell me about their brother, their kids or their camel. Of course I have no idea and have to confess that, "I only speak English" at which point they produce the most genuine smile, utter something or other that sounds quite pleasant, and move on.

I've been told on several occasions that the natives who live in Kaghan, about 100 miles north, look very much like me (light skinned for a Pakistani). Perhaps I'm descended from their community. I'd love to get up there and see my tribe but time does not allow.

With that out of the way I want to discuss something about Pakistani culture you will not read in any guide book.

Because I've focused on the positive aspects of living here with the Pakistanis, I have avoided some of the, shall we say, less glamorous customs. One such custom is the apparent need for Pakistani men to hack and spit. While I have not investigated the product of this ceremony with any great precision, I'm under the impression that it is not particularly remarkable. But the auditory cacophony that is the prelude to the actual expectorant is something to behold. It appears there are 3 stages, each standing on the shoulders of those that came before it. I am impressed by the vigor and creativity that the Pakistani men bring to the first 2 of these stages, though I have witnessed versions of these before.

But the 3rd stage is an art form all unto itself.

Coming from a depth that can only be attained by years of attention to detail, centuries of cultural training, eons of genetic selection and perhaps the proximity of camels, this final platform from which the raw material is expelled is of biblical proportions. I've considered how I might be able to write an onomatopoetically correct expression of the sound one encounters during this ritual, but I would have to attain a far deeper level of enlightenment just to be able to ascertain which letters to use.

On a side note, there is no English dictionary nearby and since my spelling has never been sterling my current objective is to get close enough that my spell checker can figure out what I am aiming for. So I was particularly proud of myself when I was able to reach that lofty goal with "onomatopoeia." Particularly since this is a word I have only used twice since I learned it about ½ century ago.

Anyway, this came up (yeah, I know) today when Haddi and I were sitting on a bench in the market area of Qulandarabad where I've been living and working, while we were waiting to be picked up by Surkhab and Zamurad so we could travel to an area that had been hit by the floods. While I am feeling much better, I still have some lingering issues from the cold I've been dealing with for the past week. And while I cannot hold a candle to what a true Pakistani is capable of, I did manage to produce a bit of auditory caCOUGHany myself (I've lost all self-respect at this point) producing what in other cultures would be considered an admirable effort, with a substantial result. At the same time, Haddi was immersed in his daily ritual as he sat beside me.

Knowing that I already appear to be Pakistani, even to the locals, I felt I had taken another large step towards becoming a true Pakistani, with Haddi hacking and spitting to the right while I was hacking and spitting to the left.

In fact, the image so amused me that a moment after we had both calmed down, I started to laugh so hard that I reconvened another mini-fit, this time solo.

Haddi looked at me and with no idea what I was laughing about, he started laughing too.

It was a great way to start the day.

On Women, On Freedom

On Women, On Freedom

Several folks have asked me about what it is like for women in Pakistan so I'll pass along what I've learned and what I've been told, primarily by Surkhab who has no hesitancy to discuss the matter.

It's amazing how sequestered they are. Walking around town they represent perhaps 2% of the population. Small girls play "normally" in public places with other girls and boys their same age but somewhere during their teen age years, the veil comes out, the face is covered and that is the last anyone but their husbands and family will see of them until they reach old age (perhaps 50).

And their husbands are not likely to see their face until the day of their marriage, which is arranged by the families.

To the western mind this seems quite strange and it would be easy to criticize their customs as archaic and chauvinistic. But let's look at this a bit more deeply.

Because women are not displayed as they are in western countries, there is a distinct lack of the time, energy and resources western cultures spend in pursuit of them. There are no alluring ads on the billboards, no stores with sexy clothing. It seems as though the sexual desires that so occupy the western mind are much less prevalent.

Perhaps as a result, divorce and rape are virtually unknown here. And while it is true that some women are physically abused by their husbands, it does not seem to be a significant problem. This might be different in the more fundamentalist regions of Pakistan, like the Swat valley area (where the fighting is) but I would caution anyone from jumping to any conclusions until they have reliable information on the matter.

And even though men rarely see women in public, that is not to say that women have no social life. They have, in fact, a rich social life as it is their responsibility to arrange marriage, birth and death ceremonies. They visit the sick and bring them food. They have their own circles and, if the reports I get from Surkhab are accurate, they are quite happy in this arrangement.

But it is also true that women cannot pursue careers like they can in the west. Other than being a "homemaker" (a noble profession) women can be school teachers and perhaps a few other things but you will never see a female doctor, lawyer, etc.

I asked Surkhab if he was aware of women from the west coming to Pakistan and adopting to their customs. He was only aware of one instance, and she adapted quite well and has come to enjoy her new lifestyle. He was not aware of any Pakistani women who have tried to adapt to western culture.

I can only add that there is a serenity to this place that is markedly different from the us. There are no screaming kids tugging at their parents demanding this or that new toy or candy. The kids are very respectful of their parents, or any adult, and comply with whatever is asked immediately and without any fuss. Whatever else you might be inclined to say about Pakistani society, the evidence to me seems clear that it works well for them.

And now a few words about freedom. As you know, "they" (in the present case "they" are the entire Muslim world) hate us because of our freedom. While this is a phrase that has oozed from the mouths of many politicians, I have yet to see the reaction such a statement deserves (uproarious laughter and supreme contempt for any idiot who would utter such a statement and resentment of the stupidity of the audience such a statement would infer).

The ironic part is that in ordinary, daily affairs, the Pakistani people have far MORE freedom than we do in the us. Take driving for instance. Even in the bustling city of Abbottabad, there are no stop signs and no stop lights. There are no lines on the road indicating when it is legal to pass or not, in fact there are no lines on the road at all. Passing often results in 3 vehicles abreast on a road built for only 2. 3 and even 4 people ride on a motor scooter and none of them with helmets. People can make a u-turn whenever they find it convenient (or more precisely, possible) and talk on their cell phones while doing so.

And without the preemptive laws to try and make driving hazard free that we are subject to in the us, the system works just fine. I have not seen an accident yet, nor have I seen anyone get upset at anyone else's driving. People here are treated like and behave as responsible adults. Everyone is allowed to do whatever works.

Another area of freedom that is available to Pakistanis and not to us is the freedom to build a shelter that suits a family's needs and resources. While it is somewhat different in the cities, in the rural areas (which constitutes the vast majority of the country) there are no building codes and no building permits are required. Because of the material poverty prevalent in this country, this results in housing that some might deem "ramshackle". I find it far more interesting and less insulting than the ticky-tacky-all-the-same housing common in the us, but that's just my personal aesthetic.

Some folks can only afford to build the most humble of shelters. Salvaged sticks of wood with a mud roof, corrugated metal if they're lucky. But they have a place they can call home where they are protected from the worst of the elements and are not subject to the harassment of police or building officials telling them to, "move on" (to where is not specified). Those slightly less poor, or more fortunate as in the recipients of the free housing provided by Paksbab, are able to build sensible, environmentally sane housing such as the straw bale homes I've been working on. Homes such as these, which are very affordable, energy efficient, earthquake resistant and built with a carbon footprint a small fraction of that incurred by "standard" housing are either illegal or prohibitively difficult to build in most areas of the us. And because the homes these folks build are appropriate to their needs and resources, they are not burdened by a 30 year mortgage and forced to work at a job they hate so they can avoid having to sleep in the streets.

So tell me. Who really has more freedom?

Slipping on the Clay Slip

Slipping on the Clay Slip

The insulation for the ceiling consists of straw coated in what they call a "clay slip." The first step in making the clay slip is to dig a hole (maybe 6' x 6' x 2'), line it with a plastic tarp, put several wheel barrows of clay rich subsoil and fill with water. After mixing vigorously, some of the clay will become suspended in the water and when it reaches its saturation point, you have a clay slip.

They then sprinkle this liquid mud liberally on the loose straw, coating it to reduce the fire hazard. Ordinarily they let this pile of wet straw sit for several days, allowing it to dry out considerably. The drying process makes the straw lighter and much easier to deal with.

But because I need to see all aspects of this construction technique before I leave in 11 days, the guys had to alter their normal procedure. Just after wetting the straw, they began to toss it up into the attic space and spread it around.

While this WAS quite messy, it was also a lot of fun (think Woodstock). At one point I was stationed on the ridge, catching the balls of wet straw that Mohammed (who has quite an arm) was tossing to me. One of his tosses went a bit astray, and while stretching for it I slipped and slid part way down the truss I was standing astride. I was not hurt (much) and came up laughing with my now universally expected, "kui bot nahin" but Surkhab was less amused. I'm sure he would suffer not only in this world but also in the next were anything to happen to me so he told me to get down (at least from the ridge).

Since I had accomplished what I needed to up there, I complied without protest and all is well.

The roof purlins have all been placed and the cgi (corrugated galvanized iron) roofing will go on tomorrow.

More on Pakistani Hospitality

More on Pakistani Hospitality

I wasn't going to mention that I've come down with a cold (who cares…...so what) but with the interconnectedness of everything. I guess I'll have to.

As I've mentioned before Pakistan hospitality is really outrageous. Each day when Rustam stops by to pick me up for the ¼ mile walk to the job, he insists (and I mean INSISTS) on carrying my day pack. I've long since given up trying to argue with him. This is typical. When we break for tea, one of the guys will make sure I have the best seat available. Often they'll bring a chair just for me while everyone else sits on a bale of straw. I'm not used to this, and to be honest it makes me a bit uncomfortable. But clearly this is what they want so who am I to be some kinda prima donna and refuse.

So the other day I came down with a cold. A Pakistani cold is indistinguishable from an American cold. They both start out as a tickle or slight pain in the throat and migrate their way down into the lungs over the next few days. And they both are accompanied by some degree of body aches (above and beyond the aches someone of my advanced years has to endure daily).

It has been impossible to hide the fact that I have a cold from the guys as my energy level and overall demeanor have deteriorated noticeably. Several times I've been asked if I want to go to the doctor and I let them know in no uncertain terms across the language divide that I do NOT want to go to the doctor.

Anyway, after I got home this afternoon (Wed. 10/6) I pantomimed to Walli that I was going to take a, "shower." As I mentioned in an earlier post, "shower" consists of pouring multiple pitchers of room temperature water over my head. It's a bit cold at first, but not a problem once you get started. But Walli protested. He pantomimed back at me that since I have a cold, taking a shower like that would not be good. He insisted (there's that word again) on heating up enough water to make the shower a much warmer affair.

I briefly thought about refusing his offer, but knowing that if I were back home I would like nothing better than to sink into a hot bath (even though I don't have one) and not wanting to disappoint my comrade (and cook), I said ok.

I've now just returned from that experience, and it was divine. Just what the doctor would have ordered had I gone to one.

The Great Crash and The Great Uprising

The Great Crash and The Great Uprising

Hi everyone and sorry you haven't heard from me in awhile. In fact, depending on how long it took for you to figure out there was a problem and check out the blog, you may have thought I'd dropped off the edge of the earth completely.

Actually, I was only out of commission for a few days. After acting up ever since I left California, my computer finally decided to die altogether. I am now using a borrowed computer but I have lost my address book and all my contact info that was in it. This includes the list of folks who were receiving my blogs via e-mail. For the time being, all I can do is add entries into the blog and hope you all can figure it out on your end.

I'm working with Russ back home to try and resurrect my old address book, but for the time being I will only be able to add folks to my new list if they send me an e-mail so I have their address.

If I thought it would do any good, I suppose I would consider getting upset about this but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't. Besides, I don't want to be like that guy in, "Caddy Shack". This guy was a businessman of some sort and he was playing a round of golf with his friends. Every shot this guy made turned out great, including the one he hit into the woods that bounced out and landed right next to the cup. He was having a ball. On the 18th hole he was on the green ready to sink a short putt for the game of his life. His putt ringed the cup but didn't fall in, ending up an inch or 2 away. He holds up both hands, one with his putter, and screams, "God Damn it!" By this time it had started to rain and he is immediately, and quite appropriately, struck by lightening and killed.

With all the blessings I've had on this trip, it would be very ungrateful of me were I to whine about this relatively minor inconvenience. Besides, I'm pretty certain it would not help, would make me some degree of miserable, and would also make it more likely I would be unkind to someone else.

So, "kui bot nahin."

Meanwhile, life continued. On Friday (10/1) I went for a hike with Haddi as it is the Muslim day off. We went up into the hills (pretty much any direction you go is up into the hills) and saw some more fantastic scenery. The highlight of this particular hike was watching a group of about 20 guys harvest the grass that they will store until winter for their livestock. Together they formed what looked like a giant, human mowing machine as they went up the steep hill they were on, cutting a swath perhaps 100 feet wide. As we watched form the hill across a narrow valley, the remarkable thing about this group was the sound of their banter. Clearly they were teasing each other and otherwise talking and laughing up a storm.

It was impossible to determine if they were playing while they were working or working while they were playing. Whatever, it was very sweet.

Another blessing has been my new heart (thank you Dr. Zei). After my procedure at Stanford in May I've been able to go on hikes like this and my heart has worked like it used to, like it's supposed to. Now, if there is something I can do about these 58 year old legs….

Saturday we built the door and window bucks as well as the trusses from wood that was only days earlier standing in a forest somewhere. Aside from being very heavy with all of the water it contained, most of the pieces were oozing with sap. It got everywhere and it was all I could do to keep it off of my camera. At one point I was trying to scrape it off my hands and using water in a futile effort to get the worst of it off when one of the guys came up to me with some weeds in his hand. At first I thought he wanted me to eat the stuff but then he started rubbing it between his hands. Soon I realized it was cutting through the sap, and doing an admirable job of it. Near to where the corn was growing, we went to harvest some more. There was plenty for our needs.

Ah, native knowledge.

The other difference in how I would do things back home is that these guys have no power tools. Each cut must be done by hand, with a saw that cuts on the pull stroke. By lunch I was not the only one exhausted. After lunch I developed a method of supporting the piece to be cut in a way I could use both hands to pull the saw, allowing my legs and back to get into the game. By the end of the day, all the guys were trying this method as it was considerably easier. This may turn out to be my biggest contribution to the project.

Sunday was another day for ceremony. This time we traveled several hours north to Battal. We were cutting the ribbon on 2 houses for folks who had been hit hard by either the earthquake or the fighting just north in the Swat valley. These guys WERE Taliban, but they were refugees from the fighting and could not have been sweeter. The actual fighting up there is promoted by agencies of various governments with their own agendas. This includes the governments of Pakistan, China, Iran and, of course, the usa (think CIA). They find the poorest of the poor who are the most desperate, offer them some small amount of pay, put a gun in their hands and tell them who to shoot.

And then our media gives these guys a label like, "the Taliban" and tries to make us believe that we need to be afraid and that we need to wage war for some noble cause. Everyone I talk to here about this "gets it" in a way that most folks back home do not. They understand that the people do not hate and do not want to wage war (including the reported animosity between the people of Pakistan and India). They understand that media = propaganda.

Yesterday (Monday, 10/4) was the coming up party for the house. After 8 days completing the foundation and getting all the bits ready it was time to start stacking straw bales. By noon the bales were all up, as well as the top plates. By the end of the day, the trusses were all up and only a bit of framing remained before we'll be ready to install the corrugated metal roofing. Of course it helps that we are not building a McMansion, but still the process goes quite rapidly.

There is a lot of engineering that has gone into this construction technique, and all phases must be complete before the structure attains its final form. At this point, the walls are quite flimsy. Bamboo is placed every 2 feet on the inside and outside and tied together, through the straw bale walls on every other course, to keep the walls upright. Later, after the walls have settled, the nylon netting will be pulled up and attached to the top plates. Once the earth plaster has been applied the walls will attain their final strength.

But not just strength. Like a tree in a windstorm, these walls and the entire system is designed to allow the structure to yield without breaking. Much flexibility is designed into the system. Today I learned that the bottom chord of the trusses is purposely made of 3 pieces (joined with metal plates) when it would be possible to use a single piece of wood. This allows the truss to flex some, which helps to dissipate energy in the event of an earthquake or large wind.