After the FALL!!! (February 21st)

On the 20th (which would have been my mother's 101st birthday), one of the members of the DREAM TEAM from France - Michel Jean Gamet, had noticed that I was favoring my right leg and came to chat with me.  He asked if I would like to borrow a knee compression bandage to maybe help strengthen my knee, and to reduce the stress from it.  I accepted his generous offer and on the morning of the 21st (my daughter's birthday) I pulled on the compression bandage up over my right knee and then continued to get dressed.  Although it was considerably earlier than most of the other members of the Team were up and about, I decided to go outside my tent and have a look around.  Big mistake.  BIG Mistake!

When leaving my tent, I first tripped over the "threshold" at the entrance, began falling forward, tripped on a tree root which had poked itself up through the indoor-outdoor carpeting in front of my tent, went to grab the tent pole and slipped off of that (because of the early morning dew) and propelled forward (kind of like the Roadrunner cartoon character, where his legs are fiercely moving in a fast-forward circular motion, to the point of being a blur) and succeeded in surging forward about forty or fifty feet and SPLATTING on the wet, slippery ground, crashing down on my right knee cap!  This was NOT a pretty sight. As I lay there helpless, I seriously felt I had smashed my patella, and was worried that I would not be able to work.

Sanjay, the owner of the tents, happened to be out walking around the site, and saw me splatter on the ground.  He and another man came over to me and very carefully lifted me to my feet, which at best were shaking and not conducive to standing.  They propped me up for a few moments and then the three of us walked back over to my tent, where I sat down outside.  If only I FELT like a football star being helped off the field by the coach and trainer, but no such luck.  I hurt badly and just felt plain stupid for tripping like I had.  Good thing I had put on that compression bandage, right? 

A little while later, I limped over to the dining tent and had my breakfast with the rest of the members of the Team.  Although Sanjiv (my counterpart in India and the trip organizer) urged me to return to my tent and rest for the day, I insisted that nothing could get done unless I was a part of the group working, so I respectfully declined.  Once I hobbled over to the work site, I realized that I could stand pretty well and pass (toss) basins of masala, as long as I stood with my right leg bent a slight bit, and I could take the pressure off my knee. 

"Ice?" you say?  Nothing could be further from reality.  We barely had cool water, to say nothing of ice for an ice pack to keep the swelling down.  I was strictly dependent upon the compression bandage and decided not to remove it until the very last day, hoping beyond hope that there was no permanent damage and that the swelling was kept to a minimum. 

Another of the very hard, diligent, stoic workers (from the hired crew) was a man who carried huge rocks on his head, and then dumped them (tossed them off his head forward) into the pit where we were working.  How thankful I was that I was not carrying this weight on MY head!  Sometimes THREE men had to lift the boulder onto his head before he moved to carry it to the pit.  As one of my team members said about him, "He just continues to smile, and perhaps is thinking to himself that maybe, just maybe this will be the last big rock he is asked to carry!"

 

Our very own Peanut Gallery!

Tradition is, when we have helped to construct the first three water catchment dams in India, (and why should this one be any different) that the local young men hang out and "observe" what we Rotarians are doing.  It is an unfortunate tradition, but one, nonetheless, which exists.  The day we began working on the dam construction, Kay from Nebraska was one of the first to arrive on site.  You can tell from the look on her face, that she is NOT impressed!

 

As we all began to gather, those of us who had worked on these projects in the past three years were not surprised to see our "rock pile" for the coming week of work.  Other than the digging out of the area where we would be working, and the hauling of the water tank for helping to mix the concrete (masala), the only other mechanized part of this project was the tractor which brought our daily dose of rocks or limestone dust. 

One of the first tasks to get everyone acclimated with the project is to learn the teamwork approach to the passing of "masala" (concrete mix). Lines are formed, and although initially, folks believe that passing from one's left to one's right is easier, they soon come to realize that the passing goes much more smoothly, and therefore, more efficiently, if folks stand apart but opposite one another and kind of get in the "swing" of tossing a basin of masala to the next one in line. 

This process does take a bit of getting used to, saying nothing of building trust that the person who is tossing TO you will not simple heave it, but do it in a respectful manner, as you will in turn toss to the next one in the line.  Of course, there is also the need for the "returnables" to be tossed back, in order for the diggers to refill the basins.  There is a certain level of precision which is required for this task, as well, since one does not want to simply fling an empty basin back toward the masala pile, for fear of cracking someones skull in the process!

Once this process is understood, and people are into their rhythm, it is generally time for a song - I've Been Working on the Railroad, or Row, Row, Row Your Boat or the all-time favorite of the French members of the team, Alouette.  This year, we actually had a number of pretty good singers, and this always makes for a jollier and more productive time!

Out of the "hired group" of workers, there were two in particular that I would like to mention.  First, is a young man, by the name of Santos, who until the final day, I did not realize he is the youngest son of Goberdhan - the crew supervisor.  Santos was one of the two mixers of masala, standing barefoot in the limestone dust, and then going with Myesh to pick up two sacks of cement (each fifty kilos), cut them open and begin mixing with the limestone dust.  He dug into the pile with a vengeance and kept circling round and round, making sure the mix was the right consistency.  I noticed his right arm was severely scarred and two of his fingers were paralyzed almost in a claw-like manner.  There was something else about Santos which made him unique - his left arm had been cut off just below the elbow.  Having said this, however, Myesh and he were equal in their production and unless one stopped to look at Santos, one would never have imagined his handicap. 

Once I learned that he was a part of the family and the younger brother of Dinesh, I took the time to inquire about what had happened.  I was told that he was involved in a freak and horrific electrical accident, and was hospitalized for three months, recovering from severe brain damage, to say nothing of the damage to his arms and hand. 

Day One was accomplished and we all returned to our respective tents, where we all stretched out on our cots and took a brief nap.  Some also broke out some libations and enjoyed them before dinner was served in the dining tent.
 

So THIS is where we will call home for the next few days?

Once the bus driver began traveling down the road, through the tiny village, it seemed as though we were getting further and further away from civilization.  We had been given directions by Sanjiv to follow a particular toad for about 11 kilometers and then begin looking for signs which he had posted along the road.  I was kind of checking out the odometer and at about 6 kilometers, we approached a "toll booth" of sorts, a little building parked in the middle of the road. Our driver did not want to pay any tolls, so he stopped to ask directions to our dam site. I whispered to Bani that I thought we had only gone about half the distance we needed to travel before seeing the signs.  He urged the driver to continue down the road, and pay the toll and sure enough, in about five kilometers, we saw the first ROTARY DREAM TEAM sign on the left side of the road.  It was somewhat obscured by the team of water buffaloes stopping for "relief" on that side of the road, but I spotted the sign, indicating one lilometer further. When we saw the next sign, we were directed to turn left for one more kilometer. We noticed oncoming traffic of huge dump trucks, loaded with stone, approaching us and as we turned onto the side road (liberal use of the term "road") as far as we could see in the dark of night, were the headlights of oncoming trucks with cargo of stone!  Then the fun began!

I also noticed that we seemed to be "bucking" a bit and checked out the road ahead, and it was like driving through the Mud Bowl! We are talking rutss of at least a foot to a foot-and-a-half in depth.  I checked out the bus driver's expression and it was NOT a pleasant one, to say the least.  He maneuvered as best he could, again with the problem of oncoming truck after truck.  Then, for no apparent reason, we stopped.  Horns honking, beeping, creating a cacophony of sound - "just letting you know I am here" or "get out of the way" or "do you really want me to dump my load in front of you or better yet, on top of you?" Each horn has its own meaning and the drivers of buses and trucks and cars understand this "language".  We continued to look out the windows of our bus to see the goings-on outside.  The driver called out to someone on the other side of the road, only to learn that a truck further down the road had suffered a "puncture" (flat tire) and that someone was bringing along the tire to be repaird, at a "shop" across from where we were parked in the middle of the road. Anything is possible in India!

A few minutes later, a tiny truck arrived and had as its cargo, not the tire in need of repair, but the entire truck axle.  This was going to be a very long process.  However, in a few minutes, traffic began to move again, and we soldiered on, inch by inch. Again, the bucking bronco effect began and our driver was attempting to remain on top of the ruts, doing his best to balance so we would not get mired down in the depths.  The driver looked more and more worried, or should I say disgusted and at one point, he simply stopped the bus, turned off the motor and refused to go any further.  Well this caused a bit of a problem because we were still about half a kilometer from the camp site.  Frantic calls were made to contact Sanjiv in order to mediate the situation. Problem was that not all phones work in the remote areas.  We were able to reach Sanjiv who spoke with the driver.  The driver, in turn, decided to stand out in the middle of this pit and stop an oncoming jeep-type vehicle, asking to be driven further down the road so he could assess the situation.  After all, why would anyone drive his or her vehicle further, if the mud ruts were only going to get deeper, UNLESS, of course, one was into the sport of "muddin'"!

Our driver returned shortly and indicated this was the end of the road for his vehicle and we would have to make other arrangements.  In the meanwhile, I looked out and saw a familiar face - that of Dinesh, the son of Goverdahn, who was in charge of the crew constructing the dam.  He seemed very pleased to see me and indicated we would be met by others from the camp, in small jeep-type vehicles and ferried to the camp site.  It was only a few minutes more before the two vehicles were packed to the max with our team members and some of the bags.  The rest would come later once we were all transported to the camp site.  I suppose we could have walked the remaining distance, but in the dark of night, with only two of us having had previous experience in walking down country roads in India in the middle of the night, we were probably wise to accept the rides.

We finally bumped down the path-road (if there is such a term) until reaching a point where literally dozens of young men were crowding to see us as we disembarked from the jeeps.  Corrugated metal sheets were being hammered onto fence posts, in order to identify the boundary between "us" and "them". Sanjiv was there to greet us, as well as his wife, Jyotsna and his sister, Olie. Also, four of the members of the team from France had previously arrived and it was good to see other familiar faces.  The location of our tent village had been created by skimming off the top-soil and the setting out tents around the perimeter.  I had been told by the owner of the tent company, while we were in Nagaur, it had been quite difficult to set up this site, due to unseasonal rains the previous week, and I could see what he meant, particularly during our drive (?) through the mud pit!  The surface was skiddy and muddy and one had to take care while walking.  Even though it felt like the middle of the night, it was only a bit after seven, so we were shown to our respective tents and told dinner woul dbe served within the hour, in the dining tent.  I had more bags than anyone else, because I was carrying all of the team work tee shirts, as well as the team shirts for the NID, scheduled for the 24th.  It looked as though I would be staying for at least six months, I am sure.