I came home today covered in mud spatters, with sunglasses, face, hair and clothes crusted with dried mud splashes.
The Supply Log and I were making a tour of the warehouse, and we walked past a large puddle of water. Stagnant water is a breeding ground for mosquitoes, and in a country with one of the highest incidences of malaria, that is a bad thing. We ask the watchman to channel out the water, to try to drain the big puddle so it dries faster. We continue our tour, checking the lights, doors, etc.
By the time we're done, the watchman hasn't gotten so far, so we jump in to help. He's gotten far enough that you can see his progress, so the puddle is tantalizingly close to draining. We jump in with shovels and hoes too.
Ten mintues later, we let go of all appearances of just "waiting for the car" and bust out the picks and heavy digging tools. The supply log strips off his shirt, and we really get going.
An hour later, the puddle is almost completely drained, and the ditches zigs and zags along 50 feet of slope. The supply log, who was smart and conscientious about getting mud all over himself, wipes down, dons his shirt, and is ready to go. Me, not being able to take off my shirt in public, and having chosen to wear a white shirt today, I am a mud monster.
But at least the puddle is dry. Sometimes, it's so great to point to something and say, "I did that," And not in a procedural-approval-funding sort of way. A physical sweat-it-out sort of way.
The Supply Log and I were making a tour of the warehouse, and we walked past a large puddle of water. Stagnant water is a breeding ground for mosquitoes, and in a country with one of the highest incidences of malaria, that is a bad thing. We ask the watchman to channel out the water, to try to drain the big puddle so it dries faster. We continue our tour, checking the lights, doors, etc.
By the time we're done, the watchman hasn't gotten so far, so we jump in to help. He's gotten far enough that you can see his progress, so the puddle is tantalizingly close to draining. We jump in with shovels and hoes too.
Ten mintues later, we let go of all appearances of just "waiting for the car" and bust out the picks and heavy digging tools. The supply log strips off his shirt, and we really get going.
An hour later, the puddle is almost completely drained, and the ditches zigs and zags along 50 feet of slope. The supply log, who was smart and conscientious about getting mud all over himself, wipes down, dons his shirt, and is ready to go. Me, not being able to take off my shirt in public, and having chosen to wear a white shirt today, I am a mud monster.
But at least the puddle is dry. Sometimes, it's so great to point to something and say, "I did that," And not in a procedural-approval-funding sort of way. A physical sweat-it-out sort of way.
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