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October 31, 2004, The Pump House, by Jim

The pump house. Sounds pretty impressive. We have to get construction water from the small stream that runs some half a kilometre from the community centre site, and that means a pump powered by a generator. And that means a pump house to protect the pump and generator from the weather and theft. It’s a small job (yeah, right) so I undertake to do it myself.

The Dam.

The stream runs in a deep ravine, and to get near we drive past the school, across two (very unlevel) soccer fields, and down a slope to a spot overlooking the stream. The level ground above the stream is too high for a suction pump, the stream floods during the rains so the house can’t be at stream level, and that means finding or making a small level spot close enough to the small dam we have created. I get help pouring the slab because we carry the cement, sand and gravel down from the bakkie to the stream, about 150 metres down a very steep slope. When that is finished, it’s time to build the house, and that I can do alone, except that the first day Tim comes along to help.

The next day, I arrive in the bakkie with angle iron, strap iron, timber and corrugated roofing, plus tools. At least five loads down the steep slope, but there are five boys (about 10 years old) curious to see what I’m doing, and they help carry.

Working with Children.

At first they just watch as I begin to cut and fit the pieces together. Then, one of them sees I could use a hand, so he helps hold something. Then they all crowd around to watch every move I make. I give the battery powered drill/screwdriver to one of them and show him how to drive a screw, and then they each have to do that. When the screws are all in place, it’s time for bolts, and I show them how to drill a hole, insert a bolt, and use spanners (wrenches) to tighten the bolts. There is much chattering. By the end of the process, two of them have taken the spanners and are doing it alone. Only one speaks any English (a few words), but hand gestures convey much meaning. We make a lot of progress before batteries run out, and they help carry everything back to the bakkie (nothing can be left for the next day, because it could/would be stolen).

Near the end of that work session, they are singing softly, and I ask them if they know “Shosholoza,” my favorite Zulu song. They look embarrassed, and finally sing it a bit with heads cast down. When we are driving back to the centre of the village, however, they have the windows of the canopy open and are singing it in full voice as we wind our way through the village.

The next day they are waiting, and I tell them that I need to work fast and I’m going to do it all myself. They gather around to watch, and soon one is handing me something, then another pitches in, and again, by the time batteries run out, all are helping with something. One boy, in particular, anticipates everything. He hands me one drill bit and takes another at every bit change. Fitting the door I/we have built from corrugated roofing, they all have their hands in the process. And so it goes over the days when I can steal an hour or two to work on the house. The number of boys grows. One day, as we wait for the bakkie to come and pick us up from the site, I count 20 boys, ages about 14 to 4. They take turns blowing into or talking through a piece of plastic pipe, with much laughing. As we sit waiting, one small boy curls up against my side, and an even smaller boy falls asleep curled next to him.

Jim and His Crew.

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