Aqueducts!

This aqueduct project is a marathon.  I mean, I assume the metaphor is accurate.  I’ve never run a marathon.  Guess you’d have to ask my brother, the ultra-marathoner, what that’s actually like (https://steeplesandsunglasses.wordpress.com/).  We’re on the final leg.  It’s almost over.  Construction began in January.  It’s been three exhausting months.  The project itself, of course, began long before that, a year and a half ago, as we formed water committees and started gathering all the data needed to make the designs and apply for the grant.  And I can’t be sure it’s going to work – to see whether my modeling and calculations hold up – until construction is finished.  That time is coming soon.

And even with that, this won’t be the end of the project.  Sure, in the next month, I’ll have to close out the grant, turn in the receipts, write up the report and as-built drawings.  But that’s not really the end.  Really just “the end of the beginning” (thanks, Churchill).  Eric, my previous Volunteer, told me that he thinks about Quebrada Pastor every day, that he spent the last two years wondering and hoping that the aqueduct projects he helped build still work, that people still have water.  When he came to visit last month, he asked each group if they always had water, if anything went wrong, if they were still collecting the monthly fee.  It was a window into my future – hoping that the Water Committees remember their training enough to manage their aqueducts well, hoping I had anticipates and avoided potential problems, wondering whether the project was ultimately a success, if it really did improve people’s health and lives.

That’s a tough thing about this kind of work – change is slow, results are slow to see.  “Sustainability” means we’re looking at the long term – which means it will be many years before we can prove whether any of this is truly sustainable (though perhaps fewer to prove whether it fails).  Every time Angel asks me about the craftsmanship quality of their work, I’ll tell him, “It’s your aqueduct.”  He’ll tell me, as he goes to improve it – “We’re not thinking about the short term.  We’re building this for the long term.”

I’m glad they take that kind of responsibility.  It seems like a good sign for success, that sense of ownership.  Aside from telling them that, “It’s not my project.  It’s your project,” I also remind them that, “I’m not the boss.  The Water Committee is the boss.  I’m just the engineer.”  This sums up our roles in the project – and shows that they are in control.  They are the ones making this happen.  They are going to have water in their houses because of what they did.  And they are going to take care of this thing in which they have invested so much.

They are responsible for the decision making, and a lot of the hands-on field problem-solving.  The most joyful moments of the work for me are when we combine my analytical contribution – this is what is going to make this work the way we want it – with their hands-on resourcefulness – so how are we going to make this happen?  That’s the part that’s really fun, because I feel like we are maximizing our roles in this project, balancing our contributions, each of us playing to our strengths, a true team.  I hope they find it empowering to know that they can do the problem-solving needed to get water to their houses.  So much of learning in the campo happens by doing and seeing – not by reading and writing (much to my chagrin when I want to draw them a diagram) – so working together on this infrastructure project is a vivid way to learn that sense of empowerment, ownership, control, leadership, teamwork, organization, planning, and problem-solving.  And that’s a benefit unto itself, apart from getting water in the house.

We’re almost there.  So close.  I’ll keep y’all posted on whether this thing actually works.  When we start it up, anyway.  After that, it’s all up to them.

Pictures:

Gone fishin’ – an evening excursion with another Volunteer – we didn’t catch anything except for the glimpses of dozens of starfish in the shallows, a few alligators in the mangroves, several satellites streaking across a shining Milky Way, and swirls of bioluminescent creatures in the water.  That’s enough of a catch for me!

Gone fishin’ part two -- a daytime trip in Quebrada Pastor – my guides paddled me in a tiny dugout canoe through the mangroves (without capsizing!) out to the sea, where they showed me starfish, coral, parrot fish, spiny urchins, jellyfish – there’s a whole aquarium right at my doorstep!  Then they brought me back and served me some fish they had caught that they fried up with coconut rice.

More critters!

I've ever seen the red frogs with spots on them!

 Construction continues…

A “photo shoot” for Willy’s business, Heidy Organic Chocolates – be on the lookout for a beautifully-illustrated website, coming soon, so promote his chocolate products…

Meniscus

The meniscus is a piece of cartilage located in the knee that serves as the cushion – the shock absorber – between the two parts of the leg.  It takes a lot of abuse, and without it, your leg bones would be grinding against each other, at a single point – which is painful.

Of course, until a few years ago, I had no idea what the meniscus is – and now I know it intimately in only the way tearing it (and having it stitched up, torn again, trimmed, completely replaced, and trimmed again) can provide.  A meniscus is a difficult thing to repair once it is broken, and its frayed edges can complain loudly.

As this aqueduct construction project continues, I keep finding myself – aside from being the engineer and the construction manager and the contractor and the budget administrator – as the mediator in various conflicts.  I am the shock absorber.

I am the meniscus.

It’s exhausting, and I’m starting to fray around the edges.

One such conflict is between the owners/users of one new aqueduct and the landowner living on one side of the spring source.  His family currently uses the spring for doing laundry, and his cows rely on the water downstream for drinking.  His home is located uphill of the spring, so there’s no way to include him in the aqueduct other than simply leaving him a tapstand right after the aqueduct’s intake structure.

This, of course, he does not find satisfying.  From his perspective, he has always had exclusive access to this spring source, and everyone else used the water farther downstream.  To share this water with the aqueduct – to divide the spring’s flow so that the largest portion is piped into a system of which he is not part – is to take away from him something he has always had.  From his view, he is being generous in graciously allowing the construction of this aqueduct on the edge of his property and permitting the sharing of his water.  With the reduced flow, how can he be certain that his cows will have enough to drink?  Will his family be able to wash their laundry efficiently with the lower flow?  These are his concerns.

From the perspective of the aqueduct users, the way the water is divided is fair – proportionate to the population.  Their uphill neighbor has a separate spring uphill that he pipes directly into his house – shouldn’t they get to have water in their houses, too?  Why is he making such a fuss about his laundry water?  Is drinking water for his cows more important than drinking water for 15 families?  Why didn’t he express all of these concerns from the beginning, when he signed the landowners’ agreement – finally, that is, after they had begged him to do so for months?

These are the stakeholders in this conflict of water rights, of water use, of water scarcity.  The same conflict that I saw working as an intern on the San Joaquin River Restoration Project in California.  The same conflict plays out, increasingly, all over the western United States, and many other parts of the world.  Her I get to see it up close, on this small-scale microcosm of the world.  And I have a role to play, too.  I am the meniscus.

As the femur and tibia bicker back and forth, I get pounded in between, seeking a technical solution, a management agreement, an understanding between the two sides – for the sake of the success of the project.  The sustainability of the aqueduct depends on avoiding this conflict in the future, or having a reasonable way of handling it – because if the uphill neighbor is unhappy, he has more capability than anyone, due to his proximity, of wreaking havoc on the system.  For the sake of the project, I desperately try to help the sides reach an accord – I offer to build the uphill neighbor a storage tank to meet his laundry demands, and I tell the aqueduct users that doing this extra work is an investment in their own success.

I meet resistance on all sides.  I know that the conflict is deeper than this aqueduct – I’ve lived here long enough, now, to know that even though they are neighbors and cousins, there is a divide – they live on two different hills, belong to two different churches, have two different standards of living.

It’s hard to stay neutral.  It’s hard not to get upset or to take things personally.  I feel bettered and abused – rather like the meniscus is my own knee – as I struggle to meet changing demands with the resources I have (limited funds, limited time, and a single, variable spring source), while hearing everyone’s complaints about the process and the other side and all the little pesters in-between.

But I think we’re getting there.  I know it’s not really up to me to solve the conflict – it’s up to the people who live here, because they’ll be here long after I leave, continuing to resolve conflicts and – I hope – enjoying the use of their aqueduct.  I just want to do what little I can to avoid the worst of the possible issues.  Prevent as much arthritis as possible, I guess, if I am to continue extending the metaphor.

I’m the meniscus in plenty of other conflicts in this project, too, but at this point, I’d rather dwell on the positive – which is of course best celebrated with pictures!  After all, the trials and exhaustion of the last month did at least yield the construction of two ferrocement tanks – see below for more…

Pictures!

All that remains to be done on the Beker family tank is fill it with water (to make sure it works! – anxiously awaiting the work day to do so)

Started gluing pipes running through the cacao forest on the Beker aqueduct

Tank construction began on the Santos aqueduct

 Putting together the form that will provide the shape of the tank

Arcadia, Angel’s oldest daughter, made a surprise visit home for Holy Week and energetically helped with aqueduct work – her son, Neno, watched as she took on every task with gusto.  Arcadia told me once during my first few months that if she had been able to continue her education, she would have liked to be a civil engineer.  This knowledge broke my heart – to think, but for our vastly different circumstances, we could have been colleagues, in a sense – but I’m glad she got a taste of construction work that week.  She had no hesitation, no sense of reluctance in doing the same work all the men were doing, and I enjoyed that her enthusiasm in that regard matched my own.  I hope Neno appreciates someday how cool his mom is.

The construction site

 Father and son working together plastering the inside of the tank

Preparing the tank roof

A little helper taking refuge from the rainy afternoon

Another little helper, taking a break

Nayelis climbing out of the almost-completed tank

Nothing heals a rough day like baby kitties – born at the meeting place of the Santos aqueduct, where momma-cat reluctantly lets me borrow them for a few minutes