A View Through My Window: June 2009

An unforgettable Hash run

Today I ran for the 2nd time with the Luanda Hashers since coming here. I am not a virgin Hasher anymore. We sang our usual Hashers’ song; some ran wearing unusual things (like wings of an angel, chicken hat, Pizza style hat, blonde toupee, Viking hat, and so on). We bowed to the Cuca God (Cuca is an Angolan beer, there is a huge Cuca sign on top of a high rise building on a hillock and the hashers bow to that facing the building) as usual Hasher ritual.

However, this run was especially unforgettable for me. I did not have my camera with me. I am not sure if I can draw the picture in words. As we went downhill at one place close to the port area and fabrication yards, we saw this huge slum with shacks making a city within the city. It seemed like as if a million people lived down there. But that was just a view from a distance - horrible looking, yet hiding the harshest reality. I had similar views in Bombay, Sao Paulo and in many cities. Then slowly we were right in the middle of that world - running through those shacks, through filth, stinking open swear, trash piles, pigs and roosters freely moving around. There were little children – naked or scantily clad – smiling, playing, and surrounding these alien looking runners passing through their world. I had seen up close only in late 50s on the bank of the Brahmaputra near Fancy Bazaar, where the homeless people lived in flimsy shacks, where stray dogs roamed and society’s unwanted lepers took shelter. This was worse than that. I don’t believe I had seen anything like this before in my life. Then again the people were living without complaining. That was normal to them. Those children’s laughter reminded me of “The City of Joy”.

As I ran back to our starting point, my mind was struggling, not from the physical pain of the run (which certainly was hard), but from the imagery of the horrendous place that I had just visited. The question – why does it have to be like this - always haunts me. Yet I am just a selfish and helpless bystander. Before long I will be at my house taking a hot shower in a bath tub to cleanse the filth I gathered during the run.

The average longevity in Angola is 42. I am not surprised. But again those who survive, they must be really strong building an immunity to defy all odds.

Engineering Manager or House Manager!

The Client from Houston says we are behind on our deliverables – piping, electrical, instrumentation, structural. We are working our tails off putting in 60 – 70 hours a week. Yet I have to attend to the complaints (sometimes first thing in the morning) about the new house I live in from my co-workers living in the same house – “hot water heater does not work, sliding window in my room won’t close letting mosquitoes in, the water pump makes too much noise disturbing my sleep, the maids are mixing up clothes”, and so on. I contact Quintas - our reliable savior to get the repair man fast, and then contact the TV technician, the wireless technician, the lady supplying the curtains. No one shows up on time or never finishes the job at one time. My colleagues say TIA – “This is Angola”. I feel like an apartment manager and not an engineering manager at times. But Client has no clue or doesn’t need to care about other issues of living and working in Angola. They need their deliverables. I feel like I am working two jobs.

On the brighter side, in 10 days I will be “off rotation” for two weeks. I think I am ready for a break. No wonder other expats start counting days and hours towards the end of their 6-week rotation.