Pushing Progress?

When I arrived in Yemen as a Peace Corps Volunteer on an ESL assignment, I was thrilled to learn there was some flexibility in our potential sites. I soon discovered that there was a volunteer working temporarily in the Tihama (the brutally hot coastal region of the country) in an Eritrean refugee camp building a school. I was excited for two reasons: 1) I might be able to work with Yemeni and African students and 2) It was on the Red Sea Coast and I could snorkel. Having recently left Jamaica, I was keen on developing my diving skills.
During my three-month training period, we had a break where we could spend the weekend at our potential sites. I lobbied to go to the coast with some volunteers that were to be placed in the large coastal city, Hodeidah (a few hours north of the tiny village I wanted to be placed in - Al Khawkha). These volunteers were to teach in large national programs in a bigger city. They would have houses with comforts - plumbing and electricity (for the fans!). We all made our way to the bus stop in the capital city of Sanaa for the four hour journey "down" to the coast. We were told we would travel in a luxurious video bus. At 7200 feet above sea level, Sanaa was indeed above the coast. We couldn't believe we would be in a big bus for a winding trip down through the mountains to the coastal plain. Sure enough, a brand-new coach pulled up complete with video monitors. We made our way down the serpentine, narrow road watching American wrestling videos and carsick Yemeni. I was glad when we ended the odyssey.
When the pneumatic door swooshed open, we were hit by a blast straight out of some one's oven. I had never felt heat and humidity like that in my life. It literally sucked the breath out of me. I was soaking wet with sweat long before I completed the three block journey to the host volunteer's house. I loved it. I survived the weekend, swam in the Red Sea, caught some lobsters, and came back resolved to be assigned in the region. As I have mentioned in a previous post, the Yemeni Ministry did not want any foreign volunteers living in coastal villages as the conditions were too severe. I persisted though, and ultimately prevailed. I was assigned to the village of my choice and soon sought out the volunteer building the school.
Tim was an interesting volunteer. He was an engineer by trade, and eventually confided in me that he really had no degree and had actually been convicted of a drug conviction. Evidently this slipped past his Peace Corps recruitment period, and was discovered late into his two year service. He told me that the officials were content to let him finish his tour, given that he had done a good job. His last assignment in country was to build a large one-room school in the refugee camp just outside the village of Al-Khawkha. I arrived when he was a third of the way into the project.I walked out to the camp and introduced myself a few days after I had settled in. He was surprised that I had been placed there, but welcomed the help on the school.
He was building the school with the sporadic help of a few other volunteers and the orphan boys of the camp. It was tough work at the height of the brutal Yemeni summer. He had built the outer foundation and had begun the walls when I arrived. I helped build the walls and then the roof structure. It was a very creative design as it had no support beams. The framed structure was eventually covered in plywood and then thatched. He really was a talented engineer despite his "credentials." For some reason, Tim could not stay to finish the school, and left me to finish covering the interior and exterior walls, as well as laying the concrete floor. I was happy to help finish his work.
The boys and I slowly continued the work. Another volunteer visited a few times and helped me apply a stucco surface on the walls. By the time we got to the floor however, most of the tools had walked off the job. It was hard, tedious work to mix that much concrete with inappropriate tools in 110 plus degree weather. We were all tired and exhausted. There was some comic relief though, like the day a very thin, determined young man decided to carry a 4X8 foot piece of 1/4 inch plywood by himself across the courtyard on a blustery day. I looked up from my concrete mud puddle just in time to see him lifted four feet straight up and then propelled ten feet laterally. He never let go of his cargo though, and eventually dragged it over to the school. He was uninjured (well not his pride anyway) as the camp was built on a sandy base.
We continued on, and it really took a toll on everyone. I was pushing hard to finish the school, and the boys were exhausted and pretty much feed up with the project. Fewer and fewer of them showed up each day. On one very hot and humid day, I made a mistake I have regretted since, something that exposed a part of my character I do not like to revisit.
I was trying to coax the few remaining boys to help me finish the last batch of concrete for the day. They were just milling about, and one boy who had been pretty much detached for a few days whispered something profane in his language in my direction. I stepped over to him and shoved him. I did not intend to hurt him, but the force knocked him to the ground - he was only about 5ft 6inches tall and maybe 125 pounds. The other boys were shocked and I was horrified. He got up, embarrassed and walked over and started mixing the concrete. Soon the rest of us joined in. I did not know how to handle the situation. I was wrong, I knew it, but we were finishing the job. I guess I thought I would just let it go - bygones be bygones. The issue wasn't over though, and I wasn't prepared for the direction the event would take.
Later that evening, I was called to the elders building (one of the shacks in the camp) to discuss what had happened. I should state that although there were adults in the camp, none of them had ever made it over to the construction site to help. I was sure I was in trouble, but was relieved to go deal with it as I had been feeling very guilty all day. When I walked into the poorly lit structure, I was met with some very solemn faces. They were speaking in Afar initially, and I didn't catch most of it. Finally, the eldest teacher came forward and translated for me. They brought the young man I had assaulted to the front of the room and told me he had something to tell me. He looked up with tears in his eyes and said in Arabic "ana asif usted!" (I am sorry sir). I was dumbfounded. I almost let it go with a magnanimous nod, realizing the whole thing would blow over in a few minutes. Before I could begin the absurd gesture, I thought better of it and put my hand on his shoulder. I asked the teacher to translate to the entire room (by now, elders and many of the boys). I spoke slowly and carefully. I told him that it was I who owed him an apology. I explained that I had shamed myself, and that even though he should not have spoken to me in that matter, it was I who acted in a cowardly manner. The room grew very quiet. I realized I was exploring dangerous territory. No it was not ok to shove children around, but there was a sanctity of tenure there, a protocol of age and station. These teachers and elders had very little worldly wealth or possessions. Dignity and reverence were their capital, and I was discarding mine. A risky precedent indeed. When I finished, no one responded. I turned and I excused myself and left for my tent.
I never spoke of the incident again in the camp, and this is the first time I have detailed the experience in the intervening twenty years. From that day, my relationship was strained with the adult males in the camp. They were polite, but there was an increased distance. This disaffection continued as the first Gulf War was looming, and the US was not being portrayed very generously in the region. The boys and I finished the school and I even taught some first aid courses in it for several months. About a week after that humiliating day, I came across the young man who had apologized to me for my weakness. I saw him walking in my direction, and I even considered ducking off behind one of the hundreds of shacks in the camp. I walked on though, and when I met his eyes, he smiled at me. A quiet, friendly smile. I was grateful for the semblance of redemption and for my deferred tears at that humbling intersection.
To this day, I often push too hard at tasks. I have a hard time understanding the human element in human enterprise. I am still working on this.