I remember writing a blog entry about the strength of the people in Nicaragua. At one point, I marveled at Ronald’s ability to do a pull-up into the ceiling and hang there forever, on one hand, as he motioned and gave directions with the other. I took pictures of the workers in the taller hauling ridiculously heavy boat engines around the yard like they were nothing. All the white boys that tried to do the same buckled under the weight.
Here, again, I find myself impressed by the strength of the people. But this time, it’s the women and children. I spotted a kid that was racing down the mountainside with an even littler sibling in tow. Frustrated by the limitations of his siblings short legs, he hoisted the kid onto his back in one fell swoop, without missing a beat, and continued his run down the hill to join the posse of children following us about.
Not quite as exuberant, but equally as visible, are the women who toil in the fields. I was so stunned by the image of this woman here. Barefoot and pregnant, with a child tied to her back and a huge pile of branches on her head, I watched her as she labored up a hillside that sits at a 75° angle to the horizon while the sun beat down on her. She endured so quietly, and when I got close enough to hear her breathe, I was stunned to find her breath even, regular, and hardly strained. How?! I was carrying a water bottle and a camera, and looking for ways strip off clothing in order to lower the amount of weight I had to carry. I tried pawning my bottle off on everyone at least once. I was huffing and puffing and wheezing and sweating. And here was this woman, calm and quiet.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Sheer Strength and Will Power
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I remember going to work on my pikipiki one day in the middle of Tanzania. I passed an OLD dried-up wizened twig of a man who had a whole load of charcoal on his head. He was loping along at 2x walking speed looking like nothing more than sinew and determination.
I knew where he was going. It was to the market in town. I knew where he must have come from... miles outside of town. I knew what his fate was that day... 8 hours of sitting in the sun until he sold his so-simple load of goods, then a long walk home with a few pennies.
My motorbike got to town much faster than he did. But there was a gaping distance between him and me that the bike could never close.
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