We head back to the deaf church for more concrete work. We mixed up mortar, we laid block, the fundi fixed the block we laid, we carried sand, we carried water, we laughed and joked with the deaf folks who came to help, we plastered cement on the walls (Chris Beam was particularly good at this), and basically did whatever the fundi told us to do. That is, as best we could understand. Keep in mind we had three languages going on - English, Swahili, and Sign. Miscommunications were the rule, not the exception. It made for some funny moments, as we would dutifully dump a 20-litre bucket of water exactly where we were told only to watch the fundi frantically try to get it back in the bucket.
Another problem we ran into was that every African considered himself fundi and enjoyed giving instructions to the muzungus (white people). We didn't know at first which were the fundi and which were ordinary people on a power trip. It didn't take too long for us to learn who knew what they were doing and who didn't. Usually the load, bossy ones were clueless and the fundi were busy doing the job. All were lovely people though; even the bossy ones, and we learned to start telling them what to do. Some of us adapted better to block laying and mud slinging than others, but all contributed in meaningful ways.
An interesting side note: women performed most of the grunt work. Carrying water, carrying sand, and shoveling were all done by women more than by men. Even when they brought our suitcases in on the first night, each weighing 50 pounds except for Chris’s and mine, which was a carryon bag, the women brought them in, often on top of their head. I guess some things don't change from culture to culture; the women still get the drudgery.
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