This is a mildly emphasized description of the events of the Guido hands team on Monday march 11th, year 2013. I apologize if any fear or distress that is induced by reading this blog. -Shane
Approximately 5 days post arrival on the island
The skies were clear after we woke up at six thirty, we collected what we could find for clothing and embarked on the very short journey towards what we were told to be “the mission centre.” We were served a peculiar mixture of small baked corn pieces along with a strange white opaque fluid derived from cows. After consuming the meal we applied necessary protective lotions as we all were herded towards the all so similar van that has brought us to different locations seemingly everyday now.
After a short trip through the paved and gravel paths that riddle through the city we arrived at the same scene as we were brought to on three days past, the place we have come to know to be that of sweat and pain. A few of us were handed shovels and picks, others were given strange stone blocks, we knew what had to be done with them, yet no one wanted remember that day, that day we had to… work. Yet slowly we moved to our designated posts and began our tasks. Heaving the loads of gravel and sand into piles and integrating the cloudy water to make that foul grey paste used to make that endless concrete lane. Those lucky enough to be given a grinding block were trapped inside stone chambers to wear down the rough concrete walls of the room to only find that once they finished the one room they were just transferred to finish another, but at least they were out of the sun.
As the day pressed on the sun scoured down, leaving its mark on our already red skin. Sweat drained out of our bodies like faucets as our water supplies dwindled, luckily a local girl supplied us with frozen treats. The previous day’s injuries though rendered their ugly head as team members struggled to work with the wounds in the harsh condition. Medical attention was sought but the members affected had to sit out from the heavy sanding on the walls.
Opposed to the several short water breaks we were treated to a suspiciously delicious lunch composing of beef (or goat, the taste was not a good gage to the meats origin), a concoction of egg and potato salad, and a healthy portion of the regular beans and rice. I personally suspected that they are only trying to make is work harder, but I heard others mention the idea that they are fatting us up to sell us in the market.
The day dragged on as we had more work to do but the time seemed to slow down as the sun kept us aware we were in its horrific presence. We thought the worst was behinds, but to our dismay it was not. Our brave leader was stricken with a tragic nasal blood vessel rupture. Blood was spewing everywhere as we didn’t quite know what to do, the nurse on the scene, Mrs. Dejong was no where to be seen so we had to improvise in the spur of the moment and use some scrap paper to try and slow the steadily flowing stream of her precious blood. We all feared for the worst as we were only able to watch her sit across the worksite as the life slowly trickled out of her nose. Thankfully the blood did stop leaking out and she was stable for the moment. The effects though were more lasting and she was forced to sit at the side and have the kind girls of the school tend to her needs. I wondered how many casualties we would collect before the day of work was through with us.
The day on the site did slowly come to a close and we were allowed to be placed back into the rolling deathtrap, the van, and were brought back to our protected compound. After a very brief lapse to allow us to change from our disgusting apparel; we were once again summoned for our evening meal the locals call “cena.” We were served a interesting mix of sauce and noodles, I recall they called “spaghetti”, alongside this we had some beef, or goat, paired with the usual rice and beans.
After our meal we were told we would be heading out in an hour, but not to where, only that we should bring our money. Once again murmurs arose that this is the night they would sell us, and we were bringing our money only that we might be able to give them an additional profit off us. Upon arrival we found out we were brought to the cities great indoor market, and I became to have feelings that others fears may be becoming our reality. We all were filed into the building and told to hand over our money to our “guide.”
We were told to stand together at the side as he waited in line in front of a “western bank” that I was sure was a cover for something else. We received many eerie glances from those who walk by, as if were merchandise that ever thing else in that retched building. We could only nervously wait as we anticipated the inevitable. To our thankful surprise our guide was merely exchanging our American currency to the appropriate Pesos. We were told to buy what ever we would like, and so we did. We all collected a sufficient supply of Coca-Cola, chips, cookies, and other fattening treats.
That brings us to where we are now, gorging our stomachs with the healthy North American foods. The others have been temporally numbed to their earlier suspicions, but regretfully admit I know better, it’s now only a matter of time before we don’t write our blog one night and you never hear from us again, but until then, keep reading and keep commenting.
(In all seriousness, we are all fine, the day went well, no one was seriously hurt, just a few blisters, Celine had a little nose bleed, and the food has be excellent, and we went the grocery store, and i editted this myself so im sorry for the spelling errors)
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