Manuel Labor (Part 2)

I previously posted about the Herculean efforts of one young laborer, as he transported concrete blocks from a ground level staging area up a primitive ladder and onto a roof top. This task he performed alone and in silence seven hours a day for six straight days. I was humbled.

Over the intervening days, water and electrical lines are chiseled (Mexican style) into their desired locations. A team of two or three men are present each day hand-mixing small amounts of concrete, framing, twisting or grinding. Their work commences 8ish and continues until it flirts with the heat of the day around 3ish. This rhythm self-replicates six or seven times per week. Manuel is ever-present.

The most celebrated day of any construction projecgt is not the day it commences, nor is it the day the family moves in. (It is common in Yelapa for the family to reside in the structure as it is being built. Such documentary formalities as Certificates of Occupancy do not exist.) Back to my story—the most significant day/event in the entire construction process is the day the roof is poured. At that time much of the available local labor pool is marshaled to efficiently and expediently transport concrete from Point A to Point B. Today, a dozen such chaps appeared with five gallon plastic pails in tow.

Their task is made somewhat easier by a power mixer. It is strategically placed between mounds of cement bags, gravel bags and a ridge of sand. The most senior position, aside from the foreman atop the structure, appeared to be the person in possession of a large flat-edged shovel. That individual would dictate to the four member Mixing Crew the amount of any ingredient required to craft the best batch of concrete. There would be no discussion, only one-way directives. The remaining gang of eight would do the heavy lifting, literally. They cue up next to the mixer, receive a quantity of grey sludge, hoist it onto a shoulder, hike up to the roof to await the foreman’s direction as to the appropriate dump site. This process continues uninterrupted for more than five hours. No one, I repeat no one stops to talk, smoke, drink, rub or scratch anything that entire time. Apparently the following construction mantra prevails “Concrete waits for no man.” Visually, (see the video on my FB) three concentric circles rotated clockwise intersecting at the point occupied by the mixer. Hourly or so, the three circles briefly collapse then reconstitute around a task previously performed by a neighboring circle. The synchronicity is Olympic in its execution.

As the final pails are filled, hoisted, transported and dumped, the group of twelve amass silently in the shade of a low hung tree. A few light cigarettes, others retrieve bottles of water; the majority slump forward with forearms resting on thighs. They disband as uneventfully as they amass. Some ponder a shower and a siesta, others a cold liter bottle of beer to celebrate while others relish their fist full of pesos to save towards their own construction project-----someday. Manuel is lost in the crowd as he descends the hill.

Commercial Break

The water is warm, the bay is calm and the price on my kayak rentals is right. See me (memo) on the playita. Happy paddling.