Waking up, must have been the same at almost the same time
for any of us.
Some are already busy bustling around, seemingly at ease, knowing out, or just bustling around.
Sunshine is falling in sharp corners through the darkened doorway into the central hall,
dampening sounds and action.
Later sitting outside, in front, having breakfest, passing along the marmelade, along the table,
long table, long benches,
long view, nice view too, as we are in the shadow of the schoolbuilding,
everything blinks up nicely, the village, the fields in between.
All those vivid, but even now still overexposed images from the stay, spring to mind.
My legs; burned and feeling burned from the eagerness of being on a boat at sea,
wanting to absorb all the sunlight,
not understanding why the locals on the ship, shielded themselfes in mostly black clothing.

We are out on the spot where we will put our zeal to work.
Just to reconnaissance.
Mere structures of what is to arise are vaguely visible through the overgrowth.
The team-expert is being instructed by the local engineer,
(a countryfellow being stationed there already semi-permanently for quite some years).
All of a sudden it all seems hopeless,
Not worth the effort..
Maybe interesting, but far beyond anyones reach.
We are to start the next day, on thursday.

Flies are buzzing and smells are getting common and my youthfull idealism, not waning but
I throw myself into the whatever that is to come.

We are here, times childeren thrown together, times are times to give power to the commitee, or even better
to the majority.
We have proven too be capable of majority-conclusions two nights before.
scrutinizing someone, at the table of the youth hostel.
Although fervently the same opinion as the word-vocabalizers, I feel not so rightious...

Fragments of that same place and time spring to mind.
The southafrican group we met sitting on the stairs of the youth-hostel...
That I volunteered to sleep right behind the frontdoor, to let the missing party in...
There will be more scrutinising persons, from a source of commitement, but in a tone of a commitee.

Next morning
Call of duty,
breakfest outdoors in the permitting shade.
Everbody seems cheery.
Off to work.
Pickaxes in hand, we start digging,
Well, the first part was easier, clearing the place where to dig the trenches.
simply by setting fire to the bushes and other overgrowth,
why do I fret, wind might take the sparks blow them away and start unforseen and most unwanted fires elswhere..
Nothing of the kind happens..
Digging even with a pickaxe is quite different from digging the soft earth I am used to.
There seem to be stones growing in the soil here everywhere.
Sweat is dripping...........................