View from a Habitat Team Leader: The full story of the fractured leg in Ghana.

View from a Habitat Team Leader: The full story of the fractured leg in Ghana.: I know, it's been a while since my last post. Well I have been busy with other things. House renovation, vacation, Yes, I do get one as...

The full story of the fractured leg in Ghana.

I know, it's been a while since my last post. Well I have been busy with other things. House renovation, vacation, Yes, I do get one as well as my Habitat Trips. I don't class those as vacations, they take months to put together and when they are over I need a vacation to recover. My last HfH trip to China was in April and to say the least, was not as expected. But I will tell all about that another time. I am not up to date yet with the rest of the trips. As you know I did not start posting blogs until recently so had a lot to catch up on.

I have decided that as they all retrospective I don't need to stick to date order. So this time I am posting my trip to Ghana Last year, 2011.  Well not so much a run down on the whole trip as most of it, well in fact all of it, I was sat on a plastic garden chair under a temporary awning to protect me and the dinning table from the rain, with my leg in a full cast. I have inserted pictures of my time spent under the awning so they are not actually relevant to that section of the story.

The girls in the team (100% female team) were amazing. 

 Meet the Ladies

They completed the project and ran around after me at the dinner table making sure I was fed and watered. They did a grand job, If I wore a hat, I would take it off to them. Even though they made sure I was eating, I still lost over 28lb in weight by the time I arrived home. Not a diet I would suggest to anyone else.

As I was not staying in a hotel but sleeping in a mosquito tent on the floor (it was not easy getting in and out of that) of a previously built Habitat house, it was not very comfortable to say the least, and I won't even go into the bathroom details, too much information as they say.

My home for the duration

The following is more a recount on my time dealing with the hospital and the ensuing problems of  breaking a leg in Ghana.

Ghana and the tale of the double fracture

It didn't get off to a good start from day one. I was due to be at the airport to collect team members arriving from the USA. Two flights were due in shortly after each other and the plan was to meet the first and hold them back for the second. I arranged with the hotel to have the driver pick me up at 19:00 hrs. He arrived at 19:30, he also collected another guest for transportation to the airport. We then stopped for fuel and finally arrived at departures over an hour later. 

I did hobble down to the build on one occasion, these are children of the partner family

I checked my phone and found an e-mail from Sonita who was due in at 19:30  it was now 20:30 and she was panicking because I was not there to meet her.  The traffic exiting departures was at a standstill so I left the vehicle and started to run down the ramp towards arrivals. That's where it all went wrong. I tripped and tumbled down the ramp grazing my arm and right leg. My left leg took the full force of the fall and was extremely painful.

On getting to my feet I found I could not put any weight on the left leg but had to hobble into the arrival area in the hope of finding Sonita. Luckily she had taken a seat by the coffee stall, I joined her and felt pleased that she was OK. It can be terrifying, a young girl thousands of miles from home, never been that far away from her parents before and there she is all alone, no one to meet her.

When the driver finally arrived I asked him to collect the next 4 team members on the next flight and bring them to the coffee bar where I was sitting. This he accomplished without a problem. 

I could hardly make it to the vehicle but with the help of a friendly shoulder to lean on, I got there.

Home owner

The following morning I realised the situation was worse than I had first anticipated. I had to accept the fact that I may have cracked  a bone in my leg. I called Naomi (affiliate GV co-ordinator) to my room and explained the situation. She was to take the team north to the village where we would be working. I would stay behind and go to the hospital and would catch them up later.

After following procedure and contacting Medex (HFH Insurer) they sent me details of which hospital to visit. I then took a taxi to the A&E at the Military Hospital in Accra.  This is where the fun started.

The taxi dropped me at the entrance and I hobbled in through the door. There was no reception and the first room was filled with people with various parts of their bodies bandaged or supported by temporary splints and dressings.  The doorway in front of me had a sign saying "Emergency Department" above it, so I hobbled through. An orderly saw my distress and immediately found me a wheelchair. Then the fun started. After I explained the problem I was taken in my new found form of transport to the accounts department where they took my details and issued me with a card in exchange for 30 Ghana cedies.

I was then transported back to Emergency and parked alongside two men lying on mattresses on the floor, both were attached to saline drips and one had bandages supporting his leg in a cardboard splint. The other just appeared to be in pain and curled in the foetal position. On a Gurney to the left of me was a guy with bandages around his waist and covering his arms, a saline drip was attached to his hand and to say the least he did not look comfortable. 

We got to meet the village Chief in his Habitat House

Eventually I got to speak to a doctor who informed me I was in need of an x-ray. Unfortunately the x-ray machine at the Military Hospital was not working and I would have to go elsewhere. At this point they ordered a state ambulance to collect me and transport me to another facility where there was a working unit. They also wanted to strap my leg and give me pain killers. The orderly told me what they would cost, I gave him some more money and off he went to get them. On his return they strapped my leg and gave me the pain killers. Apparently I should eat as I had taken the pill, I had had nothing since the previous evening.

The ambulance arrived and I was duly transferred to the stretcher and into the ambulance, (van with runners on the floor to hold the stretcher) Two other guys joined me and took their position on the double seat mounted next to the stretcher. One was the accompanying friend (apparently everyone should have one when going to hospital) the other was a car crash victim with dressings all over his face and what they suspected were damaged ribs. On the way, Max (ambulance doctor) got me a can of Guinness Malt, a disgusting drink that is apparently a food substitute.

On arrival at the hospital I assumed they were not used to having stretcher cases there because the doors did not accommodate them, but Max managed to get me in there. Max was to prove to be my saviour on more than one occasion during this exasperating day.  Once outside the x-ray unit door the radiologist wanted paying before he could continue. I didn't have enough cash as I had only exchanged a small amount at the airport when entering the country. Max paid the balance for me and the x-ray was completed. Max stayed in the x-ray room at all times, no lead aprons or protective screens to be seen here, and he was on the mobile continuously although the big sign said NO MOBILES.

Job done, Max informed me that I had a fractured Tibia.  On the way back to the Military Hospital we stopped at the ATM. I gave Max my card and pin number and told him not to book his holiday on it. He returned  to inform me that the card had been refused. I guessed it was a security problem. So there I am laying on the stretcher phoning the bank in England. Finally they clear security and free up my card. Max returned to the ATM and came back with the cash. I repaid my debt to him and paid for the ambulance. Hospital next stop.

The lovely lady in who's home I stayed during my time in Humjibre

Max wheeled me back into Emergency where I sat for a few hours watching the goings on around me. I was positioned on a gurney next to the operating theatre. A big sign on the door read "Operating Theatre No Entry" Perhaps the locals cant read but everyone and his friend entered that room at some point during my stay.

The idea of patients having a friend with them is so that they can run back and forth, paying fees, purchasing bandages and medicine from the on site pharmacy. You are charged for everything. Fortunately for me the friendly orderly took on that roll.

During my stay in the emergency unit, I had nothing to do but sit and watch the theatre performance going on around me. It was like a war zone. Bodies being brought in on stretchers, covered in blood, head wounds appeared to be the majority of cases. Motorcyclists with their feet hanging off, blood pouring from a head wound and a body covered in gravel wounds with the gravel still embedded in them. Another guy with a gunshot wound to his ankle, another motorcyclist with head wounds and a broken leg. He did arrive with a crash helmet so I'm not sure how he got the wound to the head.

They were all treated there on the stretcher right next to me, removed clothing dumped on the  blood soaked floor.  Cleanliness was not a high priority around here. I had no idea how long I had been there as the clock hanging from the ceiling was stuck at 11:20. The second hand was struggling to move, it kept ticking in a static position. I'm not sure if it was broken or if it was just the filth and grease stuck to it that was restraining the hand.

Beyond the emergency department was the emergency ward, here were patients who had been upgraded from phase one to the ward where they lay packed on beds lining the walls and packed so tightly with just enough space between them to enable the visitors and nurses to walk.  There seemed to be some kind of routine to visiting hours because every half hour or so, a stream of people walked through the area where staff were dressing the wounds of those damaged and bloody bikers, gun shot and car wreck victims.  All carrying food and washing items. It appears that you have to have your family feed and wash you, it's not part of the hospital facilities. I don't think I would have lasted long in there had it been necessary for me to stay in. 

My view from the plastic chair at lunch times

I had that thought too soon, I was told that the surgeon who needed to look at my x-ray and carry out any necessary surgery did not work on Sundays so I would have to stay until Monday. Seeing that this was not an option, I brokered a deal. I would get a taxi back to my hotel, although at this point I didn't have a hotel room, and return tomorrow morning.

With the help of Naomi who was at this time best part of the way through a 10 hour journey to the Habitat work site, I was able to secure a room at the Crystal Palm Hotel that had been used to house the team on the first night of their arrival. I also arranged for their driver to collect me from the Hospital and take me back to the hotel. 

With a room secured on the ground floor, I ordered a salad and then slept soundly until the morning. David the hotel driver was there on time and ready to take me to the hospital for another adventure into the health system of Ghana. He was very insistent that I was happy that he was on time. It was as if someone had mentioned that because he was late two days previously I had been placed in this situation. Not one that I blame him for, this is Africa, time is different out here. I still blame myself for running down a gradient, I should have known better. I was later to find out that Naomi had  had a word with the hotel about him being late.

On arrival at the hospital I entered the emergency room without a clue as to what to do or where to go. A guy in a short white coat requested the card that I had been given the previous day. On production of this he dropped it into a cardboard box at the end of a long table behind a clear perspex screen. I was then told to sit in a row of chairs which were fully occupied, and wait. 

Fortunately a young girl who had been sitting with an elderly relative, after being persuaded by the relative gave up her seat.  I had been sitting for a short while when I spotted a man raking through the cardboard box containing my card. He extracted a card and called my name. I hobbled across to him to be given my notes from the previous day. I hobbled back and sat down once again.

The kids wondering why this guy was sitting there with a cast on his leg

After a short while a door with the sign "consulting room one" opened and a number of people in white coats walked out and took a look at the rabble seated before them. This is a military hospital and there were a number of high ranking officers making there way back and forth through  the corridors and offices in view. Uniforms in camouflage, white, dark blue, the white ones looked really impressive. One of these uniformed medical staff stood outside the door and  directed the patients who were seated in the chairs, one by one into the room. It didn't mater who was first, he worked clockwise from the front right side of the double row of chairs.

It was not long before it was my turn. I hobbled into the room to be confronted by what appeared to be 2 male doctors and a female who I had seen the day before. I passed over the x-ray and the senior guy clipped it to the light board, pointing out the two fractures to my Tibia. He then proceeded to explain that I needed a cast and one of the other doctors present would find me a wheelchair (not an easy task in this hospital) and take me to the plaster room.

Once in the room with three, what I assumed to be doctors, I climbed onto the bed and they readied me for the cast. That was when one of them produced an invoice detailing the cost of bandages, plaster of Paris and a pair of crutches.  This all added up to far more than I had with me. So it was off the bed, back into the wheel chair with Kofi the doctor who had wheeled me there in the first place, now taking me to locate a Taxi. He summoned a hospital taxi as these drivers can be trusted (apparently). I squeezed into the front and with Kofi in the back we headed out to the ATM for a second time. The traffic was horrendous and it took quite some time to travel a short distance. After I extracted another 400 Cedies we headed back to the plaster room but not before stopping to pick up lunch for Kofi.

Back in the plaster room I settled the invoice and was duly plastered. Kofi wheeled me back to the taxi and I was free to go to the airport and fly up to Kumasi where a driver was to meet me for the three and a half hour drive to Humjibre in the western region. It had taken the team four hours to drive from Accra to Kumasi, the flight lasted twenty five minutes. I waited just over the hour for "Bright" my driver to arrive. We then headed out to the village arriving about 7 pm on the Monday.

 The Cast

I then spent two weeks sitting on a plastic chair under the awning set above our team table. Not sure I was of much use to them but at least I was able to give moral support and answer a few of their questions.

At the end of  the project and following the 10 hour drive back to Accra, I went back to the hospital and had the cast removed, thereby enabling me to fly home. Apparently most airlines will not let you fly with a cast or unable to flex the knee. Fortunately Kofi had written his name and number on the back of the x-ray envelope. I called and explained the situation and he asked me to meet him at the plaster room in the hospital. He then proceeded to remove the cast, We don't have a set charge for this he said, but we will take whatever you give us. I paid up and headed on my crutches out of the door and back to the hotel.

It rained a lot during my time under that awning and my crutches came in handy more than once

I spent that evening cast free sitting next to the pool with a beer in hand. The beer was to try and deaden the pain, it wasn't working. Next day at the airport, Virgin made a great effort to secure my comfort throughout the journey home, I certainly have no complaints as far as that flight was concerned.

Back in the UK, I was wheeled through the airport to be greeted by Moira waiting for me at arrivals. She whisked me off to the local hospital where we waited 5 hours over night to end up with a part plaster cast that was loose and disjointed and quite frankly, useless. At least Kofi in Ghana new how to put a cast on a leg. We then travelled back to Yorkshire and again checked into a local hospital in Doncaster. The story was so different there, you would not believe they were both NHS hospitals.

I then had a fancy contraption fitted, looked like one of those things kids with polio used to wear. (if you are old enough to remember those things). It was my new friend for the following 8 to 12 weeks. 

The calliper

Unfortunately it didn't stop there. Since returning home I was diagnosed with fluid on the lung, that  rectified itself with the use of antibiotics. An infection on the lung, Again rectified but left a scar. But worst of all is a blood clot at the back of the knee and a pulmonary embolism. So was put on Warfarin for 3 to 6 months. 

All the effect of fracturing my leg and flying back without a cast. Catch 22 I think, can't fly with a cast, DVT if you fly without one. But hey, there are many more out there far worse off than I.  And as they say, Life is the adventure.

Update:  

A few weeks after being home and settling back into life, all be it with a calliper on my leg. I received a phone call from a number I didn't recognise. It was Kofi calling from Ghana to see how I was getting on. Amazing, try getting that service from a UK NHS doctor.

View from a Habitat Team Leader: Bawana community, Delhi, India, December 2008

View from a Habitat Team Leader: Bawana community, Delhi, India, December 2008: This time I will start with a brief history of India , the land of rich cultural history.  It is a country known for its Rajas and Maharaj...

Bawana community, Delhi, India, December 2008

This time I will start with a brief history of India, the land of rich cultural history.  It is a country known for its Rajas and Maharajas, as the land of the great Mahatma, as a land in which people of diverse cultures live in harmony as one nation. (well maybe not quite, but I'm trying to get you into the mood for this)  This enchanting country has a great history of over 5000 years.  The name INDIA is derived from the name of the river 'Indus' around which people started to live.  This came to be called the Indus Valley Civilisation, which was as rich as the Greek and Egyptian civilisations.  The successive periods of Vedic Civilisation in 2000 BC, Buddhist Era in 700 BC, the invasion of Alexander the Great in 400 BC and the reign of Hindu Kings, starting with Maurya Empire in 400 BC, had a great impact on the lives of the people.  

With the invasion of the Muslims in 700 AD and establishment of Mughal Kingdoms in 1200 AD, the course of Indian history took a different direction. Islam, hitherto unknown in India, became a major religion. Later, Europeans like the French, Portuguese and the Dutch came to India for business in 1600 AD. With the advent of the British in the form of the East India Company in 1700 AD, Indians were subjected to foreign rule, which lasted for more than 300 years, leaving lasting imprints on every aspect of Indian life. (other than imposed partition I'm told by Indian nationals that the imprints were mostly for the good and beneficial to the current culture).

India achieved Independence from British rule on 15 August 1947 under the dynamic and inspiring leadership of Mahatma Gandhi, Father of the Nation, through the great Philosophy of Non-Violence. India became a Republic on 26 January 1950

So with the history lesson over and referring back to the above statement "a land in which people of diverse cultures live in harmony as one nation" I shall begin my story.

Mumbia had just been blown apart by terrorists. In today's world of instant news, everybody knew what was going on and could see for themselves the devastation and terror that this incident caused. Not a good start to the project which was to commence less that two weeks after the event.

As I expected, the e-mail's started to arrive, "is it going to be safe?"  "Have any members pulled out?" "My family are worried for my safety" "I'm not sure about going after this"  were just some of the questions and comments being fired at me.

What could I say?. For my part it was still a possibility unless the American State Department put out a travel warning. I answered as honestly as I could, Mumbia was a long long way from Delhi. Security would be on high alert. If HFH thought there was a problem they would pull the plug. If HFH India thought there was a problem, they too would pull the plug.

The e-mail's started to fly between team members, as we used a group mail to communicate so that everyone could read each others questions and my answers. No point in trying to hide each others concerns. 

Having interviewed and spoken to most of the team before accepting them into this project, I felt that I had chosen good people. I was proved right on more than one occasion during this trip. But the response to the "are we going" question was an overwhelming "screw the terrorists, we are in" well maybe not in so many words but the answer was a positive YES.

The team consisted of 11 members as one had dropped out earlier due to financial constraints and I hadn't enough time to replace them. In saying that, there were more than enough people wanting to go, right up to the last minute. But visas and inoculations etc. would have taken too long to complete. So 11 it was going to be. 6 women and 5 guys. I know I usually write a few words about each member but perhaps I'm getting lazy, or maybe I think that each member can describe themselves better than I can. But don't worry each will get a mention at some point throughout these ramblings.

So for me it was time to head for the airport, no drama there then. Uneventful flight with Air India direct to Delhi. 

At Delhi airport I was due to meet Amit, my contact and HFH India project manager in Delhi. Through previous communication we had arranged a meeting place in the arrival lounge. This is where it started to go wrong.

Amit

I had flown out a day early to meet up with Amit, and go over the details making certain that everything was in place for the arrival of the team the following day.

My arrival followed a report by the BBC (of all people) that 6 gunmen had been shot at Delhi airport earlier that day. This news obviously went around the world in about 20 milliseconds. The US State department then placed a travel warning on it's web site. 

At the airport nothing much seemed to be out of the ordinary, security was high, but then it was the anniversary of the destruction of Babri Mosque in December 1992 and a few problems had been envisaged by the authorities. The only other problem was that the airport had been closed to visitors, every one had to wait outside for incoming passengers. This meant that the agreed meeting place was not available. Added to this there were two exits. 

I decided to take the exit left. After standing there for a few minutes reading all the names being displayed by the drivers lined up at the barrier, I was approached by a young blond American girl who introduced herself as Katie, a long term volunteer with HFH India. Amit was at the other entrance. (all bases covered) As I was to learn, Amit is probably the most well organised and dedicated affiliate contact I have worked with. There were going to be no logistical problems with this guy on the case.

At the YMCA Delhi, our home for the next few weeks. Amit and I met for lunch and discussed the plan for the project.  Our initial destination should have been Bhalaswa, but this had been changed to Bawana because there was more of a need and it better suited our team size. We agreed to meet the rest of the team members at varying times of the following day with the last two arriving early hours Sunday morning. It was going to be a long day.

Amit also had news that one of the members had decided not to come, following the BBC reported shooting at the airport and the State Department travel warning. With Kemble not arriving, that reduced our numbers to 10.  The saddest part of this, is the fact that there were no shootings at the airport. The Indian authorities reported that someone heard a noise like a gunshot. This was later attributed to a fire cracker being discharged in the car park. The airport was closed for 20 minutes, no gunmen, bullets or any other incriminating evidence was found and the airport was opened again. So much for the accuracy of the BBC. They did however print an apology about 3 days later. Not much help for Kemble that late after the non event.

On our runs to and from the airport to collect team members, we were a little apprehensive, in case others had decided not to come and we had not had the word. But hey, what a team, by Sunday night (thanks to Vic who arrived late Sunday not late Saturday as we thought he would) everyone was safely housed at the YMCA. They had flown from Canada, Various locations around America, some via Baiging and Yuko from Hong Kong.

On Sunday afternoon Amit presented an orientation meeting to surpass all orientation meetings. He used PowerPoint to highlight his presentation and to give the team a wonderful insight into HFH India and the work they have been doing to help eradicate poverty housing in the Delhi region. This is the last time I will say this but Amit is so switched on I just know he will be a pleasure to work with.

During the last 20 years Habitat in India has built over 14,000 houses for families irrespective of caste, creed and language. Structurally, they operate through four Habitat Resource Centres located at Delhi, Mumbai, Chennai and Bangalore. At present, they have 4 satellites and numerous partner NGOs across the country. As they build partnership with the homeowners to provide decent shelter, they are also drawn to respond to natural disasters, like the earthquake in Gujarat and Tsunami on the East Coast of India. The Jimmy Carter Work Project (JCWP) was a prime event of the year 2006. Their hope to reach many more needy families has been nurtured through JCWP. It was also a milestone in their road to reach 50,000 families in the next five years.

Monday morning, breakfast in the YMCA restaurant at  06:00 hours, ready to leave by 07:00. Amit had arranged a crew bus to remain with us throughout the project, complete with driver and mate. Once everyone was on board we headed out of town on our daily 1 ½ hour drive to Bawana. At that time in the morning the traffic was not too bad. But the closer we got to the community, the worse the roads became. Pot holes all over the place, the driver had to carefully avoid these as they were so deep they would cause irrevocable damage should you be unfortunate enough to find yourself hitting one. As the days passed you could see the increase in size of these holes.

The roads were not the only thing the driver  had to avoid. Traffic rules do exist so I'm told. But I don't think anyone told the hundreds of motorists using the roads of Delhi. On duel carriageways you could suddenly find another motorist driving the wrong way and heading directly towards you. Motorcyclists, push bike rickshaws, and cattle all have laws unto themselves. Also the law says that a motorcycle rider must wear a crash helmet. So what about the other 4 passengers?

On one occasion we were running late. Upon arriving at one particular junction, it was grid locked. Buses, trucks, cars, bikes, you name it, it was there. And no one was going to give way. As an inch of space became available, a vehicle would edge forward to fill it. To me it was obvious that someone had to give way and create a space. It was probably obvious to them, but no one was going to be the one to give up his little space at this party. At one point a motorcycle tried to pass in front of a bus, but the bus was not giving way. He clipped the bike and rider. Now you must bear in mind that all of this takes place without any driver making eye contact with another. more a game of patience, both waiting and manoeuvring.  By this time the motorcyclist is off his machine and clambering into the drivers door of the bus. Punches are being thrown, others are getting involved on both sides, and still nothing moves and no eye contact is made. Only maybe a fist with an eye here and there.

I'm not sure how, but after about 25 minutes we manage to escape the junctions grip and continue on or way to the community. On another occasion we encountered fog so thick I am amazed we got anywhere. I take my hat off to the driver who throughout out time in Delhi, did a wonderful job of transporting us to wherever we wanted to go without complaint and always with a smile.

Upon arriving at Bawana community the site was amazing. We pulled up in the main street which by this time was a bustling market with so many people, cars, trucks and animals that you could not see the road surface. The driver made his way through to the drop off point where we alighted and walked to the community centre that would become our base of operations for the next few weeks.

We walked along mud roads bordered by brick built homes and businesses. Everything from cooked food to bicycle repairs and barbers, telephone services to electrical repairs, it was all there. Now when I say brick built homes, forget the first thought that comes to mind and look at the pictures. These are not brick homes as we in the west understand them. These homes are approximately 15 sq mtr in size and house about 5 people in two rooms. There are open sewers running along the boundary of the houses with water fed by standpipes at set intervals along the road.

People not only collect their water from these standpipes, but wash their cloths, bath and the children play in the puddles remaining due to no drainage.

Each morning we would pass the "Untouchables" the cleaners, the men and boys  who clean the overflowing sewers and load it onto a bike-cart. I'm not sure where they disposed of this stinking mass, or what they did with it, but I certainly do not envy them their daily task.

As was to become a daily event, we were surrounded by children along the route. All shouting "Hi" and clambering to shake our hands. It was only a 3 minute walk to the community centre and as the days went by we got to know the faces of the children and the inhabitants of this area who greeted us with a smile and a wave. It was so good to feel that we were welcomed and not looked upon as strangers. I'm sure it was more curiosity as we did kind of stand out in the crowd.

Once at the community centre we met the director of the facility. "Chetnalia" is the name of the organisation that runs the centre. This charity provides education and other services to the people of the community. It is where we were to take our breaks with lunch being served here each day. This is where we met to discuss the days work load and split the team into two groups as we were to work on two homes and then debrief at the end of each day before the walk back to the market square to meet the crew bus and the journey home.

In the evenings the route back to the bus was again filled with children chasing after us to say Hi and shake our hands. This became a daily ritual and if one of the children was not there we started to worry about them. It became obvious to me that the kids were there, they had just changed their cloths (which was not too often).

The team was split evenly with Katie (long term volunteer) taking one group to work on house number one and Lal Sing (Red Lion) (he was amused to know that he had a lot of pubs named after him in the UK) led the second group. 

Lal Sing

Group 1 was made up of Steve, John, Alison, Anita and Jen.  Group 2 consisted of Yuko, Lindsey, Leigh, Vic and myself.

Day one was demolition day. The task was to dismantle the old houses and clear the site ready for the foundations. The existing structure was bamboo cane with a read weave wall and roof covered in plastic sheeting. The plots are about 3mtr wide by 10mtr long. These had been provided by the government at a very low cost in an effort to relocate these families away from the river that runs through Delhi. The community dwellers own their plot but of course can not afford to build on it having spent what little they have on purchasing it in the first place.

Families arrive from all over India in the hope of a better life in the city. They make camp along the edge of the river Yamuna  one of the most polluted rivers in the world which remains stagnant for almost 9 months of the year aggravating the situation with nothing living in or near it, It is just a stinking green sludge. Eventually the riverside dwellers are moved for their own safety and also in the hope of tidying up the city, to communities like Bawana. The government set aside areas and construct the open sewers and put in a water and electricity supply. They build paved roads ( brick path as we would understand it). Built on a grid system with plots running along either side and back to back. Again a better impression of this can be gained from the photographs. Bawana is approximately 1 km sq. with 10,000 families housed here and approximately 4 members per household. That's 40,000 people crammed into these narrow streets.

Habitat's goal is to eliminate substandard housing in this country, replacing it with simple, decent and affordable homes. Substandard housing is all too common in India. Many families live in deteriorated housing with cramped quarters and limited water and ventilation. India broadly defines substandard housing as less than 98 square feet of living space per person. Habitat India have selected a target area in which 60%-70% of the population lives in substandard housing according to this definition alone.  

Many agricultural families are unable to purchase their own homes, as mortgages are unheard of.  They can neither save the required funds to pay at one time (the average monthly income is between $60 and $90), nor can they risk a high-interest loan. Habitat has found a way to address this problem. Families with two or three income earners can pay back a no-interest loan for a simple, decent, affordable, and healthy home, and still be able to feed their families.

On arrival at the home we were to demolish, we were introduced to the family. During the deconstruction and rebuilding of their home, they will be living with relatives who also live in the community.

Instructed by Lal Sing we donned masks and hard hats to protect us from the dust and dirt that would fall from the structure as we carefully took it apart. All the material removed, was destined to be a new home for another family further along the road. Everything is salvageable and saleable.

Whilst we worked on the plot, a crowd gathered to watch the foreign folk working. This again was to become a daily ritual. People would just stand and stare, sometimes offering words of encouragement when the task at hand was quite strenuous or laughing with us as we joked amongst ourselves.

My team was fortunate enough to have Vic with us. He is a native Indian who now lives in the USA, but he certainly helped with the communications. He was able to explain to the locals exactly what we were doing and at times, why we were laughing.

Once the old structure had been removed and the site cleared, we set about excavating the foundations. 3 feet deep and about 18 inches wide around the perimeter of the plot. In each corner the depth had to be increased to set the re-enforcing bars in concrete to strengthen the structure. During this procedure we were digging through raw sewage as it leaked into the site from the open cast sewage trough which bordered the site. Not only that but we dug out a cockroach nest, hundreds of them. I'm sure the ones that escaped the mass destruction, found themselves new homes along the street. There were a couple of shrieks as cockroaches were found to be crawling on team members clothing but no harm done (only to the cockroaches).

We covered the trough and tried to dam it so that it wouldn't leak whist we were excavating. At one point a young girl started to dip a plastic pot into the trough and move waste from one side of the dam to the other. Amazing, this was completed without a second thought, a daily task obviously.

I don't know how much earth we moved, but it went on for days, each time we thought we were there, Lal Sing would indicate that more had to be removed. All the earth was piled onto the path (road). Now bear in mind that this path was only about 8 feet wide, we took up quite a bit of space. Fortunately the family living and working opposite didn't seem to mind at all.

They were tailors who set there pedal power sewing machine up on the path outside their home which doubled as workshop, store room and home. Theirs was a bamboo and read structure but I guess now that they have seen HFH at work, they will soon be on board and building a new home for themselves. Or at least I hope so.

Home number 1 was progressing at about the same rate but in a slightly different order. They had dug not only the foundations but the sceptic tank as well. Unfortunately I did not get to see what was happening during the working day on this house as the two homes were quite a distance apart.

It did however make for good conversation when we met for breaks and lunch times, telling tales of the mornings events. Everyone had a story to tell. Tales of the children's antics or the dope heads in the shack next door. Apparently they didn't even notice when our team removed the dividing wall, they just lay there out of their skulls. It would appear that this was case for the rest of the build. I can imagine them finally waking up and realising that they have a brick built house next door that wasn't there when they tripped out.

At the end of the first working day, everyone was shattered, not only by the effort exerted during the day but also by the culture shock the team had encountered. This was the first trip to a developing nation for most of the team. Steve had worked in Africa so he was not too shocked at what he saw.

That evening saw everyone taking a leisurely dinner and heading for their rooms to crash out and recoup before the 6 am start tomorrow. This was not to become the norm. This team knew how to work hard and play harder.

After meals on some evenings, individual team members headed off to Delhi, to markets and coffee bars etc. One evening we all went to an artisan market at the far side of town, very colourful.

During the trip we visited a couple of different restaurants in Delhi for dinner (an evening meal was provided by the YMCA but it was good to vary the menu with a few excursions). Evening adventures included a trip to see a Bollywood film on the first night of it's release. Thanks to Amit for organising and arranging tickets for that. Thanks also to Katie for inviting everyone to her apartment for an evening meal and a few beers. Even though the team thought it would be a good idea to plant their empty beer bottles around me and then take a picture of their drunken leader. Sorry Guys it will take more than that to get me drunk.

At some point during one of the work breaks, everyone gave their birth date, amazing as it will sound, out of the 11 of us we had a birthday in every month except December. Somebody said how spooky it would be if Kemble (our member who decided not to partake in the trip at the last minute) had a birthday in December. Well spooky or not, when I checked the paperwork, his birthday was the 16th of December.  That being the evening of our visit to Katie's, a few beers were downed in celebration and a cake was consumed (mostly by the girls). Kemble had a party even in his absence.

During the second week, Vic's aunt "Sri Akka" who heads a charity in India called The Nandalala Mission Which deals with the welfare of children, paid a visit to the work site. She also met the team at the community centre and was kind enough to dispense gifts to each of the team members. A gracious lady.  This was not the last we were to see of her, as Vic had arranged for us to attend a party on the eve of a wedding. This was someone he knew and was also associated with his aunt. 

Using the crew bus we drove out to an upmarket area of Delhi to a large house with a walled garden. The house was decorated in the traditional way with flowers and petals. Part of the garden was screened of for the chefs and silver service was laid out in the garden. There was a DJ blasting out Indian Bollywood style music and a dance floor laid over the grass. Needles to say everyone had a fantastic time. Two of the girls in the team, Leigh and Yuko had previously purchased saris and now had the opportunity to wear them in the authentic surrounding. And I must say they looked stunning. A little different to the daily work site attire.

On this trip we have seen the very poor and now the very rich. The very poor reside in the centre reservation of duel carriageways and on the sides of roundabouts. They live under a blanket, they don't have a roof of any kind. There was a family living in the centre of the road a short distance from the "Y" children as well. No fewer than 140,000 people live on the streets in Delhi, and many are frozen to death in winter.

Delhi's population has been growing over the years, and with it the number of people braving the icy North Indian winter. Cold waves are an annual feature and so are the frozen bodies of homeless people. 

Reports in the media, in 2002 said the police found 3,040 corpses during the winter. According to a survey, in 2000 there were 52,765 people out on the streets. But they missed at least half. Last year, about 70 deaths were attributed to severe winter cold, a marked improvement over previous years. This was possible because a network of NGOs was working in collaboration with the municipal corporations of Delhi and New Delhi. Religious institutions and educational institutions opened their doors for the homeless despite the extra load on water and sewerage facilities

Throughout the project the homes began to grow out of the ground. Every day was a new task. Moving earth, breaking bricks into rubble, moving bricks from the drop off area to the site, mixing cement, concrete, and pouring the same. We moved the cement in metal pans like Chinese wok's in a human chain. Everyone had an opportunity to lay bricks and help raise the home to the next level.

Once the foundation walls were in place and set at about 500 mm above the sewer level, we dug out the area for the septic tank which was constructed under the floor of the house. This then had a concrete lid built over it. This would not only help relieve the open sewer from the families waste. It would help make the home a more hygienic place to live. 

There was a house a little further into the community that had been started by a previous team and was now ready for the roof to be constructed. On one afternoon we left our respective sites and joined forces with local labourers and the home owner family to help pour the concrete on the roof. This was a continuous process as the concrete had to be poured on one go. There was a large cement mixer at the site (phew that was a bonus) having been involved in pouring the roof at the house in Tamil Nadu the previous year without a mixer, I can assure you it was a relief. The team spread out on the scaffold and roof with the boys passing full pans up and the girls passing the empties back down. I was at ground level using my height advantage to get the pans up to the first stage where one of the boys were waiting to pass it on up.

The team all wore masks as the mixer was not exactly environmentally friendly, throwing out vast amounts of smoke and exhaust fumes. The pace was relentless and the team had to change places on a regular basis. Needless to say I stayed at the bottom, height advantage comes in handy sometimes.  

After a few hours it was complete and a loud round of congratulatory applause resounded around the community.

A few days later we were privileged to take part in the dedication of this home. A few members of the team decorated it with paper chains and streamers. We then joined members of HFH India and the family to dedicate and welcome them to their new home. I was honoured to be asked to cut the ribbon along with the family. A very moving moment for both parties. We celebrated with a few sweets (not sure what they were really) provided by the family I think. Words were said by the HFH officials and thanks given by the family. 

It never ceases to amaze me how grateful these families are for whatever little help we can give them. At that point we called it a day and headed back to the community centre and then home to the YMCA.

I can't remember which night it was, but John Henry was craving a pizza fix. The team decided to eat out at an Italian restaurant recommended by Amit. Jokingly I berated John for eating rubbish food whilst we had all this great Indian fair to choose from. I told him pizzas were not good for him.  

Oh boy, was I to be proved right. Whilst the rest of the team chose sensible dishes from the Italian menu, JH went for the pizza, and a pizza with everything on top.

At about 04:00 hours I was awoken by a banging on my door. Standing there was Steve, John had spent the night so far, with his head down the toilet being violently sick. Steve wanted to know if I had anything we could give him (other than advice about pizzas). Even though I had the first aid kit with me, it did not contain anything appropriate for this situation. I made a mental note to remind future team members to bring their preferred  brand of medicine for such occasions.

Steve tried everyone, so not many people got away without a disturbed night. By the morning JH was feeling a little better, if not totally drained and exhausted. He bravely came to the community with us, but followed advice and slept in the community centre, making it to site late in the afternoon just to show his face. I don't think this experience has put him off pizza, perhaps just pizza in India.

Everyone suffered in some way on this trip. The common cold was the biggest problem, we all got that one. The kids on site all had snotty noses, it was obvious we were going to get it. Some of the team suffered the dreaded Delhi Belly but fortunately only for a short period and it did not stop anyone from working or partaking in the R&R. I believe Lindsey missed one evening but was fine the next morning. Even I was not immune, I had the cold and on our last day when we were on R&R in Old Delhi, I felt like death warmed up, that evening was not a pleasant experience. Fortunately by the morning I was in better shape.

More successful evenings were had at the Rodeo Bar (Indian bar staff and waters dressed as cowboys, surreal)  and another place who's name escapes me. All recommended by Amit. I came to the conclusion that Amit has a passion for western style food and any opportunity he gets, he doesn't waste.  In saying that, he was also a good guide to some Indian foods that were locally prepared, such as "Kulfi"  served  from a terracotta pot by a Kulfi-Wallah outside another of Amits favourite eating houses. How nice to just stand in the street and enjoy these local delights. 

By the way, if you look up the New Delhi YMCA web site, you will note that it has a half Olympic size swimming pool, unfortunately they have no water in it.  I must say, that was the only disappointing thing about the "Y". The service was better than you get at many high priced hotels, it had a business centre for Internet access at about the equivalent of 50 pence per hour. The food was excellent and plentiful. Well, maybe breakfast was a bit tedious, but then they were making an exception and preparing something for us prior to opening for normal service. This was because we were there at 06:00 hours for our early get away.

In the evenings when we did eat in the restaurant, it was buffet service and I don't think any of the team had any complaints regarding the quality, I think some just got a little fed up with curry. Therefore Amits little excursions into town to quench his craving for western food was welcomed by all.

As the weeks progressed we saw the houses rise to nearly roof height. The floors were concreted and the septic tanks completed. Unfortunately we could not stay to finish the complete house, but we knew that this would not take the local mason too much longer. But I'm sure it will not be so much fun as he, and we had getting it this far.

As always it is such a wrench to leave these people, especially the children. You just want to bring them home and give them a hot bath and a clean bed. At least we know that the children of the families we have been building with, will have a better future now that they have secure homes.

Our last two days were spent relaxing and taking in the sites with guided tours to the Taj Mahal, Agra Fort.

The Jama Masjid  India's largest mosque and Old Delhi. In Old Delhi we dined in the oldest and apparently very famous restaurant "Karims".

We took a cycle rickshaw ride around the town and generally had a great experience soaking up the local culture.

We were also privileged to visit the memorial and the place where Mahatma Ghandi was shot. A very moving experience. They have actually moved the river so that a memorial garden could be built at the exact spot at which he was cremated. And at the site where he died a memorial garden has his last footsteps to the spot where he was shot.

I think the pictures tell a better story than I can, so I will put the web link at the end of this journal so that you can go and see for yourselves what a great team I had to work with. Over the years I have lost so many pictures of this project but the memories will never fade. And what a wonderful place India is. Despite the poverty and deprivation  this country continues to amaze and entrance me. I am already working on my two return visits for 2009.

As for the team, I would like to thank each and every one of them for being such great people to work with, I have the utmost respect for people who are prepared to give up time and money to help the plight of these less fortunate families wherever in the world they may be. .

There were so many good moments on this trip, moments taken with the local people as well as with the team. Lindsey (camera lady) as she was known by the children. Yuko always there with her infectious laugh and wonderful smile. Vic always late (only joking Vic) Other than me, Vic was the oldest of the team but you wouldn't know it. How do you do it Vic?, whatever the secret is I want to know. Leigh (sorry about the cockroach) tireless worker who moved a lot of bricks without a word of complaint and always with a smile. John the constant joker (accept when being ill after pizzas). I could go on praising them all day but as I have already said. A wonderful team, each and every one of them. And of course Amit and his team, It just wouldn't happen without them.

And finally, During our time on this project we  took time out to visit a children's home. "Palna" some of you may remember this home if you watched a TV garden makeover program with Charlie Dimock and her crew. It was here that they created a beautiful quiet space in the grounds. In fact Amit was present during the project as he was associated with the home at that time.  

It was a saddening experience to see the children that had been left there by there mothers. But it was also encouraging to see how they are treated and educated by the staff at the home. I met a young lady (15) who was visiting with her adoptive parents, she being of Indian decent and they being Americans. It transpired that she was an orphan from Palna who had been adopted 13 years ago. This was her first visit back to her roots. I found this very moving. 

I was also saddened by the basket located outside the premises. (Cradle baby Scheme) Mothers can leave their children in it, an alarm rings in the home and someone goes to collect the latest arrival. The Govt. of India has recently announced the cradle baby scheme for the girl child. Under the proposed scheme, the Government plans to open a centre in each district where parents can leave their girl children if they do not want to bring them up themselves. The state will then raise the child.

The Home and the grounds are beautifully kept and the children looked after with great love and care, unlike some that I have seen in other parts of the world.

So that is it until my next adventure. I will let you know when I post again. And if you are interested in looking at the pictures from all of my adventures just click here. View Ray Fowell's Gallery

View from a Habitat Team Leader: Habitat for Humanity, Esterli, Nicaragua. Feb. 20...

View from a Habitat Team Leader: Habitat for Humanity, Esterli, Nicaragua. Feb. 20...: Habitat for Humanity, Esterli, Nicaragua.  Feb. 2008 Well here I am again sitting in the VIP lounge at north terminal Gatwick. Sipping ...

Habitat for Humanity, Esterli, Nicaragua. Feb. 2008

Habitat for Humanity, Esterli, Nicaragua.  Feb. 2008

Well here I am again sitting in the VIP lounge at north terminal Gatwick. Sipping coffee and  contemplating the task ahead. Have I completed all the things I had to do before departing? The todo list is ticked off so I suppose I must have. Have I packed everything I will need?, no, I forgot the gloves, I'll survive without them. 

Checked in, my bag gets lighter every time. 16.6 kg  that's lighter than my packing for the Sahara, not that that mattered anyway as the airline lost it. Less for them to loose this time. I have leg room, an exit seat next to the window, excellent and booked all the way through to Managua. At least I won't be disturbed by the weak bladdered passengers heading for the toilet every 5 minutes.

I didn't sleep well last night and am feeling quite tired, does this mean I will sleep on the fight? I doubt it. No wifi in this lounge so no emails to check, they will have to wait until I get to Houston. So for now it's sit back, drink the coffee, read the paper and await the call.

15:00 hours local time 20:00 GMT. I'm .now in George Bush airport Houston Texas. Weather is 60 plus. In VIP Lounge downloaded emails and responded, had glass of wine and now settled back awaiting Carol (Momma C) thought she would be here by now. 

The flight was terrific, a Continental 777-200 . Seats about 360 people I think. If there were 50 on board I have over estimated. I didn't see another soul the whole journey. I had the exit seat and felt as though I was on my own private jet. If only every flight was like that. Not good for the carbon footprint but easy on the stress levels. Although those of you who know me, know that I don't do stress.

Nearly an 11 hour flight and once into my book (The Kite Runner) the hours slipped away. I also believe I slept for about an hour, now that's unusual. So it's time to settle down and await the next connection. Departs at 17:30 not long to wait. May get in another glass of wine before the gate calls.

I found Carol at gate E6, although I had given her instructions to meet me in the VIP lounge, she thought it looked as though it was only for important people so didn't enter. No problem, at least we met at the gate.

Again the flight was not full and Carol moved up to sit with me in an exit seat. Once in the air I dozed for the entire journey.

On leaving the airport we jumped into a cab and headed for the hotel Carol had found in her Lonely Planet guide. The fact that she could not get a response via e-mail or telephone should have been a clue. A $17 cab ride later through some dodgy looking streets and we were sitting outside a closed down hotel at 9pm in the evening.

The streets reminded me of Costa Rica, iron bars, razor wire protecting tin shacks with rubbish everywhere. Open drains and pot holed roads.

Outside the hotel we were greeted with the sight of a young lad with what looked to be a home made baseball bat across  his shoulders surrounded by his entourage of admiring younger wanabe's.  At this point it could have turned either of two ways.

By the time I was out of the taxi the leader with the bat was standing in front of me. "Full" he said in broken English. It looked closed down to me but maybe that was just his English. You go with my brother, his house, 2 down, follow him. 

I'll take a look I said, but if I don't like it I'm off.  I left Carol in the car with the luggage and followed the brother. Actually it was not too bad. Looked clean, 2 rooms en-suit, one at $15 and one at $20. At this point I had been travelling for 23 hours and the sight of a bed was good enough.

I returned and paid off the driver, smiled nicely at the guy with the bat and shook his hand, mucho gratius I said in my best Spanish. You're welcome he said, (dammed Americanisms get everywhere.) As it turns out he was local vigilante security. There is one on every street corner in that area.

I suggested Carol took the $15 room as the pound is stronger than the dollar.  The only difference I could see was that my room had a double bed and a single whereas her room had two singles.  

The room was rough rendered walls (even I could have done better) painted green, probably with a 9" brush. It was splashed all over the brown doors and skirting boards (at closer inspection these turned out to be painted directly onto the wall). The door itself looked home made from old pallets. The ceiling was covered with wooden panels nailed around the edges and sagging in the middle where it was not fixed. A single strip light hung in the centre of the room.

The en-suit was something else. Brick built as an afterthought, not reaching the ceiling and lit by the strip light. A WC with a broken seat, but again at least it had one. A sink that was hanging off the wall, only held in place by the plumbing and of course no plug. A shower built into the corner. Cold supply only but in these temperatures that was fine.

There was a window in the main room looking directly at the street, and yes the iron bars were in place. Power cables hung from the ceiling with a fan and a TV attached. The only thing that looked as if it had been installed with care was the tiled floor. 

On the wall was a picture you wouldn't even put in a boot sale, 4 daffodils in a glass tumbler with what looked like a roaring fire behind them, all finished off in a plastic frame held together with sticky back plastic (no product placement in my story). Either side of the picture were two candle holders, obviously they are used to power cuts here.

I threw my bag on the double bed and unpacked my sleeping bag. Nylon sheets, why do you think I always travel with a sleeping bag. I hit the single bed and tried to get some sleep. It's 86 degrees at 21:15, hot & humid, but I slept through the night. Woke at 4 am and dozed until 7 am.

Killing time today, awaiting the arrival of Terry and subsequently the rest of the team. The idea was for Terry to call me on my cell phone. No signal, T mobile told me it would work. Orange didn't work in Costa Rica and now this. This may cause a problem, I'm out of contact with the office and Terry can't find us. There has to be a way around this. 

Carol and I walked the streets thinking how much this reminded us of Costa Rica, right down to the vendors trying to hustle you into there stall or store, kids wanting Cordoba's (not the drink but the cash). But it's all in days life here and you just get used to it, ride it out and smile a lot. The local word is "tranquilo" it covers most applications but "no problem"  "chill" you can imagine the rest. It's amazing to see the young guys checking in their guns at the entrance to the banks. Every store has a gun toting minder on the door just like Costa Rica.

We took lunch in the Crown Plaza an expensive up market hotel restaurant, but they had wifi and I was able to access my e-mail on the laptop and send a couple of replies, also one to Terry telling him where we were staying as we decided to take another night in the dodgy hotel. I also went into the mall to buy a local sim for the cell phone, even they didn't work. I feel as though my right ear has been severed.

Following that we took a taxi to the monument district. You want dodgy, it doesn't come much dodgier. Plastic city on the waste land, dogs roaming excuses for streets, feeding of the rubbish left by the homeless. (and they too feed of the rubbish so not much left for the dogs).

This whole area was devastated in the earth quake of 1972. It was never rebuilt due to the cost and the inevitability of another quake. 

But the biggest problem was that the president collected all the world aid and pocketed it instead of rebuilding. This is a city without a heart, no downtown as the Americans would say, no centre. 

The Cathedral survived but was so badly damaged that it is off limits  to tourists. When I saw it I understood why. The Cultural Museum was fine, it had only suffered slight damage whist all around it collapsed. 

Back in the borada area we found a bar and sat for a cervasa (or 2) great place, I was helping myself from the fridge and going behind the bar to open the bottles, such friendly people I thought, or do I mean lazy!!. We were soon joined by an American who was living there for a month or two depending on how he felt at the time. He was well travelled and had many stories so time passed quite quickly. On leaving the bar, the three of us found a cafe bar two stops down and spent the rest of the evening there, the food was good, clean and with a friendly service although the building was constructed of wooden off cuts and looked like a ghetto building. We split about 21:00 as Terry may call our hotel, I had left him the number by e-mail, no such luck, still no contact.

Walking back through these ghetto streets was fine, perhaps a little silly. The answer is don't stop, keep walking. It was not a problem, we arrived at our hotel without the slightest hitch. Perhaps the guy with the bat recognised us as his brothers guests. 

The following morning Terry made contact. He was in Granada, so we arranged to meet up at the Crown Plaza bar at about 18:30 hours. This was not to be, we arrived at 19:20 but then this is Nicaragua. He was gone and even though I booked him a room at our hotel he still didn't arrive by 23:00 hours so tomorrow is another day, we shall see what happens then.

Carol and I had taken the 3 hour bus ride to Jinotega (city of mists) set in a fertile 1 km high valley in the mountains. At an exorbitant cost equivalent to £1.60 each way.  The steep drive up from Matagalpa is one of the most scenic in the country.

We used a local bus, no luxury here then. Packed with locals, luggage, trays of vegetables, tyres, you name it, it was secured to the roof. Every now and again someone would join the bus and make there way through selling coke, or tortillas, perhaps fruit. When we stopped at the traffic lights or in a small town, vendors would offer up there home made dishes of food to the windows and people would grab a dish and thrust money into the vendors hands. It was pure theatre, entertainment all the way.

This is Managua's main coffee growing area. Along the roadside you would see coffee beans laid out to dry in areas called patios. Woman were turning them with long broom like implements and then when dry they would be dragged up in plastic sheeting ready for packing. I have never seen so much coffee in one place, it's amazing.

Arriving in Jinotaga we arranged to meet the bus at 16:00 hours for the journey home. It was then time to find a small taverna for lunch. I have never had Fajitas the likes of these. No pancake, no salsa, sour cream or guacamole. No sizzling chicken and onions. What I got was chips, rice, salad and chicken in a batter. But then this is Nicaragua not the local tex mex.

Carol jumped a cab to deliver the plastic bags she has brought from Washington. She read that there was a project here that used the bags to make woven plastic bags and sell them to fund their school. Whilst she was away on her mission I moved on to the plaza in front of the church. I can hear live music and am determined to find it. Over to the far side I found a group of guys playing drums and brass. They were banging out a great Latino beat. It turns out they are drawing a crowd for a car sales event set up at the side of the Plaza.

I moved across to the band stand, much like any you would find in an English park. Sitting on the step watching the people promenade and the children playing, the sun beating down on my face, this was good, that word came into my mind again "Tranquilo".

Opposite me there is a young lady sitting with what appears to be her grandmother. The young one trying to take a picture of them both on her phone and then showing them to the elderly lady who smiles approvingly.

Each time I look up from my note pad the elder one is looking in my direction. I must be a novelty to her as this is not a high tourist area. An ice cream vendor wheels his cart around the pathways, stopping to converse with me, I couldn't understand a word but he laughed a lot and I laughed with him, we shook hands and flashing his gold tipped teeth in a wide grin he moved on.

Street vendors are starting to set up on the perimeter of the plaza as more people arrive. Children are playing on the swings and roundabouts and a group of young lads settle into the concrete bench and table in the corner. One wearing an "Arsenal" shirt. Kids are the same the world over.

Murals on the walls of the old Samoza Jail serve as a reminder of the revolution years. A monument to the Sandanista leader  Carlos Fonseca stands amid tall trees between the labyrinth of pathways.

The Sandinista National Liberation Front is a Nicaraguan political party founded on the broad leftist principles of the popular front. Their organisation is generally referred to by the initials FSLN and its members are called, Sandinistas. This term comes from what the Sandinistas termed the anti-imperialist struggle of Augusto César Sandino during the 1930s.

It led a broadly based revolution that in 1979 and overthrew the Somoza political dynasty. Following their seizure of power, the Sandinistas ruled Nicaragua for roughly 11 years from 1979 to 1990. First they ruled as part of a Junta of National Reconstruction. Following the resignation of centrist members of this Junta, the FSLN effectively took exclusive power in March 1981. In 1984 there were democratic elections in which they won the majority of the votes. They established a new national constitution. Today the FSLN remains one of Nicaragua's two leading parties. The FSLN often polls in opposition to the Constitutional Liberal Party, or PLC, which represents a roughly similar portion of the Nicaraguan population. Although the FSLN was voted out of power in 1990, its revolution affected many facets of Nicaraguan society and its legacy has left a lasting impression in the country. In the Nicaraguan general election, 2006 former President Daniel Ortega was re-elected President of Nicaragua and the voters brought in the country's second Sandinista government. Ortega was elected President with 38.7% of the vote compared to 29% for his leading rival Eduardo Montealegre of the Nicaraguan Liberal Alliance. Here endith the history lesson.

16:00 hours arrives and having met up with Carol again, we head for the bus and home. Three hours later we try to locate Terry at the arranged location. No Terry, I'm sure he will find us at the airport tomorrow.

Carol and I arrived at the airport just before the designated hour. Finally Terry showed up to great shouts of "Raymondo", he's not a quiet guy at the best of times but having not seem him for some 14 months it was man hugs and greetings at an elevated volume. 

The rest of the team arrived on the flight from Houston. Terry was off on walkabout when Regan our HFH contact arrived. I spotted his HFH "T" shirt and made myself known. The rest of the day was spent travelling to Esteli which is going to be our home for the duration of the project. One stop for lunch and on our way again.

A Few Team Members outside the hotel on Esteli. Regan is front centre

On arrival at the hotel, we checked in and found our rooms. Terry and I are room mates, Very much like the first room except the banio (bathroom) was larger. It even has a kitchen sink. The room dark brown in colour with an open framework ceiling exposing the corrugated steel upon which the second floor is located. A strip light and fan hang from the steel supports. no where to hang anything the room is bare except two beds. What more do I need?.

After settling in we all went for walk around town to acquaint ourselves with the location. On the way I had a long and interesting conversation with Regan, he's a cool guy. As a teacher of English as a second language we have no problem communicating. That is except his English is American so the inevitable comparisons pervade the conversation

Over dinner we expand our conversation and cover likes and dislikes in music. Regan is a guitar player and singer. He even enjoyed the diverse taste in music I have on my mp3 player, he must be a good guy.

As a devout Christian he finds me a bit of an anomaly. He was left speechless on hearing that I am a none  believer. The conversation intensified to cover theology. This theme was to continue over the next few days. Each of us being intensely interested in each others position on the subject. I like this guy, so unpretentious, a true kind hearted and caring person with strong convictions.

Sunday was spent meeting the families of the homes we were to help build. First at the orientation held at the hotel where we were greeted, thanked and welcomed to Nicaragua and Esteli. We then toured the homes and saw the various stages of construction they were at.

Once again the poverty was apparent. There is an Unemployment rate: 38% plus underemployment of 46.5% here and the land has been raped by former governments who left it baron and wanting.

The home owners are a teacher a doctor and families with respectable jobs but who can not afford to get beyond the poverty housing they currently occupy due to the cost of land.

At this point you may be thinking what are we doing here, but believe me I have seen the homes these people currently occupy. You wouldn't even put your dog in one. This is all about money and politics. Poverty exists at every level. Our mission is to help eliminate poverty housing and this is some of the worst I have seen at this level. 

We walked around the area in which the new homes are currently being constructed. Each family indicating which one was theirs. One of the owners was keeping up on his motorbike. And yes I did get to take it for a short off road expedition.

The farmers of Sri Lanka and India at least live on their own land even if it is in mud houses. These people live in wooden shacks on rented land. It is totally unbelievable.

The land upon which we are building was once a farm captured under the revolution and held by the government. It is now being sold to the people in plots. Surprisingly the Mayor has made it possible for these and other families to move forward by providing land at a reduced cost, payable over a reasonable number of years interest free. Most have built timber shacks on the land plots but those that are fortunate enough to be in the HFH project are now getting new homes under the HFH programme.

Following our tour it was back to the hotel for lunch and for Regan and I to continue our discussion. He is a very proud man who loves his family and admires his two sons. I am sure he is the type of person who will make a difference to this country someday. I may not believe in his god but I certainly believe in him.

The team is made up by Marlin, I worked with him in Costa Rica, great guy. Norioco a tiny Japanese lady from Washington, known to Terry as the dynamo. Tony, a friend of Marlins, a truck driver by vocation but a trained brick layer so he will prove a useful member of the team. Brian a real estate agent. I like this guy, he talks intelligently and sensibly. We must have a lot in common then, Yes?  And of course Terry and Momma C.

At present they are at the church and I am taking the time to catch up on my diary entries. Tomorrow we start the build.

After breakfast we headed for the site, not before purchasing a couple of long handled shovels for us tall guys. We are travelling back and forth to the site in an open back Toyota truck and attracting strange looks from the locals. I'm not sure if this is due to the fact that white guys are running around town or that Tony is wearing a strange hat

Everyone is set to work on one house to start with so it was straight into mixing mortar and laying block This will be the first layer upon the concrete ring beam foundation. The site workers laid the blocks whilst we provided the labour. This was to prove to be a fruitless exercise and the walls, 3 blocks high at the time, had to be demolished as the base was not level. Why had they not picked this up before?. I think there is a lack of supervision here, not for our team but for the site workers. This was to prove to be the first of a number of problems we would encounter.

Moma C and Tony & Norico were tying re-bar The weather, slightly overcast but still very warm, easy to get burned without noticing it.

Terry was doing his usual "smoozing" an American word I have learnt, and boy does he do it well. This guy can talk his way into anywhere. He disappeared for about half an hour and returned to tell us that he had agreed to offer our services to a local single mother to complete digging her latrine and building the base and Banio.  

This is what is so fantastic about what we do. A bunch of people descend upon a village and lives are changed for ever, on both sides. This woman had part of her leg blown away by a land mine and has one son aged about 18 and a daughter of 13. Their home is a wooden shack, they couldn't eat until the son had foraged for some wood to light the cooking facility. Wood is at a premium here and those that have it charge for it.

I suggested to Terry that we were over subscribed on the HFH house and I would be happy to go and dig the banio. Brian came in too and after lunch we headed for her home. The greeting we received was amazing, she was so pleased. Brian and I dug and Terry talked, it's what he does best. She made us coffee in the afternoon and again I felt that this was depriving her of her very limited resources, but she wanted to do this for us and it would have been ungracious to refuse.

The ground was incredibly hard but we got to the bottom. It had already been started by her son but we took it to the required 3 meters deep. Tomorrow we will procure some bricks, build the  top section and install the plate and WC. Terry has been working his charm and we already have the sand donated, all we need now are blocks and cement.

As Tony was a brick layer (as well as a truck driver) we thought it would be good to get him to lay the blocks within the latrine. At 3 mtr deep I suggested we place blocks on the base allowing him to reach the build area. This worked and the blocks reached full height by late afternoon allowing us enough time to place the slab and seat. You will need to look at he pictures to get the general idea. No flush on this banio.

In the process if making the mortar, the son had to transport water in buckets by hand over a distance of  about half a mile. Can you imagine the difference this small gesture has made to these people who have not had a decent toilet facility for some years. In two days their dream has been realised. They now have to construct a wood and plastic surround to make the facility private. This they can achieve themselves. I can only wish them luck for the future and hope that in some way we have improved their lot.

As you can imagine they were so grateful, they could not do enough for us. Celebrations took the form of herb tea which in my case ended up over the fence (disgusting stuff) and corn on the cob (white) not like we have in the UK, and tortillas. Lots of picture taking, each of us on the throne with a family member, quite surreal. 

A few plots to our left a wooden house is being dismantled. I jokingly asked if they were moving house. It was no joke. It would appear that the owner has not kept up payments on the plot and it has therefore been repossessed. The owners were removing the house and will have to rebuild somewhere else, if they can find anywhere. I foresee another plastic home appearing on the land near the museum.

A local Habitat representative joined us later in the day to see at first hand the how the work was proceeding. I don't think anyone mentioned the demolition of the walls prior to rebuilding them. As I was on the latrine job I was not party to the goings on during the day.

It was back to the hotel and early dinner. It's a good job this hotel has a licence as a few of us needed a beer after the days labours

On Wednesday the team was split over 2 homes. Tony, Brian and I worked on the second site whilst the others remained on the first home. Brian was bending re-bar whilst Tony and I fixed shuttering for the half way ring beam and door frames. This went quite smoothly and the morning soon passed. In the afternoon the sand arrived allowing us to mix and pour the concrete into the shuttering. We were kept quite busy today but I am still feeling that we are surplus to requirements. 

This is the first project on which I have felt this. It appears that we are just relieving the workers as they stop when we start and that is not the idea of these builds. We are there to help the home owners to either save on the expense or speed up the completion. There are so many labourers employed on the project with little supervision, that extra help without guidance or pre-planing becomes a hindrance. 

Earlier in the afternoon the ice cream man appeared with his push cart. This man is a poorly paid local pastor supplementing his income with the ice cream round. He turned out to be an expert in marketing. It was my turn to pay and as usual it was ice cream all round including the paid labourers. When I had finished my fruit flavoured ice lolly, he gave me a "letche" flavoured one (a bit like butter scotch). From me to you, he said. Within seconds both Tony and Brian purchased one each. That's two more than he would have sold. A lovely kind natured man eking a living from this harsh environment.

That evening after dinner, The three amigo's (Tony Brian & I) headed for a bar I had spotted earlier when trying to locate a better Internet café.

On entering the bar it looked just like any other but with a little more atmosphere. Tony & I ordered a beer whilst Brian ordered a Margarita. As we sat at the bar we notice people entering the bar and walking directly through to the back of the property. One beer down and Brian was still waiting for his Margarita. He opted for a beer, the Margarita never materialised. At this point we decided to see what was out back.  As we exited the building, the garden within, opened up, pathways with trees and plants, seating areas and in the centre, live music. A Spanish guitar and solo singer serenaded the drinkers for the rest of the evening

Tony got chatting to 3 young ladies who turned out to be Swedish and working with the UN on a cultural exercise. Brian & I left him too it and remained at our table. We preferred the sound of the music and planned to get as much mileage out of this encounter as possible. Soon they left and Tony returned with tales of his bravado and the fact that he obtained an e-mail address for one of them. Pity Tony didn't have an e-mail address of his own.

The evening soon came to an end and sleep was beckoning so it was back to the hotel.

In the morning we split the team up as per the previous day. Brian is plugged into my mp3 player whilst he bends re-bar. He appreciates good music, not sure about 30 Seconds From Mars, a bit heavy for him. (These youngsters, I don't know).

Tony and I sifted sand passed blocks and mortar to the brick layer, this again gave the signal for one of the paid workers to sit on his backside. The best worker on this site is the young 14 year old lad. He just did not stop. Later we started to construct the re-bar frames as instructed by one of the workers on site. This was set at 150 mm centres. After we had completed one unit. Andy (block layer) tells us they should be 100 mm centres. Yet another example of the right hand not knowing what the left is doing. Also another waste of time.

Andy is 28 years old and has 5 children, no wonder they struggle to survive on such low wages.

Today is the 14th, Valentines day and we had set Tony up by buying a dozen roses the previous evening and hiding them in Norioco's room. At breakfast Terry broke the news that Tony had to stand in the back of the truck and hand roses to all the young ladies we passed on the way back from site. He was blown away by this, it made him feel important and he loved it. We figured that Tony was short on confidence and as part of the group took strength from that and also he felt the need to belong.

On site that morning Terry appeared with Dona Doya (the lady from the latrine job) and her daughter Mariana (the one we had been teasing Tony about earlier in the week) He promptly handed her a rose and posed for pictures. I'm not sure who was more embarrassed, Mariana or us, it certainly wasn't Tony.

A TV crew appeared on the first site and interviewed some of the team and Terry was in his element. Give him a stage and he is away, but as I said, it's what he does best, a great promotion for HFH.

On the way home that evening Tony was lording it with his roses, leaping from the back of the truck to present them to unsuspecting young ladies. He was loving every minute of it and I'm sure will dine out on these antics for a long time.

After dinner Brian and I escaped and went back to the bar we had been at the previous night. No live music but we met Noel (picture) (Noel is the head of an organisation working closley with HFH in Esterli) and his buddy Ronaldo (the creep as will become apparent later). 

We joined them for a beer and then found a table to sit at (Brian's Margarita ordered the previous night  was still absent). Brian ordered something to eat whist I passed on that one. A few more of Noel's female friends joined us and it was suggested that we should all go to a night club. Sounds good to me I thought. Now remember this is February the 14th. Noel is in a bar whilst his wife was at home, not clever me thinks. Not sure about creepy Ronaldo, if he had a wife she was either very brave or totally stupid. 

Noel explains that he just has to pop out and will be back to take us to the club. My guess, he went home and that was the end of his night. He called Ronaldo to say that he had run out of gas (petrol) and couldn't get back. What banana boat did I come up the river on? . So at this point its Brian, myself and Ronaldo and also at this point I had not yet found out what a creep this guy is.

We jump a taxi and head for Club Shamam on the outskirts of the town. The music was brilliant, a live band playing salsa and Latino. Beautiful young ladies dancing with their men on the dance floor. It would have been a great evening if it wasn't for creep man Ronaldo.

My guess is that Noel is the main man, lots of people look up to him, he is handsome in a rugged Latino way and I would also guess a bit of a ladies man. Ronaldo on the other hand is a grim little creep who probably looks up to Noel as his hero. Now he is on his own with two gringos and he is the main man. He gesticulated to waiters and shouted at them as if he owned the club, just trying to impress (he didn't impress us). He grabbed at women and through his sign language indicated that he can pick up anything and then dump them without a problem. (as I said, creep)

He grabbed at women and through his sign language indicated that he can pick up anything and then dump them without a problem. (as I said, creep)

That aside we had a good evening and after leaving the creep there, we arrived back at the hotel at about 2 am. 

Brian overslept the next morning but still made it to breakfast even if a little late. This was to be our last day on site. We all arrived at the first site with not a lot to do without giving the paid labour a break. I plugged myself into my mp3 and shovelled sand at a rate to complement the music (slow). At times I danced a little and played air guitar along to the sounds, much to the amusement of the locals and the workers alike.

The girls from the (latrine) house appeared on site and were talking to Terry, I had to share my music as they wanted to know what I was listening to. 

To be honest I was pleased to leave site at 12 noon. I was really getting bored at that point. When we arrived back at the hotel there was still no water or electricity. It had been this way since the previous evening. Its not much fun trying to wash from bottled water in the dark, but it is achievable.

After cleaning up a little Brian and I went for a walk through town to photograph some of the graffiti art. Much of this is painted by students in class groups who list each member and the class number. Other works tell stories of the revolution and some is just advertising. Whilst on this walkabout we discovered a wonderful fruit and vegetable market. Incredible colours and marvellous displays of produce. Melons as far as you could see, stacked up along the sidewalk. We spent quite some time here, Brian trying to get he best photograph he could of the displays.

Back at he hotel we meet up with the rest of the team and head for another hotel where we will be meeting the home owners for a farewell get together and also meet the next team of 18 coming in. These are from the USA and Canada. It troubles me that there will not be enough for them to do during their spell on site. I will be speaking to Regan about this later in the evening.

The homeowners put on a pleasant display of dancing and speeches, gift giving to the team and thanks all round. Then a welcome to the new team and time to sample some food prepared by the homeowners. Followed by our goodbyes.

This I felt was not as heart warming and emotional as the other projects I have worked on and re-enforces my thoughts about the Central American countries. I definitely prefer India and Sri Lanka. I felt we made a difference there, I did not feel like that on this trip. I actually felt surplus to requirements. Yes we had fun but that's not what it's all about. It's about helping to eliminate poverty housing and I think Nicaragua HFH has a long way to go and a lot to learn.

Back at our hotel we completed the evaluation forms, it saddened me to have to report my feelings and findings as previously I have had no problem with this task. I will be able to say more when I can get to talk to Regan on his own.

As I have the laptop with me, Terry asked to see pictures from previous trips to India and to show Regan the Costa Rica project. He was amazed at the India shots, the building style the people, the culture, traffic and much more. Her has never travelled outside Nicaragua. 

I never did get the opportunity to talk to him that night. But at breakfast on Saturday I cornered him and we sat and talked. I don't think he wanted to hear what I had to say, but it had to be said otherwise HFH Nicaragua will fail once again as it had in the past.  We said our goodbyes and he promised to meet us that evening before we set off for Managua. He never reappeared. We left without further goodbyes which is sad considering how well we had got on at the beginning of the project. He has a lot of work to do to bring this build up to standard and I wish him well. I hope he will keep in touch via e-mail as promised.

After breakfast we headed out to Miro Flora and area of natural beauty outside the town.  We used the truck we had used all week to get to site. The three amigos rode in the back as usual.

It was a long dusty ride through the tobacco growing area. It took two and a half hours to get there, winding up an unmade road into the mountains. Stunning scenery and cloud formations making the journey quite memorable.

Once there we walked out into the flora with Marlin constantly on the look out for another bird to knock off his list. He spotted over 40 on the Costa Rica trip, not sure he will achieve the same on this one. We lunched at an organic farm in the area and rested prior to the ride back. The tame birds were amazing.

On the way back it started to rain, we three got wet but soon dried as we reached lower levels. The temperature rose to a level we had been used to. At the hotel everyone collected their luggage and transferred to the mini bus taking us back to Managua. For most, the journey and the adventure was nearly over. Only one more night in an hotel and then home to reality once again. But for me I had a few more days R&R to take care of.

Back in Managua we located our hotel and settled in. Another seedy location in the poor part of town, but then that's where the life is, the real life and real people. Dangerous it may be but you can stay in a 5 star hotel anywhere in the world and when you close that door, you could be anywhere. In this part of town, you know exactly where you are. 

Our hotel, (not sure what you would call the young man as he was our receptionist, protector and just about everything else) instructed us not to venture beyond the end of the block in each direction as he could not protect us outside his domain. This is the same area Carol and I stayed in at the beginning of our trip. You may remember the young man with the baseball bat. Even though we had no trouble then, I went with the majority. We therefore crossed the road to a little (I shall call it a restaurant) and downed a few well earned beers followed by a plateful of local food. Obviously rice and beans figured large in the equation. 

Once back in the hotel we said our goodbyes and promised to keep in touch, some of us will, as always there are the few that drift into obscurity. Most were heading for the airport at about 10:30 the next morning. That is except Carol and I who were up at 04:00 hours and walking to the bus terminal to join our ride for the next instalment of this adventure.

I went to my room and re-packed my trek bag, I was leaving it at the hotel and taking only my backpack. Collecting it upon my return later in the week, a one night stopover before I head for the airport and the journey home. The shower was something else, no knob to turn it on just a pair of pliers hung over the spigot. But at least it worked, cold of course, there has been no hot water on this trip so far, it's that warm you don't need it.

There was a knock on my door at 03:30 as arranged, I stored my trek bag in the store room and met up with Carol in the lobby (I use that term lightly) behind the iron bars  and steel gates.  We were off, only a short walk to the Tica Bus Depot, one block up and one across. We sat outside in the morning light waiting for it to open. Taxis arrived and more travellers joined the que. 

Before I continue with the extended part of my journey I feel I should qualify some of the points I have raised in this diary. For those of you who have read my previous exploits in India, Sri Lanka, Portugal etc. will have noted that I have not felt quite as enthusiastic on this trip. Even less so than Costa Rica. I think this reinforces my original concerns about the country and the people as reported in the CR blogg.

A lot of work is needed out here, not only to help illuminate poverty housing but also to educate the populus about respect for each other outside the family. Teach them to help themselves. There country was ravaged by civil war and in some respects that war is still going on. In the west I believe we tend to glamorise civil war brought about by an uprising of the people against oppression. Believe me there is nothing glamorise about it at all. Just the shattered lives of those who remain. Mrs Doya (the latrine home)  is a prime example, loosing part of her leg to a land mine during the uprising, still bitter and resentful. The corrupt governments born out of the uprising. A culture of gun law and gun crime. Poverty and depravation prevail. Unemployment is rife and little hope for the future without help. Yes of course there are the rich, yes there is employment for some, but the majority are still struggling and they need our help.

As most of you are aware, my heart lies in Asia, The Indian continent, and that is where I shall devote my efforts in the future. I really enjoy working with Terry but I must leave the building of hope in Central America to him and his fine mission and others like him. In my heart I hope that HFH Nicaragua succeeds, but will require a lot of effort and input from the local affiliate organisation and I wish them well.

You will also note that I have taken fewer pictures of the project this time. My ex-partner once said, and I quote, "if you have seen one mud hut you have seen them all" Whilst I did not appreciate that comment at the time, maybe she had a point. One build is very much like another (on the same continent). I looked at the build here in Esteli and saw the build in Costa Rica. Only some of the people had changed. I realised that my pictures should be of the families we work with and the other team members as these are the memories, this is why we are here. Mind you that doesn't stop me taking excessive pictures of interesting subjects sorry about that.

I hope in my explanation I have not conveyed a tone of disappointment in the project, maybe just in it's organisation on this occasion and my preference for the eastern continent.

So, back to my story, Where was I? Oh yes Tica Bus Managua Nicaragua at 04:00 hours. The interesting thing here is that in Nicaragua they drop the "S" from the end of their words so Tica Bus becomes Tica Boo. 

The bus was impressive, more like and aircraft. Plenty of room and a trolley dolly too. Well a guy actually but you get the picture. We are headed for El Salvador and the capital San Salvador via Honduras. My only complaint so far is that I can't see out of the front of the bus as the drivers compartment is like an aircraft cockpit and sealed off from the rest of the cabin, so only a sideways view.

The bus left bang on time 05:00 hours. Having ridden around in the back of a truck or a clapped out minibus, this was luxury. We were due to arrive in San Salvador 11 hours later at a cost of $30 = £15, marvellous. 

As we headed north the vegetation became greener and the terrain more picturesque. Deep valleys and soaring mountains on each side of the road. At the boarder with Honduras we vacated the bus for security and immigration control. This gave us time to stretch our legs.

Honduras is a democratic republic in Central America and was formerly known as Spanish Honduras to differentiate it from British Honduras (now Belize). Just so you know.

As we head further north the buildings and countryside appear to become more European in style (Spanish). The poverty is still much in evidence but as we are not entering large towns it is restricted to the roadside. One stop for a drink and a stretch and we are off again. The temperature drops as we drive higher into the mountains. 

Arriving at the El Salvador boarder the security forces enter the bus and check papers etc. A very slick operation and we are on our way in next to no time. Speeding through the countryside and dropping down to a lower altitude we soon arrive in San Salvador, a journey time of 11 hours. The bus or Boo pulls into the terminal and we head for the on-site hotel. A sweet little room with a bed and shower cubical, Nothing too fancy here. A metal door with two locks and bars over the windows. What do you expect for $12 = £6 per night.

But hey, I can at last get a phone signal. A few messages to respond to, nothing too disastrous from the office so relief there I suppose. I was a little concerned being off the grid for so long.

Carol and I walked out into the city. San Salvador is the capital city of the nation of El Salvador. The valley where it is located was earlier known as "El Valle de las Hamacas" (The Valley of the Hammocks) because of its high seismic activity. It is the second largest city in Central America and covers an area of 568 km² (220 sq. mi.) and is home to nearly 2.2 million people. It is home to one-third of El Salvador's population and one-half of the country's wealth.

Some interesting facts for you: In the past years El Salvador has experienced high crime rates including gang-related crimes, and gangs in general. Some say that this was a result of the deportation of thousands of Salvadorans from the U.S, the majority of whom were members of MS13 (Mara Salvatrucha), in the mid-90s. The gangs in which Salvadorans had been involved in the United States began to show up in El Salvador. In 1996, San Salvador was considered the second most dangerous city in the western hemisphere, according to statistics.

Today San Salvador and El Salvador in general experiences some of the highest murder rates in the world and is also considered an epicentre of the gang crisis, along with Guatemala and Honduras. In response to this, the government has set up countless programs to try to guide the youth away from gang membership, but so far its efforts have not produced any quick results. One of the government programs was a gang-reform called "Super Mano Dura" (Super Firm Hand). Super Mano Dura had little success and was highly criticised by the U.N., it saw temporary success in 2004 but then saw a rise in crime after 2005. In 2004, the estimated murder rate per 100,000 citizens was 41.2, with 60% of the 2,576 murders committed were gang-related. The Salvadoran government reported that the Super Mano Dura gang legislation led to a 14% drop in murders in 2004. However, El Salvador recorded a total of 552 murders in January and February 2005 alone. In addition, crime rose 7.5% in just a year, from 2005-2006. Homicides are among the highest with respect to the overall crime rate. The homicides reported in 2006 reached up to 3,906, in 2005   3,779 were reported; 57.2 violent deaths per every 100,000 people. In 2007 the rate rose to 58 per every 100,000.

In the first half of 2007 La Policía Nacional Civil of El Salvador statistics showed lower numbers in homicide, and extortion's as well as robbery and theft of vehicles. In 2007 homicides in El Salvador had reduced 22%, extortion's reduced 7%, and robbery and theft of vehicles had gone down 18%, all in comparison with the same period in 2006. Despite the lower numbers of homicides in the first half of 2007, El Salvador continues to have the highest homicide rate in Central America and one of the highest in Latin America with 58 homicides per 100,000 people.

So no problem going for a walk then!!!

San Salvador is a large city whose population is starkly divided between the wealthy and impoverished. The wealthier neighbourhoods boast luxury shops, fine restaurants, five-star hotels, and tree lined avenues. However, most of the other neighbourhoods, are hot, dusty and overcrowded, and are plagued by skyrocketing crime rates and gang related violence.

So lets go and get something to eat in town.

The streets are lined with market stalls, the traffic passing only inches from them, Music blaring from the illegal pirate CD and dvd trade. The smog is heavy due to the traffic fumes being held down on the city by the surrounding mountains. My eyes are starting to water and my throat is soar. Must be time for a beer and something to eat.

We found a small pizza restaurant on a side street not far from the main square. Police were arresting someone who obviously didn't want to be arrested at that particular time. He was putting up quite a struggle. Guess who won that tussle? The rest of the square was quite pleasant, if a little run down. I guess we were not in one of those luxury shop and fine dining areas.  The pizza was good though. It was starting to get dark and whilst I'm not too bothered about being out in the dark, I had Moma C to consider and it was quite a walk back to the hotel. I didn't want to be too late as we were due on parade again at 04:00 hours for the next leg of the journey. 

We attempted to purchase a ticket for the journey to Guatemala upon arrival but were told that we had to purchase them in the morning. They also mentioned that the Bus (Boo now as we are in San Salvador) might be full. We dutifully arrived at the desk at 04:00 to be told "bus full, next one available tomorrow".  So much for Tica Bus. Plan "B" get a taxi to King Quality, a rival company. No problem, The man with the sawn off shotgun (door guard at the bus terminal) halted a taxi for us and told the driver where to take us. You just get so blasé about these things, it doesn't take long before you take the gun culture for granted. 

A few minutes later we were pulling into King Quality's terminal. Ticket purchased and through security in no time, again very slick like an air terminal. This bus was even more upmarket. Double Decker and we were upstairs. This time I get to see the view in front.  The seats had plenty of room and even had leg rests so that you could sleep if you wished. The stewardess & steward were on form and looked after us well, even had an in flight meal. 5 hours non stop except for the border into Guatemala, and we were in Guatemala city.

The countryside on the journey was getting greener and even more mountainous. The villages again more European bordering on American. Obviously a more wealthy country. 

On arrival at the terminal we again took a taxi to the city centre. I needed to find an ATM as neither of us had any Quazales (local currency) and I was out of US$. Located one without a problem and then had lunch just off the square. Another busy city but without as much squalor as San Salvador. We were still not at our destination so it was another taxi to the chicken bus terminal and the journey out to Antigua. Now this was an experience to remember. These buses vie for trade, cutting each other up, undertaking and the don't appear to care too much about road safety.  But oh boy what a ride. The assistant hangs out of the door screaming the destination and beckoning people to join the ride. Before they are even on the bus the driver is off at speed. At one point the assistant runs along the pavement through the throng of people awaiting a bus to various destinations, leaping on again as the driver takes off. 

This goes on for some time as it travels the streets of the city until it breaks out onto the highway. By now we have a bus full of travellers with, of course, baskets of chickens, a dog in a cage, the fat woman who sat across the isle with a cheek on each opposite seat. The assistant made his way around to collect the fares (not helped by the fat one over the isle).

This journey is expected to last for about an hour, the cost 8 quazales. At 7 to the $ that makes the fare about £0.55. Worth every penny for the entertainment value alone. As the journey progressed we collect more passengers and dropped others at their destination. The bus comes to a screaming halt in the middle of the inside lane of a two lane road, he has just spotted another potential customer. They run for the door and he is away as their foot hits the plate. 

Approximately 1 hour later we are in Antigua. After 2 days travel we are here, but the journey was all part of it. A short walk through the market to the main town and we soon locate a hotel. Following some sharp bargaining on my part we secure two rooms, 1 at 150 QZ and another at 200 QZ. Again I took the dearer room due to the dollar rate and the fact that Moma C was staying a day longer than I.

My room was quite large with 3 single beds, a window to the street and a small banio. Although it was small, it was clean and the shower produced hot water, the first for weeks. This is the first bathroom I have used where when sitting in the toilet your feet are in the shower tray.

That afternoon we walked the cobbled streets admiring the architecture and the colours.  La Antigua Guatemala (commonly referred to as just Antigua or La Antigua)  was the colonial Spanish capital of Central America, and is now a World Heritage site, and is perhaps the most popular tourist destination in Guatemala. And can't you just tell this by the number of American tourists milling around.

The whole city is full of historic buildings, monuments, fountains and ruins. It was founded by the Spanish in the XVII Century, and it follows the traditional design of a Main Plaza surrounded by Government and Catholic Church buildings. 

The Parque Central is, strangely enough, a park in the centre of town. It is a city block in size, (still with the Americanisms sorry) with concentric circular walkways threading among trees and a fountain in the centre. On our second day here, the local council workers were cleaning this in preparation for the Easter festivities. Easter is one of the busiest times of year with many religious parades. (stations of the cross I believe they are called, what do I know) The trees are decorated with lights, and there are plenty of benches for sitting and people-watching. The tourist agency, city hall and police office, the cathedral, and several banks and tourist businesses line the four sides of the park. Many Antiguens hang out in the park, and it has a pleasant, bustling, friendly feel to it. 

Women in local dress ply their trade selling trinkets and jade items (Jade is big in this area). Also boot boys everywhere, I was saved the sales pitch as I am wearing sued boots. Carol on the other hand had to fend them off.

The Volcán de Agua rises high to the south. There is supposed to be two others, one east and the other west. I didn't see them during my visit but de Agua was visible most of the time with cloud covering the peak or sometimes forming a halo just below the summit.

That evening we sat in an very comfortable patio bar for a beer before searching out a restaurant for dinner. We settled on one called Frida's. Carol had never heard of her so I spent the evening explaining about the life and loves of Frida Kahlo the Mexican artist married to Deago Rivera.

There were artworks by both displayed on the walls along with photographs of them together. All in all a good evening with a great atmosphere. The service was slick and not overbearing. (not quite American yet then). The food? Obviously Mexican influence.

It was not a late night so I caught up with the diary and got a good nights sleep. Also the first night I haven't used the sleeping bag, must be a good hotel.  At QZ200 or $28 so it should be. To save you the effort of converting that, it's £14 per night.

The next morning I met Carol for coffee. I was sitting on my window ledge watching the traffic and the antics of the chicken buses rushing up and down the grid style streets vying for passengers, when she walked out of the hotel and crossed the street.  I joined her and we went in search of good fresh coffee. It didn't take us long, but do you think we could find it again the next day? No way.

After coffee Moma C went off to do whatever it was she had planned, I headed for the Cafe WiFi. What a wonderful place, free wifi, I just purchased another coffee (I'll be on the ceiling soon with all this caffeine) and sat at a table that had seen better days. But that was all part of the charm, distressed walls and doors, rickety tables and chairs. The walls had pictures of what looked like Cuban scenes, what do I know I have never been there but you get my drift don't you, you can picture the scene. They were playing world music "yes", again I can't resist, it's my kind of atmosphere. The outer bar had pictures of African people and settings. I want to pick this place up and drop it in either Bethersden or Doncaster, preferably both.

I worked until about 12 midday and wandered off to the square to meet Carol for lunch. The weight is going back on, here we go again, have to get back to the gym. We find a small bar for lunch and discussed the mornings events, for me the cafe and for Carol the market and her research trying to find that special something for her 5 grandchildren (good luck with that one). 

In the afternoon we wandered the streets admiring the beautiful doors and windows, the internal patios of the hotels, guest houses and gift shops. These unassuming little fronts open up inside, much like the Spanish homes in Europe, built on a square. Filled with caged birds (pity about that, they should be free to spread their wings and fly like the rest of us), large pot plants and vines. Those that are shops have paintings surrounding the patio along with an array of trinkets and all those items that tourists take home and put in a draw.

Carol went back to the hotel to lie down for a bit, I think all the walking has been a bit much for her. I know she is a tough old bird but at 70+ I reckon she has done very well to last this long.  I toured a few more streets and visited a number of art galleries before stumbling upon Reily's bar. I'm sure there is an Irish bar in every town in the world. They even sell "Vitoria" the beer we have been drinking in Nicaragua. No point in drinking Guinness anywhere else other than Ireland, it's not the same stuff.

A great sign behind the bar said  " Irish Diplomacy.  The ability to tell a man to go to hell so that he looks forward to the trip"   I like that.

Carol joined me at 5pm for a drink and then we should have been going onto dinner at a venue yet to be decided. Unfortunately she is not feeling to good and wanted to skip the meal. Well I'm into the eating mode at present and also wanted to try another restaurant as they all looked so good and I had so little time.

I dined solo and also made it later in the evening , first time this trip as Americans like to eat early. I located another good establishment and dined on Guatemalan fare in cosy surroundings. Good music, maybe too many tourists, I would have preferred a place where the locals eat but I just couldn't find one. Maybe they can't afford to.

I walked the streets again admiring them from a different perspective, dark buildings, subtle lighting. Just soaked it up as this was my last opportunity. It is homeward bound for me tomorrow. I had purchased my shuttle ticket earlier in the day so I made my way back to the hotel for my last nights sleep. I will be travelling for the next three days.

The traffic woke me at 06:00 hours, I showered, the last hot one for a few days. Packed my bag and again watched the chicken buses. At about 08:00 I wandered outside the room to find Carol in the lobby writing her journal. As I previously stated, we couldn't find the coffee bar, but they are not short on the ground in this town. After coffee I returned to the hotel to check out. Carol and I headed for the square, my last chance to get in some people watching before catching my shuttle at 11:00 hrs from one of the artisan boutiques along the street leading off the square.

Carol and I said our goodbyes and I left her in the square. Not sure when or if I will see her again. She heads back to Washington on Thursday or is that Friday, I have lost track of the days. Whatever, I wish her well for the future. She is on the list for Portugal but I think Terry wants a younger team on that one. We shall see.

I join the shuttle as it does the rounds of the pick up sites. Only 4 of us on a small minibus that has seen better days. It rattles and bangs over the cobbles until it hits the smooth tarmac of the main road.  We are not late but the driver is obviously in a hurry. Either that or he is practising for the grand prix. Tyres are squealing as we take the bends on the highway followed by the smell of burning rubber. It's not surprising they have all that religious paraphernalia hanging from the rear view mirror. So long as they believe someone is watching over them, I suppose that covers me for that period of time. But for all that we arrive safely and a little early. 

What is the world coming to? No VIP lounge at Guatemala City airport. It's listed in the directory. (note to myself to remember to contact Privilege Card and inform them of the error). At least wifi was available in the waiting area.

I lost my shaving cream and a small pair of scissors from my personal first aid kit to security. Not sure if they thought I might offer the pilot a shave en-route, but no problem I shall just be in need of a good trim by the time I get home. I had better hope I don't have an accident and require the scissors either, or I shall be in trouble big time.

But hey guys, that's the way to compensate me for my lose, I got upgraded to business class. OK the flight may only be just over 35 minutes but there are two of them to get back to Managua.

I arrived back in Managua airport and jumped a taxi after haggling for a better rate, back to the hotel, hoping my luggage was still their. It was, along with a welcomed greeting from the little guy in charge. He obviously remembered me from a few days earlier. 

Reunited with my luggage, I found my room and secured the bags whilst I ventured across the street to the same restaurant I was at a few nights previously. Same food and a beer, (they don't have a varied menu) and then back to get some sleep. Up at 04:00 hrs with a taxi waiting for me to transfer me to the airport and the first leg of the homeward journey.

I shan't bore you with the details, sufficed to say I arrived back at Gatwick via Houston at 07:00 Friday morning, tired unshaven and in need of a hot bath. A good flight, much like the outward journey, I had plenty of room as the plane was not full. Another trip over and looking forward to the next adventure. If nothing comes up before then, it will be Portugal in September. But you know me, There has to be something before then, that's 6 months away.  

So it's back to reality, a few problems to sort out with tenants that have arisen during my absence, but nothing I can't deal with. If I had had a cell phone signal in Nicaragua there wouldn't be a problem, but such is life, nothing is perfect. That word again "Tranquilo"

To borrow a quote often used by a very good friend, "Life's not about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain" and dance I will.

Until the next time...................................