Perched atop a mountain of dirt and next to a stuck truck with 'God's time is the best" written across it's back, the komatsu excavator whirled back and forth. It's mighty engine was the only machine running outside of the occasional motorbike, as all of the cars waiting on it's progress had long since shut off their motors and settled in.
A dumptruck hauled out the middle truck, but then the komatsu went straight in, after being filled with gasoline, and went to work.
Exotic birds flew overhead, and the skyward-reaching and vibrant green bush closed in on both sides of the road. The mud on the road coagulated into a sloppy, slippery mixture- perfect for clogging tire grooves and painting any pair of shoes with a layer of orange dirt color.
When we had approached this spot in the road, we assessed the situation. Then"good time" truck blocked the road to the left, another sat in the middle of the mess, and a big truck was teetering on one side, barely upright on the right side of the pit.
A dumptruck hauled out the middle truck, but then the komatsu went straight in, after being filled with gasoline, and went to work.
Groups of men sat around the heart of the action, closely observing the incredible work of such a powerful machine. Young kids helped motorbikes push their way through the giant muddy mess, jumping out of the way of the big yellow scooper bucket spinning back and forth. A few orange mud covered men helped passengers on overloaded motorbikes to get some of their belongings across. I watched a young man make trip after trip, carrying 25 kg bags of onions on his head. Stopping to catch his breath when he reached his end point, his chest heaving up and down sharply, and rubbing his hands under his chin and on the back of his sore neck.
Exotic birds flew overhead, and the skyward-reaching and vibrant green bush closed in on both sides of the road. The mud on the road coagulated into a sloppy, slippery mixture- perfect for clogging tire grooves and painting any pair of shoes with a layer of orange dirt color.
A cloud of smoke on the other side of the mud pit wafted up from a that roofed cook shop that some cunning entrepreneurial seized an opportunity- carloads of people constantly getting stuck for hours waiting for weak engined taxis to get hauled out of the way to pass.
Another source of smoke came from the excavator in occasional black puffs as it showcased it's strength and tried to use dry dirt on top of the pool of thick mud, compressing it and attempting to form a workable pass for cars.
The blazing hot sun had a suffocating, sauna-like effect on the environment. However, as we sat watching and waiting, it slowly went down below the tall treetops, providing us with some relief. I sat on the roof of our landcruiser, enjoying the view and the occasional itty bitty breeze.
Alas, out of gas again. A 6 liter Jerry can appears from who knows where and is poured into the machine to keep it functioning. For it is only halfway through it's job.
My town is only about 20 minutes past this spot. It's such a tease to be so close, yet seemingly so far away. We have been sitting here for maybe an hour, maybe more. My mind has become so accustomed to this type of situation already, and I lose track of time as I eagerly watch the entertainment that is the "mud pit."