The Embassy has to upgrade the security: this involves rebuilding the entrance gatehouses and visa facilities. Of course, working on Embassy property cannot be done by anyone – remember the US embassy in Moscow which was full of bugs? No, you need British workman, with security clearance, working for a properly accredited contractor.
And so it is that the gang arrives. They arrive in trickles: starting with the site foreman, concreters and bricklayers, and as the work progresses carpenters, electricians and plumbers. Within two months there’s a crew of about 12.
Unassuming and uninterested though these men are in the weighty affairs of the Embassy, they’ve made quite an impact. They noticed the bar in the Embassy club which serves drinks and food at lunch time and a barbeque every Friday. Why not, they asked, open it for us every evening? So not only they, but also some of the hard working embassy types now sit around with a cold beer as the sun sets. The barman is happy, as he gets extra.
The knees of the embassy ladies also weaken as they surreptitiously glance at the bronzed torsos of the men going about their work. So much more interesting than the pasty embassy types. One of the workers is particularly good looking, and at 25 is quite a catch. An embassy wife had been flirting – some would say shamelessly – with him, but was deeply hurt when she found out his eye had drifted elsewhere. News of this came when he didn’t come back one night and his friends phoned the embassy asking for advice. It transpired that he had been out with his local girlfriend – until then a well-kept secret – and they had had a row. He had been camping out at her front door all night, trying to get forgiveness. As for the embassy wife, she was devastated, and could only try to console herself with another glass of wine.
The builders are used to this type of goldfish bowl life: they have worked in embassies all over the world. But they make no concessions to the polite world of diplomacy (though they did put on ill-fitting jackets and ties when invited to dinner by the Ambassador) and the patter of foul language and coarse jokes continues without shame. And they work hard – there’s no doubt about that.
They fling themselves into the local life with enthusiasm and innocence about the risks of life here. The foreman, on his first night with a car, had his door pulled open by an enthusiastic tart. When she was rejected by him, and he tried to throw her out, she tried to grab his wallet. Eventually, she was so persistent he paid her $200 to get out. She took the money but staid put. One thing led to another, and in a final attempt to frighten her, he bit her arm, but she bit back – his ear. In the end he jumped out of the vehicle and ran away, throwing the car keys in the drain as he ran. Bystanders – probably her accomplices – give chase, but he escaped. When he went back to the car an hour later, the Embassy’s Gurkha guards in attendance, the car was still there, and so were the keys. The worst part was that he had to take anti-retrovirals for a month due to the risk of getting AIDS from her.
Another man chose to walk back to his flat alone through some dark streets and was mugged. The muggers got nothing, but obviously he was shaken.
What is fascinating about these men is that they work like this all over the world, and throughout the year. Their conversation is all about Jakarta, Damascus, Kabul, you name it they’ve been there. I spoke to one, an electrician, and he said in 40 years of doing this work he’s only been without work for one week. They get well paid, of course, these building mercenaries. One has five houses in Spain. One lives in Turkey, another in Holland. One has a house in London and two in the West Country – all rented out.
To get paid so well, of course, you’ve got to be good, and their workmanship is truly a delight. The other day we went to see some houses that an entrepreneurial friend of ours is building. By comparison with the embassy building, the workmanship on his houses was enough to make one weep, though it was not so bad as to be heart-breaking. We’ll leave the heart-break to the good ladies of the embassy.
No comments:
Post a Comment