Technical cooperation with a difference : Ken Gibbs

In 1980, I found myself in UNICEF, Bangladesh with an acute technical and financial handpump problem which absolutely required a solution. We needed a force-mode handpump for the rapidly expanding areas where the traditional suction type handpumps ‘dried up’ during the driest part of the year, forcing communities to seek water elsewhere, usually where it was polluted. I tried a ‘glue and string’ type approach to the design which, naturally, wasn’t successful. In 1981, I was told that there was a UNDP/IBRD project officer just arrived in Dhaka who was supposedly a handpump expert. I went to meet him to see if he was – an expert, that is.

His name was Tim Journey, a US citizen who had had previous experience in UNICEF Bangladesh in the early 1970s when floods and famine stalked the land, so I met someone who knew the environment, and I suggested that he come and see what I had unsuccessfully tried, to suggest a way forward, if he could.

He saw my effort which was a direct action arrangement driven/lifted by steel pump-rods which were far too heavy for community operation, and he nodded sagely.

Let’s pass over how the conversation went, but I think I called him an ass and he called me an idiot for not having considered buoyant pump-rods. Neither of us found this to be offensive at all and, in fact, seemed to be a sound basis for good, professional cooperation, which has persisted right up to the present day.

Tim Journey was undoubtedly the technical genius behind the creation of what is now known as the Tara handpump, and which is used by many millions of families in Bangladesh today because it works well and is cheap enough for families to afford to buy for their own use.

However, this is not about the Tara per se, but about the banter which accompanied our every meeting about the project and how to make it even more effective. We even discussed technical and social dynamics over the bridge table, much to our wives’ exasperation. To celebrate Tim’s role in the work, I wrote some doggerel which eventually found its way to his supervisor who felt that it might make an apt adjunct to his PER at the appropriate time. . . .

A Bit of Doggerel

The sun came up to greet the day
And wake all those asleep;
Cindy then her voice did raise
‘Fore Tim from bed did creep.
He shuddered some and scratched his teeth,
And then his head did hold;
For, as he said quite ruefully,
“That malt was just like gold !”

He breakfasted most gingerly,
His tongue was rough as sand –
The marmalade went on his egg,
The butter on his hand.
He cursed the cook and kicked the cat,
His temper knew no bounds,
Until he’d had his third full cup
Of coffee with no grounds.

“Today’s the day,” he tried to say –
His voice it was all cracked –
“That I must go to Mirzapur,
For if I don’t, I’m sacked !”
He climbed aboard his MicroBus
Dark specs upon his nose,
And Razzaque drove him all the way
While Tim, he nursed his woes.

In Mirzapur, there are some pumps
In case you didn’t know –
The Tara pump of new design,
With Roboscreen below.
The concept’s revolution’ry
With pump-rod sealed all round;
And Tim is conscientious
The theory to expound:-

“The buoyancy, it lifts the rod
Made from p.v.c,
And helps the one who pumps the pump.”,
Tim notes seriously.
“When at rest, the rod rides up,
It’s pushed up from below.
It provides a resting place for any passing crow.”

Being firm about the way you should
Perform the work, he said,
“You never must your back bend down,
The legs must bend instead !
You have to push the pump-rod down
You push it steadily,
For if you don’t, it oscillates –
Sinusoidally.”

This motion to the hip imparts
A waggle and a bounce;
But Tim, he notes, “The forces there,
Are less than one full ounce.”
I wonder what his thoughts would be
If he, himself, could see,
With glassy eyes and rigid back
And caref’lly bended knee ?

At other times, when not at work
His interests vary much;
He’s into smoking quite a lot
--Of pig and beef and such !
His knowledge of the ‘shaggy dog’
Is known around the place;
When he begins another one,
It’s seen on every face.

The Irish joke, he tells it well,
Of this there is no doubt.
When he remembers all the joke
The punch-line carries clout.
At gardening he’s very good
As everyone has heard,
“It’s ‘cos the compost’s mixed with straw
And every kind of turd.”

His bridge is fair, I do declare,
He plays it with a frown.
He’s been known to bid six spades,
And end up six tricks down.
He likes the game, and plays it oft’,
To it, his mind, he bends,
But always gets a groan when saying,
“What’s one rubber amongst friends ?”

To end this verse – it’s far too long
Of this there is no doubt;
The future holds for him, I’m sure,
Quite a lot of gout.
The moral of the story, friends,
I know I’m not at fault –
Is when you have a little drink,
Don’t mix beer with malt.

Ken Gibbs can be contacted via kengibbs1941@gmail.com

Click here to read more stories by Ken Gibbs