In Awe of a Tangle of Metal

Today I learned about diesel engines.

Hugh Marlboro and I had a meeting with Gerson, the owner of Eagle Trucking Parts and Services, who gave us the big sell as to why he should be the one to do the maintenance on the banana empire's fleet of trailer trucks.

Gerson's business operates out of a structure that resembles an airplane hangar, just off the road to Ressano Garcia. When we walked into the building, after a somewhat awkward introduction in which Hugh M. didn't know what title to give me, and Gerson was clearly a bit shocked to see a woman along for the ride, it was if we had entered another world.

The inside of the workshop was dark, crammed full of about 20 giant trucks in various states of (dis)assembly. Several spotlights were strategically set up around the space to provide illumination for the workers tooling away at engines or changing filters. Pans of thick black motor oil were scattered about, and everything looked as if it had been coated in a fine layer of grease.

I silently cursed myself for wearing a light-colored suit to work. Not only was it raining outside, filling the streets with reddish mud just waiting to splash up on my pale khaki pants, here I was in the middle of an industrial oficina, certain that my next step would lead to a fatal smattering of truck grease on my corduroy blazer.

Hugh Marlboro and Gerson stopped to admire a dissected engine that was nearly as tall as I am. "Ah, yes. The International 4700. What a beauty! I used to use these in my trucks, but now I run the D-1880." Hugh M. affectionately patted the side of the engine as if it were a small child.

"Yah," Gerson agreed. "The 4700 is good because it isn't run by a computer. If there are problems on the road, the driver can pull over and fix the engine himself in one hour."

I stared at the metal tangle of pipes and cylinders and valves and began to understand my Dad's fascination as a fine arts student in the 1970's with photographing irrigation pumps and conduit. The International 4700 certainly did look like a work of art.

Hugh Marlboro and Gerson went on to discuss the merits of one engine manufacturer versus another, the availability of spare parts on the regional market (key in deciding which engine to buy, almost as much as the quality of the thing itself), and the various importation procedures to acquire second-hand trucks and trailers from the United States.

We inspected several other engines, then met Jappie, the chief mechanic at Eagle Trucking. He had bright blue eyes the exact color of his work uniform, and he was covered from head to toe in black grease. Jappie shook Hugh Marlboro's hand without hesitation, then became suddenly self-conscious when he realized that I too intended to shake his hand. He pushed up the sleeve of his coveralls and offered me a clean bit of wrist to shake instead, not wanting to dirty the lady's hand with his own.

Jappie showed us what he was working on, an engine the size of a small car that even Hugh Marlboro was impressed by. "This is from the dredger they use in the Port of Maputo," Jappie told us. "We do all of the maintenance on their dredgers and excavators."

I was suddenly hit with a great desire to understand how all of those engines worked. What amazing pieces of machinery, each part perfectly suited to a specific task that, when performed in conjunction with a series of other tasks, creates enough power to move 28 tons of bananas or clear a channel in a port. Unbelievable!

Back in the truck, I asked Hugh Marlboro, "So, when do you think the last time was that a woman set foot in that building?" Not that anybody had been disrespectful or blatantly ogled me, it was just quite obvious that women were not part of the day-to-day operations of the place.

He started laughing and said, "You've got a point, man."

"Better yet," I continued, "when do you think the last time a woman wearing high heels set foot in there?"

He laughed so hard I thought he was going to swerve the truck off the road. "Poor things," he said. "Probably still don't know what hit them. And to top it off, you looked interested in the engines back there."

"But I was interested in the engines!"

"You want to know about engines?" Hugh Marlboro gave me a sideways look. "You really want to know about diesel engines?"

"Yes!" I said. "I'm being serious!"

"Well then, I suppose I will have to teach you how an engine works." He thought for a moment, then continued, "This will be our little exchange. You give me Portuguese lessons, I will teach you mechanics."

"You've got yourself a deal."

So tomorrow, along with a meeting with the notary and a trip to the main plantation block, I can expect a practical lesson on the workings of a diesel engine. Sounds good to me!