Tree Trimming Part 2: Sweaty Palms

In my last post about the tree trimming, I focused on my conversation about American history and politics with a few Zambians.  I didn't describe much of what actually went on as the team of guys removed the potentially roof-damaging branches from our trees.  This is because I had not yet seen them at work.  I wish it had stayed that way.

Later that afternoon, A. came back to check on their progress.  I had enjoyed our talk that morning so I decided to join him as he supervised.  As we walked through the yard I was horrified to see the men blatantly flout the safety instructions they were given just hours before.  Yes, the man in the tree was wearing his harness but it was hanging around his neck instead of securing him to the tree.  The five guys on the ground stood staring up at him as he shimmied along with only his legs wrapped around the bough.

In a repeat of his initial warnings, A. reminded the men that the embassy expected that they follow safety precautions.  The team of tree trimmers just smiled and laughed like they knew he was right but their hands were tied.  They continued watching the one man who was actually working up in the tree and yelled unhelpful suggestions about where he should cut the branch. 

I stared up in terror as the man on the branch hacked away at the tree with a machete and a small ax.  With each blow, he had to steady himself and regain his balance.  I felt my heart speed up and my palms began to sweat.  I was absolutely sure this man would fall to his death in my backyard.  My dread grew worse as his machete cut deeper and deeper.  A. did not make me feel any better as he regaled me with stories of accidents he witnessed over the years.  The most evocative was his tale of a tree trimmer who, like the man in my “matchstick” tree, chose not to use his safety harness.  The man in the story was working on a limb that was overhanging a barbed-wire-topped wall.  I will spare you the details but assure you that although the man landed in the barbed wire, he survived the ordeal after spending several weeks in the hospital.  I was just sure this was going to happen at my house before the day was out.

After another twenty minutes of fretting and trying to convince the tree trimmers to observe ANY safety precaution, I decided that I needed to go inside.  If they wouldn't listen to me I could not spend my day anxiously standing under a tree.  I went back in the house, sat down with a book, and turned up the music. 

Thankfully, no men fell from my trees that day or in the seven subsequent days that it took them to complete the job.