Ginnegogs

I am sure that somebody, at some time or another, prattled on about the evils of cynicism. That it was self defeating. That it did more harm than good. That it made people sad and cry. That it tends to bring into doubt the sincerity of others.
Case in point - the North Coast Highway.

As of today, it looks as if the project will continue for a while. It even appears as if the Contractor will remain as the contractor of record, and that the Company will remain as the Engineer’s Representative,... for a while. Unfortunately, the Jamaican project director has been replaced by a man who is in so tight with the contractor that it has squeezed all suitable similes right out of my head.

As the story goes, the Contractor was going to walk off of the job. He would abandon his camp, his equipment, his labor, and his project, collect his cache of Jamaican souvenirs and trinkets and hop a plane to the far corners of the earth, never to be seen again. But he had a second thought, prompted by his meetings with an American claims resolution expert. This claims expert convinced the contractor that there was probably money to be made, if they only were to pursue it in the right manner. The total shut down of operations two months ago was a good start. It worked like a rabbit punch to the heads of state, stunning them, forcing the government to realize their lack of a suitable defensive position, and setting the stage for the next round of the fight.

To rescue the project, the government quickly assembled what we jokingly call their “Dream Team”, as in, “nightmarish”. This team is definitely not a group of seasoned professionals against whom all challengers will be summarily dispersed. It consists instead of an attorney, an engineer, and a bureaucrat, none of whom has a history with the Works. At the risk of future lawsuits, I will not slander the attorney.

The engineer is an owner of one of the largest engineering consultancies on the island, who probably feels that he should be doing the construction management work that my firm is now doing, and may be pissed at us for Jah knows what other reasons.

The bureaucrat is a former permanent secretary to the Ministry, who (I hear) has been in the recent (and perhaps current) employ of one of the larger contractors on the island, a contractor who stands to receive much of the work to remain, and whose owner and namesake is currently a consultant to the Contractor. This bureaucrat is the new project director, and our new Client representative.

After enacting the above jobs program, the government (the Right Honourable P.J. Patterson, actually) demanded that the Contractor’s ginnegogs report to the island immediately to begin negotiations. The contractor ignored the mandate, and took his time to arrive. By the time the Korean wheels got to Kingston, they had set the tone and pace of what was to come. Soon thereafter, we received a call from our President, asking why we did not show up at the negotiations. The only response we could give him was the obvious one, that we were never invited. It seems way more than odd that an owner would enter into any negotiations with a wily or inept (maybe both) contractor without the benefit of bringing with him someone with experience on the project.

Someone (the current permanent secretary) may have begun to realize this, right before calling our president. Anyway, we called the bureaucrat to tell him we were coming for the second day of talks, and could only reach his secretary, who was slightly less than a fount of useful information. Assuming that we were still expected, we hopped a Jamaica Express flight the next morning and reported to Kingston, suitcases in tow, for these negotiations could take days. Not surprisingly, we had yet to be informed as to where the meetings would be held, or at what time, only that our president said that we should be there. In response, we went to a nice restaurant and had a long breakfast.

After we had washed down the ackee and saltfish, callaloo, yam and plantain with a couple of liters of coffee, we instructed our driver to take us to the Minister’s office in New Kingston. Sporting our clip-on visitor’s badges, we worked our way through the labyrinth of cubicles and desks piled high with unprocessed paperwork, until we stumbled across the bureaucrat, who directed us to an unused office. He returned with an American who turned out to be the Korean’s claim resolution expert.

We spoke for a half hour or so, in very general terms regarding project progress, problems, reasons for delays, and potential solutions. Then we were excused, and allowed to return to Montego Bay. We collected our bags and had our driver take us back to Tinson Pen, the tiny commuter aerodrome next to Kingston harbor.

Heavy rain had fallen for much of the morning. Rain still threatened, and dark storm clouds still clustered about in the mountains over Kingston. As soon as the thirty seat, top winged turbo-prop left the tarmac, I knew that I would not be enjoying the forthcoming flight. The pilot seemed to have little control over his rudder, and we yawed and yawed, back and forth, forth and back. Immediately after takeoff, we entered heavy turbulence, which continued through to Montego Bay. Beverage service was canceled. It was the worst air experience of my life.

Although the flight was only thirty-five minutes in duration, it felt much longer, and I deplaned soaked in a cold sweat and weak at the knees. It would take the rest of the day and a few stiff drinks, a couple of beers, a nice bottle of Chilean merlot, and a very tasty Italian meal to recover.

There is no analogy here. It was just an awful plane ride.

Later in the day, negotiations were completed, and the Government of Jamaica gave away the proverbial farm. They still need someone to manage the livestock, so to speak, so our positions are secure for the time being.