Lost in Translation
The files are easy: impersonal notes, the occasional reprimand from a boss. But saying goodbye to incomprehensible textbooks is hard.
I remember some geology
As I throw the last book onto the fire, a sheet of paper flutters to the floor. It’s an operational telex from a drilling rig, a Nigerian well I recall as an oil discovery—the “yellow cut” gives it away.
“12 hour report from Saipem II
location Aki-I, six hundred.
Twist-off fish recovered. Drilled
three stands down to top-Lammar.
Tagged top seal at 9620,
took a kick and closed in well.
Increased mud to 1.72.
Pressure stabilized and drilled
on to 9656. Steadily
increasing sand with yellow cut,
strong fluorescence, shows on shakers.
Resistivity on MWD,
with good separation on long over short.
Continued down to 9730.
Pulling out. Preparing to log.
Hostages reported well.”
I read it several times, the last aloud. The text is equally impenetrable, but there is a poetic beat and rhythm I must have missed at the time. Hard to believe wellsite engineer Precious Nwosu had it in him.
new Serb neighbors
grandma says they speak