Sump'tings wrong with Henry - Episode 2

Henry was swamped with curious villagers by the time I reached him. My appearance brought even more people out to stare. Hoards of kids crept closer, giggling and jostling each other. A bevy of men encircled the van, loudly discussing we know not what. The problem? The solution? Or the crazy mzungus driving it!

A gentle tug on my elbow introduced Pastor David, enquiring solicitously as to whether I was frightened or disturbed by the noisy, chaotic crowds. I was delighted to assure him not at all, I quite understood the curiosity value of the situation which would doubtless become village talk for months to come. Pastor David said he'd called for a mechanic he knew, a reliable local and soon the fundi arrived and disappeared under Henry.

Pastor David in the suit and pink shirt

Overwhelmed by the attention and stares, Him Outdoors and I retired to a little pub, hoping to find a bit of quiet. No such luck - the No Under 18's sign kept the kids out, but the over 18's poured in to stare and take photos. Defeated, we left to walk around the village, trailed by about 60 kids like some modern day Pied Pipers. Over walls and under gates, they arrived to add to the throng.

The crumpled sump emerged looking rather sad but Pastor David had it all in hand. He'd summoned a colleague with a car to take us, the mechanic and himself to the closest small town, about 30 kms away on a winding gravel road. The small Toyota stoically bore all 5 of us and in due course we arrived at the welder in Miharati. The welder took charge of the sump while HO and I were taken to the little motor spares shop, open (as everything else 
in the town was) at 7pm on a Sunday evening. Purchasing the required diesel oil and some special silicon type stuff, we meandered around until we found a supermarket and tried to buy something to eat. The worst potato crisps we've ever eaten and some sugar biscuits turned into both Sunday supper and Monday breakfast. One does what one can with what is at hand!

Having said that, Pastor Jimmy messaged to ask if we were overcoming our challenge and offered to deliver blankets and a meal. Bowled over by this kindness we declined, not wanting to be more of a nuisance that we already were. The willing kindness continued to flow in - the welder, operating by the light of a mobile phone torch, did a wonderful job for the measly sum of $15!

That job, which took over an hour on a Sunday night, was absolutely perfect. Not only that, but repairing the thing saved a huge expense and big job of replacing the sump, which would surely have been the city option. The mechanic asked us to buy him a torch, which would enable him to fit the sump cover on our return. But it was already after 8.30pm and the poor man had been working since 5pm; we didn't feel it was a fair option, kind as it was and said we'd sleep in Henry and begin again in the morning.

About an hour later HO and I were opening a bottle of red wine and chomping crisps and biscuits in the romantic orange light given off by the lamp shining through a kikoy we'd used to cover a window. It was pretty romantic, I must say. 

Early Monday we arose and set up our coffee brewing station on the pavement. We can't face the day without a cup of Jacobs! While we polished off the last of the biscuit and inhaled the magic aroma, the fundi arrived with an assistant and men on their way to milk their cows or graze their sheep stopped for a chat and to offer advice.

Within 30 minutes Henry roared to life and we began our farewells. He purred like a cheetah, galloping up the miles to Nairobi and is once again in magnificent shape. Yup, we paid every man and his dog - truck hire, manpower, mechanic, taxi, tow drivers, welder and so on but it worked out a fraction of what it would have cost in SA to get a tow from the middle of nowhere, store the car overnight and find accommodation and then, for sure, the sump would have been replaced. Repair is something we don't do much of in sophisticated societies.

Life is a wonderful thing. Not once during the entire experience did HO or I feel threatened or concerned. We had water, coffee makings, a good bed, money in our Mpesa account (a fabulous Kenyan invention, mobile money). I was tense with worry about getting Henry up those hills but the magnificent villagers did the job. We met people eager to hear about us and where we were from, keen to show us Alice's grave (we declined, being ready for showers and rather anxious about Henry being able to cover the distance home.) 

It also gave us a marvellous opportunity to be grilled and to grill in return the culture differences between 'you people' (meaning us, in Pastor David's words!) and our saviours and hosts. It was refreshing to have an open, exploratory conversation and discussion about the pros and cons of each side. We especially enjoyed the horrified response to the number of children we had - they genuinely pitied us and couldn't understand WHY we'd had so few. At least 4 appears to be the consensus, we are somewhat short.

The most amazing feature of all of this for me was the casual, relaxed, accepting way in which HO and I shrugged off a calamity. In return, our African Angels delivered a bush miracle. Trusting in people and that a solution will be delivered paid off.

There is no end to the marvel of this incredible continent, which continues to disprove popular, Western opinion. Africa is as far from being a "shithole country"(?! - continent, President Trump!) as America is from truly understanding the complexities and marvels of this very special part of our planet. 

Sump'tings Wrong with Henry - Episode 1

Poor Henry the Campervan. He survived nearly 5000 kilometres of occasionally rather dire roads, trundling along contentedly on safari to Kenya. But this weekend it took just 12kms of gravel from Kipipiri to who knows where to stump him.

We were on an exploration, hunting down the grave and house of Happy Valley socialite Alice de Janzé. The road was really rural with only the buzz of a few boda boda motorbikes. Four wheeled transport appeared to rarely use this route, suiting us down to the ground.

Endless hedgerows of blackberry brambles alternated with shrubs showering spikes of purple skywards or proffering clusters of pink petals to passersby. Over the tops of the hedges could be seen the gentle waves of the Aberdares range, slumbering over the Wanjohi valley. Patchworked with little green fields of crops, tin roofed farmhouses, voluptuously woolly sheep and contentedly grazing cows, the valley, an idyllic, tranquil setting, cast a spell over our busy minds, quietening all thought and slowing our breath to a steady rhythm. Therapy!

'Clutter, bing, clatter, screech'. Expletives from Him Outdoors, "is that us?" from me as the brakes were slammed on. Out we popped to see oil pumping gelatinously down the hill - of course, we were a few metres from the crest. An excellent spot for a 3 tonne vehicle to blow up. The culprit couldn't hide it's guilt - a rock the size of  small football lay to the side, it's sole sharp point oil-drenched.
                                 

"With the bad front shocks we bottomed out as we went over that little rock and smashed the sump," HO gloomily pronounced. We were miles from the nearest village, let alone any kind of vehicle help. A desperate SOS call to a friend in Nairobi (3 hours away) proved fruitless - he was on safari for the next 2 days. 

What to do, what to do?

This is Africa, it took less than 5 minutes for people to appear from nowhere and begin inspecting the vehicle, prod the rock, examine the black slick sliding downhill. Then a boda boda roared up. The driver, seeing richer pickings, turfed his 2 passengers and their 50kg bag of maize off the back and offered to take HO to the next village in search of a vehicle that might be able to tow Henry. Off they zoomed while Henry and I became the focal point of a growing crowd of people enthralled by this excitement. Mzungus. A weird vehicle with a bed inside it! They called a friend. The crowd began to amass soccer stadium proportions. HO returned.

"We've found a tow, for what it's worth," he announced. "Pastor Jimmy has a short wheel based Landcruiser, cute as a button. Not sure if it can pull Henry though."

Pastor Jimmy pulled up and many willing hands attached the vehicles. But, oh dear. Henry 1, Cruiser Nil. Nothing doing. After lots of consultation, the crowd, women included, put their shoulders behind both cars and shoved. Barely able to breathe, it finally worked and Henry was up the hill. I led the multitude on foot to the next bit, a steep downhill. Now, Henry was to be disconnected and to freewheel down until the next hill.  

                                    
And so it went, until an incline bigger than Pastor Jimmy's positive spirit brought everything to a halt. "Looks like we'll camp here for the night," HO declared. "We can walk to the village for a beer then bed down."

                                   

Before we could secure Henry, three 'helpers' returned from the village. They'd persuaded an ancient Mitsubishi truck to pull us up. Yay.  

Not so fast, honey. Tired of the crowd, I'd marched up the hill to wait. Followed by about 30 giggling children growing every more daring as they reached out to touch my skin and hair, novelties to them. Nothing happened for a long while and then, a mass group of men, laughing and dancing, headed towards us from the village. They'd got the call to come and push - the Mitsubishi wasn't up to the task either.

I hurried after them to find the vehicles halfway up the first steep bit and HO surrounded by an excited mob negotiating the best price for their labour. The important things sorted out, a tow rope was hitched to the front of the Mitsubishi and taken up by a group of men. The majority of guys swarmed along the sides and rear of both trucks, heaving and chanting. The kids and I walked rapidly ahead, jumping off the track as the entourage came past. With the additional horsepower, I soon lost sight of Henry and had to climb faster to see where everyone had disappeared to.


 




And that is where I'll leave today's episode. Tune in tomorrow for the conclusion of this tale - will we find a doctor for Henry? Will we be stranded in a village called Kiambogo, so far off any map of Kenya we were lost forever? 

All shall be revealed!

  

Prudence, Where Art Thou?

Live local. Simplify. Rid ourselves of excess stuff. Ha!

Here we are in Nairobi, having pared our lifestyle down to Lego proportions. Which is kinda funny because we are pretty large ourselves and barely able to squeeze into Hobbit House, the darling little cottage we currently live in.

We left it all behind - my car, a large house chock a block full of everything that opens, closes, whirrs or whizzes at the touch of a button. Two of everything, except when there are eight. Elegant tableware, beautiful artwork, treasured trinkets and treats. We will live simply, exactly to our needs, no hoarding. Most certainly no Nairobi replacement of what we already have in storage back in South Africa, which is everything. Except the vacuum cleaner, our camping gear, a little bar fridge and our super comfy king sized mattress with a selection of bed linen. A good night's sleep and all that.

Let it be known that, other than a washing machine which simply wouldn't fit into bulging Henry the Campervan, we do have everything we need. I'm embarrassed by how many clothes I have, considering I seem to rotate the same 4 pairs of capris and 5 or 6 tops. My Fitflops will have to be cut off my feet soon, they are too comfy not to wear daily. Why bother with the shoe rack of high heels and loafers? And, (voice drops to a whisper), there are another 3 large boxes of clothes in the container that didn't make the cut. It's embarrassing to unpack one's house and take stock of what you own - far, far too much.

In the interests of both budget and low key living, I've taken on an unaccustomed household role as well - replacing Prudence, our much appreciated domestic genie. Overall, it's not too bad. Firstly because we've dropped about 8 rooms and 200m2 of house. Secondly, there is something extraordinarily satisfying about standing back to survey the results of a few minutes swabbing and scrubbing. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, they say, so it is fitting that this Goddess is so chuffed with her labour.

Except - ironing. Specifically bed linen. How the devil does one fold a fitted sheet, let alone iron it? I hear you chortling and wondering what idiot irons a fitted sheet? Well, Prudence, for one. Every week a freshly washed and ironed fitted sheet was put into the linen cupboard and that night I slid into a cocoon of crisp, scented linen. Heaven.

Now, I'm confronting ironing a king-sized linen duvet cover. L-I-N-E-N, in reality, actually spells C-R-E-A-S-E. I defy anyone to achieve dear Prudence's results - a neatly folded, smooth as glass enormous piece of linen. Especially as my ironing board now is the kitchen counter. In a word - impossible. I can't get the crinkles out and just know that slipping under this later isn't going to be the same, without Prudence's magic ministrations. 

Prudence has The Knowledge. How to iron and fold a fitted sheet, and how to tame unruly linen. This is information I have to know, because if I can't conquer a sheet, what hope for the world?