Short Version-We Broke Down, Long Version-…Look Below…

Revised:

“WAWA”, West Africa Wins Again. Traveling in a foreign country is never easy, and can be exceedingly stressful in Africa. My family and I have traveled quite a bit during our seven years in Togo. Sure we have lost the water pump once or twice, and the clutch is certainly overrated, but our 17-year-old Land Cruiser has remained moderately faithful. Compared to the much newer and comfortable models of the day she might be labeled as “unroad worthy” or perhaps even “trash”, but her determination to keep at it, to pass those trucks even when she doesn’t think she has it, and her loyalty has always been a comfort and a joy to our family. One recent trip that my dad and I took with old Landy is fresh in my mind.

We had been visiting Lome, the capital city of Togo, to get some washing machines repaired. I, of course, had ulterior motives, such as seeing friends, getting more work done, and naturally, DSL! The adventure began at 10am Saturday morning. Previously, Dad had informed me that if he could get the washing machines back and tested, we would be leaving well before 1pm. Assuming that there were no accidents, children on the road, market crowds, goats, breakdowns, storms, or natural disasters, the trip would take 6 hours; giving us a small window of time to get over the half hills, half mountains in daylight.

The first problem came knocking when one of the washing machines failed the test at the centre. We needed to bring it back to the store and have them look at it again. After an hour of nodding and attempting to understand Indian English, we left for home, leaving the machine at the shop for observation. By 11:20am we had packed up at lightning speed and left in record time.

The trip started considerably well for traveling in Africa. A lady busted a car tire right in front of us, and a storm must have come through a couple days earlier for there were trees and branches scattered on, and around the road. That is, it went well until 3:30pm when we heard an odd noise. The noise, which resembled a marble being shaken in a glass jar, continued for a couple seconds. At first, I thought it might be the washing machine which was in the back of the truck, but after a couple seconds decided that wasn’t it. Dad soon noticed that the truck wasn’t driving right and that the timing belt light was on. As mechanical knowledge is not a strong suit in the female division of our family, it took just a glance at his face to realize that this was not good (us females have been noted for our excellent achievements in reading facial expression)! He quickly turned off the truck and coasted to the side of the road. Looking around, I saw that we were miles from pure water and French speaking Togolese. Bush surrounded us on all sides except for a few family-sized villages a couple hundred metres away.

While I was busy surveying our surroundings, dad popped the hood and peered inside, muttering a single word. I had not thought it possible for my heart rate to drop at that word, “Whoa”. On first inspection it looked as if the fan had completely detached from the engine and forced the blades to hit the radiator. Once again I examined our setting and smiled. Well, we weren’t going anywhere.

A shirtless man, and the sole spectator, stood across the road watching that which was occurring a stone’s throw from his backyard. He soon made his way over to our side of the road to inquire what was wrong.
“Is there a mechanic near by?” We asked, assuming that this younger man spoke French.
“Yes! There is a mechanic in a town three kilometers away. He is my friend!” After agreeing to go find this friend, we gave him money, in case he needed to hop on a moto-taxi. I giggled when I saw the same man walking out of his house a few minutes later, now wearing a shirt, and successfully flagging down a bicycle. The two-some started up the gentle slope towards town. Dad and I waited 45 minutes for the man to return, entertaining ourselves with a bouncy ball and deserted road.

The mechanic from the nearby town arrived shortly after a cell phone conversation with my mother; at which time we decided that my mum, a good friend and our mechanic would drive down and tow us to the nearest town, meaning that we had no need for this unfamiliar mechanic. After thanking him and paying him for his help, he informed us that our mechanic from Kara would need to bring a new water pump and fan. To say the least, I was impressed that after having him come out to our roadside breakdown and then telling him that we didn’t need him, he still informed us of what we required.

So, then began the lengthy wait. We waited, and waited, and waited. At one point, an old lady was dropped off by a taxi right where we were waiting. This woman, who must have been 70, began to carry one, of three, 30 pound bags.
“I’m going to help her carry her stuff to her house,” I exclaimed.
“No, you’re not,” said Dad, “for all you know her house could be 5km away!”
“Umm, ok, then I’ll be gone a while,” I said with a smile. I went over and with a smile, body language and French, began to ask her where she lived. When she laughed and shook her head I realized that she could not understand French, so I proceeded to pick up a sack of yams. She was shocked to see a white girl helping her and burst out laughing, all the while motioning for me to put it down. I obliged, but watched where she headed with one bag, still leaving two behind on the side of the road. When I saw that she, with her grinning, toothless, and very short husband, was coming back for the other two bags, I picked one up and carried it to her husband. For these village people who rarely see a white person, it must have been a comical sight - a white girl, walking down the road, smiling from ear to ear (fully toothed), with a bag of yams cradled in her arms.

Two hours later a thunderstorm rolled in. Rain began to splatter on our dead Landy as we sat suffocating in the humid, enclosed truck. Without any forewarning Dad suggested, “We should put out branches.” I laughed, assuming that he was joking.
He smiled and looked at me, “No, really, we should!”
“But it’s raining!”
“Ok, we’ll wait a bit; hand me the knife”. As street lights have yet to be discovered in Togo, branches are often laid down on the road leading up to a broken down semi, acting as a beacon of warning. So there we were, walking in the drizzling rain, cutting down branches and tossing them out on the road. We accomplished what we thought had been the most successful thing that afternoon when a truck drove by. Not only did he spray us with cold, wet and dirty mist, the wind also blew our beacons right off the road!

If you have ever been in a dark room you know what it’s like to be in the bush at night. The clouds from the storm had stopped any moon or star light that we might have had. Our flashlight was dead thanks to a corroded battery. I brought my pillow up onto the roof of the truck and “lightning gazed” for 30 minutes; it was so peaceful and amazing.

Mum, Mohamed, the mechanic and his “apprentis” (apprentice) arrived at 7:30pm, almost 4 hours since we had broken down. They hooked up the towing bar from the truck they brought to ours. The 45 km trip from our spot, to Blitta seemed to zoom by as I dozed in the back of the vehicle. Oh, how good it felt to be able to move in a truck instead of just sitting in it!

Once there, we found a small motel that had room. The room had everything one might call necessary - a bed, a shower and a toilet. The electricity was cut so we were provided with a candle. Unfortunately, they did not have more than one box of matches, so if the candle blew out you had to go find the guy to light it again! I rolled my eyes as the water slowly trickled out of the shower.
“No water, Mum!” I called out. She sighed, “I’ll go get the guy.” I looked at myself in the mirror. Dirt covered every visible part of my body, and my once beige capris were covered in mud, grease, and water. My hair was not much better, pulled back in a loose pony-tail with hairs sticking in whichever direction they chose.

After a quick shower, I got into the bed and pulled on the sheet. To my surprise there was not a top sheet. As I said, they provided only the necessities, and a top sheet was simply not a requirement. Laughing, I looked around for a substitute sheet. Hanging in front of the half metre wide door was a curtain. If Maria can make clothes out of curtains, I can certainly make a sheet out of a curtain. I went over and took the curtain down and laid it on the bed. Perfect. Well, at least it would cover me.

We slept well that night. A nice breeze came in the one window, and flowed right back out that one window. We woke up to the lovely sound of a rooster. He had decided to make us feel very welcome by crowing his loudest right outside our window. What a gentleman. We left that morning and arrived back home without any more problems. Landy had been fixed and driven back home that same night. We were thankful for a safe, yet eventful trip. Who knows what will happen in the future? But one thing will always remain the same, WAWA - West Africa Wins Again.

And if you managed to read this whole thing, GOD BLESS YOU, I love ya!