The first fist bump accurred at the toll booth. "This is gonna be awesome!" Chris said to me, our closed fists colliding. Our African Road Trip had offcially begun. Five countries over three weeks. New experiences awaited.
An hour later, the first new experience was soccer by the side of the toll road. But the mood was different. Roadside soccer is always fun - but not as fun when you are forced to play because your car has broken down. We were now making lemonade from lemons. The closest directions we could give the tow truck was "under a nameless bridge on the toll way, north of Johannesburg."
Luckily, we had Courage. Not courage, but Courage with a capital C. A student in Chris's school, Courage thought he was getting a free ride to his native Zimbabwae with us. What he got was a free ride 187 kilometers north of Joburg and no further. Luckily, Courage proved to be a good soccer player in the roadside game, and he also told us stories of his native land. Apparently, in some if not many people's minds (or at least Courage's) Zimbabwae's much criticized Robert Mugabe is not a brutal dictator but a misunderstood puppet leader. He even wants to quit, but his supporters won't let him for fear of the ensuing chaos. I don't believe it all, but Courage certainly lives up to his name to defend a known killer like Mugabe.
But back to the car. When you are stranded by the side the road, there is no creature on earth you'd rather have help you than an Afrikaans male. They are big and bulky in the style of a corn-fed Nebraska offensive lineman, except that Afrikaans just happen to play rugby instead of football. With necks thicker than the head above, these men are bred to move a rugby "scrum" and haul farm equipment about. They settled central South Africa by wagon in the 1840s; obviously, they can fix stuff with their hands.
Unfortunately this may also say something about the lack of size of the very head on top of the shoulders - these are the founders of aparteid and Africa's version of the KKK. Or maybe they are just like protectionalist farmers in the USA, afraid of "others" who might disturb their world. Afrikaans believe they are God's chosen people, and defend their culture as such. They are certainly not the only tribe in the world to make such a claim. But there is a racial component to their world view not unlike Southern farmers.
Enter our next character in the one act play entitled "Stranded": Hanny. Hanny will be playing the part of our saviour, in the form of a large, white Afrikaans auto mechanic. When asked if he could fix our car on a Saturday, Hanny responded "Well, yeah, sure, since the rugby match just ended I'm free.". Thank goodness the match was over, because priorities are priorities.
Hanny took obvious pleasure in fixing the car. This clearly was man verus machine, and it was his own personal challenge to get our car up and running again. He would not let the car beat him.
Within minutes of entering the shop, Hanny had diagnosed our problem, but he did not have the correct part to fix our problem. He did, however, have "A plan." Hanny took the old, broken part, ripped it in half, and proceeded to weld it together with the generic part that he did have in stock. A hybrid part was born. Seeing this man was a marvel: a blowtorch in one hand, melting iron in the other, and a cigarette in his mouth all the while. I am honestly not sure if he lit the blowtorch with his cigarette or vice versa. Eventually, after an hour of welding, he turned and said "Chris, you are free to leave."
As we left the shop, Courage remarked: "That is why you have to do what you love in life; you could see how proud he was of creating a new part and fixing the car."
Matthew-
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