Monday, April 03, 2006
It's Funny How Things Turn Out
March 25, 2006, Gaborone, Botswana
After our exciting bush camping experience, we set off for the capital of Botswana, Gaborone. We figured that with a full day of driving, we could probably do it in one push, but if not, another night of bush camping wouldn't kill us.
As we set off, I thought about how our original plan did not work out. I had been in Botswana for a month in November, visiting friends who worked at a diamond mine called Orapa. While there, I met several interesting people who were working in the HIV/AIDS field. One man, a doctor, had written a novel based on his struggles dealing with HIV/AIDS, bureaucracy, and government. Another man who I met was a Catholic priest who lived in a village and taught orphans affected by HIV/AIDS to create leather products such as wallets and hats and sell them to support the village. I felt that these two contacts would lead to very interesting articles and that it would be worth driving into the middle of Botswana to meet them.
Our original plan was to go from Namibia to Orapa and meet them. Unfortunately, diamond mines are not the kind of place that you can just pitch up and drive through the gate. Special permits must be issued, specifying the exact dates that you are permitted to be at the mine. About a month ago, I contacted a friend who works at Orapa and asked her to help the four of us get security passes. She said that it would be no problem, as long as I gave her the dates. If you read any of the blogs from Namibia, you can imagine that giving exact dates of our departure and arrival would not be easy. Namibia did not want to let us go and driving to Orapa involved driving through a lot of desert. I told my friend that I would get back to her when I was sure. To make a long story short, the next couple times that I attempted to make contact with her were unsuccessful. I even contacted a mutual friend in South Africa, who said that he was also having trouble making contact. No Orapa meant going directly to Gaborone.
As all of these thoughts were going through my head, we decided to stop for lunch in a village called Kang. We stopped at a place whose sign suggested that there would be food. As I got out of the car, I realized that the "restaurant" was actually a small cement building with blaring music and drunken 12 year old girls dancing around (we would soon discover that most of the people that we would meet in Botswana would be drunk) . After being in Windhoek, Namibia for a month which is not a far cry from an American city, it was nice to be back in Africa as I know it.
After lunch we continued driving, making good time, and looking like we would be in Gaborone before nightfall. This of course was not the case. As I was driving, day dreaming about our time in Windhoek, Nate drew my attention to the dashboard, which was lit up by every available indicator light. I pulled over and we opened the hood to discover that the alternator belt was shredded to pieces. This of course was no problem at all because we had a new alternator belt that Sean and Tuuli bought in Windhoek and we would easily change the belt within a half hour.
After taking off the fan belt (which was also not in good shape) and the old alternator belt, we loosened all of the proper nuts to put on the new belt. We quickly realized that it was way too small. Oops! Ok, no problem. We decided that we could change the fan belt and drive to the next town and hopefully get an alternator belt there. Oops, the new fan belt was too small too. We put on the old fan belt and started down the road. Within minutes, steam was pouring out from under the hood. We popped the hood to discover that the hose from the radiator had blown off and water was leaking from somewhere under the engine. Apparently, the fan does not go around unless the alternator belt is on. Fortunately, the next town was in sight. We put more water in the radiator and set off, slowly, very slowly.
We arrived at the town, Mabutsane, which was not really a town but a village and asked some guys on the side of the road if there was a mechanic in town. They pointed us in the direction of a man named Stephan. It turned out that Stephan is not a mechanic, but instead is the only white guy in the village. We explained our problem to Stephan and he sent me in a pickup truck with his brother to go around the village looking for a new belt. We checked with several groups of men who were sitting outside of various bars and huts, but no one seemed to have the belt that we needed. The whole process was not facilitated by the fact that EVERYONE in the village was drunk (in their defense, it was Friday night).
Eventually, as night fell, we found a few belts that were close to the correct size. Nate and I tried each of them and found one belt fit loosely, but seemed to work. At this point it was too late to think about leaving the village and Stephan told us that we could spend the night. The night turned into three, due to Stephan’s great hospitality.
While in Mabutsane, we met a Peace Corps volunteer who was very helpful while we in the village. She even shared Girl Scout cookies with us. When we were ready to head to Gabs, she contacted a volunteer in Gabs to let him know we were on our way and that we would really appreciate it if he could help us navigate our way through the city. When we got to Gabs we met him and explained that we were looking for a cheap place to stay in town. He did not know of any but was more than happy to let us crash at his place for the night, which actually turned out to be six nights. He was a great person to know in town, not only because he let us stay at his place so long, but because he was working with several HIV/AIDS organizations in town. In addition, it just so happened that we were in Gabs for the Ditshwanelo Human Rights Film Festival, which showed amazing African produced films.
Despite the fact that we didn’t get to go to Orapa as planned, things seemed to work out for the best!
Yet Another Place That Will Not Let Us Escape
April 2, 2006, Naboomspruit, South Africa
We left Gabs on Sunday afternoon and headed for a town in Botswana call Palapye. The plan was to stay there for the night with another Peace Corps volunteer and then move on to South Africa on Monday. The ride was going smoothly until about 40 kilometers outside of Palapye. At this point, the car started overheating again and all the caution lights came on. We determined that there was probably something wrong with the belt (which was too loose), but this would not be a problem because we bought a new belt from a shop on the way from Gabs. While in Gabs, I suggested to Nate that we put on the new belt, just to be sure that it was the right size. It seemed to me that putting on the new belt right outside the house where we would be staying was a better venue then the middle of the desert. However, Nate was confident that the belt was the right size because he watched the man at the shop measure it and it was a bigger size then our last belt. Of course it didn’t fit! We decided to drive slowly and crawled into Palapye at nightfall.
The next day we slowly headed to Naboomspruit, South Africa to spend time with some friends of mine and have some work done on the car. My friends Phil and Elrine, who I met while living in The Gambia, are South Africans and love traveling. They have driven all around southern Africa and could not believe that the car actually made it as far as it did. After they saw the car and heard about its problems, Phil arranged for a mechanic to look at the car the following day.
After or experiences with finding a mechanic in Windhoek, I was a bit worried that the mechanic would refuse to work on the car because it’s an import. Fortunately for us, Phil’s mechanic Willie Wood was a real bush mechanic. He spent three days searching scrap yards, hand making parts, changing the alternator belt, fixing the leak from below the engine, reattaching the rear brakes, fixing the shocks, and solving a few other smaller problems for us and best of all, he did it all for just over one hundred American dollars.
While the car was being fixed, my friend Johann, whose house we stayed at, arranged braais (barbeques) for us as well as a trip to a game farm. While at the game farm we participated in a kudu dropping spitting contest, in other words we were supposed to put antelope feces in our mouth and see how far we could spit it. It wasn’t quite a gross as I thought it would be, and actually turned out to be pretty tough.
After a few days of car repairs, catching up on writing, and great South African hospitality, we decided that we would move on down to Johannesburg. We left Naboomspruit around 3:30 and drove five kilometers out of town. At that point, an awful noise started coming from the tire on the rear passenger side. We got out and determined that weight of the fully packed car pushed the shock down and the shock was actually touching the tire. After jacking up the car twice with our medieval jack and taking the tire off, we realized that we had no idea how to fix it. We called Johann, who swiftly came to our rescue and he followed us as the car limped back to his house for yet another night.
March 25, 2006, Gaborone, Botswana
After our exciting bush camping experience, we set off for the capital of Botswana, Gaborone. We figured that with a full day of driving, we could probably do it in one push, but if not, another night of bush camping wouldn't kill us.
As we set off, I thought about how our original plan did not work out. I had been in Botswana for a month in November, visiting friends who worked at a diamond mine called Orapa. While there, I met several interesting people who were working in the HIV/AIDS field. One man, a doctor, had written a novel based on his struggles dealing with HIV/AIDS, bureaucracy, and government. Another man who I met was a Catholic priest who lived in a village and taught orphans affected by HIV/AIDS to create leather products such as wallets and hats and sell them to support the village. I felt that these two contacts would lead to very interesting articles and that it would be worth driving into the middle of Botswana to meet them.
Our original plan was to go from Namibia to Orapa and meet them. Unfortunately, diamond mines are not the kind of place that you can just pitch up and drive through the gate. Special permits must be issued, specifying the exact dates that you are permitted to be at the mine. About a month ago, I contacted a friend who works at Orapa and asked her to help the four of us get security passes. She said that it would be no problem, as long as I gave her the dates. If you read any of the blogs from Namibia, you can imagine that giving exact dates of our departure and arrival would not be easy. Namibia did not want to let us go and driving to Orapa involved driving through a lot of desert. I told my friend that I would get back to her when I was sure. To make a long story short, the next couple times that I attempted to make contact with her were unsuccessful. I even contacted a mutual friend in South Africa, who said that he was also having trouble making contact. No Orapa meant going directly to Gaborone.
As all of these thoughts were going through my head, we decided to stop for lunch in a village called Kang. We stopped at a place whose sign suggested that there would be food. As I got out of the car, I realized that the "restaurant" was actually a small cement building with blaring music and drunken 12 year old girls dancing around (we would soon discover that most of the people that we would meet in Botswana would be drunk) . After being in Windhoek, Namibia for a month which is not a far cry from an American city, it was nice to be back in Africa as I know it.
After lunch we continued driving, making good time, and looking like we would be in Gaborone before nightfall. This of course was not the case. As I was driving, day dreaming about our time in Windhoek, Nate drew my attention to the dashboard, which was lit up by every available indicator light. I pulled over and we opened the hood to discover that the alternator belt was shredded to pieces. This of course was no problem at all because we had a new alternator belt that Sean and Tuuli bought in Windhoek and we would easily change the belt within a half hour.
After taking off the fan belt (which was also not in good shape) and the old alternator belt, we loosened all of the proper nuts to put on the new belt. We quickly realized that it was way too small. Oops! Ok, no problem. We decided that we could change the fan belt and drive to the next town and hopefully get an alternator belt there. Oops, the new fan belt was too small too. We put on the old fan belt and started down the road. Within minutes, steam was pouring out from under the hood. We popped the hood to discover that the hose from the radiator had blown off and water was leaking from somewhere under the engine. Apparently, the fan does not go around unless the alternator belt is on. Fortunately, the next town was in sight. We put more water in the radiator and set off, slowly, very slowly.
We arrived at the town, Mabutsane, which was not really a town but a village and asked some guys on the side of the road if there was a mechanic in town. They pointed us in the direction of a man named Stephan. It turned out that Stephan is not a mechanic, but instead is the only white guy in the village. We explained our problem to Stephan and he sent me in a pickup truck with his brother to go around the village looking for a new belt. We checked with several groups of men who were sitting outside of various bars and huts, but no one seemed to have the belt that we needed. The whole process was not facilitated by the fact that EVERYONE in the village was drunk (in their defense, it was Friday night).
Eventually, as night fell, we found a few belts that were close to the correct size. Nate and I tried each of them and found one belt fit loosely, but seemed to work. At this point it was too late to think about leaving the village and Stephan told us that we could spend the night. The night turned into three, due to Stephan’s great hospitality.
While in Mabutsane, we met a Peace Corps volunteer who was very helpful while we in the village. She even shared Girl Scout cookies with us. When we were ready to head to Gabs, she contacted a volunteer in Gabs to let him know we were on our way and that we would really appreciate it if he could help us navigate our way through the city. When we got to Gabs we met him and explained that we were looking for a cheap place to stay in town. He did not know of any but was more than happy to let us crash at his place for the night, which actually turned out to be six nights. He was a great person to know in town, not only because he let us stay at his place so long, but because he was working with several HIV/AIDS organizations in town. In addition, it just so happened that we were in Gabs for the Ditshwanelo Human Rights Film Festival, which showed amazing African produced films.
Despite the fact that we didn’t get to go to Orapa as planned, things seemed to work out for the best!
Yet Another Place That Will Not Let Us Escape
April 2, 2006, Naboomspruit, South Africa
We left Gabs on Sunday afternoon and headed for a town in Botswana call Palapye. The plan was to stay there for the night with another Peace Corps volunteer and then move on to South Africa on Monday. The ride was going smoothly until about 40 kilometers outside of Palapye. At this point, the car started overheating again and all the caution lights came on. We determined that there was probably something wrong with the belt (which was too loose), but this would not be a problem because we bought a new belt from a shop on the way from Gabs. While in Gabs, I suggested to Nate that we put on the new belt, just to be sure that it was the right size. It seemed to me that putting on the new belt right outside the house where we would be staying was a better venue then the middle of the desert. However, Nate was confident that the belt was the right size because he watched the man at the shop measure it and it was a bigger size then our last belt. Of course it didn’t fit! We decided to drive slowly and crawled into Palapye at nightfall.
The next day we slowly headed to Naboomspruit, South Africa to spend time with some friends of mine and have some work done on the car. My friends Phil and Elrine, who I met while living in The Gambia, are South Africans and love traveling. They have driven all around southern Africa and could not believe that the car actually made it as far as it did. After they saw the car and heard about its problems, Phil arranged for a mechanic to look at the car the following day.
After or experiences with finding a mechanic in Windhoek, I was a bit worried that the mechanic would refuse to work on the car because it’s an import. Fortunately for us, Phil’s mechanic Willie Wood was a real bush mechanic. He spent three days searching scrap yards, hand making parts, changing the alternator belt, fixing the leak from below the engine, reattaching the rear brakes, fixing the shocks, and solving a few other smaller problems for us and best of all, he did it all for just over one hundred American dollars.
While the car was being fixed, my friend Johann, whose house we stayed at, arranged braais (barbeques) for us as well as a trip to a game farm. While at the game farm we participated in a kudu dropping spitting contest, in other words we were supposed to put antelope feces in our mouth and see how far we could spit it. It wasn’t quite a gross as I thought it would be, and actually turned out to be pretty tough.
After a few days of car repairs, catching up on writing, and great South African hospitality, we decided that we would move on down to Johannesburg. We left Naboomspruit around 3:30 and drove five kilometers out of town. At that point, an awful noise started coming from the tire on the rear passenger side. We got out and determined that weight of the fully packed car pushed the shock down and the shock was actually touching the tire. After jacking up the car twice with our medieval jack and taking the tire off, we realized that we had no idea how to fix it. We called Johann, who swiftly came to our rescue and he followed us as the car limped back to his house for yet another night.
<< Home