One of my best friends in the world, whilst having the most ridiculously frustrating African day, came out with what I thought to be a truly wonderful saying. “It’s enough to make a Monkey bite his mother.”
I think it really sums up true frustration in an African Context. I have tried use it as little as possible, so as not to over use it and cheapen it.
Today however I have used it twice, and I fear before this trip is over, I may well have used it a few more times.
On Thursday, I was asked if I would like to accompany a shipment of 2 tons of water analysis equipment on a 1700km round trip across Zambia. Of course I jumped at the opportunity, and started to make preparations.
As with any long road trip the success or failure of the venture depends on planning. Fortunately for me the planning for this trip had already been done by a seasoned campaigner who had been moving medical equipment around Africa for years.
There were however a few grey areas, the first being the fact that we were to be travelling in a brand new truck (A Tata) with only 48 km on the clock, now given the choice of a new one with 12 or an old one with 200,000 I would go for the old one every time.
The second problem is the new Lorry needed markings on the door to state who it belongs to and what all the company details are. We had not got them yet, but it was OK because they were coming at 08.30.
Thirdly. The fact that we have just got over a chronic fuel shortage which thankfully now seems to be over.
At this stage let me point out the plan for this trip was quite straight forward. We leave at 09.00 drive through to Mansa stopping only for fuel, (We had rung ahead to make sure there was fuel available) picking up lunch on the way, eat it on the hoof, switching drivers as necessary. Arrive Mansa somewhere around 19.00. Stay the night. Unload Saturday morning at 07.00 leave at 08.00 and return to Lusaka for about 18.00. Itsounds straight forward doesn’t it. Well the sticker man arrived at 09.00 with the stickers but the details on them were wrong. Oh joy. So off he went and said he would be back in an hour with the right ones. At 12.00 and after about 23 phone calls he returned and the details were perfect. Unfortunately he had just brought the proof and the real ones had not even gone into production. So the best option was to drive the lorry to the factory, wait for them to produce the stickers, apply them to the side of the vehicle so that we may be on our way.
By 14:00 we were on our way.
The journey went smoothly with Mr Phiri at the wheel. A real gentleman of some sixty odd years, but solid as a rock. We reached Kapiri Maposhi, our first fuelling point by 17:00 only to find that none of the four fuel stations had any diesel. Bother I thought. (I did not think that at all actually) So in true Zimbabwean fashion we had to make a plan. In Africa when there is a crisis there is always someone nearby ready to lend a hand. (as long as he or she can make at least one hundred per cent profit) Sure enough it was not long before we had found someone to help. We were careful not to get a local mix of 50/50 diesel paraffin mix. We managed to secure 40 litres of diesel. Whilst filling up the tank, a bit of a cufuffle broke out amongst the young entrepreneurs about who’s customer we were, and who was to get the money. During this Mr Phiri got jostled a bit but no harm was done. We filled our tank and were on our way again. By the time we left, the last vestiges of the sun had fled the sky and darkness was setting in fast.
At this point Mr Phiri pulled over and said that I could take over the driving. Now since leaving Lusaka I had, had a couple of trouser browning moments, which is not unusual on Zambian roads but I had started to recognise a pattern. Mr Phiri it seems has excellent eyesight but unfortunately it only seems to venture as far as the end of the bonnet. Which even more unfortunately for me and the other road users, on a Tata 173S is about 14cm in front of the steering wheel. So when darkness sets in it is reduced further.
I drove for 60 km and we pulled into a very nice lodge (The Forrest Inn) just outside Mukushi. It was by now just after 19:00, they had one Chalet free but at least it had three beds. We ate, had a drink and turned in for the night. It was at this stage Mr Phiri realised that he had been relieved of all of his money, we assumed that it had been during the cafuffel at the fuel stop. You have to be constantly on your guard in any environment.
I was woken at three to the sound of a striking Match and the room illuminated, then the lit match went winging across the room and landed on the floor. (Luckily stone floor) It turned out that Mr Phiri was checking the time. He obviously has no luminescence on his watch. I do wish he had just asked.
At 04.50 Mr Phiri left the chalet and I thought thank heavens for that at least now I can get some sleep and stop worrying about being burnt to a crisp in my sleep. Oh no, two minutes later I heard the Tata start (an unmistakable clatter) then it revved and revved until the airbrakes realised then I heard it driving around the site. Bear in mind this is a beautiful, quiet, secluded, very high class site where people go to get away. The sound got louder until I realised that Mr Phiri was going to park the lorry next to his bed. And he did, with the wonderful deafening, (at that time in the morning) sound of the air brakes explosively hissing as they were applied. The night was officially over, I got up and showered grumpy.
Breakfast at 06:30 lightened my mood as it was excellent, Eggs, sausage, tomatoes, bacon, beans and chips for some reason. All this with a selection of fruit juices and toast. Cooked to perfection. Brilliant.
We were on the road again by 07:00 Mr Phiri driving of course. I offered to take over but he vehemently refused, he is the driver so he must drive.
We reached Serenji our next opportunity to take on fuel, we pulled into the fuel station and to our surprise they had diesel so we said fill her up.
Oh no sir, we can only let you have 50 pin (50,000 Kwacha about $10.00) which is 8.3 litres. Great that is going to get us about 42 km not as far as the next town. After haggling to no avail, we found out where the owner of the garage lived, drove out to see him and after some negotiation he ended up giving us a letter to say that we could have another twenty litres. (every little helps) We stopped for a nature break about two hours on so I took the opportunity to dive into the driver’s seat, having by now had my nose planted squarely upon the inside of the windscreen about twelve times, disappeared off the roads 4 times to miss oncoming trucks, and had my neck broken by random gear selections.
I managed to keep control of the helm until we reached the longest bridge in Zambia. Where a particularly friendly Police officer wanted to tell me his, the regions and the bridges life story. This involved going for a walk across, underneath and beside the bridge, by the time I had, completed the tour and been cajoled into dropping Plods brother back to his village, Mr Phiri was firmly back in the driving seat.
Things went OK as there were no other vehicles on this stretch of the road, and then the reason became suddenly clear. Not only had the other lorries disappeared but so had the road only to be replaced by something resembling the surface of the moon.
Pot holes! Now you may remember I mentioned these once before, but these are different, this is a tar road not a dirt road. Dirt road potholes are bigger but do not have shear sides normally. These ones have sharp edges, when your wheel drops into one, it forgets not only what it is and what its purpose in life is, but also what direction it is travelling in.
Add to this the fact that the chances of these potholes actually being seen before it is way too late and you may begin to imagine what the last 134 km of my journey was like.
The cargo that was so beautifully loaded to give perfect weight distribution, ended up in my ear. I have concussion from the number of times my head was bounced off the roof, and my spine is now 3 inches shorter and has more kinks in it than a sixties rock band.
I don’t think an F1 car can change direction so quickly even on preheated tires, let alone brake so suddenly, and still manage to drive into all but three of these remarkable potholes on a 134 km stretch of road.
We finally reached the client at 16.30, shaken and stirred. We unloaded the cargo then went to find accommodation for the night. (but that’s another story)
And you know what really gets me.
We have to do the whole journey back again tomorrow!
Denzil Bark.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment