A graceful day

Do you ever get the feeling that the day will be elegant and glorious? Today, my day was neither elegant nor glorious, but full of grace at every bend. It started before 6 when the guards outside my house took it upon themselves to wake the dead, namely me. Worse things have happened and I enjoyed the additional reading time. Shower, breakfast outside (an exquisitely beautiful moth joined me but wasn't too chatty), and then off to work. Along with the usual email checks and project notes, a trip to Kibuye for cement and some piping supplies constituted my labor, and I was happy to be driving again, despite the risk of a compressed spine and ruptured kidneys (these didn't happen, which seems amazing given the road condition). Some of the orphanage kids scored a lift from me on their way back to secondary school (like boarding academy). Despite the slow pace, they were happy to not be paying for the bus. Before lunch time, I was in Kibuye, loaded with 1000 kg of cement, and relieved of the $300 required to purchase it.

At this point, I looked toward the restaurant where Jean and I typically eat lunch during town trips. It was utterly decimated, along with the stores on either side of it. No problem, we just went to the next closest one and ate the same food as always. Post-lunch, our final shop stop was for some plumbing supplies. As expected, the store didn't have all the parts necessary for a simple solution. After half an hour of rummaging through all the shelves to form an unwieldy solution, we had our booty. I returned to the truck and took it out for a drink, which wasn't cheap. However, that's when things started to go more awry than usual. I couldn't get the truck into gear, which aroused far too much attention. After much straining, we turned for home.

The first few km passed as mundanely as always, that is until we met a bus on a road barely wide enough for one of us. Talk about close! I was piloting the hospital delivery truck, which is right-hand drive. But Rwanda is a left-hand drive country, which made judging distance more difficult. After avoiding the bus with literally centimeters to spare (I looked out the back window to check the separation and must have gone pale), a rather pungent odor filled the cockpit. We both thought it was exhaust from the bus, at least until we noticed a small plume of smoke emanating from the gear shift (the engine is below the cab). After coaxing the rancid vehicle to the top of the hill, I was able to cool the engine on the downhill. My driving became ever more cautious, constantly watching the temperature gauge and never sure if it even worked (most of the gauges don't). On virtually all the major remaining uphills, the truck stalled at least twice.

Finally, almost to Gishyita (the last town before home) and the police tell me to stop for a routine check. I show them my license and they ask for some vehicle papers, which I don't have and have never seen. I direct them to the insurance sticker. Little did I know it was expired. They then asked for some proof of a technical inspection of the vehicle, an inspection the hospital has never undertaken for this vehicle. Because they speak very little English, I call Dr. Mfizi (a hospital administrator) and hand the phone to the police. They chat/argue for several minutes, then return my phone. I'm informed that not all the violations can be forgiven but run out of airtime before Dr. Mfizi finishes. And he won't call me back! Now, Jean won't get back in the truck. He continues chatting with the officers and ignoring me. Finally, after several minutes, he pops back, hands me my license (which the police have had the entire time), and tells me we are free to go. He has convinced the police to let me off the hook! Great! Except that they stopped us on an incline and I can't get the truck into gear. After arousing even more interest (from the police this time), we finally pull away and breathe a heavy sigh of relief. But all is not finished. To save strain on the engine, we head to the orphanage for delivery #1. Our arrival concludes sans mishap and Victor even gives me some cake, which made my day. However, as we depart, the clutch pedal goes straight to the floor. Courtesy of the topography, we are able to make our retreat. Once we get out of the gate, I can't engage any gears since the clutch is annihilated. After a push from some people, I slip it into first and keep it there. The remaining two km pass dreadfully slowly and changing gear is out of the question since everything is steep uphill. Despite numerous children chasing us (most easily kept pace), we stumbled to the maintenance building to part with our burden. Never before have I been so thrilled to unload a ton of cement!