Auto repair and refueling woes whilst journeying through Uganda
Sometimes when I have trouble finding my way out of a deep, dark place, the very best I can do is attempt to put something “good” out there. When Andrew and I had had our umpteenth car-death in Ape-timus, or when we would tiff over who was the better (or worse) driver over the canyons in the road or the countless teeth-rattling speed bumps, sometimes I just had to take a breath and figure out how to shift gears, take a breath, redirect, change my perspective.
At one point, we hear a random ding from the dash of Ape-timus’s replacement, and we have NO IDEA what’s going on. It was quiet, nondescript, and from the angle of the sun and Andrew’s seating position, he didn’t have the visibility to notice that we were on only two bars of go-power. And of COURSE we’re between towns, so a refill isn’t necessarily guaranteed in the next 20 miles. We were in this giant diesel love bus, so we didn’t realize the massive amounts of fuel we were consuming nor at what an alarming rate we were torching it. Add to that the stress of the car swap, the bounce and power of the new ride along the makeshift roads, ditches and gullies on all sides, the novelty of the right-side driver configuration, and our gun shyness to being stranded in Nowhere, Uganda. AGAIN.
It has to be DIESEL.
The first two requests for diesel fuel at stops along our way were met with a languid click of the tongue, a slow head shake, and a single-word: “petrol.”
That means “NOT diesel” for those unfamiliar with African fuel vernacular.
When we finally got to a larger town, we pulled into the gas station and asked the clump of young men obstructing our refill if they had diesel. We received blank stares and silence, a reaction I was NOT prepared to greet with my usual good-natured banter—we were nearly empty and had already received two refusals from other stations.
Just about the moment I was ready to get LOUD, an attendant emerges from the building to confirm that yes, indeed they do have and distribute diesel to mzungu in colossal vans en route to the next wildlife hot spot in Uganda.
We give this man a wad of Ugandan money while he pumps our tank full. I jump down from my seat and throw the sliding door open, digging through our dirty and dusty packs and luggage, breathing deep and fighting back tears of anger and frustration.
Not today, Satan.
Success. I found the sack o’ suckers we bought a while back because with GOD as my WITNESS, I vowed never to be caught without sweets on this trip, as that’s all these beautiful little ones have requested since we saw our first wad o’ Ugandan.
I hurl that monstrous door shut and there’s already a small crowd of chi’ren forming—they jump at the force with which I slam the door, and I immediately feel terrible that I let myself get to this point, because now they’re hesitant to come up to take a lollipop.
They get over it pretty quickly. *grin* Shortly after, I’ve got several skinny little arms with eager fingers reaching for candy and I am relieved that I can do…SOMETHING to make this experience a little better.
We fill up, the kids are smiling, I’ve dumped a lot of my bitter and angry, and all the AWFUL things that were UP MY NOSE moments ago are starting to melt away like the rock sugar wrapped around those paper sticks on the backside of all those beautiful smiles.
And those surly teens are feelin’ pretty foolish because you can betcher ass none o’ THEM got candy, though they asked for it. All help will be met with reward, friends. But I wouldn’t count on my kindness if I’m met with attitude.
The takeaway
Sometimes I have a VERY difficult time seeing past what seems like a metric ton of awful in the world. When that happens, I take what some consider a naive stance—I do my dead-level best to put something better out there. There are certain things I see in my day-to-day I simply cannot HANDLE. And when I reach that point, I realize that it’s up to ME to put something sweeter out there to make it easier to digest.
Love y’all.
