When I got to the border to go back to Rwanda, the crossing was relatively easy - no long lines, no long wait to get the passport stamped - all seemed to be going just fine. But then I got to the truck. the right rear tire was completely flat. I stood looking at it for a moment, considering my options. In a jiffy there were 5 men wanting to help. I chose the one with a Canada sweatshirt, and told him I would only pay one person. He explained that they would all share. OK. That works for me.
By the time I have the doors unlocked and am looking for the jack, they have the spare off the roof. This seems to be really going well! But then I can't find the jack. We all climb into the back of the Land Cruiser and look. No jack. Not to worry. Canada says he can find a jack, so the rest of us sit and wait. And I call Schadrack, my right hand man and administrator, just to let him know what is going on. He told me that for sure there is a jack in the truck, so I scramble back in and look over and under. One of my new "friends" even opens the hood. No jack.
In the meantime Canada comes back with a jack. Yay! He gets it pumping while Sam uses the wrench from his car to try to loosten the nuts on the tire. The wrench does not fit. "We need a spanner" says Sam. And there is much commotion and Kinyarwanda talk about spanners. A guy in a Obama vest says he can find a spanner. We now have a small crowd watching, and I give a little girl a granola bar. She smiles shyly and runs off to eat the tasty treat. Sam runs back to Uganda for a bigger spanner. Fifteen minutes later Sam and Obama vest are back with 3 spanners, none of which fit our truck. Time for reinforcements.
I call Schadrack again, and ask him to send Faustin, our guard, on a moto with the jack and wrench from our other truck. It is a 30 minute drive, so I sit on the spare and wait. Canada, Sam and the others dispurse, but I see them watching, waiting for Faustin in the hopes that I'll still pay them. While I'm waiting, I watch a little wagtail on the side mirror watching himself strut back and forth. Pertty cute until he launches himself into the mirror. I chase him away. I also watch the everpresent yellow-billed kites, pied crows, white naped ravens as they soar and bicker. There are about a dozen boys kick boxing up the street, and the little, crowded buses arrive, unload, reload and take off. Then it starts to rain. But just a little.
Faustin finally arrives and I supress the urge to give him a big hug. Sam, Canada, Obama vest and the others flock back and begin to help Faustin. As they are messing with the jack he brought, Faustin reaches into the back of the truck, removes a side panel behind one of the seats, and pulls out a jack and wrench. I am very embarrassed. Some independent woman.... He yells at the guys in Kinyarwanda, but it sorta sounds like "you idiots, it is right here!"...
The spare is on, the flat tire in the truck, and hands are out for payment. Faustin says "um va!!!" "Listen!!" and there is heated discussion. Finally Faustin hands over the equivalent of 2 dollars. Everybody is happy and we are on our way. Faustin speaks French and Kinyarwanda. I speak english, 10 words of Kinyarwanda and baby French. I apologized in every language I could, and he laughed. What a day.
