Sometimes We Are...

Episode 1:

Early one evening as the incredible African sun cast its deep purples on the horizon’s edge I returned to school from town to find two teachers digging a trench in the dirt with spades. My interest was piqued, but while carrying a cumbersome load of groceries I had energy enough only for a nod and hello as I scuttled past. I entered my house, put down my bags, flicked the light switch, and noticed that nothing happened. Hmmm, what exactly were those teachers up to underground?

I sauntered back to their worksite to investigate. Sure enough all manners of wires were exposed in the ditch. “What’s up guys?” I inquired. They explained that the original wiring of the school site was perfunctorily done (tell me about it), and that they had lost power in their home. All of the connections were “bent” (a term that means tied, broken, malfunctioning, any number of things really), and they had cut the power so that they could redo the circuits safely. “Sometimes we are electricians,” Mr. Nangolo explained to me with a slight grin. I had no knowledge with which to safely or productively assist them, so I wished them good luck and busied myself with something else. Sure enough, not an hour later my lights popped on. From my window I could see lights on in the two teachers’ house as well, and I could also see them filling in their trench - a job well done.

Episode 2:

Ivan was driving at quite a clip. It was Sunday afternoon, and we were making great time returning to school from town. Our speed made the dirt road a little bumpier than usual, but it wasn’t uncomfortable enough to keep my eyelids from periodically closing for a few moments. Suddenly, there was a large bump. The sound of the car’s pieces moving around inside and underneath immediately and obviously changed. We continued slowly for a short distance with Ivan cautiously trying different pedals before he brought us to a stop. Everyone in the car climbed out, so I decided to follow suit. Everyone also crouched down and looked with furrowed brows at the underside of the car’s trunk from a distance, so I did too. Despite my encyclopedic ignorance of how moving parts interact, I could easily see that our exhaust was dislodged and hanging much lower than it ought to.

As I began readying my psyche for a good long sit and a late night of planning, Ivan opened his trunk, grabbed a jack, and handed Eslon a blanket and a few lengths of wire. With the car propped up slightly, Eslon placed the blanket on the dirt, quickly scanned the car’s underbelly, and crawled underneath. I didn’t have a view of what exactly he did, but my assumption is that he yanked a few things around, put them back into place, and tied them up tightly. Eslon pulled himself to his feet and wiped off his hands. “Sometimes we are mechanics,” said Ivan matter-of-factly. Everyone got back in the car, so I joined them. We arrived in Oshikunde with time to share a Coke before returning to work.