Car woes

In about my third week here the control panel on my first car literally fell apart, and I had to take it back to the rental agency and get a new one. The shiny red Kia Picanto was something of an upgrade from the VW Citi-Golf. That all seemed to be working out fine until Saturday night. I was set to preach the next day, but was tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Partly I guess I was anxious about the sermon, partly the storm outside was beating very hard against the windows, but mostly this group of kids was talking and playing music into the wee hours, despite my asking them repeatedly to stop.

So I was up late, and eventually decided to turn the light on and read. I had a peak out the window and was surprised to see that there was a lake in the back yard. It occured to me that this would also mean a lake in the parking lot. I went downstairs to look out the front windows, and water was streaming in under the doors from the flooding. I could see my car outside with water lapping against the headlights. At that point, it was a little late to do anything about it. I made a cup of rooibos and figured that at least I would be stuck the next morning and wouldn't have to preach. Eventually I fell asleep. I woke up to my alarm on about four hours of sleep so I could call my supervisor and let him know the situation. But the water had receded by then, although it was still above the tailpipe on my car. My supervisor came to pick me up, and I had to get ready in a hurry, since I had assumed I would be able to just go back to sleep after I phoned him and slept later than normal on a Sunday.

There had been some flooding in Guguletu as well, although not nearly as bad as in Athlone. The church had some water in the sanctuary, which gave the leadership a project to do in lieu of their meeting. The upshot of all of this was that I didn't have to preach, and my sermon can wait until next Sunday when I am hopefully better rested.

There was, however, still the issue of my car sitting in a foot of water. Two guys from the leadership team Thobela (left) and Zukile (right) drove me back to my place to help me move the car out of the water. We were still in our church clothes, so we put hefty bags on over our feet and legs and waded in to push the car out. That worked for about ten seconds before water started to leak into the bags, getting our good pants and shoes wet. But we were committed by then, so we pushed the car up out of the water onto the lawn, with help from a big guy from the neighborhood who saw our situation. The ladies at the Youth Centre had their hands full cleaning up all the water that had seeped in on the ground floor.

Needless to say the car didn't start. There was still water inside, and by the dirt stains we could see that it had gotten as high as the steering wheel. The way they do rental insurance here is basically designed to minimize expenses for the car agency rather than insure the driver, so this may cost me a lot of money. I phoned the rental company, who sent a tow truck, got my belongings out and drove with Thobela and Zukile to the airport to get another car from the rental agency: a Dihatsu Sirion, my third vehicle in seven weeks. Along the way, in Guguletu, we passed other people whose cars were stalled or stuck, and guys just walking by on the road came over to help them push. Ubuntu on a small scale, I guess. I thanked Thobela and Zukile profusely for driving, getting my car out, and messing up their good clothes when they could have been in the church service. "This is our service today", they both said. I offerred to take them out for a meal, but they said "Your thanks is thanks enough." I was deeply touched by their willingness to help me out, because I really would have been in a bind without their assistance.

It can be surprisingly hard to receive from someone who expects nothing in return. I heard a story that some of the flights to New York that were diverted on 9/11 went to a small airport in Newfoundland, where the passengers ended up being housed and fed by local families who volunteered to take them in for the few days until flights resumed again. A few weeks later, many of the Canadian families were surprised to get checks in the mail from the Americans they had housed. I am sure the Americans meant well but the Canadians were perplexed, and some were a bit hurt or even insulted by this, because they had given freely without expecting to be compensated. It is interesting that people are often so uncomfortable allowing someone else to do something for them out of pure grace. I think a reason for this, conscious or unconscious, is the fact that receiving, being in need, means I am not in a position of power. I might be very comfortable giving to others, which subltley reinforces my sense of control and powerfulness, but I want to pay them for what I receive. I don't want to be dependent upon another person. This seems like a typically American mentality, and perhaps we have taken Western individualism and independence to an extreme when we are so often ashamed of being dependent on other people. Our cultural ideal of a human being is someone who is completely independent of others, self-sufficient and capable on her own devices. This is very different from the African idea of ubuntu, "I am human because you are human." We are connected. Not that it is a bad thing to want to return the kindness others have shown to you. Maybe I'm a pushy American who doesn't want to be in another person's debt, but I would still like to take these Thobela and Zukhile to Mzoli's or something as a way of saying Thanks.

As a closing note, which sobers me up in the midst of being frustrated: as much of a challenge as all of this is, imagine how people living in informal settlements are affected by torrential downpours like the one that flooded my yard. An informal settlement I visited on Friday is right beside a marsh (see my earlier post on Xolani's township tour for more pictures of the same place). It reminded me of water damage from Hurricane Katrina that I saw when I went to Louisiana last September. The picture at left is of one shack that was already unlivable after the rains up to that point. Most of us First World people would probably consider it unliveable to begin with. Indeed, no one should have to live like that. It was probably the worst living conditions I have seen since I've been here. I can't imagine what it looks like after Saturday's storm. The people who were living there had been taken in by their neighbors, however -- seemingly indefinitely. I really hope they don't move back in when things dry out, as the mildew and mold will be extremely unhealthful. Then again, it probably isn't much better in any of the other shanties. So things may be tough for me, but they could be worse. My belongings weren't damaged, I still have shelter, and even if I have to pay the steep premium on the insurance (which is likely) I have resources to come up with the money. It may not be easy, and it will certainly entail some sacrifices, but it is by no means impossible. Not everyone can say the same.