RoadtripTIP: Ask for help
Getting stuck in Africa is a fool’s game. While you might fear the worst when car trouble or some other ‘crisis’ hits, the key is to avoid being the fool that doesn’t ask for help.
Perhaps you have already traveled to South Africa, or another country on the continent. Perhaps you hired a vehicle, or you backpacked the less treaded path. Bless your socks if you journeyed by bicycle, you are what legends are made of!
If you can count an African experience on your “Done that!” list, you can possibly relate to the concern that might come if you suddenly find yourself with car trouble, far from your networks and without cellphone signal. In times like these, one needs to apply the first rule in the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: DON’T PANIC!
The next thing to do is connect with someone, preferably (but not necessarily) a woman with children.
This is what saved my skin recently when, halfway between Mthatha and Mdumbi village on very bumpy and lesser traveled road in the Eastern Cape my car finally came to a halt. I had just dropped some friends off at the Mthatha Airport and they had filled my car’s tank as a thank you for hosting them for a village experience near the Wild Coast. I was getting my groove on, getting revved up for letting my hair down at the MDUMBI GREEN FAIR, when the smell of petrol infused my brain with the realisation that something was not ok with my vehicle. I stopped, saw the trail of fuel tracking behind me, checked under the hood, and (admittedly thanks to my limited knowledge of vehicle engineering) I did not find the source of the rapid leak.
It was shortly before sunset and a man, who was walking through the village, came to look under the bonnet with me. We both concluded that my best bet was to keep going, as fast as possible, in hopes of arriving before every last drop ran out.
I made it through another few hills and communities, but withing half an hour it was becoming clear that I was losing the race. I came to a halt in a community called Ntibane. It was dark, and no-one was outside their homes.
What saved me, was to connect with a close-by homestead. I had to convince, through an unanswered door, that it was safe to open up to this stranger with the voice of an ‘other’. Nomnikelo called for me as I was walking away. I turned back, introduced myself and my predicament, and a very concerned pair of individuals (with kiddies looking on) went about figuring out a way to access help.
I shared a bed with this kind woman that night, and she was pure kindness. I learnt that she is mother of six children, having adopted her deceased sister’s kids into her household. Life here is hard, and those with something carry those with nothing. I caught a ride in the direction of the festival the next morning with the car that was transporting her son to a soccer (football) match in Lwandile, the village next to Mdumbi. I walked and hitched and arrived in perfect low tide to cross the river to where I was going.
The story continued with incredible support from strangers and warm friends made along the way, and eventually, with the help of Bevan and my recovery team, we solved the problem and got the vehicle rolling strong again.
It could have been different! When people land up in trouble, and don’t ask for help, they remain a target for the few Tsotsies (criminals) around. Think of me if you ever find yourself in a similar situation. Connect with the locals and don’t remain a stranger. People will take care of you as long as they know they can trust you!