Learning to drive at a young age was such an achievement, but owning a car and self drive at that age was levels – big deal – at least to me then in 2002. Yes, I am kinda ancient, but then I was a young handsome adult trying to figure out this thing called life.
I think there is a huge difference between being given a car and working hard to buy and own a car. Mine was somewhere in between, as you will soon find out.
Working hard to own a car at a young age is a whole different ball game, especially in Africa, not only a car but that very “first” car you identify as yours. The one that makes you so proud, feel seen, gives you that status among peers. Showing up at your girlfriend’s place in a car is just something, even the flowers being delivered carry a different status – I mean that is how it felt. It was difficult to deliver a bouquet of flowers on a mountain bike. At a young age, owning a car wasn’t about productivity, it was purely to impress.
At about 20 years old, I got a chance to “own” a car. A thrilling experience that many, if possible, should not miss. It is both status, responsibility, pride, and massive character development.
I had never noticed an abandoned car parked in our garage at home. The car was not on wheels, but on top of “matofali” (concrete blocks) on each of the four wheels area. This is how thieves used to leave cars those days. They steal all the wheels and leave the car on stones or matofali. Maybe that is what happened to the car in our garage. I imagine thieves used to walk at night carrying big stones and matofali to a crime scene in exchange for car tyres. You wake up in the morning, start the engine, engage the gear and you are off to nowhere, just raving the car engine on top of stones.
I was already working when I embarked on the first car ownership journey.
At work we had shuttle services, so I didn’t really have much need for a car given that my biggest responsibility then was to go to work and transport was being provided. We lived up a hill, and the only distance I needed to cover on foot was walking about 500 meters down the hill to get to the shuttle. But this was so ugly during the rainy season, the pathway would be full of mad and by the time the bus arrives – I wasn’t office presentable material – I mean I had an image to maintain. I remembered asking if the bus can come to the gate during the rainy season but my request was denied. Then one day, it was raining, and the bus came up the hill, I wondered what triggered the change of heart, but of course it wasn’t for me. I learnt then that we had new colleagues that moved in my neighborhood – foreigners of course – and clearly they deserved better treatment/hospitality.
I didn’t say much and that was the last day I took the office shuttle. My pride wouldn’t allow me, but also I didn’t know how best to create drama out of this experience. And that is when I actually did a double take on the abandoned car that was parked in the garage. It was probably there for more two years.
I asked my Aunty if it is ok for me to fix the car and use it. She couldn’t even remember where the keys were and what was the problem with the car. But yes, she gave me a go ahead if I could figure it out.
Ok…all hands on deck.
I am just about to “own” a Peugeot 305 and drive myself to work. We eventually found the keys. I opened the doors and the inside still smelled like a well kept car. I was excited but needed to get a mechanic to help me figure out how to get the car on the road.
I found a mechanic – Julius.
We opened the bonnet to check the engine, I could clearly see the dusty garage floor through the open car bonnet – I mean it was hollow, like a hole – the car had no engine or gear box. Injini iko wapi? (where is the engine?) – Julius asked – with a very strong chagga accent. Sijui (I don’t know) – I responded in shock with my heart sank all the way down to my toes.
We continued to inspect the rest of the car ending at the boot of the car. Surprise… the engine was nicely stored in the boot but not as block of engine but in bits and pieces, as in the engine looked like peanuts in a bowl.
Julius gets to work, sorting each piece, one by one and putting them together to build back the engine. My job was to finance the project and get updates as I was mostly at work.
Julius had a way of breaking down big costs into small manageable costs. He would tell me this is the budget for the car to be on the road, 5 months later, the car is not yet on the road, we are 200 times over the planned budget. Funds are now on a paycheck to paycheck basis, my obligations have grown – I had also started a side hustle within those months – so I couldn’t put all my money in the car.
I was still excited about owning the car but the costs were just no longer as exciting. I had already invested way too much for me to stop but I was also not sure how much more awaits me – given my mechanic’s fabulous accounting skills.
Julius would also always under estimate the next big challenge and spare parts needed. 8 months later, I should have known this already by then, we were still ordering the last missing spare part.
Fast forward, the engine was finally installed back and started. I was so excited. After a lot of hammering and unforgiving hard knocks to the car parts, the wheels were back on and ready for a test drive.
For the next 3 months, there was barely a week gone by without Julius having to take in the car to check or fix something. The car that I took for maintenance got more beating and serious hammering than being repaired – that is how it looked and sounded while at his garage.
I gladly saved and financed all this as the goal was to drive myself to work but most importantly, my status changed among my peers, I now own a car. I mean even my girlfriend then felt nice to be picked up in a car.
Life continues to happen after owning a car, at work I am now also known for having a car, so when lunch plans outside the office are being made, my car is part of the inventory and passengers assigned. Guys, my fuel situation is dire… but I can’t say this loudly.
Then there are those days that one’s faith is really so stretched. My fuel is only enough to take me to my side hustle from work, collect whatever was made, to buy fuel enough to take me home and back to work the next day. There was practical logic to all this – I had it planned and all figured out – right. That is the day, that girl in the office – you know that one – asks for a ride home.
Val, do you mind giving me a ride home today since it is “almost” in your way
? Nina asks with a big smile.
I smile back, I feel relevant, I mean it is just 5km beyond my intended stop before I need to fuel.
But, I am a gentleman, right? How could I say no to Nina? I even open the door for her and make her comfortable.
In my head, faith, calculus, physics and geography are racing for space, as I calmly continue to smile and give confident “oga” vibes to Nina. The fuel gauge is already at red, I think it can take me another 10km – I convince myself in faith. I quickly and inconspicuously reset the odometer to help measure the distance covered. At any convenient moment, I smoothly switch gears to neutral “free”, what Nina doesn’t know is the fuel situation is tight and that sometimes the gear links unceremoneously disconnect while on the road and the gear lever just collapse. I will have to park the car on the side of the road, open the bonnet, find the fallen gear links and put them back together – I now knew the mechanics of operating a broken car very well. Prayers, praise and worship, for this not to happen today – not today, not in front of Nina, please God. My image is at stake.
Whew, I manage to drop Nina and I get to the barbershop to check on sales. I am not actually interested on sales, I am interested on how much cash is left in the drawer, I need to fuel the car to get home and if lucky remain with some change to buy a sausage for lunch tomorrow. I forgot to mention, by this time, I had also moved out of home and rented a place of my own, yes, I needed to show my girlfriend I was independent, no? But yho, the salary maths just stopped mathing.
The car was good to me, it eventually drove very well. I felt very responsible when I took my late young sister for her school entry exams in Moshi, that was my first long distance trip from Arusha. Then, it is the same car I used to take one of my Aunt to hospital at night when she went into labour pain – that drive was so long as I couldn’t tell whether it was my driving skills that made her feel more and random pain bursts.
Anyway, I also can’t forget the countless weekends spent at the garage with Julius. Before I know it, it is dark and Julius since morning has been telling me he is just about to finish.
The car always had one issue or the other. This time, one of the front doors wouldn’t lock. The night watchman realised it and he had himself a cozy mosquito free lodge. One end month, I had received my salary in cash and put the money in the glove compartment for safety as I drove home. I went to the house and peacefully slept. In the morning, as I got to the car ready for work, I remembed I left the money in the car. Heart skips, the money was gone and so was the watchman. This is how I found out that I paid the watchman for sleeping in the car and he got himself a good pension, as I figure myself out for the rest of the month.
At some point the brakes had an issue. I went over a speed bump and hand-braked my way into another car’s rear bumber. It was a road traffic accident just in front of the main police station in Arusha – what are the odds?. Whatever stunts I pulled, we managed to strike a gentleman’s agreement before traffic police realised anything had happened.
The car started breaking apart again with time, the dashboard needed to be held in place to stop it from flying or further breaking apart when going over a speed bump or potholes. I had to drive very slowly when passing through rumble strips – which we used to call “rasta” – because the shocks were so gone and if I made a mistake of going fast, every person nearby will turn because they sounded like shots were being fired.
Life was really happening, I was financially stretched but still needed to look the part. Keep on pushing, then girlfriend whispers, I think its time to change the car, you don’t think so? Say whaat…? No, no, no…just smile Ruganzi, smile, be a man. Get her more ice cream and flowers.
I loved the car but eventually I had to let it go. It had served me well, it was a journey well travelled together. Several years later, after parking the car, Aunty and I agreed to give the car to Julius – the legendary mechanic. I remember seeing him driving the car so proudly, some year later, as he hooted and waved at me.
I also eventually upgraded, yay…but upgrades when in a financial funk is not really something to write home about. This time it was a black, 2 door BMW, nice sports rims, good sound system, flashy indoors… but something about the engine, when going up the hill, it couldn’t be pushed beyond 50km/hr. This is when I used to roll down the window, look cool and pretend I am just taking a slow cruise and enjoying the scenery – on the main road? No sir, it’s the engine at its best.
Anyway, I did live to “own” a first car, one that I worked on through thick and thin. It was the only maroon in color peugeot 305 in Arusha, so anyone could easily know where I was just by scanning the parking lots. I experienced what it takes to sacrifice and finance a dream – lets just say all dreams are valid, amen? I learnt to be patient, not to lose hope, even when it was compounded by ignorance. I learn’t what it takes to maintain a certain status and the costs associated with it. I learnt to appreciate effort and take care of things I have worked hard for. I learnt that everything is a process. I learnt to appreciate what it takes to “plug n play.”
This is to all the boys who can relate and to all the girlfriends we worked hard to impress.
Mtazamo Wangu 