Last week we began a series on The Untold Chronicles of an Automotive Technician. Here is Part II of the four-part series. Enjoy a raw, comical, and informative account told by an expert storyteller and car technician.
At one time in my formative years, I found my poor self on the marked list of the indefatigable father of deceit. I can authoritatively tell you, here and now, that it’s not anywhere near the best of experiences.
Everything started off fine. As much as waking up and breakfast was concerned, that is if you can call waking up in a single room in one of Nairobi’s informal residential sectors morally presentable. Or remotely worth mentioning as one way of waking up and not one of the ten certified ways to die.
The rooms barely have enough space for a single bed. For those that have spare cash to throw away on such luxury. No wonder most tenants prefer the mattress to hug the floor. And leave the rest to the benevolent laws of nature.
The first wake-up call is knocking the holiest points of your sacred knees on the adjacent wall. This instantly obliterates any remnants of a troubled night’s sleep. The cramped cooking area neighbors the mattress end where your stinking tired feet fight for a piece of peace.
If you are not careful in your tossing and turning, you most likely end up knocking the all-vital cooking pan off the kerosene stove. If not the stove itself with its precious last night’s left-over supper.
On the creaky-crickety door hangs a rarely washed curtain, resembling the entrance to a witch doctor’s shrine. It minimizes the glaring cracks on the door. You never know when the neighbor may decide to spy on your sleeping exploits. Enough of sneak previews into these godforsaken dens.
Overall Donning Gang
And so I reported to my usual workplace with the usual religious hope. Not forgetting a pinch of commonplace forbearance for a new day. We exchanged pleasantries with fellow soldiers of the automobile repair industry. It really was and is a mass collection of eager wannabes, established tinkers, legitimate parts’ brokers, scammers, and general scavengers. All hopeful of a morsel off the carcass.
I ritually, like the rest, proceeded to fish my oily coveralls from amongst their greasy, oily, and dusty siblings stack. An unsightly heap at one corner of an equally unkempt garage store. Some went out to suck in the morning sun and discuss the myriad of topics from politics, women, cars, and alcohol. I mean everything, anything, and nothing.
Amidst the usual tinkering, banging, sanding, revving, and of course haggling about charges, work quality, payments, and the obscene exchanges accompanying often disagreements on such not-so-formal engagements
Way past the official lunch hour, after an economically sanctioned fast, lady luck came knocking at my door. Or perhaps the devil found an opportune time to come, testing this hungry son of the soil. The obviously misguided client was a short, slightly built middle-aged man, stern-looking. Maybe it was the office look that made him appear like a no-nonsense investor staking his money in the ruthless matatu business.
He looked every bit like a first-time owner of the relatively new Nissan TD27. At least by the mere fact of taking time off to accompany the driver and conductor to the garage. The arching over of the head and squinting eyes, when the driver was reporting the patient to the car doctor, was an obvious red flag to my suspicions.
Car Technician Initiation
The problem was the starter motor, that much was pretty obvious even to a greenhorn like me. Upon further diagnosis, the solenoid was established as obsolete. Now on to the minor surgery, procurement, transplant of the organ, eventual sewing up of the patient, and the all-important financial settlement. All of that went on well and within an hour the starter cranked like a newborn. The patient was up and about, purring like a well-fed feline.
The only hitch, but covertly hidden from the owner, occurred at the procurement level. Nissan TD27 was relatively new on the Kenyan market and so the spares had not started to flow freely into the market, especially the second-hand parts market.
So after hurried discussions amongst fellow car technicians. It was unanimously agreed as utmost disrespect both for the doctor and the client to send away a patient unattended for lack of drugs or organs while there were generic options that could work half as good if not worse.
Secondly, there was the obvious fear of losing such a good business opportunity to the detriment of the parts seller and hungry car technician. You can imagine the silent jubilation, the barely audible sighs of relief, and the hushed joyful clapping when the starter cranked the engine into life. Not once, not twice but three times in a row without as much as a drag either real or imagined.
The other processes terminated successfully, and the contented client smilingly drove off the now-healed patient. This tinker pocketed his dues and let the rest of the cash spread around. This is the brotherly practice amongst the overalls’ donning army.
After around two weeks of doing some everyday ordinary garage stuff and some every other day out-of-the-ordinary stuff. The TD27 crew checked just around the same time as the last visit, and I was right there to offer a standing ovation.
“..eer yes boss..eer welcome sir..feel at the garage..”
“Thank you, engineer..how is the going around here”…
Stay tuned to Carffeine Africa for part four. Car technicians have some of the most hilarious experiences.
