“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” I grew up with this aphorism, and it makes a lot of sense. The African version of this philosophy is a bit more extreme. I will articulate it as, “If you can tape it, don’t toss it.” If the Formica is chipped or warped, it can still serve as a writing surface. If the chipped and cracked teacup does not leak (or only just a little) it is still useful. And so on. You get the picture.
Thus, I was surprised when Mohammed insisted that we get the car painted. But, on further thought, he was absolutely right. If repainted, the 16 year-old RAV 4 would last another 10 years or so. If left to its own devices, the roof would most assuredly rust through before too long. It was solid thinking, just a little more visionary than one generally encounters in Tanzania.
The paint shop—actually, much more than a paint shop, it is a vehicle restoration establishment—came with sterling credentials. They paint police cars. I wondered if perhaps they could make our vehicle look official, so that we would not be waved over so often by the ice cream suit cops. This was, of course, an idle fantasy.
We were instructed to head toward the sugar plantation and look for the first green gate after the railroad tracks, the railroad tracks being the most solid reference point. We had never been to the sugar plantation, and we had to head down three different streets off the roundabout before finding a street that actually crossed the tracks. One could also argue whether or not the gate is actually green. I would label it as chartreuse, bordering on yellow.
There was only a narrow “bridge” over the deep stonelined drainage sluice. Inside the gate was a scene that could have been the set for Mad Max. I state this with no authority, since I have only ever seen the previews. There were trucks and large I-don’t-know-what vehicles that had all seen much better days, but were still functional. We were regarded with some consternation when we first entered. Workers seemed to wonder why we were there. The chips and dents on the sides and bumpers hardly warranted their attention. But when we pointed out the sad state of the sun-burned roof, there were earnest nods of comprehension.
One of the men pulled out chairs for us to wait in while an estimate was prepared. The chairs had nearly matching deficits in the wooden backs. The pseudo leather covering each seat had an identical large side to side split that revealed an equivalent deep chasm in the underlying foam. They were comfortable.
Newman, in a shirt that formerly belonged to a MacDonald’s worker, opened up the hood and looked at the engine. I’m not sure why. Then he strolled around the car, and retreated to some office.
A large squarish rusted machine had some fearsome projections and foot pedals that looked like they came from a piano. My husband told me that it was a machine that takes tires off of wheels, and this one looked like it could have removed a million in its time. I told him that the tire guys at the Orix station never resort to such technology. They do everything by hand. I have great admiration for the Orix guys. They keep me entertained whenever we stop to refuel our RAV 4.
Numerous old spare parts of questionable utility were interspersed around the workspace. I hesitate to use the term, “scattered” since they could well have been placed strategically. I used such a system on my desk, back when I had an office. It looked jumbled, but I knew where everything was, just in case I might need it. The thickness of the red dust layer was highly variable, but it covered everything except our chairs.
I marveled at the idea that a place so apparently cluttered and dusty could produce such pristine painting results.
After half an hour, no estimate was forthcoming. We were told we should go on, as someone would contact us. That has not happened yet, and no one answers the phone when we call.
Mohammed says we should give them a couple of days. I can certainly do that. And even if we never succeed in getting our car repainted, even if the roof ultimately rusts through, I will always treasure my afternoon in the garden of ancient automotive artifacts.
