IS THIS THE DAY I DIE?
The decision to open a new children’s home in the mining town in the Manyara Region, had been made after our social worker and medical team had operated a 9 week pilot scheme, and found many socio-economic problems, the main one being all the street and vulnerable children roaming the streets looking for food. During that time we had already taken in a disabled 12 year old child who was being starved to death by her newly acquired stepmother, and we had found a derelict dispensary which we were going to make into the new children’s home.
But who could we rely on to handle the building project and the money for the materials? It was decided that Pastor Frank would be the ideal candidate; we just had one problem to overcome. As a single man, his parents would like him to be married before he went there, as the area was know for its many ‘ladies of the night’. Firmly resisting this idea, his father then became a frequent visitor to the site.
Pastor Frank rang me one morning to ask for me to go and purchase a bunch of building materials in Moshi, and then deliver them to him that day. I agreed, so it was about 12pm as I’m making my way to the site. On arrival, as I drive into the area, I see laying on the concrete floor a woman covered with a kanga ( a piece of cloth)
I get out of the car, and the workers start to unload the vehicle, as P. Frank leads me over to the lady. ‘This lady is very sick with HIV/AIDS she needs to go to hospital;’ will you take her’? I was asked. ‘Yes, I can do that, put her on the back seat and I’ll get off’ I replied.
The afternoon dragged on as I went through all the procedures of admission of the lady at the local government hospital in Moshi. It was now 5:30 pm as I started my return journey. It had started to rain heavily, but as I said I would return, I would just stop at Mailisita, grab a bite to eat, and set off again, hoping to arrive before dark, as the area was known for its ‘night time bandits.’
I asked a young man to accompany me, just in case I got a puncture on the very bad roads, and we set off. The rain started to come down in torrents and it was a job for the windscreen wipers to keep up with the massive downpour. I considered turning back, but thought I wasn’t too far away from the home, so I continued. Past the airport, I turned off to the right and the road was now looking more like a lake, as water was transferring from off the fields in a current onto the road, and off into the fields on the opposite side of the road. I continued slowly, trying not to hit some deep trough, but it was getting very difficult to see the road and to negotiate it. Darkness came very quickly, and with the headlamps on full beam, I slowly inched forward. Relieved that I only had a couple of kilometres to go, before reaching the center, I then plunged up to my axle in a deep trough. I tried to reverse out, but just got stuck deeper, I tried the 4-wheel drive, but that was no help at all. Still pouring with rain, I asked my passenger to go and try to find some stones in the car’s headlights and place them under the rear tyres. He reluctantly opened the door, and got out. Wet to the skin in a few seconds. He waded through the water to what appeared dry land, and started searching for rocks ……. He then looked up, looked around him, and made a dash for the car. He opened the door, quickly got in, and started to put the door locks on. ‘What’s the matter’ I asked, impatiently, ‘You have to go and get some rocks under the tyres or else we’ll never get out of this mess.’ He just pointed in front of him, and said just one word, ‘Bandits’ I did a double take, as I screwed up my eye’s to see what he had seen, and then I saw the motorbikes, all six of them, and they started to circle around the car. At that precise moment, I saw a picture in my mind’s eye, of the film Waterworld with Kevin Costner, and the bad guys were on ski bikes and did some pretty horrible things. Fear ran through me, it would only be a matter of time before a rock would be thrown at the window, and I would be pulled out, and my body parts sold to the witchdoctors. I banged on the steering wheel. “God!” I need an angel now! ‘they were getting closer and closer, the water from their bikes was spraying up against the car. The guy in the back of the car was on his knees, crouched between the two seats, he was either praying or trying to find a tool to use as a weapon, I wasn’t quite sure which, and then in my rear view mirror I saw the headlights of an approaching vehicle. It stopped, just before the lake, and the car doors opened. Four gentlemen got out of the car and was immediately drenched to the skin, the motorbikes moved back, and the men walked to the front of my car, so I could see them in my headlights. My faithful Toyota serf was easily recognised in this area, as I was the only white women driving a vehicle there, so I was not too surprised when this man, in full white gown and headgear shouted to me “Mama” he said, “You can’t stay here it is too dangerous” “ I put my head out of the window, and squinted as the rain hit my face, “I know” I replied, but I’m stuck up to the axle, and the car won’t move”. “What do you have in the car” - do you have a towrope? “I only have this rope washing line,” I shouted back. I gave the rope to the guy in the back of the car, and he reluctantly once again plunged his feet into the muddy water and walked over to the four Muslim gentlemen.
One of them pulled out a knife, and cut the rope in two places, they then set about platting / braiding the rope into a strong length of rope.
One end was tied to the eye of my car, and with my guy pushing from the rear, the 4 Muslims pulled on the rope. Nothing happened. ~The car moved not an inch. They pulled and pushed all together again, but still the car refused to move. “Mama” the main Muslim guy shouted to me. “You can’t stop here, it’s too dangerous, as he turned and looked around at the motorbikes, still circling us but now at a distance, just like some vultures just waiting for there opportunity to move in. “I’m going to wait and stop another car for help” he said, and the group of men walked off. My heart sank, was I to be left to the mercy of these bandit’s. I prayed again. I turned around and saw the man in the road, and another vehicle approaching. He put his hands up to stop the car, and another two Muslims got out of the car in full gown and hat. They approached the front of my car, and raised their hands to greet me. They took hold of the rope, all six of them, and with my guy once again pushing from the back, the car started to move crablike to safe ground. I remember, a trickle of perspiration running down my nose, and I quickly dived into my handbag to see what money I had.. I reached for a note, and directed my guy to take it to the group, “I’m so sorry” I shouted through the window, but I don’t have much money on me, but please, buy a soda for the group with this money. The reply came back. “Mama” we know the work you have been doing to help the widows and children, not just the Christians, but the Muslims and anyone who needs help. We have all just come from the mosque, and Allah would not be pleased with us if we took your money. Please keep it and buy the children the soda’s, and with a final greeting, the group moved off and got into there respective vehicles.
I learned a valuable lesson that day, as I really had thought :“Is this the day I die”?