Comic Relief...

Well, I’ve been considering writing this post for some time now - as Rachel and I have been collecting endless funny memories from Africa. The event that pushed me over the edge and actually caused me to sit down and write this happened about 2 minutes ago: Rachel, Aisha and I were outside watching the HUGE bats (I would guess easily a foot-and-a-half wing-span) that fly past our house every evening as the sun is going down. Just imagine...there we were admiring them and teaching Aisha to say ‘bat’. You know, I’m not too knowledgeable when it comes to bats. I’m pretty sure they are mammals. They look like brown fuzzy over-grown rats with huge ears and leather wings. One thing I can tell you for sure: They pee. I found this out personally as one of these huge characters flew menacingly close to our heads. As it grew closer and closer my mind was racing: Will it bite me? Will it try to suck my blood? Am I about to get some rare and incurable form of African Rabies? None of the above. The nasty nocturnal giant didn’t see me as a potential meal, rather it somehow thought my arm was territory that needed to be marked. What I felt like a large, warm raindrop ended up being a splash of foul smelling bat-urine. Isn’t that nice. Fearful that I was about to get some disease or even turn into a mutant version of Batman, Rachel refused to smell it and demanded that I go to the kitchen at once to wash with hot water and lots of soap.


Meet Whitey (pronounced, white-ey). He’s a white Ford Courier: A small, 4 door pick-up with a canopy. He gets us around town and even into the bush sometimes. He’s also our worst enemy. To set the stage let me simply tell you that Whitey’s fuel guage doesn’t work and for about the last month or so, his battery has been dead. I was quite proud the day that I learned the manly art of ‘popping the clutch’. You know as a guy it is one of those things that makes you feel masculine and useful. Who needs a stinkin’ battery? I can pop the clutch. Powerful. The day I learned I felt like I should get a tattoo on my bicep or something. Funny how quickly pride can turn into shame. What I thought would be a few days without a battery turned into about a month. A few tips for those of you who find yourself in a similar situation. All of this clutch-popping wisdom comes from recent experience:

1. Try not to visit the same store more than once if you can’t park on a hill for momentum. The workers start to resent having to come out and push after the first few times.
2. It’s not a good idea to try and push yourself then jump in really quick and start it. You might lose control.
3. It is better for your relationship to teach your wife how to pop the clutch than to make her push. Besides, that tends to get some funny looks from people.
4. If your car dies in the middle of traffic, try to keep the momentum going without hitting the guy in front of you. When it dies at a stop light...get out and push.
5. When looking for a parking spot, choose a place on a hill. If none of those are available, look for a group of young, strong looking guys selling things and park next to them.

So there you go. I’m happy to say that we have a battery now. We still don’t have a fuel gauge. On this one I have to thank God - both times we ran out of gas we were within coasting, or at least pushing distance of a gas station. The first time we didn’t have any cash, though. We called a friend who jumped into a mini-bus (Chinese mini-van things that crowd the city as public transportation) to save us. He took about an hour to reach us though - his mini-bus ran out of gas on the way to save us who had run out of gas. He didn’t have any money either though, so we ended up borrowing about ten bucks from a guy on the street.

So many more things I want to write about - but we’ll save those for a second installment. The rains did arrive, by the way. With the rains: the plague. As I’m writing this Rachel is performing what has become a traditional African dance in our house: A mixture of dodging, ducking, screaming, and swatting with a fly swatter as gazillions of flying ants have invaded our home (and often our dinner plates). The geckos and spiders that share our home are no longer our enemies, but our insect eating friends (as long as the geckos stay out of our mosquito net).

We’ll write again soon,

Jeremy, Rachel, Aisha, and the Barbarian flying ant Horde.

A picture from the men's conference a few weeks ago - what a great time!

Kids at the Friday outreach in Blantyre