So the first worst (or the very worst, or simply... the worst) road-trip ever was in February 2011 when I had to travel from Timbuktu to Koutiala while suffering from MALARIA. A driver was supposed to be coming to get our group at some ridiculous time like 3:30am to begin the trip. So we were awake, dressed, packed, and ready to roll at 3:30 sharp... but of course the driver didn't show up until - I think it was - about 8am. Then the overcrowded, non-air-conditioned vehicle broke down several times on the long sandy road/path that we took out of Timbuktu. When we arrived in Douentza I got to sleep a bit between all the shivering, sweating, and almost throwing up but not actually throwing up that I did that night. The next morning, still horribly sick and very weak, I had to get on a bus to ride quite a few miserable hours south until we got home. I have never been so glad to see my own bed!
The second worst road-trip ever took place this past Wednesday. It might actually sound worse than the trip I just explained, but if you've ever suffered from malaria then you can understand why the malaria trip trumps everything else.
So here is what happened on Wednesday:
I teach English on Wednesday mornings from 8-10. As soon as my class was done I went home to get last minute things arranged and pack up the truck to go with JP to Bamako. The truck is a 25-year-old Toyota Hilux pickup which belongs to the Center malnutrition health center where JP works. We had arranged to pay milage (kilometrage) to take the truck to Bamako so that we would be able to haul back lots of baggage and fit the family of 4 that is coming to Mali in there with us to return a few days later.
We were on the road by 11:15. Everything was fine (as fine as it can be on a rough Malian road in a very uncomfortable 25-year-old pick up with no AC) for the first hour and 45 minutes. Then suddenly for no good reason, something happened and I thought it was that a tire had blown. JP kept it under control and pulled over to stop. We got out, I expected to see a shredded tire, but all the tires were fine! JP found the problem when he looked under the car: a metal bar was detached and dragging on the ground. This is the bar that connects the two front wheels and makes it possible to steer! If this bar isn't there the tires can turn in different directions. JP tied the bar up with a piece of rope so it wouldn't drag. He could go super slow, but even then if there was a bump in the road the truck would shake violently. We were 15 kilometers before the big town. We called friends and asked them if they could send a mechanic to help us. They did, and we thought we might as well continue at a snail's pace toward the town. We got a call later and learned that the mechanic didn't find us on the road after driving 15 kilometers out of town. The mechanic had gone the wrong direction out of town. So we wound up driving all 15 kilometers into town and it took over an hour. (so we traveled at maybe 8mph!) Once in town, the mechanic took the truck and we sat and waited almost 3 hours. Our friends gave us some food and it was nice to see them, but I realized that my plans for meeting a friend in Bamako that night were shot.
The mechanic replaced the ball joint of the steering bar thing, the joint had worn out because it was old and there is so much sand to wear things away here, so it had just gotten too big to hold the ball in place.
We drove about 1 1/2 hours to where we needed to drop off some things at a friends' house. Just as we were getting to the checkpoint for the town where we needed to slow down to go through, the brakes suddenly seemed to not really work well anymore. That is a pretty major problem to not have brakes working! Eek! We slowly made it to our friends' house, JP used the parking break a few times, and they called a mechanic to come check it out. Our friends fed us some good food and it was good to see them, but by this point it was already dark out and it is very bad to have to drive here in the dark. The mechanic discovered that the brake fluid had a slow leak and it was completely dry now. He added fluid and said it should be fine for a few days.
So we got back on the road and had to go kind of slow because it was dark. The brakes were better now, but JP said the steering seemed really hard.
We drove 2 hours to arrive on the edge of Bamako. Driving across the city to the guesthouse would take about 30 minutes. And guess what? The brakes were suddenly awful again, almost not working at all. We decided to try to get the truck to our organization's base and leave it there and take a taxi the rest of the way to the guesthouse. By now it was just after 10pm. We got to the base and had to quietly go in and try to find someone who wasn't sleeping yet. They got a taxi to come get us, and we unloaded our bags from the truck into the taxi. We got to the guest house at about 11pm, so in all we had been traveling for close to 12 hours for a trip that should take a maximum of 6 hours in a private vehicle.
That is the end of the very bad day of travel, but not really the end of the story. JP had to go a few times (by taxi) to check on the truck and bring money to the mechanic. I wish I could say that then there were no more problems, but...
We got the truck back, all fixed up, on Saturday night. Sunday morning we left the guesthouse early to get the family of 4 and pack up the truck. We were on the road at 7:30am. All went well until just after noon when we were only about an hour from our destination. The truck started making a ticking noise that wasn't quite right, so JP pulled over to the edge and turned the engine off to go investigate. The investigation didn't lead to any sure reason for the ticking, but when JP turned the key again the engine wouldn't start. The guys looked more at the engine and tried starting the truck again in a few minutes, and now it started. We went about 5 minutes down the road and the truck stalled out and wouldn't start up again. So we pulled over to the side of the road, about an hour from home but kind of in the middle of nowhere as we weren't close enough to any villages to get help.
We hadn't even figured out what to do yet, and a mini-bus came down the road in our direction and stopped. I heard JP shout, "Matthias!" What?! Could it be?! It was Matthias the brother-in-law of the family we rent our house from and who has his metal shop just outside our front gate, the Matthias we see every day! I knew a few other people in that mini-bus as well; they were coming back from a wedding in Bamako. AND, there were empty seats in the mini-bus. So we left poor JP on the side of the road with the broken-down truck and got a ride home. JP had to wait for someone to come and tow the truck to our house, so he didn't get home until after 6pm - about 4 hours after the rest of us. I have decided that I won't be going anywhere in that truck again.
