When you use rent-a-car services in a foreign country it is expected to have some problems and you should be more careful. Always ask the agency about equipment, emergency contacts, technical support, gas stations and different scenarios. We didn’t ask a lot of questions because we were in a hurry to meet our adventures. Well, we met them:)
The secret bolt
We’re going back to Maasai Mara National Reserve- a second time in a week. We liked the safari experience there so much that we wanted to go back immediately. This time we are equipped by a local rent-a-car agency in Nairobi with a 4×4 truck.
The way to “The Mara” is long and naturally we take the wrong way which is bumpy, broken and much longer. Finally we arrive. Covered in dust and sweat we enjoy the nature and the beautiful animals: lions, zebras, wildebeests. The next moment we puncture a tire.
We have strayed too far from the main road and now we are in the middle of nowhere. It’s only our car, a huge field, a medium-sized herd of wildebeests and a dozen zebras. It’s good the breakdown happens in an open space, with no trees and no possibility of sinister lurking buffalo. When we go out of the car, the animals quickly scatter and we are all alone now.
Realistically a flat tire shouldn’t be a problem. This is not the case as it turns out that the tire cannot be taken off from the car. One of the bolts of the tire is different and we cannot remove it. Slav tries different approaches: kicking, pulling, pushing, jumping, crying and singing. No luck.
In the distance we see a small bus. We begin to wave. They see and soon approach us. These are locals on a vacation. The oldest one of them looks at the tire and wisely concludes: “Yes, it is a secret bolt. You need a special tool for it.” We say we don’t have it. So he also begins experimenting on the tire, working in shifts as they get tired– the old man, Slav and another young man from the newcomers. During one of his breaks Slav starts searching the tool in the car for at least the 13th time. A miracle! The thing that will unscrew the bolt is rolling under the front seat.
Out of gas and more
It is the last day of our safari and we are out of gas. Slav decides to refuel at the local village. The gas station here is not exactly a gas station with pumps for fuel and staff dressed in overalls. It is a small shed with a couple of scruffy guys hanging out in front. If you need gas, they bring out a huge plastic container filled with liquid and pour it into the tank of the car.
One final round of the Reserve and two hours later we are happy and ready to take off to Nairobi. We are just leaving the Reserve when the car dies. And refuses to start. It’s absolutely determined not to start again, despite Slav’s insistent requests and attempts.
We call the rent-a-car agency. Fortunately, we are still in the village and they manage to send a rescue squad – two people on a bike. One is the master mechanic. After a brief examination and a few questions, he is convinced that the problem is the battery. We quietly mention that we have bought local gasoline and he says: “Auuuu! That’d bad. Let’s hope it turns out OK.” The other man tumbles back to the bike and takes off. After 20 minutes, he is back with a battery. They change it. The car starts! The mechanic tells Slav: “This battery is old and depleted. Don’t stop anywhere until you reach Nairobi.” We promise and set off.
Meanwhile, we have acquired a companion – one of the guys who work at the gate of Maasai Mara. We are a merry crowd: driving, talking and laughing. Any signs of civilization remains far behind us. In front of us is the dusty bumpy road and the dry grass of the savanna.
It’s happening again
Slav suddenly falls silent. After a while I fall silent as well. The car loses power and stops. Slav restarts it. It runs for a while. Then it loses power. Stops. Starts. Each time Slav tries to accelerate, the engine stops. The problem now is the gasoline, which apparently is pretty bad. Let’s not forget that every time the engine is off, it is unclear whether we will be able to start it again, because the battery is old and depleted.
So we move with 20 km per hour, totally silent and hoping not to get stuck in the middle of nowhere, because this time it won’t be easy to be found by a rescue squad: we cannot even explain where we are. Interesting and unpredictable are the situations when we have to go uphill, which in theory should be done by stepping on the accelerator. A 50 meter slope takes us 10 minutes, a liter of sweat and a bag of nerves.
Our goal is the nearest village to drain the bad gas and refuel. After a two-hour struggle we arrive there and look for the gas station. It’s a shed again and a few people are standing in front. We take risk with their gasoline, since cannot get any worse. Unfortunately it’s not possible to drain the old one, so we just pour a little from their plastic container with the idea to dilute the bad fuel.
As soon as we leave the village, things are looking a lot better, but 20 minutes later we are in the same situation. Two more hours later finally we come out of the wilderness to the asphalt road and slowly move to a big city, civilization, normal petrol and possibly help.
The bad gasoline is drained. People from the gas station haven’t seen such color of gasoline so far. They click their tongues and wonder. We understand that this is a practice in small villages to pour kerosene rather than gasoline. Really bad. Now we know – always fill up gas at large petrol stations in Africa, such as Shell and Total.
Full tank of fresh gasoline and we are ready to go. That’s where we part with our companion. I’m very embarrassed about the few hours experience and I apologize to him. He smiles at me and says: “It’s OK. I’m used to it.”