Sandra and I were sent to get a price of a wooden bed for the Retreat Ctr. We were trying to decide if it would be cheaper to have a bed made by one of the local carpenters or buy one from the furniture co-op of Independence Rd. We were given a two door sedan for t his task. We arrived at the open air furniture store by a dirt road. This road is a real test of the shock absorbers of any car. We made our inquires. They a bed to sell, but would have one in four days. The price was to high. We had the information we wanted so we returned to the car. As we were driving away people were trying to get our attention. They were speaking in bemba. We had no clue what they wanted. They were so animated, perhaps agitated we stop to see what the problem might be. A person speaking english came forward and told us we were driving on a flat tire. I felt foolish for not recognizing it, but the road was so bad I didn't. Two young men offered to help me with the flat. I reluctantly agreed to allow them to help. Work is hard to come by and they are not well paid when they do find work. I opened the boot. We took out the tire changing tools. They jack up the car and began removing lug nuts. Then we took out the spare and found that it too was flat. At this point my new found friends suggest a place I could have the tires repaired. I don't know this place. It will be dark soon and I am hesitate to go - I don't know where - with people I just met. I imagine all the terrible things that could happen to me if I go with their plan. I call Br. Tony, the other priest and brothers are far away, he dose not answer his phone. I call the one other person I know who could help me, not a mechanic or a tow truck but the the cook at the friary. I tell him my problem. He tells there is a tire repair in the opposite direction I was being directed to go by my new friends. I insist on going in the direction the cook is sending me.We leave Sandra to guard the car. They carried a tire a piece a quarter mile. We discover the repair shop had moved. They hail a cab which I agree to pay for to take us to the repair shop. The shop turns out to be a barren spot along the road with four guys sitting near a tarp set up to provide shade. An air compressor, no hydraulics, no sign of a business. The tires are repaired without benefit of modern technology. The cab took us back to Sandra. My new friends put the tire on at dusk. This little adventure cost me Ninety thousand Kwacha or about Eighteen Dollars.
