Last Thursday, as Laurie and I headed home from running errands in Lilongwe, Malawi’s capital city two hours away, I smelled gas about two thirds of the way home and immediately knew the fuel line had sprung a leak since it had done the same thing the day before. Mind you, I had already spent over $300 USD in parts and labor simply to have the fuel filter replaced. The day before, when a mechanic looked under the belly of the car to identify the location of the leak, he discovered that the two fuel lines connecting to each other from the tank and engine weren’t long enough, so someone (probably the previous mechanic I had paid) had added about a six inch hose in the middle of the connection to enable the line from the tank and the line from the engine to reach each other. Unfortunately, he didn’t tighten the spacer hose on either end, so when it came loose, fuel poured out like a faucet. The day before, the mechanic assured me the problem was now fixed because he used some wire to tighten the spacer hose. Unfortunately, he only tightened the hose on one end, and now the other end had come loose.
The story behind why I was in this predicament in the first place is even more bizarre. I simply needed to have the fuel filter replaced after the car wouldn’t start. The mechanic I hired in Senga Bay, after discovering the problem, gave me the whole fuel filter assembly and told me to take it to Lilongwe since that was the nearest location of the part and show it to someone at an auto parts store. While I was able to purchase the new fuel filter, the problem occurred when someone stole the old fuel filter assembly out of the back of our truck. I was about to learn a few lessons in African affairs.
After looking all over Lilongwe—including a Ford dealership since the car is a Ford Escort—in vain to find a fuel filter assembly, I was finally told that this part doesn’t exist anywhere in Malawi. The only option was to send the mechanic to South Africa to purchase the part or build a modified part and fit it onto the car. No lie; he would travel what is likely the equivalent of Seattle to L.A. FOR A CAR PART. Dan Moyer told me mechanics do it all the time. Lesson #1: try to avoid getting a car part stolen in Africa when you may have to travel through Malawi, Mozambique, Zimbabwe and South Africa for the nearest $40 replacement part. Needless to say, Kennedy, who owns the car, opted for the modified part. I’m no mechanic, so I can only guess that this “modified” part didn’t fit quite properly. If that’s not bad enough, the mechanic sent me to buy new fuel for the tank since he had to drain the fuel tank. Do you think the mechanic would have a car of his own to go to the petrol station? Lesson #2: a mechanic who doesn’t own a car of his own may experience occasional dizziness, light headedness or incompetence when attempting to fix someone else’s vehicle.
Since we live “in the village”, my choices were rather limited. I pulled up to the petrol station and filled the two gas cans with. . . . . . . . . diesel. That’s right; since I always put diesel in the work truck I normally drive and was in auto pilot mode when I pulled up, I had the attendant put diesel in the petrol cans. Lesson #3: don’t be a monkey*. That would explain why I couldn’t get the car started after it was finally put back together. Finally, after two more visits from the mechanic, the car was allegedly ready to drive.
So here I was a month later on my first trip outside of town in this car stuck on the side of the road with a car full of laundry and frozen food that I was anxious to get home (not to mention my poor wife standing by the side of the road trying to help me decide what to do). I realized I couldn’t make it to the next town since fuel was leaking so fast it would be gone by the time I got there. As I pondered what to do, a nice gentleman named Henry walked over from a nearby house (there were a few mud houses close by) and offered to help. He insisted on trying to fix the problem himself and, since the car didn’t have a jack, suggested that I drive the car up onto a nearby ant hill to get the front wheels high enough to give us room to look under the belly. Next, what seemed to be the entire nearby village came along and crowded closely around the car. After all, what else is there to do in the middle of nowhere? Unfortunately, the audience included an overly eager drunkard who only seemed to know two words in English—“yes” and “carburetor”—which he said many times over the next half hour. As some of the kids tried to help out by pulling the drunkard out of the way, he picked up a rock the size of a softball—I kid you not—and threw it at one of the boys. Lesson #4: please exercise caution when correcting a drunkard with yellow and black teeth. Fortunately, the boy was able to dodge the rock as all of the other kids laughed in amusement.
After growing frustrated at the little progress my “mechanic team” was making over the next half hour, I—the guy who put diesel in a petrol engine—finally decided to take matters into my own hands. When I finally got a good

wrong place to be for a non-mechanic
look under the belly of the car, I discovered wires and string all over the place. Lesson #5: vehicles held together by bay line, string and wire with parts that don’t fit are likely to encounter problems including, but not limited to: expedited wear and tear, leaks, parts falling off and engine breakdown.
When I finally fixed the car to my (very low) standards, I backed the car off the ant on which it was perched. Several of the young men who were witnessing the insanity quickly waved their hands to get my attention and then picked up the piece of the fiberglass bumper that was ripped off on the ant hill as I backed away. In my

Oops. Monkey!!
haste to get going again, I failed to recognize how low the bumper was in relation to the ant hill. Lesson #6: there’s generally a reason why the tow truck driver doesn’t place the hooks on the vehicle’s bumper when towing since they aren’t made to withstand the entire weight of the vehicle.
At this point, there was nothing I could do but put the bumper (license plate and all) in the back of the car as Henry hopped in along with us for a ride into the next town. Within a few kilometers of driving away, I smelled gas again as I watched the gas gage drop before my eyes while about a quarter tank of gas spilled leaked onto the road in a matter of seconds. When I pulled the car over again, Henry and I discovered that the hose on the bottom had come loose again. Lesson #7: if the hose came loose previously without any wire or string to hold it tight, it is likely to occur again. Lesson #7b: try to avoid reaffirming the definition of insanity while being a monkey.
Since we had no wire to tighten the loose belt, I asked Laurie to peel off one of the thin key rings in an attempt to unbend it and use it as a wire; however, without our Leatherman knife (which we left at home this one time), I was unable to bend the wire tight enough with my bare hands. Fortunately, Henry found a piece of string on the side of the road—yeah—and proceeded to tie the hose tight which enabled us to take off again. One minor detail before we took off: Henry had placed his glasses behind the front tire as he was working under the car, and when I backed the care up. . . . . . . . uh huh. Lesson #8: Caution: for maximum usage, glasses should be placed around the area of the eyes on the human head and not under the weight of a vehicle.
As we limped into town, I knew I had to buy Henry a new pair of glasses—especially since I had seen the glasses lying behind the tire but forgot about them when I backed up. When Henry suggested that we head to the main outdoor market to get some replacement glasses, something just wasn’t clicking with me. I decided to ask him where he had gotten the (now bent) glasses, and he said they were prescribed by an eye doctor in Lilongwe. At this point, I began to wonder: is it just me, or are the odds of finding prescription glasses here not real good? Lesson #9: Researchers have recently discovered that the purpose of glasses is to help people see better and therefore recommend that patients purchase their glasses from an eye doctor rather than an outdoor market specializing in dried fish, bike tires and onions.
When I politely mentioned to Henry that we may not be able to find prescription glasses here, he replied, “Maybe not.” Rather than allow myself to head down the thought path wondering, “What if I hadn’t said anything?”, I asked Henry how much he paid for his glasses, and he told me 3,300 Kwacha. I was able to bend his wire frames back in place and fit the unbroken lens that had come out back in place, but I knew I needed to give him the money for some new glasses. Although I had little doubt he would pocket the money and continue using his current glasses, I couldn’t help but acknowledge that I would be providing the same kind of service that my mechanics provided me if I just expected him to use the bent wire frames. For 5,500 Kwacha (the 3,300 for the glasses plus 700 for transport to Lilongwe, along with the 1,500 Laurie had given him for helping us with the car), I didn’t feel too badly to be out of what amounted to $38 USD in light of everything that had happened.
After Laurie and I made it safely home, I decided to take a run along the beach to unwind. As my mind gave way to the typical entitlement mentality so prevalent among us Americans, causing me to wonder why God would allow such hardships to people trying to “do His work”, it suddenly occurred to me how blessed we were. This was one of our more difficult days in Africa, and yet I was back in my nice beach front house by nightfall enjoying some of Laurie’s excellent chicken/vegetable stir fry and sleeping in a soft bed with the sound of waves crashing outside my window. I couldn’t help but compare our relatively minor inconvenience to some of the hardships faced by the missionaries whose biographies Laurie and I have been reading. Consider:
William Carey
• buried four children, two wives, the second of whom went insane before she died, one daughter-in-law and three grandchildren
• didn’t see a single convert until seven years into his missionary service
• lost six years’ worth of translation work and manuscripts in a fire
• was accused late in life by his mission board of gathering wealth even though he gave more personal money—40,000 pounds—than any other person in the world during his 24 years of service, all while receiving only 600 pounds for support from the mission society his entire career
Hudson Taylor
• buried three children and his wife
• contracted typhoid, tuberculosis and dysentery among other illnesses, leaving him sick for years while still in his 20s
• was constantly short of money, receiving only 80 pounds per year while his peers from another missionary society received 700 pounds per year
• had his request for marriage to the first woman he loved rejected from her father after telling him, “I can’t promise you that you’ll ever see her again”, when asked how often Hudson would bring her home to see her family
Jim Elliott
• spent a month laying in a tent on the edge of death while in and out of consciousness as he battled a sickness he could never identify, all the while being nursed by his new wife who also had to deal with thick mud building up on the tent floor
• lost an entire year’s work that went into building a schoolhouse, medical clinic, house and airstrip when a ravaging flood swept them away, nearly killing him in the process
• speared to death in the prime of his life (age 28), leaving behind a widow and young daughter
Adoniram Judson
• buried four children, none over two years old, along with two wives, the first of which sent him into a three-year depression
• spent a year and a half in a death prison where he was shackled up each evening with his feet hooked to a bamboo pole four feet off the ground
• then there’s this zinger he had the honor of sending to the wealthy parents of the woman (his first wife) whose hand he was requesting in marriage:
“I have now to ask; whether you can consent to part with your daughter early next spring, to see her no more in this world; whether you can consent to her departure, and her subjection to the hardships and sufferings of a missionary life; whether you can consent to her exposure to the dangers of the ocean; to the fatal influence of the southern climate of [Burma]; to every kind of want and distress; to degradation, insult, persecution, and perhaps a violent death. . . .”
The apostle Paul (II Corinthians 11:23-27; 1:8)
• many imprisonments
• countless beatings
• five whippings with the 39 lashes
• beaten with rods
• stoned and left for dead
• shipwrecked
• adrift at sea
• in danger from rivers
• in danger from robbers
• in danger from his own people
• in danger from Gentiles
• in danger in the city
• in danger in the wilderness
• in danger at sea
• in danger from false brothers
• in toil and hardship
• through many a sleepless night
• in hunger and thirst
• often without food
• in cold and exposure
• despaired of life itself
Our day wasn’t so bad after all.
* Laurie and I often refer to each other as monkeys when we do something stupid.