[Special Shout Out to Salome]

Unlike most of my brethren, my interest in cars begins and ends in their exterior. We can debate whether the VW Touareg indeed looks better than the BMW X5, or whether the S Class looks better than the 5 Series.

Once you pop the bonnet you are pretty much dead to me. I know the general principle  of how a petrol engine works vis a vis a diesel engine, but after that I don’t give a flying rat’s ass precisely which bits do what. I cannot tell you a V8 from a V 12 from a VW. I cannot tell you the difference between mineral water and battery water. I don’t know a piston from a pistol.

Petrol station attendants across Nairobi can attest to some wild haired, wild eyed feller in a RVR who after filling his tank waves absently in the general direction of the front of his car, pops the bonnet and cheerfully gives vague instructions to “Have a look see.”

Roberta

This fly by the pants approach invariably is doomed to failure and this Monday Roberta began to automatically switch herself off whenever I shifted to a lower gear. As you can imagine it is a very merry drive coasting down the highway with a car that is off.

As Kenyans, the definition of a split second is something we can claim as our own.It is the period between something going wrong with your car and the jackass behind you letting loose with his horn.

Kenyan motorists did not disappoint.Very sure that I have a death wish and that I am switching my car off deliberately at inopportune moments, like negotiating a roundabout, they let loose with their horns and flashing lights.

Being a man committed to fellowship with his fellow man, I did not want them to feel as if I was ignoring them. I did my best to respond to each irate hoot. FIDA, Maendeleo Ya Wanawake and Maendeleo Ya Wanaume will be glad to know I did not discriminate. My right arm worked overtime. If you hooted I saluted.

But I am but a human being and cannot attend to all of you at once.

So if you were hooting at a stalled green RVR on Monday morning and somehow did not receive acknowledgement, my apologies. Here it is:

In case you missed it

After much gymnastics and coaching, and close to 7,000 one fingered salutes, I limped Roberta into the garage closest to the office.

Friendly Lady: What seems to be the problem
M: (Alighting from Roberta and massaging sore right arm) Keeps going off. I think I need more battery acid.
Friendly Lady: You mean an engine tune up?
M: Right. What did I say?
Friendly Lady: Err …
M: While you’re at it, have a look at the Mzima, GWs, amniotic fluid …
Friendly Lady: What?!
M: What did I say? I mean springs, bushes, battery fluid,  and all that jazz.
Friendly Lady: Aha. No problem

Still massaging my sore arm (sticking it out the windows repeatedly in salute is harder than it looks) I strolled to the office and an hour later I was summoned to receive the report of things wrong with the car.

Listening to the friendly lady talking took me back to days of yore, standing in the hot sun listening to the headmaster going on and on and on and on like 3 energizer bunnies. Reading from a sheaf of papers stapled together, she listed at length all the things wrong with Roberta. Finally, after several breathless minutes, she was done, and then she and the 3 mechanics looked at me expectably.

“Oho,” I told them finally. “Well,” I continued philosophically, “Let me look on the bright side. Did you find anything wrong with the radio?”

“The radio?” Friendly lady said. “No. The radio’s fine.”

“And the body? Do I need a new body?”

“No, no!”

“Excellent. At least there’s something in that doesn’t need to be replaced.”

I then pointed to a bump and some scratches on Roberta’s flank, the results of a disagreement she had with a wall. I take full responsibility, and i admit i was responsible for goading Roberta into trying to park in a very narrow inclined parking between two solid walls, with the solid experience of a single driving lesson. Needless to say, Roberta lost the argument to the wall.

At this point the boss, a gentleman who can trace his ancestry to the Indian subcontinent stepped forwards and after much holding of the chin and murmuring to himself wrote me a quote.

Panel beating: 7,500
Front plastic mounting: 8,500
Front door painting: 8,500
Rear door painting: 8,000
VAT: 5,200
Net total: 32,500

Santa Claus could have taken lessons from me on how to laugh heartily. The mechanics and their bosses watched in disbelief as a son of his father laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. Finally I wiped the tears and addressed my new friend.

Cannabis in full bloom

“My son, cannabis sativa is not your friend. Really. It is bad for you. First of all, why does it cost more to paint the rear door than it does the front door? And secondly,The only time I’ll pay 35k for panel beating is if you are panel beating my personal Aircraft Carrier. Until then I suggest you take that quote, sprinkle it with chili, a bit of cheese and some tomato, roll it up tightly, season it delicately with pepper and aromat, turn that bad boy sideways and shove is straight up [THUNDER STRUCK AT THIS POINT], m’kay?”

“So,” friendly lady said, “About the repairs…”

“Ah yes, about that. You want me to get two rear shocks, each at 12,500?”

“Er … yes, those are the best.”

“Indeed. And apart from making my car feel like a Roman chariot, do these shocks do anything else? Play piped music? Solve Sudoku riddles? Transform into Autobots? Do the crossword? Sing ballads?”

Kwik Fit’s Magic Shocks

“No,” she said grudgingly.

“Then let us revise that preposterous figure.”

After much discussion I left them to work. They had promised to be done by close of Monday but i told them “take your time, my friends. Take your time. I will collect Roberta tomorrow.”

And the following day I did collect Roberta, who was even freshly washed.

And less than an hour later I was parked on the side of Mombasa road, turning the air blue for miles and startling birds away from their roosts as I expressed myself firmly at considerable length to the Friendly Lady.

Because the garage had completely wrecked Roberta’s engine … CONT’D

PIC OF THE DAY

 Lupe Fiasco & Jill Scott – Daydreams