March 31, 2008

Date: February 8, 2008
Place: Chirundu border post, between Zambia and Zimbabwe.
Temperature: At least 95F
Problem: Security system malfunction, preventing the vehicle from starting.

Not wanting to spend our lives in no man’s land, since we have stamped out of Zambia but not yet crossed the bridge, we know exactly what has to be done. We must surgically remove the system.

“Easy,” says our mechanic over the cell phone from Lusaka. “Just trace the black cable up above the box. You'll see where two wires have been spliced. Unwrap, disconnect them, remove the black box, and re-attach as they would have been before the installation.

Right.

Ted Wright, who is not left-handed, at Chirundu border post between Zambia and Zimbabwe, tries to the right two wires to splice in order to fix the car.

There are only about 45 wires in that cable, which is sticky from electrical tape, and they’re mostly the same color. Several have been spliced. The area in question is impossible to reach unless you’re left-handed and double-jointed. Plus, it’s difficult to focus when your glasses keep fogging and constantly slipping off with sweat. 

We find what surely must be one of those wires, since it leads to the cutoff switch. Now if only we can isolate the wire to the starter. Visualizing now with our fingers.

An hour passes. Then two hours. Half a dozen phone calls.  Frustration clearly mounting.

At this point the missionary’s wife perceives that a teachable moment may have been reached. “Let me find someone who can possibly help.” She goes off toward where the hawkers are changing money.

Help? In this place? Even the baboons on the wall fence yonder know better. For a while they have been watching, but now they are dispersing. Evidently they sense a lost cause.

Twenty minutes later she comes back with a fellow who owns a little shop selling water and cell phone cards. What does he know? Well, he thinks he knows a guy who may have seen this kind of vehicle before.

His barefoot young friend doesn’t strike us as anything like our idea of an expert. Seems like we’re adding insult to injury, but what’s to lose? Well okay, maybe some money. He asks for a spanner. That would mean a wrench. He proceeds to remove the entire front panel. He opens bolts hidden where a magnet couldn't find them, storing them in his teeth. This guy is determined.

Exposed now to daylight, our “cable” of wires appears even thicker than we thought. How in the world will he choose the right one? We have visions of him blowing all the fuses. Patiently he examines this one and that—like some of us used to tease out fishing line—until at last he breaks one apart, twisting its raw end onto another. Then in Cinyanja he says, “Turn the key.”

We would like to say it was the power of prayer, for we were indeed muttering sentence prayers from time to time. We would like to say we could have done it without help, but after seeing that mess of wires, we know we would be lying. We would like to say we were totally confident. Instead, all we can say is, “Thanks.”

From this seamy little town full of prostitutes and truckers comes a quiet young man who knows his stuff. God never told us mission service would be easy. God didn’t tell us whom we’d meet along the way. He simply said, “I am with you. Always.” And because half of this couple was willing to knock, God answered and opened the door.

Ted Wright

The 2008 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 22