Good Samaritans
Comfort me!
The comfort of Comfort Dolls.
Another Saturday afternoon in Lilongwe was spent at a Cyber Cafe and picking up a few groceries. It is a hot day and my throat is beginning to feel sore. I stop for cold lemongrass tea and prepare to head back to Namitete. It is early Saturday evening and the first time I've taken the mini-bus back. My one splurge has been to take a taxi, as I'm usually burdened with groceries. I board one bus and am deposited in a ramshackle depot area where dozens of mini-buses lurch around potholes and each other. It appears to be total chaos. I ask for the Namitete bus and board another full bus. I am pleased to share a seat with 2 clinical officers from the hospital Off we go making fairly good time along the now familiar highway. At our first stop, several more people squeeze into the crowded back. The trip is halfway over when we pull into Msundwe, a large market village. I am hoping that people will get off so that we have a little more breathing room.
But, au contraire! The large crowd at the stop seems determined to board. I can't believe it! A man with a large container pushes towards me and climbs in. More people somehow sit on each other in the back. The driver has stepped out and now 6 people share the cab. I am feeling increasingly claustrophobic and ask Dr. Arne to open a window. Wrong move. Suddenly a man and woman come through the window, aiming to sit on me. I estimate that there are now about 28 people on a 12 seater bus. I can't take it anymore. "Stop", I yell. "I don't like this! Let me out! Open the door!" Now I'm really panicing. "Open the door - Open the door", I yell. The side door finally slides back and I clamber out. I walk quickly away from the bus hyperventilating, with relief flooding every cell of my body. Minutes later, the ticket collector runs to me and refunds part of my fare! Then he runs back, joins the pack of bodies and the bus roars off.
As thankful as I am to be off the bus, I am in a real predictament. It is starting to rain, light is fading and I have no phone. I know that there are few cars on the road due to petrol shortages. I have no idea if another bus will come. Villagers stare at me and keep their distance. I assume that they only speak Chichewan. I feel utterly alone and frightened. I decide that I must flag down any vehicle that comes along and explain my situation. At least I have some money to offer for a ride.
No vehicles come along for 10 minutes.
I pace. Suddenly I see a car's lights and step toward the road, waving my arms frantically, but the blue car roars past. I watch as it exits the highway several hundred yards away and is gone. Now what? Minutes go by. I am about to approach a man on the road who has what appears to be a cellphone, when the blue car reappears. I race over to the car and in rushed speech tell the 2 young occupants that I desperately need a ride to St. Gabriel's Hospital. I am invited to get in. They are from Blantyre they tell me, and are on their way to Mchinje to visit their parents, and will pass by Namitete. They tell me that when they saw me waving my arms, thay felt compelled to find out what was wrong. They introduce themselves and tell me about their lives. They insist on no payment. "You are doing a wonderful thing, volunteering at St. Gabriel's". They apologize for drinking alcohol and only then do I realize that they hold beer bottles between their legs. I am so relieved to be heading "home" I could care less.
Half an hour later, I am back at Zitha House, telling housemates Benjamin and Caroline about my short lived but scary ordeal.. Shortly after, there is a knock at the door. The clinical officers have come to find out if I made it back safely. They appear ashamed at how the bus service is run and apologize profusely.
Hours later, my heart still pounds when I think of that bus. Then, I reflect on the sudden appearance of the 2 young men in the blue car - the Good Samaritans - who came to my aid.
Divine intervention? I really wonder........
But, au contraire! The large crowd at the stop seems determined to board. I can't believe it! A man with a large container pushes towards me and climbs in. More people somehow sit on each other in the back. The driver has stepped out and now 6 people share the cab. I am feeling increasingly claustrophobic and ask Dr. Arne to open a window. Wrong move. Suddenly a man and woman come through the window, aiming to sit on me. I estimate that there are now about 28 people on a 12 seater bus. I can't take it anymore. "Stop", I yell. "I don't like this! Let me out! Open the door!" Now I'm really panicing. "Open the door - Open the door", I yell. The side door finally slides back and I clamber out. I walk quickly away from the bus hyperventilating, with relief flooding every cell of my body. Minutes later, the ticket collector runs to me and refunds part of my fare! Then he runs back, joins the pack of bodies and the bus roars off.
As thankful as I am to be off the bus, I am in a real predictament. It is starting to rain, light is fading and I have no phone. I know that there are few cars on the road due to petrol shortages. I have no idea if another bus will come. Villagers stare at me and keep their distance. I assume that they only speak Chichewan. I feel utterly alone and frightened. I decide that I must flag down any vehicle that comes along and explain my situation. At least I have some money to offer for a ride.
No vehicles come along for 10 minutes.
I pace. Suddenly I see a car's lights and step toward the road, waving my arms frantically, but the blue car roars past. I watch as it exits the highway several hundred yards away and is gone. Now what? Minutes go by. I am about to approach a man on the road who has what appears to be a cellphone, when the blue car reappears. I race over to the car and in rushed speech tell the 2 young occupants that I desperately need a ride to St. Gabriel's Hospital. I am invited to get in. They are from Blantyre they tell me, and are on their way to Mchinje to visit their parents, and will pass by Namitete. They tell me that when they saw me waving my arms, thay felt compelled to find out what was wrong. They introduce themselves and tell me about their lives. They insist on no payment. "You are doing a wonderful thing, volunteering at St. Gabriel's". They apologize for drinking alcohol and only then do I realize that they hold beer bottles between their legs. I am so relieved to be heading "home" I could care less.
Half an hour later, I am back at Zitha House, telling housemates Benjamin and Caroline about my short lived but scary ordeal.. Shortly after, there is a knock at the door. The clinical officers have come to find out if I made it back safely. They appear ashamed at how the bus service is run and apologize profusely.
Hours later, my heart still pounds when I think of that bus. Then, I reflect on the sudden appearance of the 2 young men in the blue car - the Good Samaritans - who came to my aid.
Divine intervention? I really wonder........