Clank, konk, clank. The truck died.

For about two years, we have been having problems with the truck. Last time Clyde Morgan visited us, he almost missed his return flight when the clutch went out twice on the way to the airport. I just put the truck in third gear, the highest I could start in, and drove the remaining 130 kilometers at about 35 miles an hour.
After about a year and a half of troublesome clutch problems, we finally got it fixed correctly last year. That’s about when the motor started acting up. I can deal with clutch problems. I can drive fine without a clutch, even in the bush, but there’s no way to work around motor problems.

The truck’s sunset voyage started as a Tuesday-night prayer meeting. The next morning, as I was driving to visit another missionary, the truck’s motor started making loud click click noises. I checked the oil level, and it was fine. I turned the truck around and went back to where I’d been. As I pulled into town, the truck was becoming quite sluggish, but I was able to get it to a mechanic. It took three days to fix it.

Since it was late Friday when the mechanic finished putting the motor back together, I couldn’t leave for home then because it isn’t safe to drive at night here. So, Sabbath morning, I began the drive home. I wanted to get back before church because I had not planned on being away that Sabbath, so I had responsibilities in the service.

About five kilometers from town, the truck threw a rod, leaving a lovely big hole in the side of the engine block.

In the last few months, three mechanics had looked at the engine, and none could figure out what was blocking oil flow to the third cylinder. As we were returning from a trip to Burkina Faso, God led us, clanking and crunching, to stop right in front of the only good mechanic in the area. He worked on it all afternoon and finally jury-rigged some sort of fix that involved putting a piece of paper in the motor in place of a broken part. He said it would get us home, and it did. There, we had the motor taken apart and all the worn and broken pieces replaced.

From then on, the motor never worked right. I guess the oil channel was still plugged, and the third rod continued to clank, though more quietly than before.

Now, there on the side of the road, I was face-to-face with my old friend, the third rod, as it protruded from the side of the engine block. I was frustrated and almost overwhelmed, but I was able to catch a motorcycle taxi into town. I had the driver drop me off at the mechanic shop. Toussaint’s brother called the mechanic, then he took me home. I picked up the stuff for church and dropped it off with some of the early-bird kids and told them to tell Uli I wasn’t coming.

The mechanic found someone who could tow the truck into town, but he wanted tons of money. Sigh. What could I do? I had the truck towed to my house since I didn’t have money to fix it.

The next week, I was supposed to be in the village for four days, and I didn’t have time to deal with the truck. The week I was supposed to be packing to come on furlough, I had the mechanic haul the truck to his shop. After taking out the motor and assessing the damage, he told me he needed about $900 just for parts. I told him to haul the truck back to my house—I didn’t have the money. When I left for furlough, the truck carcass sat beside my house.

Long ago, my director told me to get a new truck, but I refused since I didn’t think clutch problems were a good enough reason to get rid of the old beast. Now, I have no choice but to follow his good counsel. At this point, the old truck isn’t worth fixing. I’m looking at a secondhand truck from the port. The total will be about $26,000, with customs and police fees making up almost half the total. I hope to make the purchase soon.

A vehicle is very important to our project. Its many roles include ambulance, hearse, and dump truck. Just last week, I was wishing I had a working truck when I had to take a lady to the hospital, and all I had was my motorcycle. She kept passing out on the seat behind me as we drove along, so I had to tie her on and slap her awake each time she started to fade. I’m sure she wished I had a truck again, too! 

Editor’s note: Thanks to the generosity of her donors, Suzy has funds available to buy a vehicle, and she is planning to do so soon.

• Twitter