Guided tour of the Maun automotive establishments - 09:34 am
15 Apr 2009
By Penny Light


On our recent trips into Maun, I have yet to have time to explore the village. This is mostly because errands, admin and purchasing supplies seem to take a very long time to get done here. I am after all on Africa time, as I am often reminded by Graham when my patience runs thin. My north American ‘instant gratification’, ‘always in a rush’ and ‘can I have that to go with fries please’ mindset must be readjusted. This is a work in progress.

This trip into Maun was last minute. As mentioned, we needed to get the rear diff repaired. Understanding that we would have to wait for a part to be found I had thought it might be nice to explore Maun properly and was excited to do so. When the mechanic that we work with couldn’t get the part from a friend of a friend of a friend of his, we had to take matters into our own hands.

Graham informed me that ‘we will now tour Maun’. I smiled (read: grimaced) and nodded, knowing full well that this was not going to be the tour of Maun I was hoping for. I sit here now with an in-depth knowledge of Maun scrap yards, mechanic shops, car part, car swap, car wash, car wrecking, car spares and any other manner of automotive shops imaginable. I am also becoming regretfully knowledgeable in the art of mechanics. (Zen and and the art of film truck maintenance) I now have extensive theoretical knowledge of how a diff operates. Our vehicle specifically has a 10:37 pinion to crown-wheel ratio (not a 9:37 or a 10:41 or a 9:40 or any other for that matter) I am painfully aware that one has to count the number of splines. (Yes that is correct - I said “splines”.) The number of splines and ratio needs to match up otherwise the pinion (yes, I said “pinion") won’t fit. This is important. Apparently.

Graham let me have lunch which was a good thing as the brain needs food to function. Abbreviated Mechanics 101 was starting to overwhelm me. Over lunch I had time to reflect on why I am here in Africa. Apparently it has less to do with recording the beauty and majesty of wild Africa, and more to do with becoming a mechanic. Who knew. Over lunch Graham also has time to think, to scan his mind as to where we might find this part without having to order a new one from South Africa and wait three to four working days to get it. Another scrapyard! I grow giddy with anticipation.

My brain fed, Graham heads to another scrapyard, dragging a less-than-jubilant me along with him. We drive in past large protective gates, park next to a completely crumpled self-drive safari vehicle, move on through an office of sorts, through another door and into a huge yard of yes, scrapped cars. Who would have thought? Through another door into a huge warehouse of parts. Just parts. Parts piled on parts, piled on shelves, slung over rafters. Dirty, dusty parts. Could be art, so I take a photo. Nope, still just car parts.

It is not long before I hear Graham shriek like a teenage girl at a Hanson Brothers concert. I make my way to the aisle (these seem to provide some meagre order to this warehouse) and there he is. Big smile. Happily clutching a grubby piece of metal. What a proud face, I think to myself, he must be very pleased with himself. And he is. We make our way to the counter where we will now count, recount, count again, measure, fit and compare. Someone says, “aren’t you going to clean it to make sure there are no hairline fractures?” Who said that? It was me. I am afraid of this new found knowledge of mine. I have absorbed information that I have no desire to posses and am afraid I am being brain-washed here.

So, the point of this all is that we have eventually found the requisite part and, all going according to plan (ha ha ha), will be back in camp by tomorrow evening with a new-found appreciation for the workings of differentials (My father would be so proud.) and a greater appreciation for our wild home.