What were we doing on a Zambian country road filled with huge potholes, in the pitch black, 80 kilometers from Lusaka?
Amazingly bad planning took place, I tell you. And then for some weird reason we decided to combine said planning with neither of us, me and the hubby that is, never having changed a tire in our lives, and having very little clue as to how such a thing happens. So, of course, as the sun was setting we hit a monster of a hole on the road, which enabled us to leave behind a sizable part of the mysterious underbelly of the chevrolet we were driving, and witness up and close to what happens to a tire when it completely splits. SPLITS.
One thing no tourist is ever to do in Zambia is to drive on the highways after dark. "What if you break down?" they say. Well, normally you get robbed by Zambian dacoits of some sorts, or in the worst case you get killed.
Hmm. In our case you meet the coolest guys who stop to pray anyways because the sun is setting and they decide to give you light until they find out you were, in your infinite wisdom, going to put the jack neatly through the bottom of the car, and then they just change the tire.
Praised be... hrm... hrm... Guys who wear cool Vans and pray at the side of the road?
