A couple of weeks ago, I left my broken car at the end of a dirt driveway with a guy named Fish. I paid him for repairs in cash.
If I were still in Brooklyn, you might think I had somehow gotten involved with the mob. But I am in Pietermartizburg, South Africa. And here, if your car breaks down, you bring it to Fish.
iTEACH has had plenty of car trouble. (Around the time of Zinny and Xolani's wedding, there were two flat tires, one runaway wheel and blown breaks, just to name a few, and all of that happened within three days.) But so far no problem has been too big for Fish, the unofficial iTEACH mechanic.
As the newest member of the team, it was my turn for car trouble, so the Subaru blew a gasket, literally. On my way to work one morning, the engine very quickly overheated and shut itself off. There was plenty of coolant and no leaks that I could see, so while I waited for the engine to cool down I called Fish. I was able to get my car to Edendale, pick up Gugu (who kindly volunteered to be my guide) and drive it to Fish's shop, but not before the engine overheated and shut off for second time. Ayibo.
On our first attempt, we passed the entrance. I was looking for something more like an auto body shop and less like a dirt road with cars on it. It's a good thing Gugu was with me; I would not have made it very far otherwise. Many of the roads in Pietermartizburg aren't marked and directions usually go something like, "When you get to the T-junction, make a left – not the first left onto the dirt path, the next left. Then after you pass a church – no, not that church the other one – turn right. Go over 1 million speed bumps. It's the blue house on the right. Behind the tuck shop."
I had met Fish once before, but I didn't remember him well – I didn't remember him being a giant teddy bear of a man. I trusted him with my car, because Gugu and all of iTEACH trusted him with theirs. But his kind face and quickness to smile didn't hurt. (My car could have burst into flames and I would have felt okay leaving it him.)
Not long after I dropped the car off, Fish called me and said he was picking me up to shop for parts. This was new. Whenever something needed to be replaced on my scooter or my old car, the mechanic sourced the parts without my help. But sure enough, 10 minutes later, Fish pulled up to Edendale in an old combi with two of his buddies; I jumped in and we headed to town.
For the next two hours, we drove around, running in and out of auto shops looking for parts and comparing prices. This may sound tiresome, but in fact, it was a ton of fun. Watching Fish in action was thoroughly entertaining – he knows everyone in Pietermartizburg and they all love him. And the shop owners really got a kick out of our motley crew – 3 Zulu mechanics and 1 umlungu from America in converted combi.
As if that wasn't enough, we stopped at three different schools along the way to pick up Fish's buddies' kids. By the time we were back at Edendale, our crew had doubled in size; the combi looked like a legit taxi – 3 men, 4 school age girls, and myself. It was a good day; I've never had so much fun dealing with a broken car.
The only bad thing about Fish's operation is that he can't work in the rain – the shop turns to mud. And of course, after we bought all of the necessary new parts, it rained for 5 days straight.
When the car was finally ready, Fish called me up and arranged to drop it off at Edendale – he'd come by with the car, I'd drive him to his friend's place in Imbali, pay him for the repairs and be on my way. Since I bought the replacement parts on our crazy shopping trip, I only owed Fish for labor. First, he asked me what I wanted to give him, to which I responded, "Well, how much do you charge?" He didn't know; it was an odd job. We eventually settled on a price that was significantly less than what his mechanic buddies suggested – I wasn't going to argue with that.
But the trouble wasn't the price, it was the form of payment. Fish doesn't take credit cards, and when I asked about a bank-to-bank transfer he stared at me blankly. So on the way to his friend's place, we stopped at an ATM. I withdrew the max amount of cash, ran back to the car and handed a good chunk of it directly to Fish. Isn't this how drug deals go down? If anyone nearby had any idea how much money I stuffed into my pockets at that ATM, I probably would have been mugged on the spot. Luckily, that didn't happen.
A few days later, I stopped by Fish's shop so he could make sure everything was still running smoothly – he insisted. While he was looking at the car, we talked about motorcycles, drag races and "spinning". The next time Fish goes to a race, he's taking me along. And he said I could take out one of the "scramblers" (dirt bike) anytime.
The Subaru is back in business, and without too much damage to my bank account. Gugu says, "There's no one cheaper than Fish," which I fully believe. I doubt there's anyone more decent either. Thanks, Fish.
If I were still in Brooklyn, you might think I had somehow gotten involved with the mob. But I am in Pietermartizburg, South Africa. And here, if your car breaks down, you bring it to Fish.
iTEACH has had plenty of car trouble. (Around the time of Zinny and Xolani's wedding, there were two flat tires, one runaway wheel and blown breaks, just to name a few, and all of that happened within three days.) But so far no problem has been too big for Fish, the unofficial iTEACH mechanic.
As the newest member of the team, it was my turn for car trouble, so the Subaru blew a gasket, literally. On my way to work one morning, the engine very quickly overheated and shut itself off. There was plenty of coolant and no leaks that I could see, so while I waited for the engine to cool down I called Fish. I was able to get my car to Edendale, pick up Gugu (who kindly volunteered to be my guide) and drive it to Fish's shop, but not before the engine overheated and shut off for second time. Ayibo.
On our first attempt, we passed the entrance. I was looking for something more like an auto body shop and less like a dirt road with cars on it. It's a good thing Gugu was with me; I would not have made it very far otherwise. Many of the roads in Pietermartizburg aren't marked and directions usually go something like, "When you get to the T-junction, make a left – not the first left onto the dirt path, the next left. Then after you pass a church – no, not that church the other one – turn right. Go over 1 million speed bumps. It's the blue house on the right. Behind the tuck shop."
I had met Fish once before, but I didn't remember him well – I didn't remember him being a giant teddy bear of a man. I trusted him with my car, because Gugu and all of iTEACH trusted him with theirs. But his kind face and quickness to smile didn't hurt. (My car could have burst into flames and I would have felt okay leaving it him.)
Not long after I dropped the car off, Fish called me and said he was picking me up to shop for parts. This was new. Whenever something needed to be replaced on my scooter or my old car, the mechanic sourced the parts without my help. But sure enough, 10 minutes later, Fish pulled up to Edendale in an old combi with two of his buddies; I jumped in and we headed to town.
For the next two hours, we drove around, running in and out of auto shops looking for parts and comparing prices. This may sound tiresome, but in fact, it was a ton of fun. Watching Fish in action was thoroughly entertaining – he knows everyone in Pietermartizburg and they all love him. And the shop owners really got a kick out of our motley crew – 3 Zulu mechanics and 1 umlungu from America in converted combi.
As if that wasn't enough, we stopped at three different schools along the way to pick up Fish's buddies' kids. By the time we were back at Edendale, our crew had doubled in size; the combi looked like a legit taxi – 3 men, 4 school age girls, and myself. It was a good day; I've never had so much fun dealing with a broken car.
The only bad thing about Fish's operation is that he can't work in the rain – the shop turns to mud. And of course, after we bought all of the necessary new parts, it rained for 5 days straight.
When the car was finally ready, Fish called me up and arranged to drop it off at Edendale – he'd come by with the car, I'd drive him to his friend's place in Imbali, pay him for the repairs and be on my way. Since I bought the replacement parts on our crazy shopping trip, I only owed Fish for labor. First, he asked me what I wanted to give him, to which I responded, "Well, how much do you charge?" He didn't know; it was an odd job. We eventually settled on a price that was significantly less than what his mechanic buddies suggested – I wasn't going to argue with that.
But the trouble wasn't the price, it was the form of payment. Fish doesn't take credit cards, and when I asked about a bank-to-bank transfer he stared at me blankly. So on the way to his friend's place, we stopped at an ATM. I withdrew the max amount of cash, ran back to the car and handed a good chunk of it directly to Fish. Isn't this how drug deals go down? If anyone nearby had any idea how much money I stuffed into my pockets at that ATM, I probably would have been mugged on the spot. Luckily, that didn't happen.
A few days later, I stopped by Fish's shop so he could make sure everything was still running smoothly – he insisted. While he was looking at the car, we talked about motorcycles, drag races and "spinning". The next time Fish goes to a race, he's taking me along. And he said I could take out one of the "scramblers" (dirt bike) anytime.
The Subaru is back in business, and without too much damage to my bank account. Gugu says, "There's no one cheaper than Fish," which I fully believe. I doubt there's anyone more decent either. Thanks, Fish.
Crazy story! Glad the Subaru is back in business. I love that his name is Fish.
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