Driving across Africa calls for more than just a do-it-yourself repair manual . . . . Having someone watch out for lions can be a help, too

``You do know how to repair cars, don't you?'' the expatriate Australian painter asked, wiping his hands with an oil-smudged rag. A weathered Land-Rover, scratched, battered, and with a roomy canvas tent affixed to one side stood parked beneath the baobab trees overlooking the Indian Ocean.

``I mean, you wouldn't go knocking around Africa without knowing some of the basics, would you?''

I wasn't going to tell him that I barely knew where the fuel pump was located or that my sole source of mechanical know-how was a do-it-yourself manual. The fact was, my vehicle had mysteriously conked out and there was apparently no way I could start it up again. For one embarked on a ``trek'' across Africa, the situation was more than a little disconcerting.

The Australian, who lived, traveled, and painted out of his vehicle, gave my Land-Rover a quick once-over. The problem was simple enough, he concluded. No gas. I had accidentally switched from the main fuel tank to a reserve tank -- and it was empty.

Embarrassing as it was, the incident did bring home the urgent need for boning up on repair methods, particularly for someone used to the convenience of airplanes, rental cars, horse caravans, or one's own legs when reporting in the third world. Mechanics are few and far between in the middle of the Somali outback or the Kalahari desert.

As it happened, less than a week later, my Land-Rover did break down in the wilds of Tsavo National Park about 100 miles southeast of Nairobi. I recalled the accounts of Col. J. H. Patterson, in his book ``The Man-Eaters of Tsavo,'' of lions plauging construction of the Mombasa-Uganda railway at the turn of the century. Prompted by those recollections I struggled to fix a faulty fuel line while my companion scanned the surrounding savannah for predators -- lions or otherwise. It was with no uncertain re lief that I saw a group of park maintenance men, casually clinging to the back of a tractor, rolling up to help me.

Traveling in one's own vehicle is undoubtedly one of the most exciting ways of roaming the African continent. Apart from the personal freedom of movement, one can penetrate areas otherwise inaccessible and meet people more easily. Recently, driving along the coast road south of Mombasa, I picked up a hitchhiker.

He took a few moments to make himself comfortable and then turned to me and asked, ``What tribe are you from?''

Somewhat taken aback, I said, ``American.''

He nodded thoughtfully. ``That's a very big tribe, isn't it?''

A breakdown, however, is but one happenstance of many that can make overland expeditions in Africa a hazardous or at best a thoroughly complicated venture. With so many facilities taken for granted in the United States or Europe, one can hardly imagine some of the drawbacks that seem specifically designed to frustrate even the most patient and determined traveler in Africa.

This network of obstacles is illustrative, perhaps, of the lack of unity or economic cooperation throughout much of the continent. For example, it is virtually impossible to obtain a single automobile insurance policy that gives coverage everywhere, from Angola to Zimbabwe. The only option is to purchase new coverage at each border post and hope for the best.

``Apart from Kenya and a few other countries, you'll find the insurance pretty useless,'' said Benny Jorgensen, manager of a Danish company operating in Uganda. ``Should anything happen, you'll be lucky if they reimburse you. And even if they do, it is usually in a worthless, inconvertible currency.''

The romantic notion of driving from Africa's north to its south is further tarnished by raw political realities: civil wars, bandits, spy paranoia, road permits, border controls, corruption. A surprising number of countries require special travel documents for certain ``security'' areas, or forbid visitors outright. Even the most innocuous of activities -- photographing the legislative buildings in downtown Nairobi -- can suddenly seem dangerous when security men appear and grab your camera.

As a traveler in Kenya will quickly discover, personal security and protection against theft are overriding concerns, if not obsessions, among many residents. Not only in Nairobi, but in the countryside, too. The daily newspapers are peppered with stories of murders, muggings by machete gangs, and burglaries. Just how tense feelings are is suggested by the extremely violent, impromptu form of mob justice meted out to those who are caught.

Over the past few years, the Kenya government has been trying to crack down on urban violence, a difficult task considering the high rate of unemployment, particularly among the young who have left school. It seems to take an event like the arrival in July of 15,000 women in Nairobi for the world conference on the UN Decade for Women -- and the consequent potential for bad international publicity -- to get authorities to dragnet streets and suburbs in an attempt to keep the city safe for at least the du ration of the gathering.

While some observers insist that crime is not as bad as is often made out, others maintain that it is getting steadily worse.

``I can guarantee that you will be robbed at least once before you leave Kenya,'' blithely remarked the English shipping director whose company was handling my vehicle. ``In fact, there is a pretty good chance that your vehicle will have been plundered before you even receive it.''

Sure enough, despite padlocked trunks, various pieces of equipment -- a shortwave radio, jerry cans, clothes, and rock tapes -- had already been removed from the vehicle by the time it had passed through customs. The thieves proved to be quite discriminating. Camping gear, boots, and classical music tapes did not interest them.

What can be done to minimize the risks?

``Well, you see, I have a distinct advantage over you. I'm fat,'' continued the enormous Englishman. ``Africans respect big people. It's a sign of power. They'll think twice about tackling you. All I can say is assume that everything you've got in your vehicle is up for grabs and take whatever precautions you can. Car break-ins are a fact of life in this country.''

Once back in Nairobi, I had firm wire mesh fitted over the rear windows, strongboxes bolted into the back, and extra locks attached to anything that moved. But I resigned myself to fate when my mechanic glanced doubtfully at these new improvements.

``Well, that'll hold them off a bit, but unless you want to just give things away, I'd take off the spare wheels, the spotlight, and the jerry cans, too.''

Following crime, one of the most nerve-wracking gauntlets facing overland travelers are Kenya's lethal driving habits -- far worse than what I have seen in Pakistan or India. One Kenya guidebook recommends ``evasive'' rather than ``defensive'' driving as a way to survive the country's roads.

Drunk driving is an acute problem, but so are the favorite pastimes of overtaking on blind curves, dangerously overloading trucks, hogging the center of the road, and keeping headlights switched off to save on bulbs until the sheer darkness mandates their use.

The worst offenders, however, are the matatus, jampacked minibuses whose name can be loosely translated as ``always room for three more.'' Hurtling down the highways, their main ambition seems to be to take on as many passengers as possible while reaching a destination in the shortest time possible. On several occasions I have watched foreigners intent on savoring some local color, climb out of matatus with blanched, ``never again'' expressions on their f aces.

Recently, Kenyan President Daniel arap Moi announced his intention to ``declare war'' on speeding matatus. But one wonders what can really be done about their drivers who pilot the vehicles with an abandon suggesting immunity to the normal considerations of personal safety.

According to an article headlined ``Carnage on the roads'' in the Nation, the country's largest English circulation paper, one traffic maniac maintained that ``one cannot avoid an accident pre-ordained by God.'' No person, he said, who has been called by God, can avoid dying. Comparing the ``season for accidents'' to the ``season of harvests,'' the man suggested that when souls are ripe, accidents are unleashed on the roads.

Happily, the government does not subscribe to such attitudes. Police have been ordered to haul in offenders and there are plans to introduce stricter driving regulations. And in an effort to educate the young, authorities recently opened a youth traffic center in Nairobi where school children can ride around on bikes and learn the highway code under simulated road conditions.

In the meantime I ponder the relative security of my Land-Rover beset as it is by an internal propensity to break down at awkward moments and an external vulnerability to the reckless driver or the acquisitive thief.

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