Trigger Events

It’s funny how a smell, a conversation or an event can bring back strong, random memories from the past.

I had that happen this weekend. We were back in town after a marathon weekend in East Texas (literally a marathon that The Boy ran).

The Boy, marathon-worn and all, headed off to teach the youth at our church and I stayed home to catch up on things. Those things mostly consisted of petting one furbaby after another. It was important stuff. Just ask them.

We live very close to our church, so we rarely drive. Sunday was no exception. That’s not a problem unless the skies open up for a long-overdue rainstorm. And it’s really a problem when that rainstorm is a gully washer.

That’s how I found myself in my pajamas, driving three blocks to pick up The Boy in a torrential rain.

As I was slowly driving through our flooded alley and onto the even more flooded street, I remembered being in a similar situation 14 years ago in Tanzania.

A group of friends was driving back to Kenya after climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. We were just entering the rainy season and the rains had made portions of the drive slightly treacherous. At one point, we stopped behind a small line of cars on the highway.

Everyone was out of the vehicles, examining a fast-moving mini-river crossing the highway – brought on by the heavy rains. There was much debate on the safety of driving through the river. How deep was it? How fast was the current? Would you stall? Could the car be pushed? Should you ride inside or hang on to the outside while one person drove?

Our driver was my friend, B, a native of New Mexico and a long-time resident of East Africa. Our mountain guide and friend, D, urged her to ford the river.

Her response? I’m from New Mexico! I’ve never seen this much water.

We took a vote. I voted to wait it out, along with B, who offered a caveat that she’d vote to ford if someone else drove.

The vote was in favor of fording, so I dutifully took off my shoes and found my passport. My friend, R, asked what I was doing.

My response? If the car floats away, I’m climbing out the window and walking back to Kenya.

They just laughed at me. I was serious, though. In the end, under D’s steady driving hand, we crossed the river, floating just a bit, and eventually found our way home.

And last Sunday night, when our car floated just a bit in the alley behind our house, I wondered if I should take off my shoes and grab my driver’s license.