Abstract:
Sputtering and struggling up the last mountain climb, the ageing mini-bus finally coughed to a halt.Wonderful! I thought, getting ready to pile out and wait interminably for a replacement bus. But no, the driver, a solid man in his fifties, simply opened the engine cover and dived in. For fifteen minutes all we saw was his bum stuck in the air as he worked away at the engine – except for one moment when he emerged, hands black with oil, to ask if anyone had a sewing needle. The woman behind me dug in her bag and proffered one, which he took with much gratitude. Meanwhile no one muttered, complained, abused the driver or stormed off the bus. When he had finished, he tested the engine briefly, returned to his seat, fired up the cantankerous motor and we were off.
Details / PDF:
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