Saturdays have a way of lingering for hours. The heat is so great till it plays tricks with the eyes. Huge grey clouds curdle on the horizon turning the sky into God’s coffee cup. There’s a child’s birthday party next door. West African pop music cackles through worn out speakers and children bob their heads to the rhythm. I sit in my sling chair on the front porch and fan the mosquitoes buzzing around my ear. My soft drink is miserably warm and I wait for the generator to kick on. The air conditioning comes on first with a long beep, then the refrigerator rumbles alive, to signal the electric night. We are about three hours from the electric evening, so I’m waiting outside hoping to catch a breeze. Then it happens. With a dull thud a young woman drives off the road into a ditch. I giggle to myself and relish the chance to break the monotony of the blazing afternoon. Most of the road has washed away from the heavy rain, but a small sliver of navigable terrain remains. It’s hilly and rocks shift from side to side, but most people seem to not get stuck. Most people until this Saturday afternoon.
Our eyes meet and her helplessly frantic stare erases my childish smirk. I call my roommate outside to help. I think immediately of wooden planks, but that isn’t around. He quickly assesses the situation and calls to the gathering group of children. Party- goers who danced to afro-pop only five minutes ago were now circling the marooned car. “Go find plenty rocks-o! Plenty. Plenty rocks!” He bellows in his most affable demeanor and all the children scatter searching for large rocks. Nearly fifteen children find rocks, some larger than their heads, to fill in the ditch. When the ditch is full of rocks, we all try to push the car a little. A young girl, no older than eight, decked out in her best party regalia, eagerly pushes the bumper of the car. The car doesn’t budge. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to drive the car out of the ditch yourself.” I tell the woman driver, but she hesitates. “I don’t know if I can.” She is clearly afraid. My father taught me a long time ago about the danger of fear. “Just put the car in first gear and turn your wheel all the way to the left. Slowly ease out into the road. Slowly.” I calmly reassure her, but she tries to hand me the keys. “Go on now. Just go slow” and I open the door for her. She makes one last glance at me and I nod my head back. She steps inside and I give her a thumbs- up. “Back up! Everybody back up! Move from here.” I yell to the kids still hanging around the car. She gingerly eases forward and drives back onto the road. She waves and I applaud to the children’s efforts. They all run back for the party. It’s time to cut the cake.