The signs of a bad day started off that Friday morning, with me hitting the gate as I drove out of my homestead to go for prayers, after which I had planned to run a couple of errands. On assessment, it was evident that the pillar of the gate had taken more of the impact than the car, but it needed some repair and repainting around the left head lamp and indicator nonetheless.
Since I had planned to pray in Nyamirambo, I told myself that I should as well ‘kill two birds with one stone’ and take the car to one of the many garages in Biryogo’s Tarinyota for a quick repair. Before heading for prayers, I drove to the cluster of garages in Biryogo area of Nyamirambo, where I was received by a horde of young men who seemed enthusiastic to ‘help’, or so I thought, as they swarmed around the car, trying to outdo each other in convincing me they would do a good job.
I ignored most of them and zeroed in on one particular young guy who was wearing a clean coat with ‘IPRC Kicukiro’ inscribed on the back. In my innocent reasoning, I told myself that this particular young man had trained at the famous vocational college and therefore he was a professional. He took me to a nearby garage and showed me an empty space to park. After telling him what I wanted done on the car, I told him I would be back to pick it after prayers, in two hours’ time. He assured me that the car would be ready in 30 minutes. I left on that note, without any kind of concern.
I came back after two and a half hours with a relative, with whom we were supposed to go to burial of a friend, and we intended to take the car. But lo! And behold! The sight of my car almost made me collapse. It took me a couple of minutes to regain my composure and absorb the shock of the state of my car. I was not sure what to say to the ‘mechanic’ because this was overwhelming.
The car was surrounded by a dozen rogue mechanics, each one pretending to be doing something, like they were acting for the camera. The worst thing is that the car was no longer standing on its four tyres because they had been taken off and it was suspended on stones and a jerk. When I had overcome my shock, I asked Mr. IPRC what was going on. Why had he removed the tyres when my clear instructions for him paint and straightening the damaged part near the left head lamp? He said he wanted to check on the brakes which they thought needed replacement! I told him I did not need the brakes fixed so they should put the tyres back.
In the meantime, there was another guy under the car, and I asked what he was doing under there yet they should be working on the damaged part upfront, which apparently, they had not even touched! It was during this engagement that I noticed that everyone around me was drunk, and Mr. IPRC actually reeked of alcohol! I panicked. As I was still contemplating how to handle the situation, the guy who was under the car came out and showed me two round tattered pieces that looked like ball joints, which he said needed replacement. It is then that I asked him what they had to do with the damaged area that I had come to have repaired. I told them to put them back immediately and concentrate on the damaged area. I was alarmed and alert now.
Out of nowhere, two guys started to quarrel with Mr. IPRC, about something I could not comprehend. Then one of them said he would spill the beans, as I strained my ears to try and know what secret he was trying to blackmail him with, the guy let it out. He said the two pieces I was shown from under the car were fake and were not even part of my car in the first place, it dawned on me that these rogue mechanics in Tarinyota use these tricks commonly in order to extort their unsuspecting victims.
Mr. IPRC suddenly became agitated and loud, chasing the guys who had spilled the beans out of the garage and telling me not to believe them. Meanwhile, all the work had stalled. All the mechanics in the garage had turned their attention to the drama now. What is sad, however is that not even the owners of the garage or the supervisor sought to intervene and call the situation to order. They all looked on from the raised bonnets of the cars they were working on. It gave the impression of a chaotically lawless environment, and it was apparent I was not the first victim.
At this juncture, my instincts told me that the situation would get worse if I did not take control myself. I took Mr. IPRC on the side and tried to reason with him to calm down and continue with the work at hand because it was getting late, reminding him that he had promised to finish the work in 30 minutes. The embarrassment about his malevolence had turned into anger, and he couldn’t calm down. He made circles around the car instead, even blaming me for believing the other guys. I tried to calm him down by telling him that what mattered was for me to have my car repaired and pay him for his work and we part ways.
Dusk was setting in, yet nothing substantial had been accomplished on the car. I was getting desperate. But as time passed, Mr. IPRC and his goons were getting more and more chaotic, they were running around, apparently the drink was weighing heavy on them. They would disappear and reappear, looking unruly. They started fighting amongst themselves, as command had disintegrated with every drop of drink they consumed. Then they disappeared into the dark once again.
At this juncture I was so overwhelmed I could hardly talk. Mr. IPRC then appeared staggering, with a painting gun in hand and instructed one his goons who had earlier on taken 2000 from my cousin and disappeared, to start painting the broken part which they had fortunately straightened earlier on before they went to the bar. The guy painted the place under the light of my phone. But just as he was finishing the last bit, the owner of the painting gun came to claim it. He wanted to go home and could not let them keep it for the night. He took possession. I could not protest because Mr. IPRC was nowhere to be seen.
When he appeared, staggering through the garage gate, he asked whether the painter had finished, upon which he was told he hadn’t, because the owner of the machine had reposessed it. Mr. IPRC got mad. He blamed the painter for letting the owner take it, yet they had an agreement. The painter reminded him that he should have stuck around to negotiate his business to the end himself. Then Mr. IPRC asked me to drive the car out of the garage so that he could get another painting machine and finish the job. The garage’s security guard would not have it. The garage dues had to be paid before the car exited, as per procedure. Mr. IPRC, in his drunken stupor, tried to push the security guard, and a violent scuffle ensued.
Amidst the struggling, pushing and shoving, the duo fell on the very place that had been fixed and newly painted, almost denting other parts of the car, I decided that this was it. Mr. IPRC was now raging mad, spoiling for a fight with everyone in sight, including me, accusing me of being full of myself without mentioning what wrong I had done except entrusting him with repairing my car. I politely told him to clear with the garage so that I could drive away peacefully. He said I must pay the full amount that we had agreed upon (even though he had not finished the job). I did not want to argue, so I asked him for his phone number so that I could transfer the money by MoMo. In his unwarranted anger directed towards me, he said he did not own a phone, and plainly told me that I should figure out how to pay him, If I wanted to get my car out, and he out rightly informed me he had the power to detain my car in the garage for as long as he wanted. Involving the Police was out of question, as this would now involve more tussle with Mr. IPRC and company, which would probably drag on for the entire night, and probably days.
From nowhere, a grown up man volunteered to facilitate the transaction so that the standoff and chaos would end. I paid and the transaction was confirmed. Mr. IPRC grudgingly paid the garage dues and the gate was opened. We drove out, followed by barrage of insults from Mr. IPRC, who was basking in his little victory, having reaped where he did not sow. It was almost midnight when I left Nyamirambo in the background, carrying with me a bitter and scary experience. But it would have gotten worse.
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