WE have just returned from a task that all families dread: that of packing up the life-time home of elderly, infirm parents. In our case, it was the home of my father-in-law. Along with all the sorting and clearing, we also had to decide what to do with his two vehicles: a 25-year-old Range Rover and a 15 year old Peugeot 405 saloon car. A family decision was finally made to sell them. While my sister-in-law and I worked in the living room, sorting through my father-in-law's possessions with his Kikuyu housemaid of twenty years, my husband drove off down the driveway in the Peugeot to the nearest town to sell it. This was Thika, a small, dusty, industrial town about 30 miles north of Nairobi, the capital of Kenya. As the car went down the drive, we heard a loud “BOOM”. My sister-n-law and I looked at each other: “What was that? It sounded like a bomb!” “Hapana fakiri, (don't worry),” said Njeri, the housemaid, “it was just the car door slamming.” We continued with our sorting. A few minutes later, my husband came bursting into the sitting room, sweating, agitated and in a frenzy. “The car is on fire!” he exclaimed. Now, we have had fires in previous cars, and I have seen other vehicles on motorways in the UK with people standing outside them while smoke belched out of the engines, so I wasn't unduly worried. “Have you got a fire extinguisher?” I asked calmly. “Yes, but I couldn't open the bonnet. It was too hot, and the plastic release thing under the bonnet was beginning to melt. There are flames coming out of the engine.” “How much fuel is in the car?” asked my sister-in-law, Val. “It's full,” was the reply. “Well, don't go anywhere near it because it might explode,” said Val. “I have seen it happen before and glass and metal go flying everywhere.” “Quick, where's my camera!” Being a photographer and journalist, I wasn't going to miss this one. Meanwhile, we pressed the security alarm button to call G4 assistance – many Western and middle-class African homes in Kenya subscribe to security companies because of the high level of armed robbery in Kenya. Also, we had no idea whether or not Thika had a Fire Service and hopefully G4 would know what to do. By the time I got to where I could see the car, a thick cloud of smoke was pouring from the engine, and I could see bursts of flames coming from under the bonnet and on the ground underneath. After taking a few photos, I made my way back to the house – I didn't want to put myself in danger, especially as I can only hobble along slowly with a walking stick and running is out of the question. G4 Security soon arrived, along with a steady stream of on-lookers – including about 15 children from the next door school. We all went out to join them, and by now the car was burning well. Someone in the crowd suggested we call the Fire Brigade, and then did so, using his mobile phone. With the flames rising, we advised everyone to keep well away. We waited expectantly for a massive explosion, but still it didn't happen. The flames spread and rose, completely engulfing the car, roaring 15 feet into the air. (At this point my husband, who could run if necessary, took over the camera to get a better view.) The red engine of the Thika Fire Service then arrived and, like everywhere else in the world, the firemen made heroic figures as they set about their task. In minutes, they had unraveled the long tubes of fire hose and ran towards the burning car, dragging the hose behind them. As the water gushed through the flat hose, it thrashed into life like a huge, angry snake. Its violent wriggling took the strength of two firemen to control it. Never in my life had I expected to see a little fire under the bonnet of a car engine turn into a massive inferno like that. It took the firemen a good ten minutes of continuous hosing to get it under control. Every now and then, when they thought it had stopped, pockets of flame burst into life again. Finally, after the clouds of smoke had blown away and the firemen had cooled down the sizzling metal, we could all approach and examine the burnt out shell that had been my father-in-law's car. Only half an hour ago, my husband was driving something of value into town to be sold; now we would probably have to pay someone to take the charred remains away. After taking down a written report, the Firemen left; they sent the Police over to prepare an “Abstract Form” for the insurance. In Kenya, you can either pay for Fully Comprehensive Insurance, or Third Party insurance only. The old days of “Third Party, Fire and Theft” insurance were over. We discovered that the car was only insured for “Third Party” so, as no claim would be made, only a brief police report was required. The following morning, a scrap metal merchant came to inspect it. “This is the work of the devil,” he declared. “In all my years of retrieving burnt out cars, I have NEVER seen one as bad as this!” He sent his men over to chop the car into pieces, using axes and hammers. It finally weighed in as 900 kgs of scrap metal which they took away, free of charge. __
