The previous blog is at: Journey to South Africa - Part 4 – Conversations in Swartruggens

Stuck in Gaborone: The Mechanic’s Verdict and the Taxi Wars

We found ourselves in Gaborone, Botswana, not as tourists, but as reluctant guests of misfortune. Our car, which had carried us through deserts and mountains, was finally crying uncle. We were at a motor clinic, and the mood was heavy. We needed answers, and we needed to decide whether to patch the car up for a risky run home or strip it down completely.

Here is the conversation that determined our fate, followed by a crash course in Gaborone’s transport politics.

The Mechanic’s Diagnosis: A "Sick" Engine

The mechanic called us over to the bench. In his hand was the cylinder head component, and he didn't look optimistic.

"The side of the cylinder head is here," he started, pointing to a sensor. "Once an engine overheats, this switch, which is fitted with a thermal element, effectively melts or fails. It won't work. When that happens, the system floods."

He explained that the previous mechanic had likely disconnected the sensor to stop the warning lights. "The computer realizes immediately, 'Uh-oh, my temperature switch is dead.' So, it turns the fan on constantly to compensate. We have to change these because two of them are shorted internally."

Then came the bigger issue: the smoking.

"You guys are in a difficult position," he said. "Look, if I have to fix the seals properly, I have to take the head off again. On these engines, the valves are internal, not like a Mercedes where you can do it from the outside."

He laid out our options with brutal honesty.

Option A: The "Band-Aid" Fix "You could drive it," he said. "But you cannot fill the oil to the maximum. If you do, it sucks up the oil, and that’s why it smokes so much. You must keep the oil at about three-quarters. Every 100 or 200 kilometers, you stop, check the level, and top up what you lost. Once you are cruising at a constant speed, the suction stops, and it won't smoke. But as soon as you hit a town or accelerate, you’re going to smoke."

Option B: The Surgery "The other option is to take the head off. But there is a risk. The head was removed before. If I take it out and we find more damage, we’re in trouble. This is an aluminum engine, not cast iron. If it’s warped, it’s finished."

We looked at the spark plugs he had just pulled out. He held up a new, dry plug next to our old, black, oily one. "See the difference? The dry one is healthy. This one? This is a sick engine."

The room went silent. We looked at the calendar. "Today is Wednesday," we said.

"If we take the head off, we have to wait for the engine to be stone cold, otherwise, the head will warp," the mechanic explained. "I can't open it now. We have to start first thing Thursday morning. Best case scenario, you get the car back Friday afternoon or Saturday."

We looked at the smoking car, then at each other. We couldn't risk a breakdown in the middle of the bush with a "sick" engine.

"Let's do it," we said. "Let's take the head off."

"Alright," the mechanic nodded. "Cancel the plans for leaving. We open it up tomorrow morning at 10. Let's see what reality looks like."

The Taxi Ride: Navigating Gaborone

Leaving the workshop, the weight of the decision settled in. We were stuck until at least Friday. We needed to get back to the hotel to regroup. We flagged down a taxi.

The driver pulled up. He looked at the three of us, grown men, and hesitated. "I usually don't carry three men," he said, eyeing us. "It's my first time doing this. There are thieves here. They attack like that."

We laughed, reassuring him we were just tourists. He relaxed and introduced himself. "I'm David."

"I'm also called David," I replied. Instant bond.

As we drove, the conversation turned to the streets. Traffic was chaotic near the city center.

"What is happening there?" we asked.

"Taxi guys," David explained. "They are fighting."

"Yango and In-drive," he continued, using the local names for ride-hailing apps. "The taxi drivers don't want Yango inside the rank. They say Yango and In-drive are taking their jobs. If a car with Yango stickers tries to enter, a fight can break out. They block the road."

He gave us a tip as we neared our stop: "If anyone asks, tell them we are friends. Don't say it's a taxi. Tell them you are just foreign guys with a local friend."

We asked him what there was to do in Gaborone while we waited for our car. David laughed. "Gaborone doesn't have much. Usually, tourists go to Kasane. That is where the action is. Here? There are a few clubs in the CBD, like 'Hype' or 'Yarona.' But for me, I'm not a club person. I just drop people there."

As we approached the hotel, the blockade was visible. Taxis were parked bumper to bumper, horns blaring.

"I can't take you all the way to the door," David said, pulling over. "They will see three men getting out and think it's a Yango. I have to drop you behind so you can cross."

We thanked him, paid the fare (mentioning "shillings" seemed to amuse him), and got out.

The Reality Check

So, here we are. It’s Wednesday night in Gaborone. Our car is being stripped down tomorrow morning. We are trading our travel timeline for mechanical certainty.

The mechanic was right, it is a "sick" engine. But hopefully, by Friday, we’ll have the cure. Until then, we are exploring the malls and avoiding taxi riots. Stay tuned for the update on the surgery.