The Washing Machine

Three months ago, our washing machine broke. As you can imagine, a washing machine around our house sees a lot of action. And it was a workhorse. I was so happy with its performance. Its demise, sadly, was not its own doing. That fateful Sunday, Pemba experienced a severe power surge. Although we were using surge protectors, we lost our microwave, wireless router, one laptop, one laptop power cord, various lightbulbs, and our devoted washing machine.

R.I.P., Defy top-loader

Before I explain the stress and irritation that this event has brought to our lives, I must say that I am grateful that we are even able to have a washing machine, microwave, etc., in the first place. I'm grateful to have electricity at all. And I'm grateful for Rita, our house worker, who tirelessly washes our family's dirty laundry by hand (so I don't have to!) when the machine is not available. For these things we are truly blessed.

But ... repairing or replacing a washing machine is not as simple or easy here as it is in the U.S. There, if a major appliance breaks, you call a handy person—or the store where you bought it—and normally there is someone who has the expertise—and the parts and tools—to fix it. And if they can't fix it, they tell you so, and you go out and search through the hundreds of new models that are available, and you shell out the cash and replace it. But here in northern Mozambique, it's a little more complicated.

Our first thought was that we would try to have it repaired. The problem is that it was manufactured in South Africa. There are no "authorized dealers" and no official repair persons or parts stores anywhere near us. But maybe, we thought, there's a chance someone can fix it, which would save us a lot of money. It wouldn't hurt to try, right?

So we called the electrician who had done work on our house before. He said he would try to fix it. Ten visits later (more or less), still no working machine. Next we called a guy who we heard did repairs on appliances from the local furniture store. Sounded promising! When he finally showed up (days later), he opened the machine and discovered that the motherboard was missing—the last guy had taken it and not returned it. So we had to go find that piece and get it back, then ask the second electrician to come back, only to find out that he was also unsuccessful at his attempts to repair. This whole process took place over the course of about six weeks.

Meanwhile, Rita was washing all our laundry by hand and complaining that her hands were getting sore and the detergent was irritating her skin. Not in a disgruntled or angry way, just matter-of-factly. So we began to search for a comparable machine to replace the broken one. (Thankfully we had received insurance money in the amount of the original cost of the broken machine.) But at this point, the only comparable machines that we could find were twice the cost of what we had paid for the first one, and only smaller ones had a comparable price. We were heading to South Africa soon, so we told Rita that we would look for a machine on the way home in a larger city a few hours southwest of Pemba. We knew we could find one there. 

We didn't.

Two weeks ago, we decided to give repair another shot—try another electrician. We asked around for recommendations. Then Harvey saw a sign along the road for an electrician, so he gave him a call. The guy was polite on the phone and showed up in his truck the next day to look at the machine. To us, it was a good sign that he had a truck—he must be doing ok for himself, a successful repairman! He said he needed to take the motherboard to work on it in his shop. So he took it. And that was the last we saw of it.

Harvey has tried calling the guy, but he won't answer his phone. When Harvey tried from another phone, he answered but then quickly acted as if he couldn't hear and hung up. We've had our workers call, and he answers the first time but not after that. Harvey has gone to look for him, but we can't find him.

As we were talking to some friends about it, they suggested that there's a cultural stigma to admitting that you can't do something—or telling someone no. And we have observed this in other situations as well. People would rather lie and tell you what you want to hear—or avoid you altogether—than face the shame, embarrassment, or consequences of saying no or failing. So a guy will say, "Yes, I can fix it," and then he will come back ten times not really knowing what he's doing but trying and trying (or pretending to try) but never getting anywhere (or even making it worse). Or he will just disappear, rather than admitting he has no clue how to do it.

And where does this leave us? With no washing machine, an exhausted house worker, and a volunteer team of five arriving in a week who will need laundry done! So it leaves us resigning ourselves to the fact that we will have to buy a smaller-capacity washing machine for the same price we paid for the larger one a year ago. Which means more loads of laundry—but it will still be much better than the situation we're in now.

What is the moral of this story? I don't know. But I share it to give you a glimpse of how life here (and many places in the developing world) works, or sometimes doesn't, and how culture and worldview affect it. Even when things appear to be developing and modernizing (we have a Shoprite and 4G!), there are still many challenges in daily living. Power surges. Power outages. Internet outages. Water shortages. Flooding. It seems it's always something. Is it worth it to "suffer" these inconveniences to be where God wants us, doing the work He called us to do? Yes, it is. (And of course, we're not truly suffering in any of those circumstances.) 

But let's go find that new washing machine and make the most of it—until the next power surge, at least.

(News Flash: Soon after the writing of this post, the new (smaller) washing machine was purchased!)

The new machine, ready to be unboxed

Back in business!