Control is an Ilusion: Reflections from a Car Fire

Control is an illusion. 

We hear that phrase often, right? It’s whispering in the background of our every day, as we hustle and bustle about trying to create order in the chaos and produce an end result that is somehow “desirable” for our future. We know in this ethereal sense that we really don’t have control over the events of our lives and that anything could happen at any moment. But we order our lives completely opposite to this knowledge, as if we really do have control, and we start believing that we can manipulate our destiny to bring about reward for a well-planned, well-balanced life. The end result is that we are completely unprepared for when things do not go as planned. And let me assure you of this- the foundation upon which we stand is revealed when the unexpected things actually happen.

Things didn’t go as planned on our drive to Nairobi a week ago to fly out to our triennial company conference in Spain. We hired our usual taxi driver, we loaded up our luggage, we fastened carseats and seat belts, and we departed with listless anticipation of comfortable beds, hot showers, and loads of yummy food. About halfway through the drive, our driver pulled over to stop for about 15 minutes because the vehicle he was borrowing was getting “a little too hot”. Nothing major…we took a potty break, stretched our legs, nursed the baby, got back on the road. About 20 minutes outside of Nairobi, however, I glance back and notice billowing smoke pouring out the rear of our vehicle. I look at my husband, who has a concerned look on his face as he has just noticed smoke starting to fill the inside of the car through the floorboards and seatbelts. I look out the window and notice pedestrians waving their arms frantically, pointing to the underside of our car and shouting something I couldn’t make out. The whole scene, which unfolded in a matter of a few seconds, felt very much like I was watching frames on a movie reel. As we pulled over to the side of the highway, I heard people yelling, “Fire! Fire! The car is on fire!” as a crowd began to gather to witness the scene. I remember jumping barefoot out of the vehicle, with one intention before me: to get my children to safety. Carseats are fabulous inventions for the prevention of injury in accidents, but they really are quite the hindrance when your car is on fire and the children are locked in their chairs strapped to the back seats. Feeling like my body was stuck in mud, I fumbled and moved as quickly as I could to unbuckle them and hand them to someone-anyone- who could move them to safety. I remember finally being able to climb in the far backseat and somehow manage to pass the baby seat (with my baby still in it) over a bunch of luggage, out the back door, and into the arms of a stranger, who quickly whisked him out of my sight and into a growing crowd along the street.

I remember looking around and wondering where my husband had disappeared to and why he wasn’t helping me remove the children from the car. All the doors were flung open, my large rolling luggage, kids backpacks, diaper bag, and snack bag were now sprawled out along the highway and amongst the crowd. Men were frantically throwing buckets and bottles of water under the hood of the car, and finally it seemed the smoke had quit billowing, and now was just streak of steam amidst the sweat and body odor. I had joined my children on the sidelines and was numbly looking at the scene before me when I realized that I was barefoot and had left headphones I was listening to dangling out of my seat. Simultaneously, someone handed me my purse and I realized that my pink phone that had been attached to my headphones was nowhere to be seen amongst my floating sea of personal belongings. I didn’t have time to dwell on this fact though, as I also realized that my son (whom I had passed through the back of the car) was nowhere to be seen. As I frantically searched the crowd that had absorbed my two girls and I, one of the angel women who were holding our hands and guarding our belongings must have noticed my alarm, as she pointed across a nearby busy street, where her another woman held up the car seat, safely guarded under the overhang of her duka. I breathed a quick sigh of relief before the thought occurred that anyone could really run up and grab my baby and run off with him before I had time to dash through that crowd, cross the busy street, and get to that shop. It was a helpless feeling. Still searching for my husband’s face in the crowd, and now seeing him amidst the swarm of men huddled around the front hood, I looked down at my girls’ frightened faces, grabbed hold of their hands, walked away from our luggage, and started heading towards their brother. All I cared about at that moment was scooping my kids up in my arms, breathing in the scent of their little bodies, and reassuring them that everything was going to be okay.

At some point in time (I don’t remember when), I recall my husband beckoning us to the vehicle and telling us that we needed to get in- that people were stealing our belongings and we needed to stay together as a family in a secure place. By this time, the fire had been put out and we were waiting for another taxi to arrive. We got in the car, now a complete wreck from the chaos of pulling children and things out in a hurry, and he informed me that he had witnessed a man steal my phone when I jumped out of the car to help the kids. Apparently, he had run after the man, got into a verbal altercation with him, but had to give up the cause to help put the fire out and make sure we made it to safety. Now in the car, we were trying to roll up the windows so that we could actually hear each other’s voices, and to prevent any further theft, but unfortunately the electrical system in the car was no longer working, and so all we could do was sit in this capsule surrounded by a sea of faces and cacophony of Swahili voices. The police were present by this point- they were asking about where the vehicle’s fire extinguisher was located (which seemed a mute cause as the fire was already put out by this point). As we were talking with police and explaining to them that the more pressing situation was now people looting from us, a number of men began yelling that they smelled petrol and that we needed to get out of the car again in case the fire was not actually extinguished. Out of fear that something else could go wrong while in the vehicle, we again evacuated, me returning with the children to the opposite side of the street, and Derek going to inform the police that they would be of more assistance by keeping back the crowd and attempting to locate the thief who took my phone. All I remember is wading through the crowd a second time, sitting under the shelter of the duka, not frantic or anxious, but just numb. With eyes open, we began to pray…

Another taxi showed up after 15-20 minutes, and I have no idea how we fit all of our belongings and us in this small hatchback sedan (the van we had previously been riding in had been pretty packed full itself). Derek climbed in the front seat, one child was in a car seat behind him, with another child sandwiched in the middle and me squished on the side (now holding the baby in my lap at this point). There was no seeing anything out the back as it was stacked to the brim with luggage and the  other two car seats.

Thankfully, we were not far from the guesthouse we intended to stay at for the night. Another 45 minutes and we had reached the primary landmark that was to end our tumultuous journey. This was a good thing because our 3 yr old was squirming in the back seat, saying she had to go to the bathroom and couldn’t hold it any longer. Unfortunately, after driving all around said landmark for 15 min, asking directions every few turns, we came to the conclusion that there had been a miscommunication and the guesthouse was actually on the complete opposite side of town, and one that was going to require another 1-1.5hrs to reach with rush hour traffic. This was devastating, as we were so ready to unload our stuff, assess what else was missing, regroup as a family, and come up with a plan. After helping the 3 yr old go potty on the side of the busy Nairobi street, we piled back in the car and headed off. As we were driving off, the new taxi driver informed my husband that it was going to cost more to drive the extra distance. Well, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. His price seemed much higher than what our usual taxi driver (his friend) normally charges us, and Derek…well, let’s just say “lost it”. Poor taxi man, who bore the weight of the steaming kettle whose whistle just started to blow. Needless to say, it was a low point in the day for us. They finally negotiated on a price, and then it was silence for the rest of the journey. Ugh, awkward misery. Derek was busy trying to get online to change passwords on my phone, trying to turn on the remote location device (which didn’t work because, per his suggestion, I had turned the phone on “Airplane Mode” 20 minutes before the fire in order to save battery life), and just generally trying to recollect himself. By the time we arrived at the actual location of the guesthouse, he felt bad for losing his temper with the new driver, apologized to him, and actually ended up paying him nearly the full amount for going out of his way to come rescue us, and then driving us across town and getting yelled at.

There is one detail I left out that I remember from the event. When we were sitting in the car, waiting for the other taxi to arrive, and before evacuating a second time due to the petrol smell, the “angel woman” who had held my children’s hands and ushered them to safety suddenly appeared out of the crowd of many faces huddled around my open window. She said, “You are going to be okay. God is with you. He is protecting you.” I can’t believe how selfish my reply was. I said, “Yes, but people are stealing our things! They have taken my phone, and who knows what else…” She looked back at me and said, “It is okay. Your children are safe, and that is all that matters. Everything else can be replaced.” And she was right. We were safe. God had protected us. He was hemming us in, writing every detail of the ordeal with the pen of His sovereign hand.

Later that evening, as we were putting the children to bed, we debriefed with them what had happened. By that point in time, I was pretty certain that there was no hope of getting my phone back. So, when Lucy prayed for its safe return, we used it as an opportunity to teach the children how to pray for people who act unjustly. Our children are definitely at the age where there are two categories of people: “Good People” and “Bad People”, and somehow we are always in the “Good People” camp, lol. Truth be told, every single person on this earth would put themself in the “Good People” camp, though, right? Even the worst terrorist somehow justifies his evils actions, and acts in part on what they believe is “the greater good”. And everyone “else” who does ill will toward "us" are the “Bad People”. I am working right now to dispel that myth in their little mind, and in my own. Because, when it comes down to it, there is really only one category that everyone on this earth fits into: we are all PEOPLE.  When our car caught fire, there were people helping throw water on the car, people helping to get my children to safety, people stealing or attempting to steal our belongings, people standing around doing nothing but observing the scene. It’s unfair to base someone’s entire character on their actions during an isolated event. And truth be told, we all at some point or another, have been every one of those different people- the Helper, the Shepherd, the Observer, the Thief. And when God looks at us, He doesn’t see what we have done, but He sees who we are: image-bearers of Him, His beloved creation, and vessels waiting to have His life breathed into our lungs. He sees us to our core, and He loves us through and through, in spite of ourselves.

It is my prayer that God would help me to relinquish the façade of control that I wrongly believe I have over my life. When I inwardly surrender every breath of this life to Him, my posture becomes one of welcoming whatever events He may have planned, which more than likely are different than the ones I come up with on my own. In embracing the reality of a "zero-control" life, I am free to lift my eyes from my self, my own circumstances, and the events that I have set into motion, and can welcome with open arms the people that Jesus places before me, whether it be the Saint or the Thief.