Malawi sits close to the equator which makes the days and seasons pretty different from those I was used to growing up in Maine. For one thing, the sun sets around 6:30 PM year-round, and when it drops below the horizon it gets dark fast. For another, instead of four distinct seasons there’s really two dry spells split by a big rainy season in February and March, and occasionally a mini rainy season towards the end of June.

I arrived in early June, 2007, at the end of the dry season. On my first drive down from the capital, Lilongwe, the sky was hazy: a mixture of dust and smoke from small brush fires that people set to clear fields and hunt for small animals. The last leg of the drive took 1 1/2 hours to climb up the 55-kilometer dirt road leading from the tarmac to Neno, my home for the next three years. I’d scanned grainy photos on Google maps before arriving and knew that the area was very remote, but it was certainly driven home that day.

However, Neno turned out to be a fairly bustling town given its location. There was a large elementary school across the street from the guest house I was staying in, and we were just down the road from the market. Although I arrived after dark, the road was still full of people walking home after spending a day in town, talking and singing amongst themselves. I was happy to see how lively it all was and felt at home there very quickly.

The drives in and out were still arduous though, and my next trip happened to occur just as the mini rainy season kicked in. I and a few colleagues were heading down to Mwanza, a larger town on the main road. To get there we had to drive another 45-kilometer leg on the dirt road, and then 20 more on the tarmac. As the clouds broke and the first rains started to fall, we hopped into our white Toyota Land Cruiser (the standard issue NGO vehicle) and started driving south. After 15 uneventful minutes we rounded a corner, hit a slippery patch of clay, and slid straight into the ditch. The driver spun the wheels for a few seconds but it was clear: we were stuck.

I figured our day was over and started to think about the soggy, muddy walk we’d have back into town. There were no houses or people in view, and I certainly hadn’t seen any tow trucks around. But five young men appeared within less than a minute and offered to help dig us out for a small fee. A few of them were carrying wood-and-metal hoes (the standard issue do-it-all tool in Malawi). They got to work immediately, scraping away the muddy clay and laying out small rocks that would provide better traction.

As they worked a small blue pickup truck rounded the bend. It was half the size of our truck but was carrying at least 15 people. With that extra weight, the driver confidently navigated down the center of the road, looking up to chuckle at us gleefully as he passed. The crowd in the back of the truck cheered until they rounded the bend and were out of sight, and we had to laugh about it too.

Before long the guys were finished digging, and our truck was back on the road too. Thankfully, that spot proved to be the worst part of the drive and we made it to Mwanza after all.

That section of the road bedeviled many other cars over the next three years, but I managed to avoid getting stuck again myself. In hindsight, it wasn’t surprising that there were a few people hanging around waiting for a chance to earn some Kwacha if anyone got stuck. Our Land Cruiser must have been quite an exciting fish to catch!

And that ended up being a theme. No matter where you were, if your car broke down or you were stranded for some other reason, there was always someone nearby who had a wrench, a screwdriver and just enough knowhow to get you back on the road for long enough to get where you needed to go.