There are some words you learn in a new language that go in one ear and out the other. Perhaps the context or the usefulness might not be particularly compelling, perhaps we don't ever truly encode it, or maybe we just forget as we tend to as we (I?!) get older and older. For some reason I can't think of an example.
However, sometimes you learn a new word in a memorable context that irreversibly engraves the meaning in your mind.
Last Friday, I learned - and will not soon forget - that "crevaison" means flat tire.
We heard a muted "thunk!" as our work car was entering the highway on the way home from a conference at the National Assembly. The sound wasn't particularly loud, it was a rainy night and the thunk had to compete with the noise from all the muffler-free and honking cars around us. Nor was this sound abnormal, as a drive on the pot-hole filled streets of Abidjan isn't complete with a few dowen dips and thuds.
But, as a new sound, one perfectly synchonized with the turning wheels, emerged, we sensed that we had a problem.
The driver pulled under a bridge, as the darkness and rain continued to descend upon us. He sprung into action and got out the tools to change the tire. We scrambled to help, gathering rocks to steady the tires and, mostly, keeping out of the way. As a few random people hovered around us, we were slightly concerned for our safety, but all went well. My coworkers joked, or at least I hope they were kidding, that if someone were to come with a weapon, they would sacrifice "le blanc," i.e. the white guy, i.e. me.
Still, we were safe in numbers and it was actually a fun experience. I was lucky that this was my my first ever non-bicycle crévaison, or flat tire. Learning how to change a tire was actually pretty exciting, too. I actually remember thinking how excited I was for the next one.
However, that luck and that thought quickly changed as we were pulling away, tire successfully changed. The car rose up, thunked against the ground and we were on our way. But, quickly a new sound emerged, again in lock-step with our speed. Puzzled, we wondered if the new tire was a dud. It was not. When a friendly driver next to us point alarmedly at our tire and we pulled over to investigate it became clear.
Those rocks used so-effectiely to steady our car as the crévaison was repaired were equally effective in preventing our getaway. My hypothesis is that we forgot to remove them, and as the car came up and over the rock, the good back-tire became signficantly less-so. Merde!
With no spare tire remaining, tired and incredulous we pondered. Luckily, a colleague knew a nearby gas station. We got back in the car and literally burned rubber as we crawled along the slow lane of the highway with our "feux de détresse" on and cars and trucks whizzing by.
We got to the station which was fortunately still open, providing some welcome shelter and light. From there I was able to get a ride home and my colleagues called a friend who gave them rides as well as the car rested there for the night. Back-to-back flat tires. Not exactly what one looks forward to on a rainy saturday evening after a long day at a conference. I shouldn't have jinxed us.
Still, as I collapsed on my bed after this exhausting and far-from typical Friday night, I saw the silver linings of this memorable adventure. One of these certainly is that next time I have a crevaison, I will certainly know what to call it.
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