
圖片來自洛杉磯時報LA Times
from:鉅亨網 http://news.cnyes.com/dspnewsS.asp?rno=1&fi=\NEWSBASE\20090701\WEB2521&vi=33749&sdt=20090621&edt=20090701&top=50&date=20090701&time=18:00:19&cls=index1_headline
在迦納的 Odawna 附近是一群汽車修理師傅工作的地方,放眼望去,那裡看起來就像是一個巨大的汽車墳場。出過車禍,毀損嚴重的各式車輛到處都是,車燈破的破、烤漆掉的掉、防撞桿凹的凹、輪胎破的破,總之無一處是完好的,全部都堆在一塊等待修復。而 Alex Foley 的店也不過就是一個小棚子,幾個工人拿著鎚頭、鑿子敲敲打打,加上焊接設備和電動工具。只消看一眼支離破碎的車體和拿著鎚頭的工人,忽然間整件事似乎又變得樂觀起來了。
《洛杉磯時報》採訪的 Foley 是一個 50 歲的修車師父,他修過的車不計其數,他驕傲的表示,不管是車子是受到怎麼樣的毀壞,經過他的手每台車都能夠再重新奔馳。
Foley 表示,有時候人雖坐在家中,卻有一幅複雜的拼圖浮現腦中,這幅拼圖內容的就是將一台車組裝回原型。那也許是 1 台被來回輾過 3 次、撞爛 1 棵樹的車。也或許是一台車身已經被撞得跟手風琴一樣扁的車子。甚至,車門也很有可能已經從前座跑到後座了。
但不管 1 台車變形成何種模樣,這群汽車修理師傅總會用盡一切手段修好它,無論是要鎚平、切割、焊接、重鑄、重新烤漆。
可以將這種修復稱為「回收」,也可以覺得「創造力十足」。即使「車撞到不像車樣」,他們依然可以將車子起死回生。
另外,在 Foley 棚子旁的另外一家小店,有個工人正煞費苦心的擋住車窗,用膠帶和紙重新包裝 1 輛 20 年的老車,再替車頂蓋塗上一層閃亮到不行的橘色釉料。
他是 Sago Buckman,一名機械工。他的店裡地板上滿佈黑油,會緊緊粘住走過的鞋底。爛成一團的引擎散落一地,就像是一堆待用的樂高方塊。而髒兮兮的後屋裡則堆積著一堆難以辨認的零件,對門外漢來說那些都是不值一看的垃圾。
但是對 Buckman 來說,沒有什麼東西是無用的垃圾。他會取回 Foley 已經整頓好的車。
Buckman 和他的工人在灼灼烈日下,爬上 1 台日製貨車試圖修復引擎。炙人的太陽曬得他汗如雨下,出於專注他皺起了眉頭,他的褲子則到處都沾滿了油污。
然而,Buckman 是 1 位沉默的工人,他幾乎不向其他工人尋求援助,他在處理引擎時則付出了全心全意。58 歲的 Buckman 已經在這一行待了 35 年,也帶過數不清的學徒。每當修好受損的部份後,他就重燃引擎。
他驕傲地說:「沒有什麼車是我們修不好的,我熱愛這分工作。這是我每天早起的理由。每當有引擎壞掉,我們就將之拆開、修理然後拼裝回去。一旦引擎可以重新 啟動,我就對於我今天所作的工作感到十分的滿意。我從做中學習。當你樂在其中,你就會把這分工作當成你的終生職志。相反地,如果你對此沒有興趣,你根本就 不會去工作也學不到任何東西。」
位於 Odawna 的修車業雖然辛苦,但是卻充滿了愉悅、創造力和驕傲。他們是有股傻勁的汽車外科醫生,願意嘗試任何手術只要能夠修復汽車。相較之下,西方工人就放任自己從事單調而乏味的整型手術。
這種物盡其用的態度源於貧窮,在這塊大陸上是種再正常也不過的態度了。就像飢餓和疾病一樣,這種不浪費、不舖張的態度也成為美國和非洲的分野。
身為鄰居,Buckman 和 Foley 合作無間,各自負責一個部份。這分工作不會為他們帶來大筆財富,但足以讓他們養家活口、供孩子讀書。Foley 最大的兒子今年 22 歲,就讀建築系。
Foley 圓圓的臉上永遠掛著笑容,他挺著大大的肚楠說自己是一個很樂天的人。走進他的小店裡,即使他手裡正拿著焊槍躺在 1 輛汽車旁,一發現有客人,他就會立刻跳起來,放掉手裡原本拿著的東西,迎接訪客。
Foley 說:「我特別喜歡車禍撞壞的車。任何時候,我走進我的屋子,我就會開始在腦中想像如何修復汽車。就像一個謎團一樣。有時候真是讓我想破頭。」
Foley 就像魔術師一般,掀開了 1 輛撞爛的 Fiat 車頂。令人大吃一驚的是,車子內部的馬達已經被移走了,而且整台車的前半部也被切除,重新焊接上一個新的。Foley 笑笑地說,一旦裝上新的引擎,就沒有人認得出來這輛車的原貌了。
Foley 表示,他們修車的秘密武器是「自然絞盤」,這在非洲是非常常見的工具。他們利用兩個老樹,將受損撞扁的車體兩端分別綁在兩棵樹上,利用樹的力量將車體拉回原狀。
然後,他們就會利用他們的雙手和所有可用的工具,盡量讓車體和原來一模一樣,這工作幾乎完全是以手工完成。
任何無法拉直的鐵板就會被切除,再重新焊接上一個新的鐵板。如果不是太複雜的話,師傅就會重新裝上一個鍍鋅金屬的製品。
Foley 指出要是到了無計可施的地步,在市場裡還有 1 家店可以用機器把金屬板壓平。
Foley 說:「每個人都各盡其職,每個人都有各自擅長的領域。我是大師傅。我可以自豪的說我是第一把交椅。但是,每個人各有想法。有人也可以挑戰我,說他自己是最好的。不過,此時此地我就是最頂尖的。」
問 Odawna 的師傅車子是否和原廠一樣安全沒有多大的意義,畢竟車子可是經過拉直,或著是切除過某個部份又重新焊接上。安全,不是這裡主要關注的議題。
當 Foley 拿起他的焊接工具指向汽車時,他沒有配戴任何眼部的保護措施。如果問他護目鏡在哪裡,他會不好意思地說,他通常只會戴個 1 分鐘左右,
為了修復幾近全毀的汽車,這些師傅對 1 台老式汽車用上所有修復手段,看起來很瘋狂。但是西方人輕易地就將一台受損的車報廢,對非洲人來說更是一件難以理解的事。要對 Foley 解釋好幾次,他才能理解。
他瞇起他的眼睛,困惑地笑了笑。也許,他以為美國人只是因為不知如何修車,才選擇報廢。
他說:「這樣是種浪費。在我們這裡,我們不會浪費一絲一毫。」
(鄭 杰)
洛杉磯時報原文:http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/la-fg-ghana-car-yard16-2009jun16,0,3610350.story
Ghana workers bring cars back to life
Robyn Dixon / Los Angeles Times
"There's no car we can't fix," says Sago Buckman, 58, not shown, who's been in the business 35 years and has trained so many apprentices he's lost count.
Wrecked cars litter a neighborhood of the capital. Specialized workers take pride in doing whatever it takes to restore them, and sometimes that means stretching vehicles between trees.
By Robyn Dixon
June 16, 2009
Reporting from Accra, Ghana -- Sometimes Alex Foley sits at home sifting through the pieces of a life-size puzzle in his mind: how to put that car back together.
Maybe it rolled three times or hugged a tree. Or the trunk is crushed like an accordion. Or the doors are "mumbled" from one end to the other.
Any mumble -- the local word for crash damage -- can be stretched, hammered, straightened, cut away, molded, welded, ground, filled and sprayed. Call it recycling, call it ingenuity. Even if the passengers couldn't be saved, the car always can be.
"Whatever happens to the car, we'll be able to do it," says Foley, 50, a veteran "straightener." "Any car that comes."
The Odawna neighborhood where the motor repairmen work looks like a giant graveyard for cars, stretching as far as the eye can see. Ancient, crumpled autos -- lights smashed, paint rusted, bumpers falling off, tires flat -- are crammed together waiting for attention like a mob of patient cows.
Foley's shop consists of a shed and a bunch of guys with hammers and chisels, some welding equipment and a couple of power tools. One glance at the hopelessly broken cars and the guys with hammers, and the whole venture looks wildly optimistic.
But the sprawling neighborhood of the Ghanaian capital, Accra, teems with industry and purpose.
Somewhere, a relentless tinny hammering rises. Shrieks of grinding metal shatter the air. A curlicue of acrid smoke spirals lazily as a worker melts a plastic Japanese bumper using a heated chisel, smoothing the surface as carefully as a mother frosting a birthday cake.
In the paint shop next to Foley's shed, a worker painstakingly covers the windows and trim of a 20-year-old car with paper and tape. He has given the hood a shiny glaze of garish orange.
The oily floor of Sago Buckman's workshop clings stickily at the sole. A mess of engines lies about, grown-up Lego pieces waiting to be used. A dingy backroom is piled high with unidentifiable pieces that to laymen's eyes look like useless junk.
But to Buckman, a mechanic who takes the car after Foley has straightened it, nothing is ever useless junk.
That attitude, common across most of the continent, is born of poverty, but it defines African ingenuity. As much as hunger and disease, this waste-not, want-not approach marks the difference between Africa and America.
Buckman and his mechanic climb into a Japanese van under an unforgiving sun to work on the engine. Buckman drips with sweat, his brow furrowed in concentration. His trousers, an unlikely choice of off-white, are stained with oil.
Buckman is a reserved fellow who fiddles with his engine with quiet determination, saying little to the mechanic helping him.
Beneath the exertion, though, there's exhilaration, creativity and pride in the car repair business here in Odawna. They're daredevil surgeons willing to try any operation, while their Western counterparts resign themselves to prosaic nips and tucks.
"There's no car we can't fix," says Buckman, 58, who's been in the business 35 years and has trained so many apprentices he's lost count. After fixing the damage he "sparks" the engine, or starts it up.
"I like the job. That's the reason why I wake up early and come here to work on cars. When the engine gets spoiled, we dismantle it and fix it and put it together. When we spark it, I like that I have done a good job.
"It's my work. I
learned it. When you are interested to do it, you take it as your determined occupation. If you don't like it, you won't go there and learn to do it," he says.
Buckman and Foley are neighbors who work as a team, each taking a cut. The job doesn't pay a fortune, but it's enough to put their children through school. Foley's oldest son, 22, is studying architecture.
With his round face, permanent smile and protruding belly, Foley says he's a happy man. Stumble into his yard and you find him lying next to a car with a welding torch in his hand. He leaps to his feet and drops everything to welcome a visitor.
"I really enjoy accident cars especially," he says.
"Any time I go to my house, it plays on my mind and I work out the steps of how I'm going to work on the car. It's like a puzzle. Sometimes we rack our brains."
Foley throws open the hood of an ancient Fiat with the air of a magician. Voila! Inside, the motor has been removed and the entire front of the vehicle cut away and a new front welded on. Once the engine is back, no one will ever suspect, he grins.
The secret weapon in the car straightening business, he says, is a Come Along Winch, often used in Africa for logging. To stretch out a mumbled car, the straighteners use two ancient trees, chaining one end of the car to one tree and the winch to another. Then they attach the winch hook to the smashed area, and pull the car back into shape
"They pull it apart and it straightens up," Foley says. The straighteners then pull out the engine and get to work.
"Then we go in there and use our hands and our other tools to make it nearly perfect." The work is mainly done by hand using chisels and hammers.
Any panels that cannot be straightened are cut off. A new panel is welded in. If it's not too complicated, the straighteners fashion a new one out of galvanized metal, using hammers and metal or wooden bars.
As a last resort, says Foley, there's a shop in the nearby market that presses panels out of metal.
"Everybody has his role. Everybody has their own territory. I'm a top straightener. I can say I'm the best. But everybody has his own mind. Someone can challenge me and say they're the best. But here on this plot, I'm the top."
There's not much point asking the straighteners of Odawna whether a car is still as safe as it once was after being straightened, or cut to pieces and welded. Safety is not the main preoccupation.
When Foley points his welding torch at the car, he has no eye protection. Ask him where his mask is and he grins sheepishly: "I'll put it on in a minute," he says with a shrug.
Rescuing totaled cars, tinkering and hammering and spraying shiny new coats onto old-model cars might seem crazy -- but the Western habit of writing off damaged cars is even more mystifying to Africans. It has to be explained to Foley a couple of times.
He crinkles his eyes, laughing in puzzled amusement. Perhaps, he ponders, Americans just don't know how to repair broken cars.
"It's a waste," he says. "Here, we don't waste anything."
robyn.dixon@latimes.com