The rainbow never sets

I had another experience with flat tyres. I was on my way back from SoE with six others, from a Synod meeting in 1971. The road had been wonderfully repaired since our earlier trip, and it took now only about four hours to Kupang. We left the Synod meeting at about 8 pm, hoping to be home by midnight. The first flat tyre occurred about an hour after we had left. There were plenty of helpers in the car, and in no time the spare tyre was put on the wheel and the journey continued. Then we had a flat tyre again. As I had the repair kit with me this time, we had to fumble in the dark, but with the help of a torch and willing hands we repaired the tube within about twenty minutes. As I wiped my hands on my trousers, I suddenly yelled out in great pain. Something had stung me on the index finger.

"Can only have been a scorpion," was the re-assuring comment of one of the other ministers.

The finger was hurting so much that I nearly fainted. But there was nothing I could do. I just stood there and let the others finish the work with the tyre. The tyre was put back on the rim, and luckily I was able to drive. It didn't take very long before we could all hear a faint hissing coming from the front. A flat tyre again! The old patch was still in place, but right next to it there was a new hole. We had to repair it again, but I let the others do the work, because of my sore finger. But I helped pumping up the tyre, because everyone had to pump fifty times before the next took over. I think we had several rounds before the tyre was adequately filled.

Meanwhile it was well past midnight. I thought longingly of our nice and comfortable bed in Kupang, but the journey had to go on. We travelled for quite some distance until we could hear again that hissing noise. Another flat tyre! The fourth on our trip. I looked at my kit and said: "This is the last repair we can do, after this we've had it."

Cheerful prospects. Taking the tyre out of the rim and checking the tube for the hole by torch light, had become almost routine. The last patch was on the tube, and the wheel was back. We all crossed our fingers and after a short prayer we continued our epic journey. But, alas, it was not going to be for long. As we drove through the village of Camplong we heard the hissing noise again, and I stopped the car on the side of the road. It was still pitch dark. We couldn't raise anybody, so we thought we might all get a bit of sleep. But to sleep with six men in a Toyota is not so easy. I was so tired, but sleep wouldn't come. Agabus Rajadima, one of our graduates, walked with me towards dawn. He told me how difficult it would be for him to be the minister of a parish on his home island of Sabu. According to custom, the whole family could come and bludge on him, and he simply couldn't refuse. He saw it as his obligation to help, even when he knew that they were taking advantage of him. Then I realised why the Synod always sent people to a different area than their own, where they had no relatives to contend with. It was good to have a

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