September 28

It's  Monday.  My phone tells me I have nothing planned for today.  

As usual, I receive daily job alerts.  One is for a sports teacher in Abu Dhabi and the other is for Head of Science in Bangladesh.  One day, I'll give them a go.

It's a strange day.  A film of grey hangs over everything.

I go to work.  John goes off shopping in his old shorts and T-shirt and his banana socks.

Ellie's school is on holiday this week, but Sian is still toiling away online and hating it. They will both go back to school properly on October 26.  Some classes will only go back on the 9th of November. The term threatens to be excessively long. Both girls want to be back at school.  Online learning has lost all appeal.

I have realised that, although it is good to live in the moment and not dwell on the past, or focus too heavily on the future, it is very important to be able to plan.  It is important to have dates in a diary, things to look forward to and some idea of what the immediate future holds. Many young people in particular have struggled psychologically with the future, not necessarily being cancelled, but being blank.

Bulawayo is beautiful.  It is like a picture being gradually coloured in: every day there are more and more flowers out in a whole range of colours.  One day a tree will have just a few flowers out, the next day more and the next day it will be in full bloom.  It is both lovely and fascinating to watch.

The frogs are back.

The water is off, but it will be back sometime this week.  The electricity is intermittent as is the Internet, but one gets used to it.

We have no one staying and no one booked.

I have finished my Allied Arts marking.

My extra lessons are drawing to a close.  The first English exam is in two weeks' time.

This week, we plan to put up the rain gauge.  Like everyone else, we hope for a good rainy season.  Rain makes everything better.

It is exactly a year since I started my blog.  It's been fun - difficult at times, especially when there was no one staying for months - but it's amazing what you can find to write about.  I began with the idea of writing about our experiences of running a B&B and I know I have gone way off topic, writing about a range of things from poltergeists to driving lessons and gardening and dogs and text language. . .

It is time now for me to take a break.  I am struggling with the amount of time I am spending on my laptop and my eyes are really suffering.  Unfortunately, I am wearing my glasses more and more and I am sure they will become a permanent feature soon. 

My second book, All Come To Dust, should be out before the end of the year.  I am happy that, thanks to covid, I managed to finish my third book and now have plans for a young adult book, but before that even reaches planning stage, I need to do nothing for a very long time.

Thank you to each and every person who has supported me for the last year.  I have really appreciated all the comments and feedback and thanks to all of you who shared posts or recommended my blog to your friends.  John, at least will be glad not to hear what he has been up to from readers of my blog.

Next year will be better.  Next year always is.

And, finally, if anyone wants to come and stay, and if I haven't put you off completely,you know where we are and you're always welcome.

September 27

John and I go for a walk at Hillside Dams.  The top dam has completely dried up now.  It is funny to think that we have been out on a boat on this same dam.  Although it is sad, I do believe life works in cycles and nothing lasts forever.  I have also seen both dams full to overflowing so I know it is possible that it can happen again. 

A church service is taking place in the cafe area and, as we pass by, the congregation are all singing away heartily.  At this point, Rolo decides to dash in and have a look around.  I can see some people looking quite alarmed and others mildly amused.  He is a big dog and is completely unaware of how intimidating he may look, charging past people and poking his nose in all sorts of places.

John tries to call him, without shouting over the hymn singing, and I am convinced he is eating the biscuits and sandwiches bought for the after-service tea.  A man brings him out for us and John gives him a fierce stare.

'This is no time to be looking for redemption, Rolo,' he hisses.  'Now get in the car.'

Despite my promise to myself that I would keep Sunday free of marking, I have to do some today. However, the internet is down and this year all the Allied Arts marking has been done online, so I can't do anything.  I am secretly grateful.

In the afternoon, John takes Sian and Ellie for a driving lesson and I make supper for the first time in weeks.  I just don't have the time to do it usually.  Thank goodness John can cook - he is much better than me - otherwise I don't think we would eat at all.

Of course, by the time evening comes round, the Internet is back.  Whatever happened to leisurely Sunday evenings?

September 26

For the past 15 years, I have been a marker for the Allied Arts Literary Festival.  The first year I did it, Sian was 6 weeks old and it was hell.  I had a couple of hundred scripts to mark and Sian did not sleep well.  I spent literally hours marking, but at the time the money was quite good.

I even marked when we lived in Zambia.  We usually came to see my parents in the August holidays and the scripts would be sent to them so they were ready and waiting when we arrived. I generally enjoy doing the marking and the extra bit of money is always welcome.

My family, however, have come to dread Allied Arts marking season as I get quite stressed.  There is always so much to do, and this year it has come at the same time that we are back at school.  I have two exam classes and they each write two essays a week so I am drowning in marking.

I actually spend the entire day marking.  John is out, fixing a parquet floor for someone and the girls binge watch a series that I think is called Glamour Girls, or something along those lines.  I think it is the equivalent of Santa Barbara - a terrible soap we used to watch every Friday night on ZBC.  The characters spent most of the time giving each other long, suspicious stares while the music built to a crescendo.  Scenes seemed to go on and on forever.  It was so slow, it was exhausting. A bit like marking.

September 25

Our guests arrive in the late afternoon. They are two women, a mother and daughter, from Kadoma.  For some bizarre reason, whenever I meet someone from Kadoma, I always tell them that I was born there, because I was, of course. When I say this, they always ask me what my surname is and then they always shake their heads and say the name does not ring  a bell - and it wouldn't.  I may have been born in Kadoma, but parents didn't actually live there.  They lived on the Dalny mine at Chakari.  Kadoma was the nearest place with a  maternity hospital. When I say that, they always nod slowly and the conversation ends.  Me being born in Kadoma has never led to a wider conversation.  I shall refrain from mentioning  it next time.

The younger woman works in Cambodia, teaching English and she has come to see her son, who lives in Bulawayo, before she flies back there in a week's time.  About twenty minutes after they arrive, I receive a message asking if there are knives and forks.  This is strange.  Of course there are knives and forks.  But there aren't.  The cutlery has vanished.  It seems our thief is back.  We had a problem about six months ago with someone taking small items out of the garage and they also took the iron from the ironing room.  The kitchen window was slightly open so they have obviously put their hand in and taken the cutlery which is on a stand on the table. We think it's our neighbours.  It's a pity that we haven't had the frogs we usually have this year.  I'd inundate their garden with the biggest toads I could find.

The fridge has also stopped working - for the third time since we have had it.  We have to give them my dad's fridge instead.

Time for a large G&T.

September 24

Hooray! Someone books to stay for the weekend.  They contact me through our Facebook page.  I keep meaning to update it, but at the moment it is just another thing to do.

I am enjoying being back at school. One of my favourite places to sit is my stock room which is lovely and big and airy.

I have a resident poltergeist.  I am not afraid of it; in fact, I think it sends me messages.  Sometimes when I go in, I find books on the floor or on the table.  I used to just pick them up and put them away, but now I have a closer look at the book for a clue to the message I am being sent.  It's interesting that there is often a link to something in my life: Persuasion, Pride and Prejudice, Far From the Madding Crowd. This week it was The Merchant of Venice and I can see where there comes in, pound of flesh and all that.  Some messages are more cryptic.  One of the books was The Cocktail party by T.S. Eliot which I have never read so I missed out there.

All my classes know about the poltergeist.  Sometimes when I am teaching, we hear books falling on the floor and I just shrug and say, 'you all know who it is, don't you?'  Some of the younger girls were a bit frightened when I first told them about it, but I think they are used to it now.  I told them a  story about an English teacher who was accidentally locked in the stockroom one holiday and when it was opened up, the cleaners found a skeleton sitting on a chair with a copy of Hamlet in hand.  (That bit I did make up)

Here is an interesting thing about the poltergeist: it never throws books around when I am in the stockroom.  I think it is just an attention seeker.  

September 23

Ellie asks me what my favourite time of day is and my immediate response is early morning.  However, I also love late afternoon when the heat is beginning to subside.  I have my cup of tea and go out and water all my pot plants. It's quite an arduous job as I have to ferry buckets of bath water around, but I find it very satisfying.

Bulawayo has got her best dress on at the moment.  There are so many different types of trees out and it is almost as though their blossoming has been choreographed.  Apparently the City Council once had a tree committee and the trees were planted strategically so there was always something in bloom. There are jacarandas in the middle of town, cassia down Cecil Avenue and bauhenia along the Hillside road, for example.  

There is a lot of colour around as the syringa are in bloom as are bougainvillea, pride of India and various indigenous trees (I am not a great one for names!)  The jacaranda are starting to come out and it is amazing to pick a particular tree and watch how every day it has more and more flowers on it. Everyone who has ever lived in Southern Africa will know the excitement of the jacaranda season.  Even those who are allergic to them, cannot deny their beauty.  Their presence signals so much more than a season and is intrinsically linked to some collective feeling of hope.  Perhaps it is because they come out at the hottest time of the year or because the year is drawing to an end, that they induce some sense of relief in us, or perhaps it is reassurance that the cycle of life still continues whatever our circumstances.

The irony, of course, is that neither the jacaranda nor the syringa are indigenous.  The jacarandas in the middle of town, I believe, were a present from the President of Brazil to Rhodes.  If anything, they are a symbol of colonisation for wherever you go in Africa, even in quite remotes places, if you find a jacaranda tree, you will generally find a store, or a clinic, or a school, or the District Commissioner's office.

When I studied in the UK, I would come home for the long summer break and leave at the end of September.  I absolutely hated leaving the beauty of September behind and going back for the start of autumn and the beginning of the dreariness.  I could deal with November and December.  I loved the build up to Christmas, but that funny in between stage was so hard to deal with.  

P.S. I remember seeing a jacaranda in New Zealand and thinking it was completely out of place. 

P.P.S A friend of mine once insisted for about an hour that jacarandas have white flowers and I insisted they did not, but apparently you can get both.

September 22

My sister has sent me a birthday present from the UK.  She sent it at the end of July and I have not yet received it.  Before going to work, I pop into the Post Office and ask if there is a parcel for me.

The lady picks up a pile of parcel slips at her elbow and leafs through them.  Every slip is stamped 'Hillside Post Office 12 August'.  My slip is near the top.  

Me: The 12th of August?  Why haven't I received the slip? This has been here for ages.

Lady: It was misplaced.

Me: Misplaced?  With all those other slips also stamped the 12th of August?

No answer.

I sign for the parcel and have to pay $250 (US$2.50) in customs fees.  My protest that I shouldn't have to pay as they have kept my parcel for over a month falls on deaf ears.  Another postal officer comes over and studies the parcel slip.  He mutters something about the parcel not having a phone number, but I can't hear him clearly due to his mask so I am not sure if I heard right.  Surely you don't have to put phone numbers on letters and parcels now?  Does the Post office actually do anything at all?  Why don't they just phone me from England and ask me to come and fetch it?

However, the good news is I have some really lovely new clothes that don't come from the Bendover Bazaar.  

The water comes on in the evening.  It comes on roughly every five days now and I can live with this.  We are very lucky to have a storage tank though.