October 18

John leaves the house at 4.45 am to fetch our guest.  The electricity is already off.  

When he arrives at the 'bus station' (large, empty car park into which bus arrives), the bus is already there.  I have come for the murungu (white person), he says to the bus driver who points at a sleeping mass on a back seat.  The bus is full of sleeping people.  In an hour, it will leave for Harare.

Helen is an unlikely looking tourist.  She does not wear the uniform long skirt or khaki cargo pants or a tie-dye T-shirt.  Nor does she wear sandals or a bum bag.  Instead, she appears in a red sundress, pink sparkly shoes and a black jacket.  She also wears a green 1920s inspired headband that gives her quite a quirky, interesting look. This is her first time in Zimbabwe and so we try and watch our words: it is easy to be negative and the last thing we want to do is put her off.  She loves dogs and Rolo and Tallulah fight for the privilege of sitting on her feet. This is their way of showing love; if you cannot move at all, this is a sure sign of adoration.

In the morning, John takes her to Hillside Dams to walk the dogs;

in the afternoon, he takes her to the Art Gallery.  There she sees a picture she would like to buy and asks if they will take her international credit card, which they can't because that means accepting US$ which is now illegal.  So John takes her to change her dollars into Ecocash, which is a method of payment through your phone (unique to Zimbabwe, by the way - and what would we do without it?). They then go back and buy the picture.  Here's my question, if she didn't have John there to advise her where to change money and take her backwards and forwards, would she have bought the picture? Perhaps she might, but to me this is an example of the ridiculousness of this situation.  Someone is willing to buy something and they have the money ready but cannot use it.  The artist loses out on a sale that could have been his only one for the week, or month, as does the gallery and so does the government who cannot take their generous slice of the pie.  How does this situation help anyone?

I meet John and Helen at the Bulawayo Club where she orders English Breakfast tea, which has to be translated as Tanganda.  As usual, half of the menu is 'not on offer' and the swipe machine is not working.

In the evening, we have our monthly film night.  We have been running this for about the last three years. We took over hosting it from a German couple who lived here for many years before retiring back home.  Our numbers have dwindled this year with two couples having left the country.  Although there are a number of names on the mailing list, we probably have about 8-10 people who regularly come, including us. We sit outside and chat for a bit before watching the film.  People bring their own drinks and a plate of snacks to share and we always have a very enjoyable time catching up on each other's news. I have sometimes thought of writing one of those novels with titles such as 'The Jane Austen Book Club'.  The Bulawayo Film Club doesn't quite have the same ring to it.

The electricity, which has been off the entire day, comes on around 8pm, amid cheers.  We were all sorted with candles and solar lights and extension leads running here, there and everywhere, but electricity is much easier.

At 11pm, when everyone has gone.  I put the washing machine on.  One has to make hay while the sun shines.