The electricity is on the entire day. Until fifteen minutes before our guests arrive.
Rolo stands and looks at the car outside the gate, totally unperturbed. This is when I believe in all that stuff about energy fields. Other people can arrive, also not get out the car, and he goes nuts, jumping up and down and barking his head off. These people he knows will love him. They are French. Rolo likes French people and French people like Rolo. Two years ago, a lady stayed with us who spoke to him entirely in French. Rolo was the most obedient I have ever seen him and finally it dawned on me that we had been talking to him in the wrong language. Rolo is French. Of course.
Our guests are a couple and their daughter. They live in Morrocco where they teach at a private school, attended largely by government ministers' children who wish to go on to study in France later on. It seems there is not much difference between Morrocco and Zimbabwe in that regard.
They take an instant shine to Rolo, pronounced Ggolo, and Ggolo is delighted to at last be surrounded by people who speak his language. They don't mind that there is no electricity and spend the rest of the evening sitting outside on their veranda, Ggolo at their feet.
No comments:
Post a Comment