December 22

I thought that by being organised yesterday, we could have a more relaxed day today, but it does not look as though this will be the case.

I message Ritz:
Me: Hello.  How well equipped is the kitchen?  We will need to make Christmas lunch.  Do you have any roasting dishes?
Ritz: All should be there.  We have had no ZESA since 6am!!!!!!!😝
Me: OK, just need to know if I need to bring anything as I don't want Christmas to be a disaster.
Ritz: Family is what matters, not things.

Her last comment leaves me quite confused.  What does she mean?  I only want to know if there is anything we should bring.  I pack half the kitchen into a box.

Just before we go to bed, I receive another message:
Ritz: Please come well before 5pm.  Late arrivals will not be tolerated (sorry 😀😀😀)

It's a long way from Bulawayo to the Bvumba.  To expect us to get there by 5pm is asking quite a lot.

December 21

I wake up very early and start making shortbread and mince pies. In the back of mind is my mum's voice telling me that you only make pastry when it's cool. It's funny that I did not pay much heed to her words when she was alive, but now she is no longer here, I take her advice.

Many people think making mince pies and Christmas puddings is difficult, but it is actually very easy. We made the Christmas pudding last week and even put little trinkets in it and each stirred it from east to west whilst making a wish.  I am on a bit of a roll as I also make two quiches to take with us on Monday and a bolognaise sauce.  We will only be gone for four days and I don't want either John or I to spend it cooking so preparing things in advance should free up some of our time.

I don't like wrapping up presents.  Some people really enjoy it - putting all the ribbons on and all that, but I find it quite tedious, so I am very happy that John does all the wrapping up of the girls' presents and Sian and Ellie wrap his up.

Communication from Ritz in the Bvumba is as follows:

Ritz: Zesa back after 6 days!!!! Will it last . . . of course staff have gone off so a pile of ironing remains.

Me: Ok.  That's good news (the ZESA, not the ironing.)

Ritz: And I have also found someone to build me a Rhodesian boiler so that will be the January project as no time now!!!

I am not sure how to respond - I couldn't care less about her ironing or her proposed Rhodesian boiler - so I send a smiley face. 

December 20

Armed with a long list, John and I go into town and buy vegetables, milk and all those other exciting groceries.  I always remember my mum ordering the Christmas ham and chicken well in advance.  She would not have left Christmas food shopping this late.  As it's a public holiday on Monday, she would also have bought numerous loaves of bread and packets of milk as no shop opened on Christmas or Boxing Day, but nowadays there is always something open.

At one shop, I chat to the owner who is usually always very chirpy and upbeat.  Today, he tells me that if he could leave, he would.  'There is no quality of life,' he says.  'Nowhere to go.  Nothing to do.'

We get home to a last minute booking through Booking.com. In the afternoon, John gets the cottage ready while I make a few more trips to shops.  One of them is to a shop where I saw they had not put up the price of fish. It is actually half the price of Pick n Pay.  Even as I approach the till, I am convinced that the price has been changed on the system and I am going to have to put it back. Luckily, I get it for the old price, hope it hasn't gone off and dart out of the shop before anyone can call me back.

I drop a whole lot of stuff at a children's home for my friend, Anne.  They are very grateful.  It reminds me that we must start getting rid of all the things we don't need.

In the evening, we host Film Night - the Christmas edition.  We watch Yesterday which is about a man who is in an accident at the same time that the electricity goes off worldwide.  For some reason, this means that certain things are erased from the world's memory, although the man remembers them.  He becomes an overnight sensation, singing the Beetles songs and everyone thinks they are his.  

The people who booked don't turn up.

December 19

A peaceful day at home.  

The swimming pool pump has stopped working and the pool is a delicate green.  It has not rained for a couple of weeks now and the heat is uncomfortable.

We are going to the Bvumba for Christmas so I start making numerous lists - things to do before we go, things to buy, things to pack, things to remember. Inevitably, I will leave something behind. I eventually went with the booking for a cottage near Leopard Rock.  This is run by the lady who sent me the message: So are you coming????  Although I have tried to forgive her her exaggerated use of question marks, I am now beginning to wonder if I shouldn't have gone with my original instinct.  Punctuation can tell you a lot about someone. This is our conversation so far:

Me: How big is the fridge:

Ritz: Standard size with small freezer on the top.  Our Zesa is terrible so please stock up with ice and diesel before you come.
Me: (not expecting this?) Do we provide diesel for the generator?
Ritz: Yes.  I already run two generators and I have my truck to fill.  I cannot afford to run anything else.😩😩😩
Me: (after a long pause) How easy is it to get fuel in Mutare?
Ritz: Not easy.  Had run out today when I went. 😱😱😱
Me: Do you have solar or paraffin lamps?
Ritz: No, we supply candles. 😀
Me: Do you have a Rhodesian boiler?  I assume there is hot water.
Ritz: Sadly no, but pots and buckets for bucket bath.  That is next on my list.  Roof too steep for solar. I did price boilers in SA . . . hopefully, one day😍😍😍 A new bottle of gas will be delivered tomorrow so lots of gas to heat water up 😀😀😀

All this after I have already paid a deposit.  I can see why she has not mentioned any of this information before. Christmas without even a shower to look forward to looms.

December 18

We are woken by the sound of pails crashing together and shouting between two people.  The cleaner has arrived and is greeting the night guard.  It is 5 am. I am not sure whose room is she is going to clean at this hour, but she certainly makes her presence known.

After finishing our shopping, we head or the border at about 2pm.  'I am so looking forward to getting home,' sighs Sian.  'I don't want to see another shop.'  'And you want to live in the UK?' I laugh.  'Do you know how big some of the shopping centres are there?'  Sian, who has been desperate for us to leave the country for months, actually admits that Zimbabwe is a nice place to go back to.  Choice is great, but sometimes choice is overwhelming.

At the border, the queue is horrendous.  This is mainly because there is only one person stamping passports.  The rest, I assume, are on lunch.  When a lady jumps the queue, I gently tap on her shoulder and motion her to the back of the line.  She mutters something and stays put.  The two women who let her in start laughing.  Queue jumping is something quite common in Zimbabwe.  Usually the excuse is: 'I was here and then I had to go and do something and now I have come back.'  If I were to try this, there would be much clicking of tongues and comments about white people thinking they can do whatever they want.

The Zimbabwe side of the border is chaos.  I cannot understand why a more efficient system cannot be put in place.  Does it not make sense to move from counter one to counter two, to counter three and so on?  Here, you start at counter one, go to counter six, go back to counter 4 and then stand in the middle of the floor, clueless as to what to do next.

We have to have our car searched.  Luckily, no one looks under the front seat.  Then it's off, back to Bulawayo, back to no fuel and no cash and a system that doesn't work, but at least there is peace and quiet.

December 17

At 6am we leave for Botswana.  It is only an hour to the border and we are quickly through the Zimbabwe side.  And then we hit the Botswana side.  The queue of cars goes out of the gate. The queue of people is miles long and we estimate it will take a couple of hours to get through.  We are lucky that the queue moves quite quickly.

Francistown is boiling hot.  Our first port of call is grabbing something to eat.  We are not fast food people; we go to Pick n Pay, buy some rolls and some cheese and eat them in the car.  We also have an ice cream.  I remember going to Mauritius as a child and every day when we went to the beach, my mum made up a picnic of sandwiches and fruit.  This is also how I travel now.  On long journeys, we always take a flask of tea, rolls and apples.  The thought of going to buy a burger seems quite decadent.

Sian and Ellie are so excited to see the shops.  It is such a change from the over-priced dreariness of Bulawayo.

We stay the night at our usual place, King Bed Guest House.  It's very clean, it's central and there is air con and hot showers.  They have added a touch of romance this time by sprinkling the bed with plastic rose petals.  Once I have paid, the receptionist hands over the remotes for the television and the aircon.  In the evening, we go out for dinner.  This may sound contradictory to what I said earlier, but going out for dinner is somehow more acceptable than spending money on takeaway food. I have been looking forward to having fish and chips for weeks, but in the end, I go for the chicken schnitzel.

December 16

John is excited as he gets the lawnmower to start and zooms around the garden, managing to churn up any grass that might be trying to grow.

The girls are excited as we are going to Botswana tomorrow.

No bookings.

The electricity has been on for a whole week.

December 15

We wake up feeling quite flat.  The panto is over and today is the day that our friend, Anne, leaves for the UK. It's very hot and not very Christmassy.  The weather report for the next ten days does not include any sign of rain.

We have a booking for the end of December.  It is a couple who have stayed with us on a number of occasions.  The lady used to live in this house when she was a child.  Her mother sold it when her father died in the mid-1990s.  The two cottages were here then as well, although they were just single room rondavels without bathrooms.  She told us that the smaller of the two had been used as a dark room by a photographer at some point before her family moved in.

A couple of years ago, a man from Harare came round and asked if he could look at the house as it was where he had lived as a boy in the 1950s.  His mother had been an artist who had used one of the cottages as a studio.  We haven't managed to go any further back in tracing the house's history.  It would be interesting to find out who lived here first and what the cottages were originally used for.

December 14

Tonight is the final night of the panto.  It is really quite amazing that the theatre club was able to put on one this year.  There was hardly one rehearsal when someone couldn't make it due to lack of fuel or transport.  As is often the case, the show has got better over time.  Tonight, the cast is in high spirits and they are wonderfully relaxed and confident.  The audience is much bigger than last week, although it is still not a full house. There is much booing and hissing and calls of 'Behind you!' and 'Oh, yes, you are!' and 'Oh, no, I'm not!'.

When we come out of the theatre at the end, I notice the Christmas lights are on all the way down past the park and the Groovy Cab, a trailer pulled by a tractor, that is run by Round Table is taking children for a ride.  There is a very different vibe in the air this evening.  You have to take your hat off to all the people who try to make Christmas 'normal'.

We stay for the after-party.  I talk to a member of the chorus who is in his 80s.  He has a scrapbook of all the shows he has been in since he moved to Bulawayo in 1960.  Apart from one show, he has not had a speaking part of more than one line.  

'Did you ever see Show Boat?' he asks.

'No,' I say.  'What year was that?'

'1962.'

This is not a compliment.

December 13

I have earned myself another day at home.  I do not like going into town anymore. It is hot and dirty and the driving is terrible. I enjoy spending the day happily in my own little world. Life here is fine if you can live behind your high wall, shop at Pick n Pay or Spar and socialise in the leafy eastern suburbs. However, his leads to an odd feeling of disengagement with the country.  What you read, what you see on TV becomes more real than the place you live in. Sometimes I have this strange feeling that I don't really live anywhere at all.  

The people who booked for October 2020 cancel.

So far, the electricity has been on all week.

December 12

Ecocash is still down.

I go to Fedex to buy the package for Ellie's permanent residency application which has to be sent to Harare.  After filling in all my details, the lady dealing with me discovers the swipe machine has died and, as there is a power cut, it cannot be recharged.  I go to another Fedex branch where, thankfully, there is electricity.

I then go back to Immigration with the new letter and the package and put in the application.  While I am there, a very flamboyant Zimbabwean man with an open-necked shirt and a gold chain jokes with the immigration officer.  He has a slightly British accent and is flashing a British passport around, laughing about the fact that he has to pay in US dollars to renew his stay in Zimbabwe when the use of US dollars is actually banned.  I wonder how long it took him to get a British passport.  I have only just got citizenship after 45 years and I was told that I must promise not to take advantage of the situation by attempting to vote. 'We will enter it on our records that you are still not allowed to vote.' Anyone who thinks the UK is tough on immigration needs to come to Africa.

Ellie's application costs US$100.  Her new British passport cost less than the residencystamp/sticker/whatever you want to call it. This is an incredible amount of money and when her passport runs out in five years' time, it will have to be paid again.  The residency stamp used to be free.  If we were to leave Zimbabwe for more than a year, we would lose our residency and would have to reapply at a cost of US$500 each. What are the perks of staying here any longer?

December 11

After the sheer joy and peace of yesterday, unfortunately I am required to go into town - back to Tredgold Building.  Before we go, the lady in the cottage leaves after buying two copies of This September Sun.  

At Tredgold Building, we are told that there is a problem with Ellie's application for an external Zimbabwean birth certificate, but we are not told what the problem is. We go to Immigration to ask what we can do as we want to go to Botswana next week.  Here we are told that we can still put in Ellie's application for permanent residency as long as we can produce the receipt to show that she has applied for the birth certificate.  We cannot find this receipt.

We go back to Tredgold House where we get a duplicate copy of the receipt. We go back to Immigration and put the papers in, but are told that the wording of our application letter is wrong.  We have asked for a permanent residency stamp to be put in Ellie's passport, but we should have asked for a permanent residency sticker. I must say doing yoga has saved many a life in the last few weeks.

December 10

I wake up to heavy rain falling.  It is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world.  I do something I have not done for a long time: I lie in bed and read.

I am a bit of an odd person in that, in order to relax, I have to tidy up. My family is quite used to this and merely roll their eyeballs at me as I walk around with piles of stuff saying, 'Who's is this?  Who does this belong to?  Please go and put this away.'  

Sian and Ellie spend the whole day making Christmas decorations and playing Cluedo. I love Cluedo but don't like the way it has been updated and that Mrs White has been replaced by Dr Orchid.  Apparently, and I don't know how true this is, it was felt that an elderly cook was not inspiring enough for female players, so she was replaced with a young, dynamic doctor.  I don't know about anyone else, but I don't remember the characters in Cluedo having that much influence on my career path.

In the afternoon, I have a chat with the woman staying in the cottage.  She has spent her day reading This September Sun on the veranda.  What better way to spend one's day?

December 9

Despite the storm, we did not actually have that much rain last night.  I go to school to do some more work.  We have a last-minute booking for the next two days so I message John to make sure the cottage is ready.

Last night, just as we were about to leave our friend's farewell, we got a phone call from the aid agency asking is we could take one of their visitors.  We said yes and were told they were already waiting outside the gate.  

John goes into TelOne to report what happened with the Ecocash payment yesterday and they recharge the Internet so that is one good thing.  It is still impossible to transfer money onto Ecocash from our bank account.  However, another piece of good news is that the bank is now allowing each customer to withdraw $100 bond from the ATM per week. This is the equivalent of US$5.

At lunchtime, our visitor arrives.  She is a young Zimbabwean woman who now works on yachts in Malta.  The threat of water and electricity cuts does not appear to faze her one bit.  She just wants some time out.  I remember that feeling of coming home I used to have, that lovely sense of peace and quiet after the hustle and bustle of the UK.  Nothing beats that feeling.

I am very happy to finish all my online work mid-afternoon. In the evening, I have a gin and tonic to celebrate.  Normally, I don't have tonic as it is a bit of a luxury; I have a gin and tropical/mango/orange juice instead.  We watch Poirot.  The holidays have begun.

December 8

Today is one of those days. I wake up at 5am to do some work (due on Tuesday) and find out that we have run out of Internet.  Even though I could only buy the most basic package on Thursday night, I still find it strange that it should have run out already.  Of course, because I could not top up with Ecocash, I cannot top up the Internet online.  Very disappointed, I go back to bed and lie awake for the next two hours, thinking about all the work I could have done.  I get the most amazing amount of work done early in the morning when the house is quiet and no one else is awake.

At eight, John goes out to TM and OK to see if he can recharge the internet using swipe.  Normally, it works, but today they are both offline.  As it is Sunday, TelOne is closed.  John changes some money into Ecocash and I try to top up the internet online.  The money is taken from the Ecocash account, but the internet is not recharged.  This is a deep breath moment.

I end up going into work.  Besides the security guard, who looks extremely surprised to see me, I am the only person there - not surprising as it is a Sunday and school has closed.  Thankfully, I manage to work undisturbed for a few hours.

In the late afternoon, we go to a farewell braai for a friend of ours who is moving to the UK.  She is one of seven friends who have left Zimbabwe this year.  Over the last 20 or so years, we have got used to going to farewells.  When we lived in Zambia, it was because we were in an expat community; in Zimbabwe, it is because life has just become too difficult.  Even for those who can manage to survive here, there is no guarantee of a pension, no way you will be able to afford to send your children to university and, if you don't own your own house now, you never will.

As the evening progresses, the lightning moves nearer.  Let's hope the prediction of rain is correct as it has not rained for nearly two weeks. Once again, the topic of rain gauges surfaces.  Someone mentions that their father kept a rainfall record for over 50 years.  He still has the logbook. Somebody else mentions a Zimbabwean farmer who moved to the UK over ten years ago; he lives in Somerset with his wife and rain gauge and keeps a faithful record of every drop that falls.  Some habits die hard.

By the time we get home, the storm is much closer and so I go round unplugging everything that could get zapped by lightning.  About midnight, the storm is upon us.  Rolo is whining and scratching at the bedroom door, he is so scared.  I get up to reassure him he is OK, there is bang and a massive crack of lightning and the electricity goes off.

December 7

Today is going to be a busy day.  We have . . . drum roll, please . . . the Stamp Club social followed by the pantomime.  Before anyone asks, it's John who belongs to the Stamp Club and I am just tagging along. I am a bit worried that everyone will sit around discussing the differences between the half penny and the one penny George V stamps from Papua New Guinea, but John assures me they do talk about 'normal stuff'.  

We have a pleasant couple of hours, munching mince pies and sipping non-alcoholic punch and no one even mentions stamps.  Talk inevitably turns to the subject of the rain that is due in the following days.  The owner of the house invites John and I to have a look at a weather programme he has on his computer.  We spend a few minutes looking at low pressure systems, cyclones and lots of green, red and blue swirls that are hopefully going to drench Zimbabwe in rain in the early part of next week. Back in the sitting room, the rest of the Philatelists discuss the pros and cons of plastic and copper rain gauges. I have to make excuses for John who, by this time, is almost writhing on the floor in rain gauge agony.

In the evening, my dad, Sian and I go to the theatre to watch the pantomime.  I can't help but give in to what I refer to as the burden of memory. Because everything is in a state of deterioration, it is hard not to find oneself thinking back to better times. There are about thirty people here tonight; we all sit in the front three rows.  There was a time when every performance would have been sold out and you had to buy all your tickets well in advance.

When I was a child, we lived on a mine about thirty kilometres from Bulawayo.  As the mine manager's wife, my mum had to organise the Christmas party for the children and the trip to the pantomime.  We would go a Saturday matinee performance and then walk across to the park where the Christmas lights would be on and you could walk around, go on the little train that ran through the park, play miniature golf, or have something to eat at the cafe. The lights are still switched on every year, but they are the same lights, so many of them don't work.  The banner that should read Merry Christmas now reads  e r  C r  tma and the train has been replaced by a tractor and trailer and only runs a couple of nights before Christmas.  I wouldn't advise walking round the park during the day, never mind the night. The same nursery rhyme inspired displays are put out every year, but they are increasingly dilapidated.  Old Mother Hubbard has lost her head and the scene is more like something out of a horror movie than a child's rhyme.  The Nativity scene is the most disturbing of all as Joseph looks like a fully paid member of Al Queda and Mary is close on his heels.

One thing I always associate with the theatre are boxes of Charons mint chocolates that I never saw sold anywhere else.  I even look out for them tonight, but they have sadly disappeared.  The bar at the theatre, where people used to order their drinks for interval and would go after the performance to meet the cast, is now little more than a shebeen.  I don't like the atmosphere in it; the theatre, which has struggled financially, rents out the bar to a private individual.  There is a tv screen with various women gyrating away in a very aggressive manner and the drinks are served in plastic cups, probably because the present clientele either break them on a regular basis or take them home afterwards.

There is also a cafe which sells cokes and chips.  Gone are the days when people had a cup of tea in a brown Willsgrove cup and saucer. I find myself thinking about the mine Christmas parties; how my mum used to form a committee to help her, how every child was supposed to have a present that was dropped off at our house and put into a big sack that Father Christmas arrived with. I used to love helping her prepare for the party, whether it be decorating the Christmas tree or getting the tables ready with crackers and hats.  I played the Angel Gabriel in the Nativity one year and a pirate another year (that was not in the Nativity in case you are wondering).  I also have a vague memory of my dad dressed as a squirrel for some sort of Chritsmas show.

The life of the District or the mine in Rhodesia and Zimbabwe is one that has been barely documented.  These very small places were as busy as any town in terms of their social life.  There may not have been a shop, but there was a Club and, around that, revolved life itself.

The pantomime is great. We have a good laugh and really enjoy ourselves. I am so glad that all the weeks of hard work have paid off.

December 6

Next door to us in a huge house which is the headquarters of a Danish aid agency.  If they have to host visitors, they often use us.  Today, we get a phone call, asking if we can accommodate a man coming from Harare.  However, he will only be arriving in the evening.  This is the first person we have had to stay in two weeks, so we overlook his late arrival time.

John and Ellie leave at about 5.45 to go to the theatre.  I am a bit nervous about having to greet this visitor myself because Rolo is always very protective of me so I will have to lock him in the house when the man arrives.

By the time, John and Ellie arrive home at 9.30, no one has turned up. I have been awake and working since 5am and can hardly keep my eyes open.  Finally, we get a phone call.  Can we give directions to the house?  We give the directions and are assured he will be there after he has got something to eat. Half an hour later, he still hasn't arrived and is not answering his phone.  I go to bed.  John waits up.  No one comes.

December 5

Last day of school.  What a relief!

Tonight is the first night of the pantomime.  It is affectionately called 'Grannies Night' as all the residents of various homes for the elderly are invited.  It is also free for anyone over 65 so a number of people who are not in homes take advantage of the offer.  The economic situation we are in makes the tickets prohibitively expensive for many people, especially those struggling to survive on tiny pensions. Apparently, if you can impress this age group, you will get a good response from the rest of Bulawayo.  News travels fast in a small town.

In Zimbabwe, we have a unique form of payment which is called Ecocash.  To try and put it simply, it is an account you have on your mobile phone.  If you want to pay someone, you send it to their phone number. Businesses often have a merchant code rather than a phone number.  I don't really know how we would have survived without Ecocash over the last few years.  It is almost impossible to get hold of cash and not everywhere has a swipe machine. 

Two weeks ago, Econet decided to upgrade the Ecocash system - with the result that it has had numerous problems ever since.  The biggest one is that we are not able to put money into our accounts using swipe.  This means that there are various people we cannot pay or certain things we can't buy.  

Tonight, while I am working, we run out of Internet.  Usually, I can recharge using Ecocash, but this time, I only have enough money to buy the most basic package that will not last more than a couple of days.

John and Ellie say the first night of the pantomime went well. Let's hope tomorrow the phones are abuzz with the elderly urging younger members of the family to go and watch it.

December 4

Three weeks after we put in the application, Ellie's external birth certificate has not arrived for collection. John tries phoning the lady in charge and receives the following responses:

The man in Lupane is not answering his phone.
The man in Lupane has had to go to Harare in an emergency.
I am in a fuel queue.  Please try again in two hours' time.
I am at the hospital. A relative has just died.

After a week of constant electricity, we are hit with 18 hour power cuts.  Could ZESA not reach a compromise and give us shorter cuts?  Does it have to be all or nothing?

The deadline for completing my online work is fast approaching.

December 3

We receive a booking today for the 20 October 2020.  I cannot believe people book this far ahead.  It is one thing I cannot handle when I go to the UK.  Everything has to be booked months in advance in order to secure cheaper deals.  If you want to see friends, you have to inform them at least a year before you actually arrive as their diaries are so full - and so inflexible.  When we go overseas, we are definitely the African relations who turn up without the slightest word of warning and actually expect people to be able to see us. Visits always end with a big sigh and those words: 'Now, next time you come over, let us know you're coming.  Give us at least two years' notice otherwise -.' The knowing shake of the head says it all.

When I worked in the UK, I was always astounded by people who had booked their holiday for the folowing year and it is still something that astonishes me.  How do you know what you will be doing in August 2020?  How do you know you'll still want to go to that place?  Will you have the money?  Will you still be alive even?

What is more surprising about this booking is that it is for Zimbabweans.  Zimbabweans don't book anything.  We don't buy anything in advance and we don't do thinking into the future very well.  We live completely and utterly in the moment.  Look at the way people drive - as though they are the only car on the road and with absolutely no thought as to what might happen if they suddenly decide to stop - right there - in the middle of the road to let their friend out or their friend in. It's not our fault.  In a country with rapid hyper-inflation, you don't know what the prices will be when you enter the shop, you don't know what your salary is worth every month.  You don't know if you will get fuel for your car or if the electricity will be on any time that day or whether water will come out the tap if you turn it on.

That is why I do not believe these people are genuinely Zimbabwean.  I don't know what their game is but I am sure we will found out - in eight months' time.

December 2

People often ask me what John does.  Well, besides doing most of the cooking and all the running around and staring in the odd pantomime here and there, John mends pianos. He is, however, not a piano tuner.

Many years ago, when John was going to start college, he had a choice: he either trained to be a teacher or to fix musical instruments.  Needless to say, he became a teacher. I don't think it's a choice he necessarily regrets, but he is very glad he no longer teaches.  Our years in Zambia successfully managed to convince him that teaching has lost its way.  Students are no longer taught to question or to think and The Syllabus has become paramount.  

If you think that John wouldn't get much work in Bulawayo fixing pianos, think again.  Bulawayo, as his mentor, Tony, the piano tuner from Botswana, will tell you, is the graveyard of pianos.  John is often called out to give his opinion on whether a certain piano could be restored or not. Some people have left their piano outside in the wind, rain and sun for years on end and then suddenly wonder if it is possible for it to be restored.  I went with him once to see a piano at a local golf club.  The piano had obviously been used for Friday night singalongs at one stage, but for the past ten years, it had stood in a neglected corner.  A mummified rat fell out the bottom and most of the keys had been eaten away, either by the rat, or by woodworm.  It was a wreck, a complete wreck, but the club's manager was convinced it could be brought back to life and then sold for thousands.

Another woman pleaded with John to restore her mother's piano which had been kept in a garden shed. John kept insisting it was not worth his time or effort as it would literally have to be rebuilt.  He advised she go to the auction and try and pick up one there. She still messages him from time to time to see if he has changed his mind.

There have been some interesting pianos though.  One belonged to a holocaust survivor and another belonged to a couple who had eloped to Rhodesia from Cyprus in the 1950s. Most recently, John partly dismantled a baby grand that had to be transported to Zambia. Every piano tells a story.  We should know. We have three.

December 1

It's the first day of the last month of the year and I am exhausted.  It's the end of term, but I am doing a lot of online work and I am tremendously busy. I wish it was possible to survive on my salary, but I think the longest it has lasted is ten days.  Like all Zimbabweans, we have a number of jobs.  The B&B is just one of our incomes.

I am very grateful for the things that do bring us some money, but it does mean working all hours and sometimes you have to ask yourself if the amount of work put in is worth it. I spend so much time writing articles about things I am not even interested in and there is so much I would rather be doing.  At the moment, all I want to do is get out in the garden and do some weeding.  I want to make the Christmas pudding and finish the book I have been reading for the last three months.

The electricity has been on for a whole week.  As today is the first, there is a big rush to buy electricity as the first 200 units bought every month are cheaper than the next batch.  We are very low on electricity but John and Ellie are at an all day panto rehearsal and I am busy so we will have to stretch it out until tomorrow.

November 30

Today I am reading a children's story I wrote at the Hillside Dams Art and Craft Fair.  This is the furthest I have gone in writing for children.

When I was 14 and desperate to be an author, I wrote two stories for children.  One, called How Winston Warthog gots his Tusks, was published in The Chronicle and the other - I forget the title - was published in The Bulawayo Bulletin.  I don't remember much about the latter except that they spelt my name wrong, but that's been the story of my life.

I was very excited to have my story published in The Chronicle and can remember my French teacher congratulating me in class.  Many years later, I was seven months pregnant with Ellie and we were on a very wet camping holiday.  We were living in Zambia at the time and decided to go back to Zimbabwe for Christmas, via Malawi and Mozambique.  It rained the entire time we were away.  Every single day, it just poured down incessantly.  One of my most vivid memories of the trip was camping on the shores of Lake Malawi and holding the tent down at three o'clock in the morning as it was about to be blown away.  Sian was only three at the time and at night time I would tell her stories that I made up.  Winston Warthog was one of them.  

Over the years, both girls have loved the stories but they generally get out of hand as the girls contribute to the storyline which becomes more and more outrageous. Basically, Winston Warthog is a naughty little boy warthog who is a very bad speller.  He has a friend who is a very bad magician and can never get anything  right.  He also has a sister, Winstonia, and a fitness fanatic mother who makes courgette cakes and lettuce milkshakes. 

I have worked quite hard to get this story ready and polished enough to read to an audience.  The children are great.  Some of them are a little distracted, but others are very attentive.  Ellie is very proud as she has helped me quite a lot with this story. A few years ago, I wanted to start a reading campaign.  I have done quite a lot of research on the benefits of reading to children and it's a subject I push all the time. The most important thing that parents can do for their children is to read to them.  It's incredibly sad that so many don't.

November 29

The electricity has been on all week.  A colleague at work says she

longs for a power cut as she cannot afford full time electricity.  This is the absurdity of the situation. We discuss the possibility of self-imposed power cuts.

Initially, I thought someone was being paid to keep the electricity on in Hillside.  Perhaps there was a conference somewhere or someone's sister's daughter was getting married and they had slipped the Main Switcher Off-er (made up word) a cool US$500 to keep it on all week? Or is that not enough?  How much would one ask for in that situation?

My other theory, and John says there is no way this is true, is that it's ZESA's Christmas present to its customers.  Every week until the end of December, at least one area will have electricity the whole week.  Just so we remember what it's like and we feel very thankful and appreciative and don't think that ZESA is half as bad as we usually do.

Another theory, is that ZESA have run out of money.  The power is off for so long that they are not making anything out of it.  They may as well just close.

Yet another theory is that it is all paart of the psychological warfare waged against us by the government.  They give us something, then they take it away and make us suffer and then, just as we approach breaking point, they give it back.  It's all an attempt to mess with your head.

November 28

In the evening, I get the usual Thursday evening phone call.
'Hello?'
'Hello.'
'Can I help you?'
'Is that . . . er . . . Limerick Cottages?'
'Yes.'
'I am looking for somewhere for tomorrow night. For . . . er . . . two people.'
'OK.  Is that a couple sharing?'
Long guilty pause. 'Yes.'

For some reason, it is often a woman who phones.  I can imagine the man saying to his mistress: Look, I'm coming to Bulawayo for the weekend.  You find us somewhere to stay.'

That somewhere is usually quite cheap though and luckily we are generally too expensive for someone just wanting a dirty weekend away.  Wives are bound to find out if too much money is spent. We have actually been asked before if we would still charge for two people if the girlfriend only came round in the morning, six o'clock in the morning. We said, yes, that's fine.  By the way, we hope you like dogs.  Rolo is very bouncy first thing in the morning. never heard from them again.

Tonight, the lady who phones asks where we are so I describe our general location.  She wants the exact address, but I am not willing to give it to her unless she actually books.

Finally, I ask her if she is coming and she says she will let me know tomorrow. That is a definite no. I am very glad.  I hope I don't sound prudish; what people get up to in their own time is up to them.  What I don't want to happen is for us to get a bad reputation.

November 27

The shoulder pain is much better.  I can’t believe how well I slept last night. 

There is a lot on social media about being positive and feeling grateful for what you have. Sometimes, I feel many of these messages are a bit glib.  In the political and economic climate in which we live, so much is against you from the start, never mind your own personal experiences which may make you feel more depressed. 

The happiness gurus will tell you that one of the biggest problems with human beings is that they are never satisfied with their lot; we are always looking for more.  We begin our thoughts with the words ‘I’ll be happy when . . .’ I feel another idiosyncrasy is that we connect happiness to material possessions, although we know that some of the unhappiest people are extremely wealthy.  The irony here is that those people have nothing more to aim for because they can have everything and therefore their lives are made glaringly empty.  Those of us who can lie in bed at night, dreaming of having enough money to paint the walls or replace the carpet at least have something to keep ourselves going.

               There are two steep roads in Bulawayo; there may be more, but I cannot think of them. One is in the middle of town by the High Court ( a favourite with driving school instructors) and the other is in Suburbs, running from Park road up to Duncan road. Driving up the hill today, I notice an elderly woman in a wheelchair being pushed by an equally elderly man.  I stop and very generously offer them Sian and her friend’s help, but the man waves us on.

‘I am actually very fit,’ he smiles, ‘but thank you for asking.  Have a lovely day.’

I drop Sian and her friend at a house on Duncan road and, as I am reversing, the couple come sailing along the road.  I have no idea how they managed to get up the hill so fast. It is quite incredible.  The man is obviously quite right when he says he is fit.

Along Winnie’s Way there is a man who spends the entire day standing next to potholes that he has filled in with sand.  If I ever have change, and that is rare, I stop and give him something.  He is always very chirpy and very grateful for the smallest of coins.  Even if I do not stop, he always waves and gives me a thumbs up sign. Little does he know that he is in a short story I wrote.

In the evening we go to a carol concert at Ellie’s school.  It is hot, but the singing is beautiful.  The opening carol is When a Child is Born.  ‘A ray of hope flickers through the sky.’ Perhaps I am just tired, or maybe it’s because I love this carol, but I have a sudden urge to cry.  I think of the elderly couple waving me on and the man who fills in potholes giving me a thumbs up.  There is much to be grateful for.

November 26

A wood cutter, euphemistically referred to as a ‘tree doctor’, comes to cut the wood up so it can be moved out of the way.  Elizabeth receives a large pile of firewood and there is still plenty left over for us.  John will have to improve his braai skills so we can cook more food on the open fire.  The tree doctor suggests we cut down another large branch as well as it will probably come down in time too.

            Today I am suffering terrific neck and shoulder pain.  I go to the chiropractor who does a fair amount of clicking things back into place. It is getting to that point in the term when getting out of bed in the morning seems to require a supreme effort.

Ellie's Zimbabwean birth certificate is not yet available for collection.

            The electricity is on all day again.  I can’t help think that someone at ZESA has been paid to not switch it off. I don't mind.

November 25

Early last year, we came home to find the dogs going absolutely nuts.  Tallulah even jumped onto the bonnet of the car, she was in such a frenzy.  What we discovered was that the large jacaranda in front of the house had been hit by lightning.  A number of electrical appliances, including the modem, lost their lives that day.

            Since then, every time there is a strong wind, the branches creak ominously.  It is something that has been getting steadily worse and today the branch eventually falls down. Luckily, it misses the house and causes only minimal damage to a nearby frangipani.

            No rain is forecast until next week.  The heat is stifling. We are plagued by insects and mosquitos.


            The electricity is on all day.