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.