January 27

Some years ago, we had a visitor from Harare who came to Bulawayo to exhume his father's body so it could be cremated.  At the time of his father's death, the crematorium had not been working so he had to bury him, although his wish had been to be cremated.  The fact that his father's last wish was unfulfilled had obviously lain heavily on his heart as exhuming a body is no easy feat.  His brother and sister told him he was mad and just wasting money for 'Dad would have understood'.

Cremation has become something of a problem in Zimbabwe and many people have resorted to using the Hindu cremation facilities or driving a loved one's body hundreds of kilometres to the nearest working facility.

This man's father was in the RAF and I could see how his son might take after him: upright, in command, well-spoken and no-nonsense.  Today I get a phone call from him and straight away recognise the cheery 'tally-ho' voice.  He is coming to Bulawayo in February and would like to stay with us again.  He doesn't give me exact dates at the moment, but I hope we can accommodate him as February is getting quite busy.

In the evening, we have an inquiry from a lady in South Africa.  I feel sure she has stayed before as well. She would like to book for a week in March, but, unfortunately, we are full.

January 26

Our visitors and I finally meet when they come up to the house to ask if they can leave their bags here while they go into town.  The two younger women have been working in Gweru for five months with the Red Cross.  I can't think of a worse place to live in than Gweru.  They don't look too enthusiastic about it either. The two older women have come from Denmark to visit them.  Later today, they will go back to Gweru and then they want to go to Victoria Falls which doesn't seem to make sense as they will need to come back through Bulawayo. Their driver with whom they had the altercation on Friday is the brother of someone who knows someone they work with.  They say they are used to being charged 'murungu (white person) prices' and will probably still use this man to drive them to Victoria Falls.  Our suggestion about buses falls on deaf ears.

Later in the day, they come to say good-bye and ask if they can call us if something goes wrong.  The car, it seems, is not working as well as it should and they are afraid of breaking down.  It might be a good idea to get that sorted out before heading off to the Falls.  

January 25

I get up early and, as I am leaving the house, I notice that the curtains in one of the cottage bedrooms are exactly as they were yesterday evening - a little open.  My Agatha Christie mind immediately wonders whether anyone actually stayed last night.  Will we go in and find them all dead on the floor? Are they trying to trick someone into believing they are staying there when, in actual fact, they are miles away?

I go to my meditation class and once again find it very therapeutic.  In some ways, meditating is easy; in other ways, it is very hard.  A great amount of self-discipline is needed.

We have a new booking and it is quite a good one - two people for six days in March.  Our bookings have picked up considerably and I put this down to things: one, that I have been physically clearing clutter and getting rid of things; two, that I have been trying harder not to pick up on the negative and just 'let go' of worry. It is easy to become negative very quickly with things spiraling out of control.

In the evening, we have our monthly film night.  This time we watch 'This Beautiful Fantastic' which everyone enjoys.

As we go to bed, I notice the lights are on in the cottage so our guests must have come home.  I still haven't met them.

January 24

Today we are expecting visitors who booked a few weeks ago.  We send them a message to confirm that they are coming and ask what time we can expect them.  The answer is between five and six o'clock so we go off to watch Sian play waterpolo in the afternoon.

We have only just got there when the phone rings.  It is our guests.  They are waiting outside the gate. John goes back home to let them in and comes back with the story that two of the four guests have had their flight from Joburg cancelled and won't be arriving until tomorrow.  The two at the gate have just arrived from Gweru where they work for the Red Cross.  They hired a driver to drive them down and then take all four of them back on Sunday and agreed on a fee of US$90.  However, the driver now claims that he thought they were driving back that night.  Some heated negotiations take place and finally he agrees to come and fetch them all on Sunday. However, I think they have had to pay him extra.

At about six in the evening, I go down to the cottage to introduce myself and find no one there.  I go round the back and rather hesitantly peer through the window, but it seems deserted. About twenty minutes later, I notice that the light is on, yet I have not seen anyone return.  Perhaps they have been there the whole time and saw me looking gormlessly through the window.  No wonder they did not come out.

January 23

In the early evening, I get a message from Booking.com, announcing we have a last-minute booking for tonight.  Just as I am telling John about it, there is a hoot at the gate.

It is a Zimbabwean man married to a Dutch woman.  They have been living in the Netherlands for many years and would like to move back to Zimbabwe where they own a business.  Today they have driven up to Bulawayo from South Africa and are on their way to Harare.  The plan is to see whether moving back to Zimbabwe is a good idea or not.  I could have told them the answer over the phone and saved them a long trip, but there you go.  Some people need to see for themselves.

I am so glad that the cottage is ready.

January 22

Three years ago, I had a phone call from a couple in Victoria Falls who wanted to stay for the weekend.  Only when they had booked did they ask if they could bring their dog with them.  Rolo was not even a year old and he was a big handful.  I struggled to control him and John was away.  As much as I tried to assert myself, Rolo did not see me as Leader of the Pack.  I sent them a message to say that they could not bring their dog and received the reply that 'it's too late.  We are on our way.'

Rolo is not aggressive with other dogs; he only ever wants to play and this desire was ten times stronger when he was a puppy and he was the only dog.  He would not let this little dog go and whined constantly, scratching at the cottage door and then howling his little heart out.

It was the year we had very heavy, constant rain so everything was muddy and waterlogged.  I asked this couple not to let the dog on the bed, but the duvet cover was full of little pawprints.  On top of that, they smoked inside the cottage and took it upon themselves to put up a little piece of fencing where there is a gap between the wall and the door.  Altogether, they made themselves too much at home.

This afternoon, I receive a message from the same couple asking if we have a vacancy, which we do.

Them: Great!  See you in a couple of hours.
Me: However, I am afraid you cannot bring your dog.
Them: Then we will have to cancel.
Me: Sorry.

So once again, they were planning to turn up without mentioning the dog.  Surely that is something that you need to tell people about? I doubt we will see them again.

January 21

Our guests who booked to stay over Valentine's Day have cancelled.  Perhaps they have fallen out.

The neighbour's dog has returned.

The person who made me angry yesterday is nice to me today and I take this as an indirect apology. I am glad I did not respond to them yesterday as I think my silence made them think about their words.

The pool is looking particularly green.  We will need to replace the sand which is not available at the moment but we have been told it should be in next week.

January 20

The day begins with a message from our neighbour announcing that her dog is on heat and she can't find it.  I think at first it is the rottweiler that bit Ellie and imagine a litter of Roloish looking puppies.  It turns out it is her little fluffy white dog and I can't imagine the combination with Rolo at all!

Eunice comes to work.  She hasn't been since before Christmas.  It turns out that she has not had electricity since the last time we saw her as the transformer in her area blew and has not been replaced.

I have trying to be positive but today I am faced with a challenge as someone makes me quite angry.  I make a very big effort not to take it too personally and also find that it helps not to talk about what has happened and not 'give it too much energy' to quote a lifestyle guru. It does help.

January 19

Our guests leave for Hwange.  The little girl wants to take Tallulah with, but I don't think the poor dog would last two minutes in the wilds of a national park.  Apparently, the children have been keeping a diary of their trip and Rolo and Tallulah have featured in their latest entry.

It's interesting what effect the meditation has had on me for I suddenly decide I am going to sort out our small spare room where we keep all my parents' things - boxes and boxes of ornaments, letters, linen and crockery.  And nail clippers.  For some reason, my parents had at least ten nail clippers. I take everything out the room and condense it into fewer boxes, taking some of the things out which I know can either be given away or sold.  Last time I looked through the things, I ended up in tears over every single thing, but today I am a lot more calm, although it is still very hard.  The funny thing is that at the end of it all, I feel as though I have been talking to my mother.  I have a strong sensation of having just got off the phone to her.

We wash all the sheets from the cottage and I insist that we call Eunice in tomorrow to clean and do the ironing.  John seems to think he is some one-man band at the moment, doing everything.  Not only is he overworking himself, but I also don't want to be rushing around at the last minute as we were on Friday.

January 18

Our guests go out to Matopos for the day.  they have booked to stay an extra night.

I go to part one of a meditation class I have joined.  I know things like this are often very popular at the beginning of the year, but this time I feel a really strong need for life to be different.  I just don't want to carry on living the same year over and over again and I am intrigued by the idea that you can change your life by changing your thoughts.  

Unfortunately, I do think that I am wired, not to necessarily be negative, but to expect disappointment.  My mum, God bless her, was very much like this.  She would always encourage us in everything we did, but was not surprised when things did not go well.  She even admitted to me once that she feared being really excited about something and then it not happening.  Better to expect the worst and not be disappointed.

The class is great.  I really enjoy the meditations we do, but on the way home I find myself bursting into tears for no real reason.

Our guests come back from the Matopos.  They are disappointed that they did not see the rhino but were not prepared to pay US$80 for a guide.  I really do think that the tourist authorities do themselves a disservice when they overcharge like this.  There is a lot of thunder and lightning, but hardly any rain.  We switch the wi-fi off though as we have lost two modems to lightning.  The guests are fine with it off.

In the evening we go to a friend's birthday braai.  I am not drinking alcohol, not because I have a drinking problem, but just because it's nice to have a break sometimes.  Tonight is my first real challenge since I started this, but, although a gin and tonic would be nice, I am content with the tonic on its own.

Our friend wants to start a positive thinking group to help people through life in Zim.  I think it's a great idea.  Many people here live with a lot of sadness and a lot of fear.  Can you live in Zimbabwe and be happy?  That is the philosophical question of the day.

January 17

Getting such a bad review is quite crushing, however much I might feel there were other problems in our visitor's life which we bore the brunt of.  However, I am delighted to find that someone else has booked, although it is for tonight and I am not sure the cottage is ready.

Three years ago, John went to work in the UK for a few months and I was here, running the cottages by myself.  At that time, we had the two available.  I learnt two things very quickly: one thing is that you have to keep checking your e-mail messages as people do make last minute bookings.  I have come home to find a couple waiting to be let in and I had no idea they were coming and we have been sitting having dinner when people have turned up, who had booked, but we did not know anything about it.  I am supposed to get a message on my phone whenever we have a booking, but it tends to be erratic.

The second thing I learnt was that the cottage must always be ready, even if no one is booked. On one occasion, I can remember Sian, Ellie and I doing a whirlwind making up of beds in order to be ready when our guests arrived. Elizabeth gave me a severe telling off on this occasion and she was actually right.

Now I am back teaching, John tends to take charge of the cottages and sometimes he cuts things a bit fine.  Moreover, lately he has taken to ironing the sheets himself, declaring that he quite enjoys it as long as he can listen to the news at the same time.  

Now we have two problems: one is that John checks his email about once a day so he has no idea that guests are coming and he is in town; the other, is that none of the sheets are ironed.  I send him frantic messages and hope that he looks at his phone. At lunchtime, I zoom home, grab all the cleaning materials and make a start on sweeping and polishing while John attacks the ironing.  Our wonderful guest who has just left had asked for the cottage not to be cleaned as she would do it herself. I can actually hear my mother's words on this subject: 'Some people have no idea what cleaning entails.  It's more than doing the washing up and making your bed.'  I don't know if she ever made her bed as she rarely seemed to get out of it.  There are noodles all over the kitchen floor and the top of the stove is encrusted in something that has obviously spilt over during cooking.

The municipal water is off so when I try the taps nothing comes out.  Unfortunately, while I am cleaning the bathroom, John switches the tank water on and I have made the big mistake of leaving the taps open.  The plug is in the sink and so suddenly I am alerted to the sound of running water and find the kitchen is flooded.

As I am sweeping the water out, I find a small brown snake on the back step, rearing its head at me.  I am in such a panic, I tell it to go away and carry on with trying to dry the floor.  There is none of that 'Snake! Snake!' business today.  My dad works on the path in front of the cottage, clearing bits of grass that have come up in the path.  It's like one of those shows where a team of people come in and completely transform a house before the owners get back.

I am in the middle of scrubbing the tiles in the shower when the guests arrive, but they are very laid-back about things and happy to wait.  They are a family of French-Canadians enjoying time away from a very cold winter.  The lady tells me she has a friend who has worked in Zimbabwe for four years and who is constantly trying to persuade them to come and visit so over Christmas, they gave her a call and said 'can we come?'.

They have three little girls who run around the garden and play with the dogs.  They have booked for one night but might stay another as they want to go to Matopos tomorrow.  It is so nice to have such friendly, interested people arrive.  

I have to zoom back to school for a meeting, John goes to watch Sian play waterpolo and we don't see them again until the evening. They would like to get hold of some Zimbabwean money but say they haven't seen any since they arrived in Zimbabwe.  I am impressed that they have sorted themselves out with a local phone line and have got Ecocash. In turn, they are impressed that they managed to buy petrol, albeit for US$ at an actual petrol station.  They say this is impossible in Harare.

On the way down to Bulawayo, they stopped in Chegutu for fuel.  A man offered to help them and took them to some place where he had a friend with a friend who had petrol.  I admire this family's sense of adventure.  Many people would be wary of doing things this way, but they appear to take it in their stride - with a sense of humour.

January 16

As predicted, we do not get a good review from the German lady who describes us as 'a rip-off'.  We get the lowest rating that we have ever received.  However, she does not give any detail as to what was so terrible. In the whole time she was here, she did not come and complain about anything.  The only thing she messaged about was the internet which had to be renewed three times whilst she was here which I think is quite excessive. 

It is a difficult one to decide on as we offer wi-fi. However, we do ask people not to download movies or large files as we cannot afford the unlimited internet package and also it makes the system very slow. Even at hotels, guests may be limited as to what they can download.  Perhaps she is used to life in Europe where things may be very different, but I thought having friends in Zimbabwe may have given her some understanding of difficulties faced here.  I did also explain to her that I was unable to renew the internet on her second to last day as the office had closed which was not a lie.  

I feel her attitude towards us changed when she found that we do not have credit card facilities, but this had all been made clear to her before she came.  Again, I would have thought her friends may have filled her in on some of the details concerning banks and getting money. The fact that she did not try and go to the bank at all shows me that she already knew that it would be a dead end.

Apart from two days in the two weeks she was here, she had water and electricity.  When the electricity was off, it only affected the sockets, not the lights.  It was a ZESA problem so we just had to wait for them to turn up.

Overall, I think she was an unhappy person.  I think her behaviour - staying inside with the curtains closed - speaks for itself. There is more to this situation than meets the eye. Although I am annoyed by the review, I try and brush it off and hope that she feels very bad about what she ahs written.

January 15

The electricity meters are still blank.

We have a booking for the end of February.  We receive a message from the guest:

‘Are the activities and the entertainment still available?’

We are completely stumped.  Apart from having a swim in the pool and bird-watching, we are not sure what activities are being referred to. Perhaps Ellie could play them a tune on her violin or Rolo could chase them round the garden? As for the entertainment, I can’t imagine John and I doing a song and dance routine, but there you go, anything is possible.

It is an overcast day, but it is sticky and humid.  The amount of people dressed for an Icelandic winter is incredible.  Leather jackets, knee-high boots, scarves and beanies.  It's about 27C. I do find it extreme. The funny thing is that they don't actually wear anything different when it is genuinely cold.

January 14

The first day back at school.  

I manage to make an appointment to see the doctor who sends me for X-rays on my back.

More build up of rain but nothing happens.

I am embarrassed to say that we have not had a power cut since before Christmas.  

There is an elderly lady I often give a lift to who lives close by.  She is quite a character, especially as she has a strong East End (of London) accent, despite the fact that she has lived in Zimbabwe for most of her life.  She tells me that she heard there are going to be police patrols at night with dogs to try to counter all the cable theft that takes place.  

‘What a load of rubbish,’ she says.  ‘They are all too scared. I tell you what, you give those dogs to me and I’ll sort them out.  I’d let them off the lead and let them munch the buggers.’

She is a tiny lady and the thought of her patrolling the streets at night with two large Alsatians is quite funny.

We have a booking for February. 

January 13

John goes out early and finds our guest standing on the side of the road with her suitcase.  He stops to say hello and gets a very curt response.  She is going to catch the bus to Harare and is waiting for her friends to pick her up.  ‘My friends have let me down,’ he says with her straight line mouth.  She does not say anything about her stay or even goodbye.

The cottage smells overwhelmingly of a strong, sweet scent.  I feel like opening all the doors and windows to get rid of both the smell and the presence of this woman who has stagnated here for the always open if there is someone at home.  I could not stay in a room with the curtains closed all the time, especially during the day. One of the peculiarities of Africa is that people often keep windows and curtains closed. I don’t know how many times I walk into a classroom to find every single window shut and it’s at least 10 am.  Then there are people who lock the doors all the time.  I just don’t get it.

About three years ago, a man stayed with us for a few nights.  As soon as I had shown him into the cottage, he set about closing the windows, drawing all the curtains and even locked the interconnecting doors between rooms.  I don’t know what that was all about but it certainly made me feel claustrophobic.

January 12

I find the only comfortable chair I can sit in and stay there most of the day.  I manage to finish the short story.

Around lunchtime, our guest goes out with her friends. It is her last day.  I wonder if they are glad to see the back of her as well.  They did not visit her often. She is leaving early tomorrow, but does not come and say goodbye.  I find her very odd.

January 11

I wake up late and in a daze as I had to take strong painkillers again last night in order to get to sleep.  I am in such pain, I consider going to A&E, but I don’t.

In the afternoon, I receive a message from the lady in the cottage saying that the internet has run out.  This is just too much.  It has lasted five days.  I go down to the cottage where I am greeted by a very glum face.  If she were an emoji, she would be the one with the straight mouth.  She can hardly say hello.  I ask her if she has been downloading movies or large files (we ask guests not to) but she is adamant that she has not.

               ‘I have only been streaming youtube videos,’ she says, ‘and that shouldn’t use up too much internet.’

               I don’t know too much about these things, but that doesn’t sound right to me.  I am sure that being on youtube 24/7 must use up a lot of megabytes.

               I tell her that I cannot renew the Internet as it is Saturday afternoon and the TelOne office is closed.  I do not have enough Ecocash to buy it online.  The straight line of a mouth becomes even straighter.  Her voice is low and monotone.  I suggest that her friends might be able to help her but she says no.  She just stands, staring at me. Eventually, I manage to escape the straight-mouthed brooding figure.  I find her attitude very odd.  All she has done in the two weeks she has been here is stay inside the cottage with the curtains closed the entire day, watching youtube videos.  On Monday, she will get on a plane and fly back to the UK and her African holiday will be over.  I wonder what she will tell people at work about where she has been.

January 10

I have had a terrible night’s sleep and am in a lot of pain with my back.  I ended up taking a strong pain killer late last night and am very groggy this morning.

We have a good booking for February.  Two adults and a child from Harare who are coming to watch some cricket match or other on two different weekends.  This is heartening news.

John phones ZESA who say that the fault is throughout Hillside and the electricians are ‘working on it’.  After hearing John speak to them on the phone, Elizabeth approaches me and whispers that whenever the man next door phones ZESA, they always come at once.  Elizabeth obviously lacks total confidence in our ability to be listened to.  I am not sure what she is suggesting.  Should I go next door and ask the man there to call ZESA on our behalf?  If I do so, should I tell him that they do not listen to us and only obey his command?

I consider phoning ZESA again and asking them if the electricity cable should be lying on the ground sparking in the way it is and is it OK if I go and fix it myself?  Would this get them round here any faster?

I am desperately trying to finish a short story for a competition that closes on Monday, but I cannot sit for long.  

The lady in the cottage actually goes out with her friends.  Her visa runs out on Saturday, but she is only leaving on Monday.  We advised her to go to Immigration and extend her stay.  It is generally very quick and easy, but she is afraid that she will be charged US$40 for another visa as the one she came in on was a joint Zimbabwean/Zambian visa and cannot be renewed.  In the afternoon, she pays us the outstanding amount in a grudging way.

In the late afternoon, we discover the sockets are all working again.  However, the screens on the meters are still both blank.  John and I share a look.  Have we found a way to tap into free electricity?

January 9

After numerous attempts to phone ZESA, John eventually goes into their office in town to make a report.  They assure him that the matter will be sorted out later today.  The electricity has become increasingly erratic with some plugs working sometimes.  Although the lights are working, both the meter for the house and the one for the cottages are blank.

The woman from the cottage comes up to the house to use the internet which we run off the inverter.  It is the first time I have seen her leave the cottage since she arrived.  Every day, she wears the same dress or wraps herself in a piece of cloth.  She makes various skype calls and spends a lot of time on her laptop and, at the end of it all, says that she is arranging to receive money via Western Union.  Then she disappears back into the cottage.

A lady contacts me about a piano she would like restored.  She describes it as ‘vandalised’.  When I tell John, he pulls a face, but says he will go and see it.  

Another lady contacts me about staying this weekend, but our German visitor does not leave until Monday.

By the time evening comes, ZESA have not responded to the fault.

January 8

Someone comes to cut the grass at the back of the house.  It has grown very wild here despite the lack of rain.  This lady has horses and is struggling to find food for them due to the lack of rain. Unfortunately, the grass cutting machine that she brings, does not work so her workers have to cut the grass by hand.  They cut as much as they can put in the back of her truck.  I am glad the grass went somewhere and has helped someone.  We still need someone to come and do lots more cutting though but now I think I will feel it is such a waste if the grass doesn’t go to feed animals.

The woman in the cottage now says she doesn’t know how she will pay us the remainder of the money she owes – she has paid us half – as she did not know we don’t have credit card facilities.  She was sent all the information about payment when she booked.  We suggest she asks her friends if they have any suggestions.

In the afternoon, all the sockets in the house stop working, but the lights are fine.  Everything works in the cottages so I am not sure what is going on. 

January 7

More messages of fear to start the New Year:

When you write the date this year, make sure you write the year as 2020, not just 20 otherwise people can add their own figures to it.  The question is why? How this would be helpful to a criminal is not clear.  Most things these days are printed so would it be that easy to change the date on a receipt or invoice?

Another more strange message:

Hello beloved saints.  I'm sure that you know that the New International Version of the Bible was published by Zondervan but is now OWNED by Harper Collins who also publish the Satanic Bible and The Joy of Gay Sex.

On and on the message goes about how certain words, including Jehovah, Calvary and Holy Ghost have been removed from the Bible as well as various verses.  It ends with the dire warning that 'Rapture will take place any time from now.  Everything hindering the Rapture has been removed. Please be prepared, there is no more time. Whatsapp this message to at least 10 people. Do not ignore.'

Where do people find the time to write this rubbish and why do people believe it?  

Rain has built up for a second day, but nothing has happened.

January 6

It is always sad to take the Christmas tree down, although we know it can’t always be up.

‘Why can’t we be that odd family that has a Christmas tree up the whole year?’ asks Ellie.  I know this would suit her.  Ellie is one of those people who would run a Christmas Shop the whole year round.

In the afternoon, my dad, Sian, Ellie and I wash my car.  I have a theory that the car you drive represents you as your energy is transferred directly onto it.  My car is looking decidedly neglected so we give it a good scrub and even clean the engine.  Hopefully, this means I will wake up tomorrow and feel as though I have had a makeover.

People who have gardeners don’t realise how lucky they are.  When you have to wash your own car, you don’t do it as often.  There are people I know who drive into their properties and are immediately surrounded by a host of people who carry their bags and their shopping and then give the car a clean before it is used again. When we lived in Ndola, we were in a townhouse complex.  The man opposite us was absolutely fanatic about his car.  The maid cleaned it before he left for work in the morning and, when he came home at lunchtime, she would run out with a stool and bucket of water and wash the whole car, including all the mats.  The car was clearly only used by him so much of her daily work was entirely superfluous.  The funniest thing was that this man would lock his car with his remote control and then walk around it, checking every single door before he went inside his house.

Before Christmas, I was going to pick up a parcel from someone’s house.  I messaged to say I was coming and received the reply that ‘the staff had been informed’ and I could pick it up.  There are many days when I wish I could talk about ‘the staff’.  I imagine a life of gardeners and maids floating about in crisp, clean uniforms, running the show with expert efficiency.  Sadly, 100-year old Elizabeth who can’t even answer a phone, does not quite fit the picture.

January 5

I hit a real low today, which is very unusual for me.  Partly, it is because I did not sleep very well last night and partly it is because of the seemingly relentless heat.  It may sound odd but it is as though it suddenly dawns on me that we are in a new year and it depresses me greatly.  I just don’t feel I can do another year doing the same things, putting up with the same rubbish and just getting poorer and poorer.  Not another year of having to deal with stupid rules and regulations, trying to balance finances, queuing for fuel and regarding every single supermarket receipt with despair.  Wouldn’t it be great to receive some good news, to buy something without thinking too deeply about it, to go to a bank and get money out?

I spend a lot of the day reading on my bed and thinking of my parallel life in which I live in a rose-covered cottage with a beautiful garden stocked with everything from lavender to daisies, nasturtiums, hollyhocks, snapdragons, violets, peonies – you get the picture. There is always plenty of tea and toast and a big fire going whatever the weather. 

The lady in the cottage messages to say that the Internet has run out.  There is something not right here for it has only lasted five days.

January 4

John and I take the dogs out in the morning.  There is not a soul to be seen.  This is far, far better than the other day.  Perhaps I am anti-social, but I like feeling as though we are the only ones at the dams.  I don’t like tripping over people. I really enjoy my walks in solitude.

We change the sheets and towels for our guest.  She does not appear to do very much more than lie on her bed all day.  I cannot see a book or even a magazine, but I think she is on the Internet quite a lot.  I suppose some people really just want to relax; they don’t want to go anywhere or see anything. I still think I might at least sit outside or go for the odd walk, but I am sure that is not everyone’s cup of tea.

In the evening, her friends come to visit and there is much jollity and people walking up and down the paths in the garden.  For some reason, Rolo is extremely relaxed and does not even twitch an ear in their direction.

January 3

We get a booking for the end of January for four people for three nights.  It is amazing how much better receiving the notification can make you feel.  A couple of years ago, I used to spend about fifteen minutes twice a day saying affirmations: ‘Both cottages are full.  Both cottages are full.’ It was quite interesting to see what happened.  On one occasion, a man who had stayed here more than ten years ago turned up with two American women.  He was passing through Bulawayo on his way to South Africa and just thought he would stop by and see if the cottages were still being used as B&B accommodation.  I think I need to start those affirmations again.

Sian and I scrub the kitchen.  I mean, we really scrub it.  We spray every surface with a mixture of lavender and citronella which flies apparently hate.  We cannot get rid of the flies.

January 2

The day begins with a trip to the dentist for Ellie. As Ellie is Ellie, she is not frightened at all, viewing it as some children may see a trip to Disneyland.  On the way home, we have a long conversation about why people fear dentists.

We have a problem with flies.  They are making our life unbearable so John googles home made fly traps and sets about cutting the tops off plastic bottles and filling them with apple cider vinegar and honey.  He is like the Professor of Doom, plotting how to kill all the flies in the world.

The lady in the cottage says she does not want the cottage cleaned at all; she will do it if we can just bring her the cleaning materials.  This certainly makes life easier.

By the time the evening comes, John has not caught one fly.

January 1

We wake up to a message from the lady in the cottage - the internet has gone off.  As it is New Year’s Day, I am not sure how easy it will be to recharge. I go to speak to her and explain how to use the stove which she says she doesn’t know how to operate.  It involves turning the gas bottle on which she says she has never done before.


I find out that she has come to Zimbabwe for her friend’s traditional wedding and is now going to spend the next two weeks relaxing. I was afraid that Rolo may have given her a hard time when she came back last night, but she says she just stood her ground and waited for him to stop barking.  ‘I think when he saw that I had a key, he was happier,’ she says to me, but I am not one hundred per cent sure of this reasoning.


In the afternoon, we make a big mistake by deciding to take the dogs out to Hillside Dams.  It seems as if the whole world is there. There would have been a time when Rolo would have cleared the entire place in seconds, but he is now much calmer and leaves people alone.  That does not stop some idiots from screaming and running as soon as they see him.

December 31

We spend New Year's Eve at a friend's house.  There is a small group of us and it is a very pleasant evening.  Sian doesn't come with us as she doesn't want to be with 'old people' and spends the night with her friend instead.

In the morning I had been very grumpy because of having to pay a huge amount of money to get the parcels my sister sent. On Facebook, a couple of people responded to my post of complaint by saying: 'Well, even if you bring in a car you have to pay duty.'  Fact is, I am not bringing in a car. Of course I would expect to pay duty on a car, but not on a few presents. I was really seriously depressed by this and just thought that I cannot stay in a country where you are continually clobbered and have everything taken from you.

I want to feel like we are going into something new, but I cannot believe that Zimbabwe will change overnight. Our most immediate threat is the lack of rain which no one, even the government, can do anything about.  

However, the nice thing about spending time with friends is realising that you are all in the same boat.  

  

December 30

Someone posts the following on the Neighbourhood watch group chat:

'The electricity has gone off on Leander Avenue.'

This comment alone is proof that aliens live among us, for there is no other explanation for such a stupid statement besides that this person was very lately beamed down to earth without doing any research as to where they were going.

In the evening, our guest arrives.  She is a German woman working for an Irish company in London.  Very luckily for us, we have not had a power cut for a number of weeks which also means that, when the water is off, we can still pump it from the tank.

December 29

I realise I have not told everyone how the dogs got fed over Christmas.  I never did get in touch with Elizabeth.  Her phone just rang and rang.  Our friends, Paul and Ute, also tried to get hold of her to no avail.  The next day, Paul got another key made for the door (I had given him the number) and, accompanied by another friend of ours, climbed over the wall into our garden.

Elizabeth, who I feared dead, or at least unconscious at the bottom of the back door steps, was found and the house was opened.  She had actually used some of her own mealie meal and cabbage to cook the dogs food.  Yesterday, I tried to ask Elizabeth why she had not answered her phone, but got no real answer from her.

'Elizabeth, I tried phoning you about 30 times.  Is there something wrong with your phone?'

'No.'

'But you didn't answer.'

'Did you send me a message?  I can't read messages.'

'No, I phoned you.'

'Don't send me messages.  I don't like them.'

'But I didn't send you a message, Elizabeth.'

'Next time, you phone me. It's much better.'

In the afternoon, we go and see Paul and Ute to thank them for rescuing the dogs from hunger.  Over a glass of wine, we discuss various New Year options.  New Year is always a funny time.  I don't know how to spend it and, when it's over, I hardly ever feel that I spent it in the way that I wanted to. But I don't know how I wanted to spend it.  

December 28

We wake to very light rain.  Yesterday on the way home, we drove through a number of showers until we got to about 30 kilometres from Bulawayo when it all stopped.

It is my younger sister's 40th birthday.  Time certainly seems to fly by.  I remember quite clearly the day she was born as my older sister and I had to go and stay with friends of my parents.  It was early in the morning and . . . guess what? The electricity had gone off.  

We take the dogs for a walk and pop into the post office on the way home to see if the presents that my sister in the UK sent have arrived.  They have, but it will cost me $748 to get them.  This is just ridiculous.  My sister always sends presents for birthdays and Christmas and I have never paid this much.  

Around midday, our guests arrive.  The woman is very jolly and friendly, but her husband does not even greet me.  He looks like one of those people about whom his wife would say: 'He's very nice really.  You just have to get to know him.'  They are going to Hwange for New Year.

'How long are you there for?' John asks the man.

He shrugs.  'We get there when we get there.  We leave when we leave.'

December 27

Just after we get up, the electricity goes off.  We have been really lucky as the only power cut we had was the night we arrived.  I send a quick message to Ritz to say we are off.  She wants to come round

to do an inventory of all the stuff, but this is not going to happen. We have a long way to go and she will have to trust that we are honest people.  Moreover, we have no idea what exactly what was in the house and I will not be held responsible for things we have not broken or stolen.

Recently, we discovered one of our guests had broken the small cafetiere that is in the cottage. People often break glasses and teaspoons very easily disappear in picnic baskets.  However, we do generally find most people quite honest about breakages and, if they aren't, we have to carry that expense.  I do not like the idea of treating guests with suspicion and going through every single knife, fork and spoon before you allow them to leave.

Before we leave the Bvumba completely, we visit a castle near the White Horse Inn.  The castle belonged to a friend of mine's dad and step-mother.  When I was about 14, she invited me and a couple of other friends to stay a week there.  It was really quite an experience.  I am not sure who built the castle originally, but it was great fun to stay in.  Every day, we went into Mutare in a beach buggy, spent the morning at the municipal swimming pool and went for lunch at the dairy den, which was also owned by my friend's dad.  Both he and his wife have now died; his wife suffered a terrible death when she fell out of a top floor window(there are three floors) and broke her back.  

It is my turn to drive and John's turn to sit in the back.  Apart from one game of hangman, John is left undisturbed and manages to read a book. Why are children always so different with their mothers?  As we are approaching Masvingo, we see what looks like a small walled cemetery on the right-hand side of the road.  I stop and the girls and I walk through the bush to see what it is.  It is indeed a cemetery, but is no longer in use.  A plaque informs us that it used to contain the remains of a number of Italians interned near Masvingo during the Second World War and they have now been removed to the Chapel of St Francis of Assisi.  

I have heard of this place and really want to go and see it, but it is not signposted and I have to make some inquiries.  The internment camp is now the headquarters of Fourth Brigade.  It is very run down and looks like a scene out of Bridge Over the River Kwai with its rickety wooden look-out tower and old Nissan huts.  The chapel is just outside the camp and is well looked after.  Inside, it is beautifully decorated with murals on the walls and ceiling.  The names of all the internees that died are in an alcove on either side of the altar with the names of the places they were born and where they died.  One is just a child of seven and the oldest is about sixty six. 

These Italians were brought from Abyssinia (Ethiopia) by boat to Durban and then sent up to Rhodesia.  It is extremely sad that you can be quite happily living your life when someone decides you are the enemy and sends you off to a totally different place.  Although they were living in Ethiopia, the majority of the Italians were born in Italy.  I wonder if they were homesick or quite glad to be out of Europe.

About 60 kms from Masvingo, I realise I have taken the wrong road and am extremely alarmed to see that the next place is Mvuma; I am on the Harare road.  In Zimbabwe, roads are very straightforward.  There's no looking at maps and seeing which junction to get off on or anything like that.  There is a road into town and a road out, yet somehow or other, although I followed the sign for Bulawayo, I must have missed another turning.  

After some deliberation we decide to carry on to Mvuma.  My dad was general manager of Athens mine at one time.  I remember him telling me about the mine manager who had spent his entire life except for university in Mvuma and did not ever want to leave.  Mvuma has, perhaps, a  shop, a school and a police station.  A few years ago, my parents bumped into this man in Botswana.  He had moved to Selibi-Pikhwe after his wife left him.  He was a lost man.

From Mvuma, the next stop is Gweru.  If it is one thing I cannot understand about Gweru, it's how anyone lives there.  I really feel it is the arse end of the world.  The only place that perhaps surpasses it n this respect is Kapiri Mposhi in Zambia.  I have connections with Gweru though for quite a lot of my family lived there.  My great-grandmother, who was only about four feet tall, ran the bar at the Midlands Hotel.  She was a very cheeky Welsh lady who had also run the bar at The Meikles in Harare.  My grandparents lived in Gweru as did my gran's sister and her husband.  Legend has it that one boozy evening when they were driving home from the club, he fell out the door as they went round the roundabout.  My gran's sister carried on driving, went round the roundabout again and picked him up. Luckily, there was not much traffic in those days.

Finally, we are home.  The dogs are absolutely ecstatic to see us.  Rolo does about five laps of the garden before he will calm down.  I make the excuse that I need the toilet and I rush inside and quickly get the Christmas chocolates out of my cupboard and leave them on the mantelpiece for Ellie to find.

I'm tired, hot, glad to be home and sad our very short holiday has come to an end.

December 26

After a slow morning, pottering about and just enjoying 'being', we attempt another walk. We go down a path that begins well, but becomes increasingly like an obstacle course with trees down all over the place.  We climb over tree trunks and under tree trunks, sometimes even sliding along the ground.  The path finally comes to an end at a mud hut and so we turn around and go all the way back, this time uphill.

No visit to the Bvumba is complete without a trip to Tony's coffee shop.  In a place where you cannot even buy a pint of milk, Tony's may seem a little unexpected, but he and his cakes are famous throughout Zimbabwe.  Tony's cakes are the best I have ever come across.  My dad always got annoyed with us if we described something as 'divine' as he said it was a gross exaggeration, but really Tony's cakes are divine.  There is no scrimping on cream, walnuts, creme fraiche, pure chocolate or any other of the expensive ingredients that go into his cakes.  His coffee shop is very popular with expats and diplomats who come all the way from Harare to have tea and cake and then drive home again. He uses the most beautiful china and proper teacups and saucers and silver teapots, jugs and sugar bowls so he is obviously a favourite with me.

As we are on a rather tight budget, we order two pieces of cake and divide them between us.  A group of Chinese visitors order the chocolate cake and then leave more than half.  It seems like such a waste of food.  According to Tony, they run a hotel on the outskirts of Mutare and come for tea almost every weekend.

I receive a message from the lady who is booked to stay with us on Saturday, asking what time she and her husband can check in tomorrow.  I feel a surge of panic.  Surely she has got the dates wrong?  If she hasn't, I will have to try phoning Elizabeth and ask her if she can open the cottage for them. Getting through to Elizabeth is the first hurdle and no doubt there will be much tongue clicking when I ask her to let this couple in.  Luckily, it turns out that the guest has got the date wrong.

We are all very sad that we are already going home tomorrow.  We go for a last walk up the road and try to soak up as much of the forest atmosphere as possible.  I like to think that the memories we will have will serve as, to misquote Wordsworth, 'beauty recollected in tranquility'.

December 25

Last night we made a deal with the girls that we are not to be woken before 7.  It doesn't work.

After opening some presents, we start preparing what needs to be done for lunch.  John does most of the work.  I am in charge of the potatoes.

The highlight of the Christmas lunch is Christmas pudding which we douse in brandy and set alight.  It burns incredibly well.  My gran told me how they used to have trinkets the Christmas pudding until one Christmas her father, a very fiery bad-tempered man, choked on one and thereafter they were banned.  We retrieve four of the five trinkets and believe that my dad has swallowed the fifth.

After lunch, which finishes late, we go for a walk and struggle quite a bit to get up the hill on our full stomachs.  Sian and Ellie swim in a pond near the house.

In the evening, we play Ellie's new game, Time Flies, which is a mixture of Pictionary and Charades. You have to either draw, explain or act out what you are given on your card.  One of the titles I am given is Eurovision Song Contest which I have to act.  I try to be ABBA and it fails miserably.  

If I am proud of one of the things we have done as parents, it is limiting access to television and phones.  I honestly hate it when I see children given phones as presents. We don't have television and only ever watch DVDs.  Some people find this absolutely unbelievable and we always get that question: 'Aren't your children left behind?'  No, I don't think they are left behind at all.  They still have Internet access and have good computer skills.  Both of them get very, very bored with friends who come to visit and bring their phones with them.  This on its own is enough for them to see how badly addicted some people can get.

Board games are challenging and fun and involve many people; playing on your phone is a lonely business.

December 24

I often feel a bit of a fraud.  I am hailed as a Bulawayo writer; This September Sun was set in Bulawayo and many people have told me how it reminded them of their time growing up there.  Yet I am not a real Bulawayo person.  I still feel very much an outsider.  When I was growing up, my family moved around quite a bit.  Life for me started in Kadoma, although we did not live there, but in Chakari.  From there, we moved to Mhangura and then to Redcliff, then to Penalonga and then to Bulawayo, although I only went to school there; we lived on a mine thirty kilometres away.

We arrived in Penalonga in 1981.  My dad worked at Redwing Mine.  Every day, we went on a very old school bus that chugged its way into Mutare and back.  I remember very cold mornings and evenings; finding a secret garden with my sister; spending afternoons at La Rochelle; going to Nyanga and the Bvumba on day trips; lots of hydrangeas and posting a letter to Father Christmas from the post office.

It was a magical place, but it was also not long after Independence and the Eastern Highlands had been quite a hot spot during the Rhodesian bush war. My best friend at school had lost her father when he was blown up in a land mine.  The war in Mozambique was still raging and my mother used to buy tins of tuna fish from the refugees who crept across the border to sell the food aid they had been given. The tins used to say: Food aid from the people of West Germany.  We were under strict instruction not to tell anyone at school where the tuna fish in our sandwiches came from and I used to live in fear of my mum going to jail if it was discovered that she was buying food aid.

The girls make mince pies - the first batch burns - and we explore our immediate surroundings. I make the discovery that I have forgotten all the chocolate for the Christmas stockings.  After being excited to find chocolate coins and Father Christmases in Botswana, I cannot believe they are now in my cupboard at home. Ellie still believes in Father Christmas and I don't know how to explain that he has forgotten to bring chocolate.

'Don't worry,' says Sian.  'Just write a letter from Father Christmas and say the chocolate is at home. You were filling our stockings when you got word we were in the Bvumba and rushed over here, forgetting the chocolates.'

'OK,' I agree tentatively.

'Anyway, she's used to Father Christmas being a bit duh.  He always forgets something.'

This is true.  I don't know how many times a present has arrived on Boxing Day because I couldn't find it on Christmas Day. 

In the afternoon we go for a drive that takes us to the Botanical Gardens.  When we try to pay to go in, we are told the swipe machine is not working and there is no signal for Ecocash. We have a very limited supply of cash that I am loathe to use.  So we drive all the way back up to the main road where we can pick up signal, pay by Ecocash and then drive back down to the gardens. 

This is one of my favourite places.  I love all the paths that go off around the gardens, the green cool underneath the cycads and ferns; the huge pond and all the rhododendrons, hydrangeas and azalea bushes. Formerly called Manchester Gardens, they were started by the Taylors in 1926.  Mr Taylor was mayor of Mutare and he and his wife would spend weekends on their plot in the Bvumba, clearing it and planting flowers.  When he retired in 1940, the couple moved there permanently and the gardens became a favourite for people to visit from Mutare. After the war, Mrs Taylor offered to receive soldiers suffering from physical and mental trauma.  She died in 1954 and, not long afterwards, Mr Taylor sold the gardens to the Rhodesian government. 

The cafe, which is now closed, is the first place I ever tried pizza.  I was ten or eleven.  It's hard to think now that I had not had it before then.  The house the Taylors lived in is now inhabited by National Parks people.  It's run down and looking quite sad, but there is still something gracious about the steps up to the veranda.

In the late afternoon, we watch a magnificent sunset from the veranda of the cottage and in the evening we play Cluedo and light a fire.