September 25

Our guests arrive in the late afternoon. They are two women, a mother and daughter, from Kadoma.  For some bizarre reason, whenever I meet someone from Kadoma, I always tell them that I was born there, because I was, of course. When I say this, they always ask me what my surname is and then they always shake their heads and say the name does not ring  a bell - and it wouldn't.  I may have been born in Kadoma, but parents didn't actually live there.  They lived on the Dalny mine at Chakari.  Kadoma was the nearest place with a  maternity hospital. When I say that, they always nod slowly and the conversation ends.  Me being born in Kadoma has never led to a wider conversation.  I shall refrain from mentioning  it next time.

The younger woman works in Cambodia, teaching English and she has come to see her son, who lives in Bulawayo, before she flies back there in a week's time.  About twenty minutes after they arrive, I receive a message asking if there are knives and forks.  This is strange.  Of course there are knives and forks.  But there aren't.  The cutlery has vanished.  It seems our thief is back.  We had a problem about six months ago with someone taking small items out of the garage and they also took the iron from the ironing room.  The kitchen window was slightly open so they have obviously put their hand in and taken the cutlery which is on a stand on the table. We think it's our neighbours.  It's a pity that we haven't had the frogs we usually have this year.  I'd inundate their garden with the biggest toads I could find.

The fridge has also stopped working - for the third time since we have had it.  We have to give them my dad's fridge instead.

Time for a large G&T.

September 24

Hooray! Someone books to stay for the weekend.  They contact me through our Facebook page.  I keep meaning to update it, but at the moment it is just another thing to do.

I am enjoying being back at school. One of my favourite places to sit is my stock room which is lovely and big and airy.

I have a resident poltergeist.  I am not afraid of it; in fact, I think it sends me messages.  Sometimes when I go in, I find books on the floor or on the table.  I used to just pick them up and put them away, but now I have a closer look at the book for a clue to the message I am being sent.  It's interesting that there is often a link to something in my life: Persuasion, Pride and Prejudice, Far From the Madding Crowd. This week it was The Merchant of Venice and I can see where there comes in, pound of flesh and all that.  Some messages are more cryptic.  One of the books was The Cocktail party by T.S. Eliot which I have never read so I missed out there.

All my classes know about the poltergeist.  Sometimes when I am teaching, we hear books falling on the floor and I just shrug and say, 'you all know who it is, don't you?'  Some of the younger girls were a bit frightened when I first told them about it, but I think they are used to it now.  I told them a  story about an English teacher who was accidentally locked in the stockroom one holiday and when it was opened up, the cleaners found a skeleton sitting on a chair with a copy of Hamlet in hand.  (That bit I did make up)

Here is an interesting thing about the poltergeist: it never throws books around when I am in the stockroom.  I think it is just an attention seeker.  

September 23

Ellie asks me what my favourite time of day is and my immediate response is early morning.  However, I also love late afternoon when the heat is beginning to subside.  I have my cup of tea and go out and water all my pot plants. It's quite an arduous job as I have to ferry buckets of bath water around, but I find it very satisfying.

Bulawayo has got her best dress on at the moment.  There are so many different types of trees out and it is almost as though their blossoming has been choreographed.  Apparently the City Council once had a tree committee and the trees were planted strategically so there was always something in bloom. There are jacarandas in the middle of town, cassia down Cecil Avenue and bauhenia along the Hillside road, for example.  

There is a lot of colour around as the syringa are in bloom as are bougainvillea, pride of India and various indigenous trees (I am not a great one for names!)  The jacaranda are starting to come out and it is amazing to pick a particular tree and watch how every day it has more and more flowers on it. Everyone who has ever lived in Southern Africa will know the excitement of the jacaranda season.  Even those who are allergic to them, cannot deny their beauty.  Their presence signals so much more than a season and is intrinsically linked to some collective feeling of hope.  Perhaps it is because they come out at the hottest time of the year or because the year is drawing to an end, that they induce some sense of relief in us, or perhaps it is reassurance that the cycle of life still continues whatever our circumstances.

The irony, of course, is that neither the jacaranda nor the syringa are indigenous.  The jacarandas in the middle of town, I believe, were a present from the President of Brazil to Rhodes.  If anything, they are a symbol of colonisation for wherever you go in Africa, even in quite remotes places, if you find a jacaranda tree, you will generally find a store, or a clinic, or a school, or the District Commissioner's office.

When I studied in the UK, I would come home for the long summer break and leave at the end of September.  I absolutely hated leaving the beauty of September behind and going back for the start of autumn and the beginning of the dreariness.  I could deal with November and December.  I loved the build up to Christmas, but that funny in between stage was so hard to deal with.  

P.S. I remember seeing a jacaranda in New Zealand and thinking it was completely out of place. 

P.P.S A friend of mine once insisted for about an hour that jacarandas have white flowers and I insisted they did not, but apparently you can get both.

September 22

My sister has sent me a birthday present from the UK.  She sent it at the end of July and I have not yet received it.  Before going to work, I pop into the Post Office and ask if there is a parcel for me.

The lady picks up a pile of parcel slips at her elbow and leafs through them.  Every slip is stamped 'Hillside Post Office 12 August'.  My slip is near the top.  

Me: The 12th of August?  Why haven't I received the slip? This has been here for ages.

Lady: It was misplaced.

Me: Misplaced?  With all those other slips also stamped the 12th of August?

No answer.

I sign for the parcel and have to pay $250 (US$2.50) in customs fees.  My protest that I shouldn't have to pay as they have kept my parcel for over a month falls on deaf ears.  Another postal officer comes over and studies the parcel slip.  He mutters something about the parcel not having a phone number, but I can't hear him clearly due to his mask so I am not sure if I heard right.  Surely you don't have to put phone numbers on letters and parcels now?  Does the Post office actually do anything at all?  Why don't they just phone me from England and ask me to come and fetch it?

However, the good news is I have some really lovely new clothes that don't come from the Bendover Bazaar.  

The water comes on in the evening.  It comes on roughly every five days now and I can live with this.  We are very lucky to have a storage tank though.  

September 21

Today I get a message from Destiny Man:

DM: Hello z this limerick?

Me: Yes, it is.

DM: May you please assist me, do you guys have a pool?

Me: We do, but unfortunately it is only half full at the moment.

DM: Guess it's not functional?

Me: Not really.

DM: Perfect! How much z ur place if im there for like 5 hours.  Room and sitting outside.

Me: It's the same price as for the night.

DM: Hmm.

Destiny Man was obviously destined for somewhere else as that is the last I hear of him.  I wonder why he was so excited to find the pool is not functional, why he wanted to only be here for five hours and what he meant by 'hmm'. The water situation has been so dire here that we could not keep topping up the pool.  Ellie jumps in from time to time and so does Tallulah, so it's good to cool off in, but I wouldn't say you can really swim in it.

The good thing is that the lack of water means that we have not been inundated with frogs this year. Occasionally, we hear them in the distance, but we are saved the hassle of having to take 30-40 frogs out a night.  Our neighbours must be missing them too: John used to throw them over the wall into their garden in return for the rubbish they threw over into our garden.  I am sure they thought it was juju.

September 20

We spend the morning relaxing at the lodge.  Everyone in the family has a book they are engrossed in - except me.  How does one be a teacher and a reader?  Unfortunately, I often find myself so tired at the end of the day, that I cannot read more than a paragraph before falling asleep. I sit by the empty pool and edit the manuscript of my book.  I enjoy doing it so it is not work.

On the way home, we visit the Painted Dog sanctuary; it is closed, but they let us see the dogs. They have quite an amazing setup and get funding from all over the world.  The dogs are very lucky indeed, although they are still endangered animals.

At Gwaai River, we do what you have to do when you get to Gwaai River - buy a flower pot.  There are several hundred to choose from.  These people must have really suffered during lockdown with so few people being able to travel.  

Further down the road, people sit selling piles of firewood.  This always rings alarm bells and one wonders what the rate of deforestation is.  Who can blame these people for what they do.  The area is not good for farming anything except a few goats and there is no help from the government.  I would also cut down trees if I had to feed my family.

We pull over onto the side of the road for lunch.  Every main road in Zimbabwe used to have lay-byes for people to stop at.  There would be a concrete table and chairs and a rubbish bin.  Generally, they are found in shady spots under a tree.  Now, they are a little worse for wear: many of the tables and chairs are broken, if they still exist and the rubbish bins overflow onto the ground.  You have to be aware of broken glass and bottle tops when you get out the car. We tend not to stop at them, choosing anywhere else as long as there is some shade.

It is good to get home.  The dogs go crazy when they hear the car.  There is no electricity, but it comes on in the evening.  I go to bed thinking that we must try to get away more often.

September 19

 

I wake up at five o'clock, as do the girls, but there is nothing at the waterhole.  Later, the people in the chalet next to us tell us that there were hyena right next to the rooms at half past five. We were looking in the wrong direction.

After a decent breakfast of cornflakes, yoghurt, fruit followed by scrambled eggs and toast, we go out for a drive.  I wonder what it is that makes viewing game so interesting.  There is a huge herd of buffalo on the runway at Hwange airport, but otherwise we don't see anything except a lone giraffe.  At some point we end up driving into another camp where everyone looks at us as though we are some sort of rare species.  We have obviously wandered into Rhodie land as everyone here is wearing short boxer shorts and caps. The men are huge and the women are stick thin.

Hwange Safari Lodge is still closed which is a pity as we were hoping to go in there. My parents took me there for my 21st.  I will always remember how we ordered stuffed mushrooms for a starter and how the waiter appeared with this huge silver dish.  When he took the lid off, there was one mushroom atop a spoonful of mashed potato in the middle of a large plate.  We thought we were on candid camera.

A long, long time before that, we were at Hwange Safari Lodge and Joshua Nkomo was there.  It was when he was still deemed an outlaw by the government.  My dad jokingly told me to go and get his autograph, so I did.  I still have it.  Maybe it will be worth millions one day.

The National Parks run chalets at Main Camp are deserted.  We have to go through a long, arduous process of writing down everyone's names, temperatures, whether we have a cough or not, telephone numbers, ID numbers . . .  Main Camp is quite run down.  For what they charge, you may as well stay at a place like Ganda and have your food thrown in as well.  They are currently repairing the roof of the museum which has collapsed. Unfortunately, they have not removed any of the artefacts before doing so so everything is covered in grass.

In the afternoon, one of the guides from Ganda comes with us for a drive around their conservancy.  Once again, we see noting although the anti-poaching unit we meet up with says a herd of elephant has just passed through.

After a long drive around, we get back to the lodge to find a herd of about forty elephant are approaching.  It's lovely.  

September 18

We set off to Hwange for the weekend.  I cannot tell you what it is like to leave Bulawayo behind after so many weeks of being confined to it.  Before we go, we have to collect a letter from the safari company who operate the lodge we are going to, that says we have a booking.  This is to show police at stops along the way.  Despite tourism being opened up, it seems you still cannot just get in your car and decide to head off into the sunset. We are not stopped at any of the roadblocks; as soon as they see we have masks on, we are waved through. I wonder if there is anyone who would actually wear a mask for the entire journey.

Ganda Lodge is not top of the range, but it provides a lovely escape for the weekend.  There is a huge pan in front of the lodge to which the animals come and everyone who has been here has told me how you don't have to go into the park at all because the animals come to you.  When we arrive, there is a herd of sable at the waterhole.  They always look like such regal creatures and there is something mythical about them, to me at least. Unfortunately, the swimming pool is empty due to covid.

The chalet has two storeys: the girls make themselves comfortable upstairs and make all sorts of plans to wake up at five o'cock in the morning to see the game.  Dinner at Ganda is basic, but adequate.  There is no choice, but they do offer three (small ) courses. When we arrive, I remind them that we don't eat red meat and they say they know, but then add: 'But you do eat pork, don't you?' No, we don't.  The staff share a look that makes me feel a bit nervous.  The look says: tell the chef, quickly.

First course is half a grilled tomato with cheese on top, rather grandiosely described as a 'stuffed tomato'.  Second course is battered fish, pasta and vegetables and dessert is a sponge with custard.  One thing that drives John is mad in restaurants is when waiters clear someone's plate and there are still people eating.  The waitress not only clears Sian and Ellie's plates before John and I have finished, but she even brings the next course.  We have to tell her to slow down.  Dinner will be over in 15 minutes otherwise.

September 17

 

It's my birthday.  Sian and Ellie are up before me, preparing a lovely breakfast and picking flowers from the garden.  They are both very sweet and have made their own cards and some of their own presents.  In the afternoon, we have a lovely tea set out on the veranda.  John has made an orange and poppy seed cake (served with cream) and there is tea in tea cups and flowers in a vase.

Finally, my dream has come true and John has bought me a rain gauge.  I am now a true Bulawayo girl.  Sian bought me a 'vintage' Kango kettle, like the ones that are always used in series such as Call the Midwife. from Ellie, I got a lovely pot plant that has the most beautiful purple flowers.

Birthdays are in many ways, a time of reckoning - seeing how far you have come and taking note of where you are going.  I'd say that this year has been different in many ways.  It has been quite a trial and a challenge, but in terms of my own personal growth, I feel a great change.  Since my mum died, I have felt myself to be on a journey of sorts.  I suppose death always makes us stop and look at our lives.  I have found myself looking back at the past, asking questioning and also tying up ends.

I think doing yoga and meditation has helped incredibly.  The most important lesson I think I have learnt is PAUSE. This works in a couple of ways.  One is: don't retaliate, don't reply, don't say anything until you have paused.  The other is to pause in life: take a day off, spend an hour lying in the garden, doing nothing, read a book for the sake of reading, go for a walk for no other reason than to just get out.

Now, there is a lot to look forward to: life is beginning again, things are opening up; hopefully, the coronavirus is on its way out.  All Come to Dust should be published soon and, although there is work to be done on it still, The Dying of the Light is finished.  There is a lot to be grateful for and look forward to.

September 16

 

At one of the shops I go to today, the security guard takes my temperature, shows me the reading - 36.2C - and says 'Still kicking' and then falls about laughing.  'Still kicking, you know?  Still kicking.'

Meaningful words the day before my birthday.

I thought this was going to week, but my dad going away and it being my birthday tomorrow has stirred something in me and everything is heightened emotionally.  I can't help thinking of past birthdays.  I have some very happy memories of going to the Book Centre with my mum about a week before my birthday.  I would point out all the books I would like and then I'd have to go and sit in the car and when she came out carrying a big parcel of books in a brown paper bag, I'd try and guess which ones she had bought me.  My mum always made us the same chocolate cake and it was just delicious.  I won't even bother trying to make it.

I also have not so good memories.  I hated primary school so much, I missed a lot of school through having various 'ailments'.  I used to read a medical dictionary my parents had and make sure I came up with all the symptoms.  I think I even had typhoid and diphtheria at one point. I will never forget trying to fall out of a tree and break my arm so that I couldn't go to school. I remember being home on one of my birthdays.

September 15

 

My brother-in-law arrives around midday from Marondera.  My dad is going to stay with my sister for a few weeks as she is leaving the country in November.  I find myself very emotional although of course he is coming back.  My dad drives me mad sometimes, but I do love him and it will be strange without him.

In the evening, I go to a grief support group that has just started.  It is a beautiful evening and the air is heavy with the scent of syringa, Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow and jasmine.  The jacarandas are just starting to come out and even the sky is a pale violet.

I think in Zimbabwe, we live with so many layers of grief.  It is possible to sit and cry because that beautiful, intoxicating smell reminds you of past joy: your last term at school, the build up to the rains and the relief from heat.  Every day we have to live with that burden of the past: when things were better, when the buildings weren't chipped and broken, when the roads weren't pot-holed, when people's lives didn't hang in tatters.  It is easy, of course, to romanticise the past and, when you really do look back in the country's history, it is quite hard to find a perfect time.  However, I don't think anyone out there could describe the current time as a good one, unless, of course, you are a government minister.

I feel out grief as a people runs deep.  We have got used to waves of exodus as those who can look for greener pastures; we have got used to the 'brokeness' of things; we expect things not to work rather than being surprised that they don't; we use words like 'we used to' far too often.

It is not that it is impossible to happy; to say that would be very wrong.  I think life has just become much smaller.  I don't like going into the centre of town any more, I stick to certain places, shops at certain supermarkets and mix with certain people.  

September 14

For the first time since March, I am back at school. The government has allowed exam classes at private schools to go back.  It is such a relief.  I cannot explain the huge difference between teaching live, chatting, breathing students and names on a Zoom call.  I feel much more connected to the girls and they, in turn, seem to enjoy being back at school.

Unfortunately, Sian and Ellie are not back yet and I don't like just leaving them at home.  Ellie works very well on her own.  She is incredibly organised and sits down by herself without any supervision.  She generally works until everything is complete and handed in and then reads her book.  Ellie is a model pupil!  She has always been like this and, although she is quite an academic child, I think it is also because she has the sort of personality that just gets on with it. If something is not interesting, it is harder to engage her, but in general she just sees the work as something she has to do and gets it out of the way as soon as possible.

Sian is more like me in that we have to give ourselves lots of breaks, but we do get everything done.  I'm not sure how I would have coped with online learning at this age.

I sometimes feel guilty when I hear other parents complaining how their children can't sit still for five minutes or how they have to fight every day to get them to do work.  When the girls were younger and we used to travel down to Bulawayo from where we were in Zambia, they would spend about 14 hours in the car on one day (the trip generally took two days).  We never gave them anything except books and activity books with which to occupy themselves.  I honestly feel that this played a big part in making them both able to occupy themselves and live without technology.  When I see parents give two year olds phones to play with to keep them occupied, my heart sinks.  You are only doing yourself a disfavour in the end.

September 13

 Sian has been trying to make some promotional videos of me for my new book which should be out here in Zimbabwe in the next couple of months.  COVID has even changed the way book launches are being done.  Because people can't go to live readings or book signings, a lot is being done online.  The benefit of this is being able to be more creative in approach.  No longer is the author just sitting in a book store, but they can talk about their work from various angles.

The idea is to make a number of short videos, about a minute or so in length, each looking at a different aspect, whether it be character, setting, genre or personal details such as what motivated me to write the book and how I write best.

I can talk quite happily in front of a class, but I struggle to talk in front of the camera and find I can't find the right words with which to express myself.  Sian keeps giving me little hints such 'speak up' and 'smile' and whenever she does it, it throws me completely.  Sometimes we end up laughing, sometimes we are irritated with each other.

Sian is very good at producing the first video: she adds in music and cuts out irrelevant waffle. When I tell her I would like to produce more than one, she does not look very happy at all.  Perhaps it is best for family not to work together on these things.

September 12

It's one of those weekends when everything gets cancelled. At times like these, you just have to go with the flow.

My dad is going to stay with my sister for a few weeks on Tuesday, so we take him for a cup of coffee and a piece of cake as we won't be seeing him for a while.

In the evening, we have the first film night since about June. The film is a bit disappointing, but it is nice to see everyone again.

September 11

I cannot believe it is 19 years since the September 11 attacks on the World Trade Centre.  Time really does go by so quickly.  It was my first day of teaching at secondary level.

About a week ago, I won a bid on Bidding Wars for a pile of books.  I only really wanted the William books in the pile, but I had to get the whole thing.  I love the Just William series; when I was a child, I used to have a whole lot of old hardback editions and four of the books in the bid are the same type.  Richmal Crompton was an interesting lady - many people assume she was a man because of her name.  She was very clever, but suffered from various illnesses, such as polio and breast cancer and so spent a lot of time either in bed or convalescing and turned to writing to fill her time.

Her William stories stretched over four decades, but William is always the same age, whether he is planning to fight Hitler or wondering how to deal with his sister's hippy friends.  The stories are very cleverly written, but are not so popular these days.  

One of the other books in the pile is called In Search of England.  It was published in 1920.  The author is travelling through England, noting different customs, accents, traditions and stories.  John reads anything and he is quite taken with the book.  He says it makes him want to go to England and find out if the places described are still there.  We are in shock.  John never says that he would like to go to England, for any reason. This is the closest he has come to showing any sense of patriotism for his country.  

'Only if it's still 1920,' he adds, before we all get excited and think he may be planning a holiday. One thing I have noticed about the white community in Zimbabwe is that those born and raised in the UK are the most reluctant to leave and go back there, despite the economic woes here.  Those who are most keen to leave are those born and brought up here.  Sometimes the most Zimbabwean of people - those who love the bush and braais and wear khaki like it's the only choice of colour available - have ended up in the middle of London.

Like my dad, John is content with being English from a distance - and the greater the distance, the happier he is.

September 10

I have to look twice - even three times - when my phone beeps with the message that $630 000 has just been deposited in our bank account.  The deposit was made by a company in town but John and I cannot think of one reason why they would be giving us this amount of money.

I am hopeful that one of us has inadvertently entered some sort of competition - one of those ones where you fill in your name on the back of a store receipt - and our entry has been picked out of a hat.  Or perhaps some distant (very distant) relative had shares in the company and has died, leaving instructions that we are the beneficiaries of his will.

Or perhaps . . . we try and think of any logical reason we would be paid this amount of money, but know, of course, that it is purely a case of a deposit in the wrong account.  The obvious response is to take the money and run - very fast.  Here, we hit a big problem.

Number one: we cannot run very far.  The airports and borders are still closed and, by the time they are due to open, the transfer will have been reversed.  Our choices lie between Kariba and Chimanimani, where we might be able to lie low while the authorities are out looking for us. To be honest, even Kwekwe is an option if we can get away with keeping the money.

Number two: we cannot run very fast.  Getting fuel is still a problem and we would need to take money out of the account and convert it into US dollars.  This may take some time. Nine times out of ten, the bank card doesn't work.  We can't transfer the money to Ecocash and we can only get an equivalent of 1$US out of the bank through the cash machine.

We decide to just keep quiet and see how long it will take anyone to notice.  We have plans to gradually spend the money - a bottle of expensive wine here and there, smoked salmon for breakfast, an endless supply of Marmite - nothing that will raise too many suspicions.

When John goes off shopping, I envisage him returning with bottles of champagne, fresh oysters and lots of things with French names (they always sound expensive).  I have a picture in my mind of someone asking us how the water situation is in Bulawayo and us laughing their concerns away.  'Municipal water?  Who knows?  We bath in Moet et Chandon.'

John returns less than an hour later with a loaf of bread.  Ecobank is down and the ATM has run out of money.  By the end of the day, the deposit has been reversed and our bank account feels a lot lighter.  In fact, I am convinced they have taken more than they deposited.

Sigh.  They are not long, the days of wine and roses. Back to the grindstone.

September 9

The plan this afternoon is for Sian and Ellie to go to the stables to help groom the horses while I run some errands in town.  I will then pick them up and they will sit in the car while I go to my meditation session.  All good on paper, but then I find some things that I thought were going to take me ages to do, take about three seconds, leaving me about an hour to spare.

I decide to go and have a look at a shop that I haven't set foot in in years, the One-Stop Co-op.  We used to come here quite regularly as teenagers looking for clothes and there was also a tearoom upstairs where I once spent a number of hours drinking coffee with a suave Serbian instead of going to school (and I didn't get caught).

Not such a cool place to hang out now.  It is a fairly large shop, but most of it is not being used.  Most of the shelves are empty and a few rails of dirty clothes hang haphazardly about.  Some of them, I think, are second hand; either that, or they have been hanging in the window too long and have faded in the sun.  

What I find quite creepy is that all the signs are still there: 'Be A Winner Today.  Buy your State Lottery tickets on the first floor' and 'Relax and enjoy yourself on The Sun Deck'.  Other signs are for Cosmetics, Children's Wear and Jewellery, although none of the counters still exist.  In the far corner is a kaylite sign with a smiling fox on it - Foxy Lady.  This was where the teenage clothes could always be found, the pouting lips of the fox suggesting the clothes were hip and fashionable.  Now, this corner of the shop is completely empty.

Because I feel sorry for the five or six staff knocking about with nothing to do (the man at the door can't even get the hand sanitizer bottle to work properly), I feel compelled to buy a packet of biscuits from the small supermarket that has sprung up in the corner diagonally opposite to Foxy Lady.  One man rings up the purchase on the till, another lady writes in a dog-eared school exercise book: ' 1 x Lobels Chocolate Cream $37.00' and asks me to sign in the last column. My card is declined twice, but works on the third time.  However, the machine is out of paper so someone has to run upstairs for a new roll.  This takes about ten minutes, during which time the other staff apologise profusely for the delay.

Although the experience is quite sad, I have picked up ammunition for a story I have been thinking about.  When I leave my meditation group, I find Sian and Ellie have completely devoured the packet of biscuits so that was a good buy at least.

September 8

Bulawayo is full of interesting people.  I know you could say that about any city, but I feel Bulawayo has more than its fair share.  I am always surprised how many experts there are here.  You think Bulawayo is this rather dull place that no one particularly exciting lives in and then you discover that the world expert on butterflies or mushrooms or Renaissance art lives just down the road, or that the little old lady you sometimes see buying bananas at PicknPay is related to the Crown Prince of Monrovia or is a retired Russian spy.  That's Bulawayo for you.   

There is a elderly man who we often see out walking in Burnside whom we call The Explorer.  He is always clad from head to toe in khaki, has a large moustache and walks with a big, strong stick that he swings out in front of him.  Whenever we see him, we wonder if he has found some new land yet.

Today we see The Explorer walking through the industrial site in town.  It is quite a shock to see him out of his usual environment.  He looks like a chameleon walking slowly through the English countryside or a kangeroo bounding through the Antarctic might - completely out of place.  We wonder if he hasn't lost his map or perhaps his compass has gone haywire.  I feel like picking him up by the scruff of his neck and placing safely back on the Burnside road. 

I feel sorry for the explorer.  I imagine he lives in a grass hut and spends his mornings and evenings studying maps and writing in a large log book, all the time totally unaware that everything he is looking for has been discovered and is now considered commonplace and mundane. Or maybe he does know, but he hasn't quite given up on one day finding what he is looking for.

September 7

Today, first thing in the morning, I receive a message: I have de sqrril meet me cecil ave lights at 2pm.  

I have no idea what this message is all about.  It sounds as though some mad kidnapper is holding a squirrel to ransom and I can't think why they think I should be bothered.  I have visions of a black car with tinted windows meeting me at the traffic lights and a large, frightened squirrel sitting in the back seat, hoping I'll pay thousands of dollars to set him free. 

The message turns out to be from John, the ice-cream man who makes a fortune out of the children at Ellie's school by plying them with Nutty Squirrels, Monster Mouse, Green Giant and Skippy Choc. He is one of the most revered people there, far more important than the entire staff and headmaster put together - well, at least that is what the children feel. They all love him and he is also a great favourite with the parents.  As he knows all the children, you can leave a message with him and know it will be delivered, ask him to pass on a cricket bat or violin, or look after your bags, car or small children.  I have even known him to chase after thieves who broke into a car.

Since schools closed in March, John has been a bit of a loose end and one of the parents sent out a message, asking for us all to keep on supporting John through ordering ice-creams from him. About a month or so ago, I phoned him and asked him if he had any Nutty Squirrels - my favourite ice cream as it has both nuts and chocolate.  However, he said there was a shortage of nuts and so Nutty Squirrels were hard to come by.  Now, I gather, Nutty Squirrel is back in town.

September 6

 I do something I very rarely do - I sleep until 9am.

It is cold still.  I don't know what has happened to summer, but it's not happening.  I feel we are in a permanent winter.  I do wonder sometimes if the government doesn't have some hold over the weather.  I can just see some fat, greasy minister pushing the 'COLD AND WINDY' button and holding it down so we all suffer.  I love September - it's my favourite month.  I love the warmth and the beautiful scent that hangs in the air of bauhenia and syringa and jasmine, but unfortunately it seems that it is the heat that brings the smells out.  I really don't want Spring cancelled as well this year.  Already I feel I have slept through most of the year.

Miracles do happen - the water comes back in the evening.  We have so much washing, we run out of washing lines.  I phone Eunice and ask her if she can come and work tomorrow.

September 5

Having gone to bed so late, I struggle to get up but I have an extra lesson at 8.30am.  My eyes are really heavy and I have to have about twenty cups of tea before I feel half normal.  At 7.30am, I receive a message asking for a postponement of the lesson.  I wish I had known this earlier.  I can't go back to sleep once I am up.

Ellie goes to a party at a friend's house.  In the afternoon, John and I take part in the judging of the Matopos Hut competition.  For the last few years, a competition is held in the Matopos area to find the best decorated hut.  Hut decoration is part of Ndebele culture, but it has evolved somewhat from what it used to be.  Many of the designs are not traditional and can include anything from daisies to cartoon characters.  There is such talent here, it is quite amazing, and some of the decorations are really beautiful.

All the huts have been photographed and what we have to do is look at all the pictures and choose the best outside decoration, inside decoration and outside area. However, there are hundreds of entries and to go through each and every one would take far too much time.  Quite a few people from all different walks of life have been invited to take part in the judging.  One lady has been there the entire day, meticulously working through each and every photograph so she can make an informed choice.

Ellie comes home from the party and says she had dog poo thrown in her as a dare and she has washed it off in the swimming pool.

September 4

Today is a good day for me - I finish the first draft of my third novel, The Dying of the Light.  The last few weeks have been arduous indeed.  I have had hardly any time to dedicate to writing and when I have managed to grab a few minutes, I sit looking blankly at the story.

I don't usually stay up late. I enjoy getting up early to write and can only really write in the mornings.  Today, however, I sit down after supper and just go for it.  It's the last lap of the race and even if I have to come back and make amendments, it doesn't matter; at least the first draft will be completed.

Everyone goes to bed and I just carry on going until finally I can say that I have finished.  It's a wonderful feeling, even if there is no one to share with late at night.

The problem is that going to sleep is now an impossibility.  My brain goes into overdrive and I lie in bed with my eyes wide open for what seems like hours.

September 3

 

Although Ellie is an avid reader, she likes to be read to before going to bed.  At the moment we are reading a trilogy of St. Clare's books by Enid Blyton.  They are full of jolly japes: midnight feasts, tricks played on the hapless French teacher, numerous tennis matches and practising for the school play.

What we didn't know is that one of the books was not written by Enid Blyton, but by a Pamela Cox who, quite recently, has added a couple of books to the St. Clare's set.  No doubt she was a big fan of Enid Blyton and saw the opportunity to fill in some of the 'spaces' in the original series, where there is a big jump from third form to sixth form.

You may think that Enid Blyton would be a fairly easy author to copy: her style and her choice of language is quite simple.  However, Ellie and I immediately spot that something is wrong.

Number 1 - one of the girls wears nail polish.  Sorry - NO ONE in Enid Blyton books wears nail varnish.  Even when the girls get to sixth form, they do not show an interest in boys, pop stars or fashion.  Their focus is on winning a tennis match or concentrating on their studies.

Number 2 -  at teatime one day, the girls sit down sit down to a salad.  This is akin to blasphemy and an example of how politically correct we have become.  Obviously modern girls cannot sit down to lashings of ginger beer, chocolate cake, cream buns, eclairs and ginger biscuits because that would be promoting bad eating habits and obesity.  No!  If you want to write like Enid Blyton, write like Enid Blyton. As she was, not as though she was born in the 21st century and at pains to make sure no one is offended, upset or marginalised.  Please, no chia seeds, low fat milk or wholegrain bread.  Get it right, will you, half the fun of these books is the description of the food. Now, pass the cream buns.

September 2

It surprises me that there is such division in the Western world over the wearing of masks.  One good thing abut living under a dictatorship, is that when the government says 'wear a mask', everyone does.  No one cares abut your human rights or the right to be heard or the right to not wear a mask.  You wouldn't hear of supermarket employees refusing to wear masks or people walking up and down outside parliament with placards.  You would probably be shot or, at best, sent to jail for years on end. Really, it's not that difficult to wear a mask once you have got used to it even though many people here wear them round their chins or on their foreheads.

What I have discovered about mask wearing is that some people look more naturally like surgeons than others.  They just have this look that says, 'scalpel, please, nurse.' In fact, were there a medical emergency in the supermarket, they are the first people you would run to for help, even if their knowledge of the human body didn't extend much beyond whether chocolate biscuits were more healthy than oat cakes.

Other people look extraordinarily like bandits and you tend to edge past them warily.  The advent of the mask must have done some serious damage to armed robbers because now if they burst into a bank and demand to be given the money, no one would take them very seriously and perhaps just tell them to stand behind the line and observe social distancing.  That's if they can even get into the bank; whenever I get there, it appears to have just closed.

September 1

Pinch and a punch for the first of the month.  How did we get here?  Last time I looked it was March.  This is how you must feel waking out of a coma and finding that you have been asleep for the past six months.

September is my favourite time of the year, but today it is cold.  We haven't really had much of a spring this year.

After Ellie was born and when I was struggling with having no time to myself whatsoever, my mum told me that it is important to always have some way of pampering yourself, some time out every so often where the focus is on you.  For my mum, it was having her hair done.  She had it cut every six weeks and every time she left the hairdresser's she had already made an appointment for the next time.

I am quite useless when it comes to my hair.  Sometimes, I don't even brush it, but it is so fine and flat that you probably wouldn't notice.  For me, my form of pampering is having my legs waxed.  This is also because I am far, far too lazy to shave my legs.  I would rather endure the pain every six weeks than have to shave my legs every couple of days.

Besides, the beautician I go to is always full of interesting stories about what she heard here, there and everywhere that i really look forward to seeing her.

'I suppose you think I am a conspiracy theorist,' she said to me once when she had just told me how the Illuminati were preparing to take over the world, 'but I am not.  It's just that we are coming into a new age when the old order has to be cleared to make way for the new.'

Hmm.  It's quite fun talking to her.

August 31

It's cold.  Yesterday was hot, but today is REALLY cold.

In the afternoon, it rains!  What a wonderful feeling.  Sometimes, even in the rainy season, you feel it will never rain again, ever - and then it does - and there is this wonderful sense of relief and joy and the knowledge that however hard life does get, bad times don't last forever.

The other piece of wonderful news is that our water comes back on!  Even though no one in the family is allowed to wear anything only once, unless it is so dirty that it cannot be worn a second time, we have amassed a huge heap of washing.  Gradually, I work my way through it (no Man washes this time!) even though we don't have the room to hang everything and it's cold and drizzly.  The fact that is out of the washing basket and on the line is good enough news.

Late at night, I wake to the sound of thunder and lightning flashes in the window so I get up to disconnect the modem (we have lost two to lightning).  Poor Rolo hates storms and he whines and scratches at the door.  Tallulah sleeps peacefully on her bed next to him.

August 30

Have you noticed that when people send you messages these days, they end with 'stay safe'.

Me:  Could I order a dozen eggs, please.

Other person: Yes, sure.  And remember - stay safe.

I feel like a spy who has been given certain instructions and then told 'this message will self-destruct in three seconds.  Stay safe.' 

I find it quite disconcerting at times for it creates a sense of impending doom: the world, life, everything is unsafe - but this is only because we have made it so with our words.  How many people would end a general message by saying 'please come and fetch your order - and remember, drive carefully.' Or what about: 'I'll see you at six.  In the mean time, please be careful you don't stab yourself with a pair of scissors, contract typhoid or get run over by a bus.'

The world is an unsafe place.  It has always has been and it always will be.  The key is not to let the fear in.