August 2

Ever since I decided not to do any work on a Sunday, I have been a lot happier.  I would definitely recommend it as we all need a break sometimes. Online teaching is so much more concentrated and demanding as well and so it is very important to have a break from it.

This means that I am free to do things such as wash the car.  People with gardeners who wash the car once or twice a week or people who take their cars to be washed, will never understand the ordeal of washing their cars. In Zambia, everyone was obsessed with washing their cars.  The man opposite us in Ndola had his car washed at least twice a day - and I think he only drove down the road to work.  However, here in Bulawayo we are much more constrained by a lack of water to indulge in such excesses.

Washing the outside of the car is such a futile thing to do in so many ways as the very next day it is covered with dust again.  Still, there is something very satisfying in throwing numerous buckets of water over it and getting rid of some of the dust.  Then there's the inside to do.  I hoover the car inside and wipe down the dashboard, gear stick, steering wheel and all the handles and buttons.  I'm going to get fanatical, I know.  I'm going to end up as one of those people who put plastic covers on their car seats or maybe I'll make everyone sit on the floor.

There is something curiously satisfying and relaxing about doing mundane jobs and it's interesting how many ideas pop into my head whilst I am polishing the windows or hoovering the seats; far more ideas than when I sit at my desk, staring into space.

August 1

 

On Saturdays I no longer have a lie-in as I have an extra lesson at 8.30. Unfortunately, with our cottage not being occupied, I need to do extra lessons to boost our income.  Today I have a brother and sister who come at the same time.  They are quite good fun and get involved in the lesson.  One of the worst things is sitting with someone who doesn't say a word for a whole hour or who just says 'I don't know'.

As they are leaving, for some reason we get chatting about drugs in Bulawayo and whether there is  widespread use of them in schools.  Both students insist that there is but, the boy then adds, there is also a big problem with drugs amongst the older community and it's not just the odd case of smoking what my mum used to refer to as 'funny fags'.  It's cocaine, LSD, heroin, the lot.

'These older people - even parents,' he says, giving me a long knowing look. 'It's shocking what goes on and it's people you'd never think would touch the stuff.'

I feel certain this last comment is aimed at me, but to be honest, I hardly drink alcohol anymore never mind anything else.  I would hate to be addicted to anything, especially anything that sent me off into hallucinatory states.  Although Sian and Ellie always tease me about the amount of tea that I drink, I don't feel it's quite on the level of crack cocaine.

I am happy with my life.  As I said the other day, I am very glad to be out of the drinking, partying, night club stage and am very, very happy that the highlight of my week is watching two episodes of Call the Midwife back to back.

John goes out with a friend to look for Citroen parts.  He says town is quiet but 'normal'.  The police at roadblocks are very laid back and wave everyone through.

Friday 31 July

 As we thought, nothing much happens.  I keep checking the news to see if State House has been stormed or if the government has fled in terror of the opposition, but it hasn’t happened.

The Internet is slow and students complain that they can’t send work.

People say that nothing happened today because the army was called out.  Well, didn’t the opposition know that was going to happen? If I was planning this, I would at least think: ‘Right, now, if they bring out the army, what will we do?’  That might be quite high up on the agenda.

It is far more likely that the government’s heavy handed response to today’s shutdown is more to do with a suspected coup within the party that any real fear the opposition may achieve anything. 

Thursday 30 July

 

Because of tomorrow's planned shut down, John goes off shopping this morning.  He comes back saying town is exactly the same as usual and he found the police very laid back and not too bothered about stopping people.

By afternoon, people on Facebook are saying that the army has come in and cleared everyone early, forcing shops and businesses to close.  It’s sometimes very difficult to gauge what is going on.  T is possible to go into town and not see very much to alarm you, but in a different part of town at a different time of day, it is a different story.

It is hard to escape a feeling of trepidation about tomorrow.  The opposition in Zimbabwe is really quite useless and has not achieved much over the last few years. People say that everyone is afraid, but I wonder sometimes if there is more to it than that.

Here is an example of a typical Zimbabwean response to a ‘problem’: a friend of mine was telling me how everyone had been given extra responsibilities at work with the result that she struggled to get her main job done to her usual high standard every day.  Eventually,  she and two colleagues who felt the same way, wrote a letter of complaint to their boss. The situation did not get better; it got worse and all three of them felt victimised.  One day, another colleague asked her what was wrong and she explained how all the extra responsibilities were too much.  The colleague listened and then burst into laughter.  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘do what I do.  Nod your head, say ‘yes, sir, no, sir’ and then do your own thing.  No one will ever know.  The boss never checks on anything.  It’s all talk.’

This is Zimbabwe for you: stop at roadblocks, pay bribes, know that ultimately you are a cog within a wheel, but use it to your own advantage.  Make a plan. To go out and protest is futile.  You know that and they know that.  Better to sell US dollars on the side of the road or become a runner, selling South African goods.  Nothing is ever going to change so make the situation work for you.

We receive a booking for next week.

July 29

I'm discovering that, after a morning of online teaching and sitting in one place for a long time (a good teacher never sits during lessons, by the way!) I need some sort of relief and find this in gardening.  I really look forward to breaktime when I can wonder around with my cup of tea, picking off dead leaves and talking to my plants.

I keep meaning to get a proper compost heap going, but our lack of water does not help in this regard.  We do have a place where all the organic 'rubbish' is put but that it is about it.  There is no layering of soil and watering it once a week.  A couple of years ago, we did a walking tour of Makokoba, the oldest high density suburb in Bulawayo.  There was a lady there who was growing the most wonderful vegetables in old car tyres and she just piled all her peelings, banana skins and the like around each plant.  I am now doing the same.  Despite hearing my mother's voice telling me that orange and lemon peel should not be put in the compost unless it is cut up very small, I take a whole lot of old bits of fruit and vegetables and skins and dig them into a bed in which I am going to plant cherry tomatoes. 

Sian is much better today, although she still feels quite weak.  However, she is determined not to miss her horse riding lesson.  After the lesson, there is a very quick turn around as I am going to my meditation class and I also have to drop Sian and Ellie at a different stable where they work with the horses and donkeys.

The meditation is wonderful.  There is this beautiful vibration in the room and at one point I feel I am about to fall asleep, although I am very aware I am awake if that makes sense.  When I get back to the stables, I find that Sian and Ellie have taken some of the horses out for a walk on the golf course.  Time is getting on a bit and the curfew begins at six.  I probably don't need to take it very seriously as the police are not really concerned with this part of town.  Unfortunately in many ways, being in the more affluent part of Bulawayo does protect one from the atrocities carried out on a daily basis in Zimbabwe.

July 28

It's back to online school today.  I can't believe how much longer it takes to do things online.

Sian has not been feeling well for the last three days and, as she has symptoms of the coronavirus, I take her for a test in the afternoon.  The PCR test is very much like a malaria test, except that the results are more or less instant.  Sian's test is negative.

I have been trying to keep a couple of shrubs in the garden alive.  Two of them are Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow, one of my favourites.  I love their beautiful scent, especially on warm summer evenings. I throw a bucket of old bath water on them a couple of times a week and so far they have managed to keep their leaves, although they are a little droopy.  Unfortunately, it doesn't look as though our jasmine will flower this year.  I don't think it received enough water in the rainy season.

Jasmine is one of those difficult plants though.  Where my sister lives in Marondera, jasmine grows everywhere, even in places where it is obviously not watered regularly.  I took jasmine back with us to Zambia twice and, although it didn't die, it didn't flower either, and there is plenty of rain there.  Maybe it's just me.

July 27

John has found his bank card - in the pocket of his shorts that have been returned to his cupboard, washed and neatly ironed.  The card is in a rather sad state but, ever optimistic, John wraps a piece of masking tape round it and says he is sure it will still work.

Off he goes shopping, leaving me to various Zoom meetings before the resumption of online school tomorrow.  When he returns, it is with the news that the card does still work, although some cashiers were rather hesitant to accept it.

Late morning, a man arrives wearing a white lab coat.

'There's someone here,' calls Sian. 'I think he's a scientist.'

She then notices that he is wearing socks with sandals and calls out: 'A German scientist.'

It turns out the man is neither German nor a scientist.  He wears this protective coat to shield him from the coronavirus.  Apparently, he also has a sort of gas mask that he wears in his car.  There is no accounting for the socks with sandals.

He is a friend of John's from the stamp club who has come to look for a few stamps and magazines.  Much to my horror, last year John offered to look after the stamp club's 'library', without realising how many books and magazines they owned.  It is all currently in boxes on our back veranda, blocking the flow of good energy through the house.

Ellie has now decided to go retro as well and has asked that for her birthday next year, we buy her a landline.