The Dual Disasters

As part of my next blog about Highlands Road, I thought I would introduce a little excitement. Here is an introduction to the dual disasters that have befallen me on the farm and that are unfolding as we speak...

First Disaster: The damn dam

We enter this drama/disaster a media res, that is to say that this misfortune is inherited and has been the sad lot of Highlands Road Estate for the past two months. Though I'm not quite sure why the dam construction began or the exact reason for the dam nuisance, all I know is that the normal entrance to the estate is in a rubble pile at the bottom of the dam ditch. What does this mean-- one, the deli has been closed for over a month now, and two, the only entrance left to us goes over the dirt road around the bend and through our neighbor's property.

Which brings me to event one in the dam saga: unable to use the normal entrance, a giant truck carrying a full load of chickens to the farm next door got stuck in the mud of the rained-out dirt road. Luckily there were no chicken casualties but our secondary entrance was filled with chicken squacks and molting chicken feathers for the remainder of the morning. A small happening in the life of the valley but quite an event for all of us who saw a jack-knifed chicken truck in the middle of the road. How often do you get to see a whole load of chickens askew?

Second Disaster: The case of the missing undies

Being here in the valley, one sometimes forgets that you are in Africa. That is why I need moments like this to remind me that, indeed, I am still on the continent where anything can happen and a laid-back, adjustable attitude is not just advisable, but necessary for your survival.

I got up this morning realizing that I was overdue in the laundry and had almost nothing clean to wear. Desperate, I headed over to the Hoy's where I was more than a little bit relieved to meet the woman who does the cleaning for the house. Though she speaks Afrikanns and Koza and I speak only English, I was pretty sure that my lunatic hand gestures of washing were delivered in a common language. So, I leave the bag filled with my clothes (of which I have very few as I am still living out of the small duffle I brought for my days in Malawi) by the kitchen and head down to the tasting room.

I come back in the afternoon to see no clean clothes anywhere and ask Mary. She too has not seen my bag. Further inspection reveals that the clothes are neither in the washing room or on the line or in Emily's room. My clean clothes, for which I can't emphasize enough that I am DESPERATE (seeing as how they contain my full store of undergarments) have disappeared. Theory one is that the maid thought that my cleaning gestures were, in fact, my non-verbal way of offering a gift. Mary says she will phone tomorrow to try and retrieve the invaluable undergarment bag, we will see what develops.

For now, I have little hope that I will ever see those precious undies again, but the updates will persist as breaking news hits the scene.