The Voice of Africa

    Bob crooned in my ear.

“One love, one heart. Let’s get together and feel alright.

As it was in the beginning! One love…”

    Ah, Mr. Marley; the voice of Africa. Everywhere we went we heard his songs played on tinny ghetto blasters. Arnie’s stereo was no better and you would think the monotony of the same 2 tapes over and over again would push one over the edge, but it just became the soundtrack of our journey. When I needed a break, I could always slip on the headphones of my walkman and disappear in the dark whining of Robert Smith from The Cure or John Waite’s sad lament in “Missing You” that reminded me of friends far from arm’s reach. Mostly though, I just sat back and hummed along to Bob Marley as the miles passed under our wheels in the pursuit of life and adventure.

    With time, our journey, like Arnie, was beginning to show the wear and tear from our travels. In Masvingo, we had patched the hole that was torn in the muffler from the road from hell in Mozambique. The patch was a temporary fix, and as the miles stretched out ahead of us again, the putty found it could not hold its muster. There were other signs that Arnie was getting tired of our constant pilgrimage as well; our starter motor was now completely done, our fuel efficiency was slowly slipping, the slider door no longer sealed easily, often requiring two, three or more shoves of the door to shut it tight. Yes, it was almost time to say goodbye.

    Goodbyes loomed large for more than just the van though, as our group steered along on the last leg of our journey. In a week’s time, the gift that had been presented to me by Fate’s own hands many months before, in the Johannesburg airport, would drift away from me, from us. It was time for Miki to go home. In a mere week and a half, she would be back in Canada, far from the dry landscape of Zimbabwe. Oliver would go his own way again. Brett and I would have to decide how much further we could push Arnie, before we propped a For Sale in his window.

    Today was not yet that day though. Today, we pushed on along twisty, turny roads. We claimed victory at another petrol station reached, and shoved off towards Bulawayo where a taste of city life would encircle us again. The roads were getting shorter though and Bob’s voice seemed poignant, as I stared at my travelling companion’s heads in the front seat.

Sing it Bob…

“No, woman, no cry;

Good friends we have,

Oh, good friends we’ve lost

Along the way…”

Waiting

Bereft of words

I sit quiet

staring at the leaves

that waver in the Autumn breeze

Waiting

for my miracle.

A leaf drops

drips down, swirls

and is blown away.

Is that it?

^

My offering for the Sunday 160

S A T U R D A Y B L A H S

With minutes to spare, do I have anything to say? Any great words of wisdom on my limp, lazy Saturday, where the closest thing to leaving the house was to get a trowel from the shed? hmm
Nope...

So I will leave you with some recent flower pics from the yard.

and one more...

Oops, caught me on date night with my boyfriend!

If it's Yellow...

“Voila!”, he proclaimed.

A small, blue oval was held aloft by the end of the needle-nose pliers.

“This was your problem,” he stated, as rain drizzled on our heads bent over the upside-down toilet lying in the grass.
 
My eyes grew large, as recognition hit me.

Grrr…


“Darling, little angels,” I exclaimed to his laughter.

Marbulous Marble Run

Oh G-man, that was my tale of woe for you in 55 words. 

Seen here is the blue disk discovered in its foiled escape from my house

The Tale of my Toilet: Yes, my darling little angels were the ones at fault for all my loo's woes. Just as I expected! The little blue oval  was the landing pad for the marble game game shown above. It was wedged in the last bend of my commode's siphon tube, trying desperately to be flushed out to sea. Alas, all it was doing was backing up water and whatever other contents were placed into the latrine, ahem. My tale does not have a shitty ending though, as life has returned to normal in the workings of my lavatory. And if you will excuse me, I think that the WC/Dunny/Privy is calling...

and remember, "If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown flush it down" So says Wikipedia, and so say I.

Bwahahaha! Happy Friday!!

Surprise!

“Happy Birthday dear Brettski. Happy Birthday to you!!!”

Brett blew out the candles on the cake and looked around at the small circle of faces around him. Noshing on birthday cake and sipping champagne was a great way to celebrate any birthday, but situated in the middle of Matopos National Park was quite another  way to celebrate one’s twenty fifth birthday. Laughter and cheers rang out into the African sky as we raised our glasses in toast.

***

Throwing a birthday party in the middle of a game park can be a bit of a challenge though. We had left Masvingo and dear Oliver behind. Oliver had been travelling with us since we left Durban way back in February. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but in actuality it had just been one month. We had also left the safe confines of Clovelly Lodge, as we headed West towards new adventures. Brett had requested game viewing as his birthday gift, and we were more than willing to acquiesce. Accoutrements for a party were not to be found under an acacia tree though, so Miki and I had our work cut out for us, to plan a surprise party for three.

When we arrived in Matopos, Miki and I went on a recon mission intent on surprising our recently recovered travelling companion. We mustered up birthday candles and a card to surprise him with, as well as a small cake and a bottle of champagne. All of these items we smuggled in amongst the general supplies, before we headed out to the park and set up camp. We were excited to be in a game park again and couldn’t wait to hit the game park roads.   

Early the next morning, with the sun not quite risen, Brett shook Miki and I awake to fulfill his birthday wish. I groaned, but yawned out a mumbled “Happy Birthday”, before slipping into my clothes. Brett was treated to wonderful birthday visions that morning. We spied warthogs and impalas, but the feast for our eyes was spying the elusive rhino. Not just one either; we saw six of them! By the time we headed back to camp for  a belated breakfast we were wide awake and ready to face the day. With coffee into us, we headed over to check out The Rhodes Memorial that claimed it was the “View of the World”. And yes, it was a pretty nice view. Unfortunately, it was clouded by the knowledge that Cecil Rhodes was a racist tyrant, but his place in the history of South Africa and Zimbabwe (Rhodesia back in his day) could not be denied.

We left the memorial and headed back to camp. In discrete moments, Miki and I tried to figure out how we would pull off the surprise that we were planning with Brett around. To our delight, he announced that he was going to go for a walk. We thrilled at the opportunity to set the table with all our goodies, but tried to  mask our outward enthusiasm.  I suspect he knew what was going on though, as he stalled  and putzed, and finally drove us nuts by heading into the tent where we had the cake hidden, with the claim that he wanted to fix his bed. In the middle of the day? Yeah, right. Eventually he left though, and Miki and I jumped into action. We set everything in place, then sat back to relax before the festivities began.  

Brett returned from his walk and we yelled Surprise! to his not so shocked looking face. No matter, he was thrilled with our efforts and the cork on the champagne was popped. The biggest surprise, that neither Miki nor I was aware of, came sauntering into our campsite at just that moment. Oliver, adamant that he had to spend Brett’s birthday with him, walked into our glen like he was stepping off the bus. We were a party of four again and it was the best darn 25^th surprise party that anyone had ever planned in the back countries of Zimbabwe.