A muddle of contradictions

A question often put to us by friends back home is the ubiquitous “Are you enjoying it there?”
This of course has no easy answer.
Sonja best sums this up with her answer, that “on some days we wonder how we are going to last two years here, while on other days we wonder how we are ever going to be able to move back home.”
Life here is a massive contradiction, and although this is often unnerving, and often pushes you to the edge of reason, I also think this is why it makes you feel so alive, so very unique.
Living in Africa means being tough and resilient. You need to be rough, and robust and very ready to laugh. And more than most places, you need a persistence bordering on irrational stubbornness.
Getting anything done takes more
This is what this great, bubbling, pulsating continent is all about.
And because this amazing and alive place is such a contradiction, there are things you love, and there are things that drive you to the very edge of reason.
And oddly enough, all of this is fluid. It changes. You cannot allow yourself to wan to be in control of even the contradictions. These also belong to Africa.
Something that bursts your chest with a deep and positive passion one week, can make you curse and turn crazy for days on end a week later.
That is why I love the reality of the landscape here. Real Africa. No Attenborough. Just huts, dust, woodsmoke and the normality of lives.
Bouncing along a very dusty and pot holed dirt road, transfixed by the reality of life staring at you in the face. The round huts with their grass roofs and deep green and pink painted walls, the wisps of smoke from fires and the contrast of these amazing indigenous nguni cattle against the pale dryness of the winter grass. This is the essence of Africa. This is what three quarters of Africa looks like. Rural. Poor. With few amenities. Small family homesteads. Mud huts. Grass roofs.
There wasn’t an elephant in site and all the buck had been eaten long ago, but this was truly Africa. And I was lucky enough to be slap bang in the middle of it all, drinking it up with my eyes and my ears, smelling it into me. Smiling to myself in the sun. It wasn’t as sexy as the Serengeti, or a lion kill in Etosha, and these things are amazingly. But this was what Africa really was. Game parks are not what Africa is about. It is what the rest of the world wants us to be. But if you want typical Africa, you won't see a lion. You will see this. Mud huts, grass roofs, small vegetable patches. Women cooking on outside fires. Chickens pecking around and cows observing life. Goats up on the hind legs eating the leaves off a tree.
And lots of curious, loud, smiling, happy, peaceful villagers. Tough and trying to survive and make a living and take care of their families. This is what Africa is all about. And I wanted to gulp it down and breath it through my pores.

When I stopped to take some soil samples, I wanted to taste the soil. Instead I rubbed it and breathed in its dust quickly. Like some coke addict with a bad habit. I did it again, got it in deeply. If I was alone I would have taken handfuls of it and rubbed it all over my face and my neck and my arms. Anointed myself with her soil.
Thandomhlaba. Lover of the soil. Lover of earth.

And the people. Smiling, caring, gentle people. Who are demonstrative. Men who hold my hand when they talk to me. Women who rest their hands on my arms and shoulders. People who make me feel part of them and cared for. Children who visit us all the time. Always a small excuse to come and be with you. Join you in what you are doing. Everyone so quick to smile and laugh. Loud talking, long greeting. Simple. A sense of community like I have never experienced.
Except some days these same people will drive me to distraction. Make me curse and swear.
Children I wish I could scatter to be gone always. But that is how it is.
A complex contradiction that you simply experience and allow yourself to be truthful about how it makes you feel at any particular time.
And the beauty and the poverty. Beauty like you only thought Hollywood could conjure up. White beaches, lagoons, green forest. Birds, rolling grassland. Paradise. Exotic, large horned African cattle.
But paradise dotted with small mud huts with dung floors, living eight to a room with no electricity, toilets running water. HIV, TB and dehydration for room furniture.

But God I love this place. When I am not wanting to burn it down and get away from it, then I love it in a way makes my expressions about it redundant.
I cannot express how proud I am of being part of Africa, and being an African. How proud and glad I am my children are African. How much I love and feel a connection with everybody who plants their feet in her soil, and fights everyday, to make a success of their own small African corner.
We are an exciting and dynamic place.
Being here makes me feel alive a hundred different times every day.
I haven’t missed a sunrise since we moved here.
One hundred times per day to thank whoever is out there, that I am here, and not somewhere with a low sky and order and calm and a schedule..
I need the unexpected. The unknown. The contradictions.
One last contradiction of the highest order.
I love being alive here so much, I wish I would die her.
If I had to die.
I mean if you 100% put a gun to my head and told me I had to die. This is where I would want it to be. This is where there is no fear for me. Only a feeling of being whole.
Amongst this landscape. Amongst these caring people.
This would be a good place to die.
If it doesn't drive me crazy first.

Layer Cake

My son has gone to sleep wearing eight shirts.
It is exactly 20.8 degrees Celsius, so it isn’t because he is cold.
He can barely move his arms or turn his torso, that’s how tight it is.
It can’t be all that pleasant, but I am all in favour of it. Not only is very good for his posture, but instead of having to dress him for school in the morning, I just need to peel his top layer off.
Why I didn’t think of this years ago I don’t know.
This morning when we all went down to the beach he had put three bathing costumes on top of each other.
“It keeps me warm silly!”
I am hoping this is common amongst three year old boys.

The Birds & The Bees - PG Rated

Hopefully living in Bulungula has saved me from ever again having to suffer coughing fits, related to awkward questions, normally arising at bath time.
Naked parents at bath time create problems for paternal minds.
My own advice to any parents with young kids is as follows:
Never bath together. Ever. No matter how young they are.
Instil a Victorian sense of decorum to anything bathroom related.
Being naked in a bath with three year olds leads to all sorts of awkward questions:
“What those are for dad?”
Easy one buddy, nuts.
This quickly goes down hill as the dreaded pre-curser gets asked “What are they for?”
Soon you are at a dead end -“How do dads get the seeds into moms?”
This is when you submerge to rinse off the shampoo.
Seven years olds also can get their facts awkwardly mixed up, a year or so ago, our now nine year old proudly understood that at birth the woman’s body had all the eggs she would use in her lifetime stored up and ready for release.
This was three decades sooner than her father understood this.
She also, via her mother and school, had a broad understanding that there was an act called sex.
However, she was temporarily under the impression that the mother got “topped up” once by the father, and in the same way eggs were regularly released, so to were the all importent seeds.
One top up and you were good to go.
A point that mothers the world over probably wish was true, no doubt.
She was aghast to realise one day, after learning this was not the case and counting her siblings, that her parents had had sex at least three times.
With a disgusted face, she cringed out, “Gross dad, do you mean you and mom have had sex more than once? That’s disgusting”
She was pretty upset about this. More so than her mother.
(What the hell did she think they had done to earn an hour of TV with treats on Sunday mornings?)
Anyway, no more of this I should think.
Bulungula has cleared all this up.
Our kids have now seen penises in all shapes and sizes.
Penises no longer raise the slightest interest.
Bulls, donkeys, mules and horses seem to live in a constant state of readiness.
They have seen goats, dogs, and even sheep having sex.
Cats on heat prowl around all night.
Chickens might be quick, but even these appear on the radar.
“Dad, the rooster is mating with Pamela Anderson (this is our chicken Pamela Anderson, and not THE Pamela Anderson), and her bum is all open and everything”
Gorgeous.
Followed by Mila asking, “Shame, isn’t that sore?”
I am not kidding you when I tell you that when we were playing “the cloud game” a while ago, one of my wife’s offspring said, “look at that cloud, it looks like two goats mating”
More positive teaching comes in the form of the chickens and their eggs.
One of our chickens had 11 chicks hatch about 10 days ago. One got crushed (Pamela Anderson again) on their first night, but the rest are doing pretty well.
Mr Snuffles (hey, the kids chose the names), has been sitting on another 12 eggs for the past two weeks, and these also started hatching today. This was very exciting and the kids made a lot of trips to the coop to check on progress, and at one stage we brought an egg inside for them to watch it hatch on the bed.
All very educational.
Also, with so many cute calves, sheep, goats and foals around, they are getting a very rounded and positive education.
All good.
One low point of note.
Sedgewick is still alive. And smelling of faeces.
That is not the lowpoint in itself.
The fact that we have twice caught him trying to mate with our very startled six month old kitten is far more concerning.
It really happened.
I think this could safely be described as the low point in any dogs life.
“Dad!, dad! Sedgewick is mating with cheetah”
And by golly gosh, so he was.
We even had time to get a photo to prove it.
This is sex education you can’t get in any school.
I think I can safely assume that I will never have to broach the Birds & the Bees again

Sedgwick with twitching buttocks - about to mount our bewildered cat.

Seven Degrees of Separation (Of dirt from your body)

Putting on my two day old socks this morning and not having bathed for three days, I thought a good point of departure was to share some of our personal hygiene tips.
With very little water, and no shower, here are our Seven Degrees of Cleanliness. These are various options that are availble to us, dependent on time, water availability and our general state of sanity at the point in time.
First Degree -Yhhughh. You just peel off clothes get into bed.Sticky, and uncomfortable.
Second Degree - Spray and brush. To trick your mind, and your bed partner and to create a feeling of being clean, spray on deodorant and brush teeth.
Third Degree - Baby wipes (wet wipes)- you can create a fair impression of feeling clean, and thus sleeping comfortably by concentrating on your face, back of neck, inside of elbows, hands, nether regions, back of knees, and between your toes. You will go through about eight wipes. Don't examine after use.
Fourth Degree - Top and Tail. Quick and and be done indoors when the wind is howling or the rain is pouring. Spread towel on floor, put 10 centimeters (4 inches) of warm water in a plastic tub. Wash, strictly in the following order: face, hands, armpits, squat uncomfortably, glancing over at curtainless window, wash and rinse nether regions, and finally finish off with feet. make sure you throw the water out or the kids might mistake it for the dish washing tub. Unlikely to get a foot massage that evening.
Fifth Degree - Bucket bath. Needs to be done outside. Gets cold in winter, and the wind shrinks and raises various body parts accordingly. With this system you run two main risks, your wife sneaking photo's to post on the blog, and somewhat surprised villagers passing you in the dark and calling out a warm greeting from 10 paces, intrigued by your illuminated white buttocks and your middle age spread. Fill plastic tub with four litres of cold water and two litres of boiled water. Stand in tub naked. Use a plastic jug to pour water over yourself, doing your best to get the water to land back in the tub. Soap vigourously. Repeat to clean off. Allows for shampoo if required. Make haste. Keep your eyes peeled.
Shooting stars are a bonus, and the sound of waves dull the shock of our neighbouring widow eyeing you in the dark.
Sixth Degree - Rocket shower with kids. Pack shower kit and towels and pajama's for the whole family and then trapse down the hill to the lodge for a 20 litre hot shower, with all three children moaning and groaning. If run with military precision and military barking, you can get three kids and one adult wet, lathered, scrubbed and rinsed, before the 20 litres runs out. This is a treat to enjoy two or three times per week. On the down side, you can never really acomplish this without soap in at least one childs eyes, kids screaming, pushing and fighting, crying about who is or isn't rotating to allow all of you a few moments under the water, and worst of all, trapsing back up a very steep hill with three ratty kids, in the cold and dark. Cleanliness - high. Enjoyment - low.
Seventh Degree - Nirvana. You have a 20 litre shower to yourself. Five minutes of pure indulgence. Possibly a treat you have once per month. Ps - Don't swallow the water or you will get a stomache bug

The Sinking of the Lusitania

I am half way through a gripping account of the famous sinking of the Lusitanea during the first world war by the German U- Boat U-20.
I had been torn between keeping it on my bedside table for bedtime reading, or leaving it in the long-drop for accompanying reading.
In the end the loo won the day.
With disasterous consequences as it turns out.
Skye visited the loo earlier today, and in following my instructions to keep the solid drop dry, she did a mid poop shift to the wet loo to have a pee, leaving the lid of the dry, solid loo open next to her.
Then she unfortunately reached for the loo paper, and in doing so, unbelievably, sunk the Lusitanea for a second time.
No German involvement required (if you discount the fact that Skye has a German passport)
Not only that, but my second loo-reading book, the MUCH NEEDED “Guide to East Coast Fishing”, followed the Lusitanea into the murky depths.
This has ruined my day in several ways.
1. I was only half way through a pretty good read.
2. I have lost two good books.
3. My fishing is not in a position to withstand any further set-backs.

I also now find it terribly difficult to relish my quite time on the loo quite as much as I did before, knowing that I am desecrating the printed word below, which I was raised to revere.

You try it and see.

Caleb & Mila Update

Caleb and Mila have both slotted into this new lifestyle with absolute ease.
They head off to pre-school each morning where they are the only two English speaking kids.
Mila comes home every day and tells me all about “my courser friends”
She is planning to marry Nti-Nti, Lindile’s son.
Sorry Adam. Such is the fickle hand of fate.
We have gone from a good Jewish boy, to a good Xhosa boy.
Her main concern is that her ring, which she has, will not fit her when she is a “grown up”.

Caleb, a little concerningly, but much to his mothers delight, (she wants her children to be interesting and free spirited) is going to marry a Prince.
Don’t you mean a Princess buddy?
No! I want to marry a prince.
Who knows, I might get to walk three children down the isle.


Their Xhosa is coming on pretty quickly and they are always singing songs in Xhosa and playing with all the nearby village kids.
They have a great time and are always doing something that gets them dirty.
Very happy and carefree children.
They normally get home from pre-school (a good walk in anybodies book) at about 1pm, and we try and enforce a nap, or at least quiet time.
Then they dash off climbing trees, visiting the lodge finding new suckers to read to them, playing cars with the village kids etc.
I have had to rescue Caleb at least once from the top of a tree. His bloody naughty little sister has no fear and he follows her blindly. I often see his little three year old body higher than I would like.



Mila very nonchalantly came to me last week when I was working on my laptop, she strolled across and said, “Um Dada (she has slipped form English Dad into Xhosa dada), Dada, Caleb fell out of a tree, our climbing ship tree, that we were pretending to be dragons in, and he hit his head on a branch when he fell down, and now he is lying on the ground, and dada, I am thirsty.”
True as bob, there he was under the tree on his back.
I had Skye informing me that she held up seven fingers and he said she was holding up three.
And “he said his name is Gerald.”
“Yes, thanks darling” through gritted teethe.
He seems fine though. He still has a big graze on his forehead, and when he sporadicaly gets a lot of bites (ticks and fleas) I tell Sonja that when he takes his shirt off he looks like a little boy covered in the pox from a 17th century Bruegal painting.
Them scratching their head isn’t always lice. A lot of the time it is chicken mites.

Mila has a habit of talking at the top of her voice, no volume control ever developed in that one, and when I am showering the three of them down at the lodge, in one 20 litre shower to save water, she always waits until there are other people showering before shouting out
“DADA, DID YOU BRING THE LICE SHAMPOO DOWN, DADA?
“I HAVE GOT BAD LICE DADA”

I have become adept at sneaking in and out when nobody is around.

Skye Update

Skye has written several blog updates that her parents never posted.
She is asleep now, so I still can’t post them. Bugger.
She spends her days doing home schooling and enjoying life here and down at the lodge.
Her day starts at 06h00 when she gets up with the rest of us.
At 07h15 she walks Caleb and Mila to Xolisa’s hut, a bit further up the hill, where they walk to pre-school from.

She has about 1 and a half hours home schooling with Sonja (normally in the morning), and another hour and a half with me in the afternoons.

We are most conscious that the change in lifestyle is most drastic for her.
She moved away from all of her friends and activities and had just started enjoying movies and children’s sleepover parties, school team sports, and hanging out with all of her friends.
We compensate for this poorly, but are very aware we need to make more of an effort.
She is very bright, and makes home schooling pretty easy.
I am teaching her Natural Sciences a full grade (year) ahead of her peers, and her literacy is really good and we are well ahead of where she needs to be.
The biggest challenge is keeping her from getting bored with the work.
There is scope to introduce a lot of proejct work that she can do on her own.
There are not many village kids around of her age group so she spends a lot of time with us and other adults.
This becomes really challenging as a parent as you constantly need to be maintaining a balance between being free spirited and a young adult, and having her understand that some decisions are not hers to take.

She spends a lot of her free time pottering around the lodge or horse riding.
She has cut a deal with the village guides who offer horse riding as an activity that she helps clean the riding gear once each week in exchange for being able to ride one of the horses home after the rides.
Looking down from our hill I will see her riding bareback and completely alone, through the long yellow grass, taking the horse to the homestead a couple of kilometres away.
She loves it.
There are also a surprising number of children that visit the lodge with their parents, so quite often she makes friends for a few days with these families and goes canoeing, fishing or horse-riding with them.
We also make sure we fit in the usual family walks and fishing and swimming in the river.
She is slowly picking up Xhosa and seems much more confident greeting villagers and making simple conversation.
She loves all the farm animals and especially now as there are an abundance of baby lambs, kids and calves.
No baby chickens though!
Another favourite is driving the bakkie (pick-up).
I used to let her sit on my lap and steer, and told her when she could open and close the gates we have to drive through on her own, then I would teach her to drive (they are tricky gates, made of barbed wire and loose poles. No hinges here)
Well of course she did, quickly, and so a couple of weeks ago I put her in the driver’s seat.
After explaining which was the clutch, the brake and the accelerator (no automatic here), she calmly put us into first, did a perfect take off, and drove off beautifully. After a couple of minutes pottering along a 4-wheel drive track in first, I explained to her how to change into second, which she again did beautifully and drove us all the way to the lodge and parked.
She has done this a couple of times now, and I proudly reckon she id one of the only 9 year olds in her class to be able to drive a big, heavy bakkie.
Sonja and I have also taken her with us the few times we have had to go away to meetings.
When I drove to Cape Town she was so excited about having some one-on-one time, and loved little things like over-nighting at a B&B and using their little complimentary soaps, and finding a chocolate on her pillow.
Sonja will take her and Mila with her in a few weeks when she has to fly to JHB for business and Skye is so excited about flying again.
She is a great child and we need to make much more of an effort to make sure this remains a positive experience for her.
We’ll do our best, but definitely sometimes fall asleep knowing you could have done better, or been more patient.

Shelter from the Rain

We can finally sit outside and drink coffee on our veranda when it is raining.
It went up in several easy steps.





I had two young men from the village, Wankie and Lindile, helping me cast the concrete.
When we returned from a half our break for lunch the wet cement had kitten prints (several tracks in and out), dog prints (with his back legs showing clearly how he drags his nails with each step) village chicken prints (small) broiler chicken prints (large) Caleb’s foot prints. (I was slightly in the dog box for giving him a bollocking and slipping in a half hearted and frustrated whack (we are a non smack household, mostly, sometimes, when we are being good parents and not grumpy adults)

We got rid of Caleb’s prints, but left all the rest as a memento.

It was raining gently the other evening and it was with great pleasure that I sat under the roof and had a quiet whiskey, watching the lagoon and the coastline floating up at me though the mist in the moonlight.

This morning (Sunday) I had coffee with a good book in a light drizzle, and was distracted by a pod of at least 50 dolphins working their way across the bay.

Apology Two

Dear Mum and Dad stop Sorry we haven’t written for a while stop Please call off the Minty’s and the rest of the family stop We are all well stop It won’t happen again stop Sedgwick still alive stop Still no eggs stop Kids dirty but fine stop Parents tired but well stop Kitten crapped on bed stop Caught a fish stop See you on the 1st stop Please bring lots of wine stop Enough to drink and leave a lot behind stop Crayfish ordered stop Long drop odourless stop Much love stop

Apology One

Dear Urban Legend

Your Nome de gare, Andrew, is singular but I am convinced that you cannot possibly be just one person.
Your vast reservoir of knowledge is too great for a single individual.
I suspect that you are a secret team of Cambridge and Oxford biogas academics (built around a nucleus of St. Stithians Add-Maths protégés).
You know too much.
Your insights and instincts are too chillingly accurate to be the brilliance of only one person.

But what is your secret project?
What is at the bottom of our long drop that you need so badly?
How can I get my hens to lay eggs?
Are you watching me on Google Earth as we speak?
What is a Walvis Peeter?

Will it be silly of me to bucket bath tonight, out in a chilling wind, both my feet in a metal tub, while around me lightning and thunder crack and roar and explode, my hand silhouetted against the flashes of lightning, held up high pouring water over myself with a metal bowl?

Why did we go offline?

What is a decimal point between friends

Slight maths miscalculation.
We paid $150 for the single egg, not $15.
Don't have the courage to eat it in case it is off.

Those of you in London putting a loo in your back garden

Big mistake on the bio-degradable toilet front.
It is a good idea to sprinkle cow crap to get the bio-degrading bio-degrading.
It is a good idea if you are positive that there are no fly eggs laid in the cow dung before you do it.
If there are they will hatch.
Beautifully.
Noisily.
A friendly, buzzing, black mass whose sole desire is to crawl over your exposed bottom when you least expect it, and awkwardly can't immediately move away.
We fitted our chimney, which killed quite a few.
And I hung down the shaft, and attached a couple of sticky rolls of fly paper.
(with my lips pursed tightly together)
But I was definitley the only one using the outhouse for a week while we got it sorted out.
So wherever you are in London, don't sprinkle fresh cow patty down the loo like we did.

Life on the Front Line

While I was away in Cape Town for a few days I received the following email from Sonja, which is pretty typical of life in Bulungula...

Hi my love



Hope you slept well.



All fine here. Xolisa is ill though so we may need to close the ELC for a couple of days – will see how things go today.



No eggs yet, but Goose is looking decidedly broody.



While hanging up the washing (hand washed!) this morning, I was nearly run over by a horny donkey who was chasing the object of his desire. I think she ran to me for protection (who wouldn’t, considering the size of that thing!), and I barely managed to get out of their way! Perils of hanging washing in rural villages.



Have a great day.



S

xxx

Absolutely No Ways...

No ways. I am away from home for two nights and my wife posts very unflattering photo's of me in hole filled, old underpants, taking a bath.
Bloody hell. Thats not on.
I am crapping myself because she definitely took some on her cell phone of me wearing a cowboy hat and fluffy slippers (only)- A long story.
A word of caution.
The word, my love, is... "retaliation"
Lets keep it above the belt, eh..

Charles' famous bucket baths

No words necessary here!

Attention: Mr. Bill Bryson, Writing Bloke.

Attention: Mr. Bill Bryson
Living on the Big Island

Dear Sir.

I was heading down to our new loo recently with my well worn copy of A Short History of Everything under my arm. Let me hasten to assure you that the book was for reading and no other purpose. (Please do not feel insulted, I do some of my best reading on the loo)

I am into my fourth read of the book.
I managed to understand at least 80% of what you were explaining in my first read. And then promptly forgot about three quarters of what I had read. I find that the 20% that I can recall doesn’t quite get me though a discussion at a dinner party. (by the way, I am amazed by how few people actually know what percentage of their pillows are made up by dead skin and mites while eating their soup)
I have thus promised myself that I would read your book at least twice this year. Slowly, and with furrowed brow. This should get me up to about a 50% recall, and that sir, should see me through until dessert is served.

Anyway, back to my visit to the loo and my dilemma.
The problem that I experienced had to do with my wife.

On my second visit, to what has turned out to be a very pretty outhouse indeed, I noticed that my book was missing. Needless to say this upset my routine awfully, and something I was really looking forward to, turned out to be a very ordinary experience indeed.
Afterwards, having made a more thorough search, I found the book, pushed down between the box and the wall.
I suspect this was no accident as there is a member of my family who frowns at and looks down upon my reading habits.

I carefully watched my wife’s next visit.
She also carried a book in with her. Careful detective work on my part proved that the book was a Xhosa Speaking course, that we are both meant to be studying.
Yes, in short. Homework.
Now homework is obviously important in anybodies book. But I would as soon take homework to the loo as I would take it to some other pleasant and peaceful event, like a trip to the cinema. It makes no sense.
I am also prepared to admit that there may be an argument for me to learn Xhosa, although one could also discuss the merits of 99,36 percent of the village learning my mother tongue.
Also, my approach to the matter is to combine religion and language, and here I feel that I may be onto something new. I believe that purposely, and purposefully, not making a conscious effort to learn, will free my unconscious mind, which National Geographic tells me is all powerful.
I suspect that this approach, combined with a religious epiphany, will allow me to suddenly begin to understand a foreign indigenous language.
Instantly, and out of the blue.
Anyway. This is my plan. And it is my business.
And my choice of reading matter is also my own business.

However, in the interests of meeting my wife half way, to the crux. Please could you and your publishers consider including an abridged English-Xhosa dictionary at the back of your next print run.
I cannot imagine I am the only one in this predicament.
Who knows, it might even boost sales.

In the meantime, I have removed pages 83 to 127 from our Oxford English-Xhosa dictionary (Flower/intyatyambo to Monday/uMvulo) and pasted them in the back of your book.
This is obviously not ideal, as amongst general aesthetic and practical issues, I lost quite a few words when I trimmed the dictionary pages to be the same size as your paperback.

Even though I am sure my wife will be happy to see that I am making a move in the right direction I feel the only real answer will be getting a move on with the new print run.
Lets shake a leg.

Yours in appreciative reading.

Hamba Gashle

Charles Starling




PS - my son found the journey down, and the general working below, more interesting than the book. So perhaps a couple of pages of drawings to be coloured in, might also be worth considering.

The geko eggs actually hatched

Great excitment from the kids as the eggs we had found and hoped were geko, actually hatched, and actually were, so we had tiny little geko's heading off in all directions. Hopefully they stay clear of the fly paper and don't join the casualties there.



We put a nice piece of driftwood with lots of little hiding holes on it, next to Skyes bed, and released the babies onto that. Of course, they bolted straight over it and dissapeared to groans of "I told you dad..." and "We should have used a jar like I said" etc, etc.

Hope they get on with the new kittens!

Kittens, toilets and school

We will have some blogging to do tonight to catch up on all of our news.

Sonja has started her pre-school. Today is day three and they have about 20 kids attending. Lots to hear here, with many funny and moving stories. She has some awesome pictures as well.
Caleb and Mila attend each morning from 8am to 12.30pm.
Takes them a half hour walk through the village to get to school.

Much more importantly, our toilet is looking beautiful and today I will try and get the roof on so that we can start using it tomorrow morning. Me first, please.
I might run a poll to see which blog is more interesting and fulfilling, Sonja educating and changing lives, or my opus on toilet building.
(with lots of photo's of me risking life and limb down a 2 meter hole in the ground.

We are also slowly developing a routine. We normally are all up by 6am (to beautiful views)Then an hour and a half of chores, dressing and cleaning. At 7.30 am Sonja, Mila and Caleb head off to the pre-school.
Skye and I then start computer work and her home schooling.
Sonja gets back at about 1pm with the kids and then I spend the afternoon doing outside work.

The kids are also dying to post photo's of their two new kittens.
We have one called Tigger, and Mila has called hers Cheetah.
They are reasonably sweet, as far as pets go.
(I am more a farm animal type of person, especially ones that you can milk, get fresh eggs from , or eat)

Stay tuned tomorrow for the school and toilet blog.
Don't feel bad choosing the toilet over the kids.


The donkeys now come inside our bedroom and have to be chased away.
Puma (poo!-Maah!) - means bugger off



We also figured out where all the dog food was going.



Skye looking at a dead fly under the microscope in her classroom on the hill. She has possibly got the best biology teacher in the Southern Hemisphere.



A quick preview of the views our loo will have.




Doing the dishes in the scullery.



Burning our rubbish, another chore.



Explaining to Skye, and having her examine just where the new "time-out" spot will be. None of my kids takes me literally anymore which is a bit annoying. I might have to do a trade in on ones that do.

A peep into what our cottage looks like inside

A very exhausting and fullfilling week-end.
We even got a chance to get up on the roof and repair as many holes as we could find.
We definitely have the worst looking roof in the village.
I suspect that the neighbours are slightly embarrassed by the extent that we are bringing down the neighbourhood aesthetic.
Am pretty upset Sonja didn't get a pic of me up on the roof. I was sure it looked pretty heroic, but for some reason she seemed busy when I called to have my photo taken.
Will now have to pose for it next week (probably with a knife between my teeth)

We have now finished all the furniture we were planning on building.
All that now remains is building an outside porch, putting in a long drop loo, building a solar (jerry can)shower, building a chicken coop, and establishing and fencing an organic vegetable garden.
We will tackle these slowly over the next two weeks.
I will start with the most easy and fun, say, the chicken coop.
Sonja will advocate for the most urgent and back breaking (the loo)
Dammit.

Below are a selection of the fruits of our labour (as opposed to the kids in the pics are the fruits of my loins)



Here I am working at building a water table and a "builders bum".




This has to be one of the most beautiful workshops you could wish for. If it had a level floor it would be an improvment. It is very difficult to get 90 degree corners under these conditions.




Mila agreeing that the new bunk bed is very comfortable.




Skye and Mila dunking biscuits in hot tea.




Caleb taking a break he definitely didn't earn.




A quick semi family picture taken by Skye. Her mother is taking all the mugs to the scullery. Which consists of an outside plastic tub, and a great view.




Mila having one of her spontaneous moments that she is prone to. Have been unable to beat the joy out our of the kids.




Our bedroom. Bit drab with the flash on. By candle light it is much more warm and cosy.




The kitchen area.




The girls beds




Caleb asleep on his new bed.




Our living area looking through into our bedroom.




Our living area looking through into the kids room.




The new bunk in our living area.

Adding to our family home

We had a really productive couple of days since we have been back and have been doing quite a bit around the house.

On Friday I took the bakkie up to collect a delivery of wood and cement that had been delivered for us. It was a two or three kilometer drive in very muddy conditions.

Just as I was about to get started some of the bee keepers called me to please come and help them extract another small batch of honey. We got quite a bit better yield this second time. Partly because our technique has improved, and partly due to these frames having more honey. Took us about an hour, but we got 30 jars out of it, which earned the bee keeper about R660.00. Which is quite good when you think that for many families in the village that represents an entire months income.

Next job was to build and install three bunks. One was a bed for Caleb, and the other two were seats/storage/spare beds in our living area.
We built very simple frames, and used shutterply as front, sides and lids. We put the lids on with hinges to make them easy to open and access storage space inside.
Once we had put on the foam we had cut in East London, and threw on some covers, they were pretty comfortable.

They are really rudimentary, but are a far cry from the plastic storage bins we have had scattered around until now.

Building the frames is a challenge on its own. No power tools allowed and no flat surface to work on. But then our workshop has a pretty good view.
Inside, we have to dig up the mud and dung floor to try and get a semblance of something level. The rest was pretty easy.

We also built ourselves a small kitchen area following the same principle.


We could enjoy the fruits of our labour with a candle lit dinner in our cosy new room. The candle sticks are dried coral we found on the beach that we drilled/chipped holes in for the candles.

Later, when the kids were all in bed and asleep, it was actually quite relaxing to lie back on our very comfortable new seats and enjoy a glass of wine together. There is still lots to do, and I am pretty sure visitors from the city would still be pretty appalled at how basic and grubby things are. Actually visitors from anywhere, would pretty much feel the same way.
But when you have built everything yourself, and started with nothing, and all done everything as a team, then it really does feel like home.

And listening to the rain falling on the roof (gently in the beginning), candles glowing, the sound of the waves coming up the hill, - it really did feel warm and good and cosy.

Just like a family home should.

Now.

Lets get a loo dug.