Karma is no B*tch.

My angels are big bearded guys who pray to Allah, and one of them wears really cool Vans.

What were we doing on a Zambian country road filled with huge potholes, in the pitch black, 80 kilometers from Lusaka? 

Amazingly bad planning took place, I tell you. And then for some weird reason we decided to combine said planning with neither of us, me and the hubby that is, never having changed a tire in our lives, and having very little clue as to how such a thing happens. So, of course, as the sun was setting we hit a monster of a hole on the road, which enabled us to leave behind a sizable part of the mysterious underbelly of the chevrolet we were driving, and witness up and close to what happens to a tire when it completely splits. SPLITS.

One thing no tourist is ever to do in Zambia is to drive on the highways after dark. "What if you break down?" they say. Well, normally you get robbed by Zambian dacoits of some sorts, or in the worst case you get killed. 

Hmm. In our case you meet the coolest guys who stop to pray anyways because the sun is setting and they decide to give you light until they find out you were, in your infinite wisdom, going to put the jack neatly through the bottom of the car, and then they just change the tire. 

Praised be... hrm... hrm... Guys who wear cool Vans and pray at the side of the road?

A word of warning on the maid front

As you have probably gathered, I still haven't got a handle on the maid situation, and I'm still forced to clean my own house and iron my own clothes - oh, the suffering I must go through. Boo Hoo. Hoo.

(Warning. I will now attempt to use this medium to rant about the horrors of my experience with a company that truly blows.)

The reason, however, to the halted situation is not me, but the, by now infamous agency: A1 Domestics. After sending a flurry of emails and calling them for a whole week, I still don't have my money back, nor do I have a new maid. 

The first one, as you may recall, did not speak any (or at least enough) English, and I had to let her go. The second one, who was extremely distraught to hear that we didn't have any children and Thor forbid she would actually have to clean instead of being a nanny, quit. Still, this is not a rant about them. This is a rant about an extremely unprofessional company and all that is heinous about it. 

First of all, this the dubious tactic they used to ensnare me:

Someone had told me about a company someone they knew had used and liked. This person thought the name of the company was something like 'Maid in Heaven'. Being the internet addict that I am, I promptly googled this. The first site that showed up links back to A1 Domestics site. There was also information on a company called Maid - in - Heaven, but they didn't have a website, leaving me feeling a little iffy (gut feeling gone wrong). In the end I decided to email both companies. A1 Domestics called me back right away. Of course (eye roll), they wanted to rid me of my money. On the phone too, they sounded very professional, asked me about my requirements - my only ones were that the person had prior experience and that she spoke fluent English - and the woman assured me that all of her "ladies have prior professional experience and references." Well, I guess that wasn't true either since neither of the maids had any sort of references, when I inquired about them, and the second one had only a copy of 'her' ID book, and couldn't produce the original for me. For this reason, I'm glad she quit, since I would like to abide by the law, and not hire anyone who is in the country illegally.

Since becoming more than disillusioned with A1 Domestics and their bad business practices, I have done some more research on the internet. I heard about another agency, called Marvellous Maids, that is supposedly a little more expensive, but very good. Again, I googled, and guess what pops up? A header 'Marvelous Maids' links back to A1 Domestics. Bad business practices - need I say more?

So, to summarize, no one that I know has said anything positive about A1 Domestics, and this company is simply leaching on the good service of the other two companies. There might actually be steam coming out of my ears as I write this, since my blood is for sure boiling. It is now evident to me, that my money is gone, and even if they ever do get back to me, apart from giving my money back for services not rendered, I would hate to get another maid through them. Who knows what kind of a person would show up at my doorstep, perhaps someone who only speaks Portuguese, thinks she is here to take care of my ailing mother, and to feed my bunnies. Would not surprise me in the least.

The battle for clean floors wages on. Oh Thor, give me strength.

Bizi, bizi, bizi.

By popular demand (i.e. the hubby who knows what's going on anyways, so what's up with that?) I'm posting an update on the current goings on. 

The short story: 

Our stuff arrived. Some of it was broken. Nothing was missing. I'm still unpacking. I fired the maid. I am battling the agency who placed the maid with me. I am picking up my adoptive brothers from school and taking them to all sorts of practice this and next week. We haven't cooked ourselves dinner once this week, but are living on Mickey D's, which is a very questionable solution to hunger pangs.

The long story:

As the movers finally arrived on Monday they did so three and a half hours late, and as usual, in a rather unapologetic mood. The much talked about 'gear' to be used to haul two double beds, four bookshelves, three desks and other assorted heavy items upstairs over the balcony railing turned out to be two pieces of rope. Pause here and ponder this. I sure did. As expected even ten guys in their (more or less) prime cannot lift a desk made out of solid wood over a railing at least 4 meters off the ground, even if they try to stand on their tippytoes.

As for the damages. Well, I will not go into it, since the issue just makes me sad and want to go on a rant about respect for other people's possessions that equal their homes when they are living the nomadic life. I'll save that for another dry season. On the plus side, I uncovered quite a few items of clothing and pairs of shoes I do not remember owning. The customs only take stuff, they don't put any new stuff in, right? I like the Vagabond pumps. A lot! 

As the movers had rid all of the bigger items of their several layers of cardboard and and such, after I'd had a good swear at whoever was close to me, and after the solid wood desk was finally upstairs (I don't want to know how), the boss of the crew approached me and suggested that "perhaps madam would want to unpack all of the smaller items herself." I looked at my watch, and funny enough, it was nearly four o'clock. Hmmm. 'Full unpacking service' my behind! I would not want anyone else but me handling my underwear either, but as every single stupid fork is packed in at least two pieces of paper it takes quite a while to unpack everything. I'm still at it, and no longer can discern the light at the end of the tunnel. It is all walls to me.

Onto a different topic: The maid chronicles. This is part gazillion and five, at least according to my highly complex filing system (five follows four, etc). I fired the maid who wore the turban. In the end it became painfully obvious that her English was practically nonexistent, and by "yes, I understand," she meant "I have no idea what you are saying lady, but I'll potter off and try to look like I'm doing something, and then I think I'll go and ruin some of your good towels by pouring bleach on them and cleaning the shower with them. And I'll do all this after eating two loaves of bread and two tins of mackerels." I had to let her go, which was a 15 minute discussion, because she did not understand what I was saying. 

I had found this maid through an agency called A1 Domestics. The person in need of a domestic pays a one off placement fee and the agency sends someone, who supposedly has references and meets your requirements (my only requirement was that the person spoke English) to work for you. There is a 30 day guarantee, during which time they will send someone else, if you are not satisfied. Sounds like a good deal, eh? I thought so too.

Well, the truth is an uglier being. I have now called and e-mailed the agency several times and none of the "this and this person will call you back," have come true yet. I' don't even want a replacement anymore, I just want my placement fee back, but am starting to suspect foul play. Points deducted from South Africa, and more stories for the file labeled gullible expats on the loose. 

The happiest times I have had this week have been spent hanging out with my South African adoptive brothers. While their mother is having surgery and their dad is working his heart out, I have been roped into making sure they do their homework (my math limit is third grade, Shame!), they show up at practice (with or without the correct gear. Note to self: for water polo take a towel), and every once in a while eat something. If I knew my kids would turn out like these boys, I would maybe even have some, at some point, like sometime in the future, distant future. They even like my driving, even though I almost hit the high curb while trying to open the window. These boys are truly cool.  

Now I'm off to my never ending unpacking task, before I go and pick up the boys and attempt to woo them to my cooking with pancakes. Did someone say 'Fire hazard'?