Snapshots of Zambia vol.2

Q: When do you know you've been in a developing country for too long?

A: When you can imitate a distorted TV show to perfection.
or

A: When you keep watching a program with interest even though you are unsure as to whether you are watching a gardening show or lesbian porn.

or

A: When you feel lucky that you have see-through toilet paper, and that you are able to flush the toilet regardless of the death sounds emerging from the plumbing upon this action.

or

A: When you see a woman on horseback wearing a white wedding dress and a tiara in the middle of a roundabout across the road from the supreme court and your only thought is "Awww, I wish I'd had a tiara at my wedding".

or

A: When you consider it only normal that while queuing at the grocery store the person in front of you will load their groceries on the conveyor belt and leave the shopping cart with the items they couldn't afford after all for you to deal with.

or

A: When you consider it the appropriate action for the person in the grocery store, whom you told that the milk placed on its side in their shopping basket is leaking on their shoes, to simply place it upright to avoid further leakage.

or

A: When you see nothing wrong with a nail salon being called "The Most Best Salon in Lusaka", or that the salon is a concrete block the size of a closet.

or

A: When you think that a waitress feeding her pet crocodile is not that interesting a sight.

or

A: When you instead of avoiding salad calmly take medication every 6 months to rid yourself of worms.

or

A: When you think you can never again be happy in Europe. 

Edit: And most importantly when you are okay with the fact that it takes you 4 hours to post what you've written. 

Alien inhabitation

The hubby is on yet another tour of southern Africa, due to work and I am left to fend for myself. I used to do this quite a lot and almost felt like a single woman, just without the pressure of finding a man, or even, you know, trying to look respectable in case I came across someone suitable. I already had that special someone, he was just busy working hard, trying local delicacies, and buying me cool jewelry in somewhere like Kuala Lumpur, Santiago de Chile, or Surabaya, as I partied the night away.

However, maybe it's the age that is slowing me down, or perhaps it really is true what I just wrote to my BFF in Mexico: I seem to have developed a new South African persona. This gal is much more outdoorsy and domestic than I normally give myself credit for. She goes to the gym, to spinning class, she likes hiking and participating in races at the crack of dawn on Saturday mornings. She cooks, she cleans, and almost watches no television. She gets excited about going on a game drive, or a sporting event, and doesn't drink nearly as much as the Mexican, the Danish, or the Finnish me. 

Weird. 

Life lessons and some sucky South Africans

We finally have our stuff here in SA. We are almost done with the insurance claim. The weather's good. We started golf lessons. I realized I don't have to read Shantaram if I don't want to. We have awesome friends. We are almost the (not so proud) owners of two cars, so I can get around soon too. We are in good health. I haven't come across any snakes yet. I have plenty to read. After six years of marriage I am more in love than ever.

Life should be good, right?

For the most part life is good too, and we are happy. Still, apparently it doesn't take much to pull me down into the dirt. All it takes are a couple of rude people and I'm sad. I guess I'm writing this post to remind myself of how lucky I am to be who I am and to have what I have in my life, and to remind myself of the negative power a proper hissy fit will have over me. Believe me, had I been privy to the minus energy of my frequent hissy fits as a teenager my mother would not be looking back now at (and I quote practically word for word) "the horror that were the teenage years of my daughter." Sorry mom, at least for some of it...  

Now, I am proud of the fact that I am very much in touch with my own self-worth and if I feel someone is not giving me the respect I deserve I will, without a doubt, let them in on this epiphany. Sometimes in a not so nice way. But, I respect people who deserve my respect. 

What is going on then? Well, something has been going on with the house that we are renting pretty much ever since we moved in. No, the house is not haunted. I wish, that would have been much easier to deal with - get an exorcist and move on. The current problem now is how to deal with the extremely unpleasant aftermath of very much required and warranted repairs in the house. The repairs were eventually taken care of, but for one thing, and as we were trying to get the remaining issue fixed, such rudeness took place that I spent a good 30 minutes crying - over a rude contractor's visit. Naturally after drying my tears I complained, loudly and in writing, and lo and behold instead of an apology I got more shit thrown on me. Points deducted from SA. The contractor's response really got to me, since I had not been rude. Frustrated yes, but not without some very valid reasons in the form of water pouring in every window, construction material blocking the drain, and mold thriving underneath the wood floor, to name a few. In my opinion, we had been more patient than was warranted by the situation, and kind of nice too, regardless of people being late all the time or not showing up at all, or showing up unannounced. The guy actually had the gall to say they never showed up unannounced, because we have to okay them to come in through the gate. However, in this case I consider the gate my front door, and the guards giving me a minute's warning before someone shows up does not an appointment make! 

Currently I am divided as to whether I should mention the name of the rude party (not me, even though they said I was "always unfriendly"). The owner of the house is part of the same company, just a different division, but apart from minor issues has been a fairly decent landlord. I really would like to warn others never to deal with the construction side of this company as they have apparently never heard of such concepts as professionalism or common courtesy, but I am trying to take the high road and use this experience to remind myself how lucky I am if I have nothing better to cry about than an a-hole of a contractor. 

Taking the high road!

Taking the high road!

Taking the high road!

Taking the high road!

Maybe if I keep saying it it will come true.  

Good bye smelly rented furniture, hope to never see you again!

The smelly rented furniture and other items of that nature are finally on their way to being the sore spots of someone else's decor. No more India-inspired, gold and burgundy dining room chairs. No more couches that have more different colors on them than I care to count, and most importantly no more bed with a very likely bedbug infestation. Good bye to itchy bites. Yes, I will drink to that later today as I'm hanging out with the most awesomest, coolest South Africanos to date. 

Who would have thought that people would actually open their home to us bedless folks, while the pest guy attempts to rid us of the aforementioned bedbug-problem. Thank you from the bottom of our heart guys! You are the greatest. Virtual hug.   

Our own stuff is set to arrive on Monday. Happy to be expanding my wardrobe, yet fearful of what has been broken, and what has been stolen this time around...

An apple a day... What?!? I thought it was 7 cups of coffee?!?!

In my country hopping life I've rarely found time to go see a doctor. Or, you could say that I have managed to avoid seeing a doctor for an indecent amount of years, regardless of several complaints that I habitually try to 'walk off' (possibly a remnant of my work for the Girl Scouts). A year and a half ago in Mexico I actually attempted to walk off a gallstone the size of a grape. Lo and behold I ended up in emergency surgery at 2 in the morning, and consequently had my entire gallbladder out. Pretty gross, but luckily I was out for most of it, and my dear husband was left to deal with things - en español. When I woke up he knew they had operated, but wasn't quite sure on anything else, even though he had actually signed a permission slip (note to self: make hubby also learn the new language beyond restaurant terms).

So, now that Ciproflox antibiotics are no longer as readily available as they were in Mexico (over the counter, no prescription needed), I have recently had to visit an actual doctor (and not diagnose myself on the internet with all sorts of parasites, cancer, and such). Turns out, I had nothing to fear, but the fare itself, and by this I mean the cost of having someone poke needles in your arm, that obviously is entirely without circulation, since no blood is coming out in any painful angle. In addition to the consultation fee of around R300, for the lab tests I had to fork out R2200. I hope the insurance is sorted out soon, since these costs are depleting my shoe-money stash fast.  

Still, I actually was not horrified by the whole ordeal. First of all in SA you are not made to wear a surgical gown with your butt half hanging out. Small victory! The doctor was super nice, laid back, yet very thorough, and she was actually the first doctor in a long time who did not immediately zero in on what they all seem to see as the root of all of my complaints, my overweight. In the past I've had 'helpful' healthcare professionals explain to me how I should really "eat less" or "go on some sort of diet", and then have them look baffled when my complicated insulin issue comes out. Well, I can tell you, with the healthy BP of 125/80, I almost kissed the doctor on the mouth (people who are not in love do this here, another long story...), when she said that so far everything is looking "as it is supposed to". I might just escape this one without too many complications and win peace of mind for some years to come. I'm due back for my results on Friday.