Spurt

There wasn’t much need for careful rummaging on the roof this morning as a neighbour knocked early to alert me to the gushing pump, which had flooded the roof and caused water to cascade down the side of the building. The blue motor is the replacement from the December theft but the orange part remained old, and a cap had broken off, causing the spurting.

I always like to give credit to the landlady Helena for her responsiveness in such situations. By evening she’d sorted a replacement part and someone had been round to install it. She’s one in a million is our Nena. Unfortunately when I have to ship out of Mozambique next month I doubt I’ll find such a diamond landlord/lady in the flat I’m likely to rent in Dar es Salaam. I may not receive the same level of flirting from the new one, but as with everything, there are trade-offs to be factored in. I’m ready to be proven wrong on both counts, though.

Whilst I waited for water supply to be restored and resisted a bucket shower, I spoke to the family, three generations huddled in one room for my dad’s birthday. The parents were baby-sitting whilst my sister had dental work done, and she appeared on screen, unable to move part of her face.