Après moi, le déluge
Have you ever lain in bed in a semi conscious state and gradually become aware of a persistent sound in the background that you feel you’ve been listening to forever? A semi conscious state is my natural milieu. Some are born zombie, some achieve zombie and some have zombie thrust upon them. I am definitely in the second category. It was all my own work, in fact, my life’s achievement. Ask me what I did yesterday and I wouldn’t have a clue. See, zombie. In fact, Karin (our intrepid, Dutch house mate) asked me if I’d had a good morning. My mind was blank. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what I had done that morning (zombie). In my defense, it transpired that I had done nothing. “It’s senile dementia,” you will be thinking. No. I’ve always had it. Is there such a thing as juvenile dementia? Can brain cells die when they’ve never been used?
As I was saying, if I can remember that far back, the night in question, I was falling into a deeper state of unconsciousness, (commonly called sleep) when my unused brain cells became aware of a persistent sound in the background. It was not an unpleasant sound, such as howling mongrels or cock crowing, so I let it be. But it did not go away. It sounded as though it was coming from a neighbouring garden so it was nothing to do with me. It was not my responsibility. I fancied it sounded like crackling flames. Someone must be having a midnight bonfire. But there was no smell of smoke. This was unusual because even when nobody is having a bonfire in Rundu the air smells of wood smoke, which in itself is not unpleasant, putting you in mind of a) delicious braai, b) roasting chestnuts c) Guy Fawkes, take your pick. It definitely sounded like fire. If our neighbour’s house was not burning down then maybe ours was? This thought was more than usually motivating and, clothed only in the cloak of night (tropical nights are very balmy), I peeked out of our bedroom door.
Bats have very sensitive directional antennae. They can fly through a forest without hitting a tree. When was the last time you found a dead bat lying at the foot of a tree? [QED] I have never particularly wanted to be a bat. Black is so passé nowadays. Just thought, that would have made me Batman, no? Cool. Anyway, I could have used the bat’s keen auditory abilities that night. The fire was at the front door; no, in the garage; yes, the garage. But there were no flames dancing merrily through the garage window and no smell of smoke. I listened again. It could be a waterfall. Had the rains begun already? My last remaining brain cell woke up. What was in the garage apart from beer bottles, boxes, Linda’s car and a pile of spare parts which had cost her a fortune to replace? (She’d already, and very honestly, warned us against buying her car.) The hot water tank, of course. It must be spewing its contents all over Linda’s car. Well, at least she’ll have a clean car. I lifted the garage door and a blast of hot air hit me. It was like entering a sauna. All our precious hot water was being dumped onto the garage floor. It didn’t even have the decency to land on Linda’s car. But even Linda, the next morning found enough hot water to have a shower. But isn’t that the way in Africa? Disaster might strike and it often does, but by some miracle or quirk of fate things seem to work out ok in the end. I don’t understand it but long may it last.