Hurray for holidays!

Easter is nearly upon us and so the Littles are on their school holidays and we are escaping Angola for a week and heading to Cape Town. The excitement in the Foley household is palpable. In all honesty we could be going anywhere and still be high on the thought of getting out. I am giddy with fantasies of being able to stroll safely down the street, go to restaurants where I shan’t be fleeced for a deeply disappointing meal that takes hours to appear, buy fresh milk, not have to pick weevils out of pasta and run somewhere where my sweat can evaporate and not fill my running shoes to the point where I squelch the last 5 km.

As I type this my husband is busy making a family sized packed lunch for the plane. We’re flying with Air Namibia and there’s no telling what the food will be like. I m horrible when I m hungry so he feels that the extra kilo of Marmite sandwiches that we’ll have to hump around is well worth it. I’m taking a risk by not overseeing the sandwich making proceedings as he is not a Marmite eater and, in ignorance, tends to spread it like jam – my gums will still be throbbing into next week. We’re stopping over in Windhoek, capital of Namibia, but I m not sure if 1.5 hours in an airport allows us to say that we’ve really visited the place. I’m hoping that it’s a decent plane as my fear of flying continues to put a dampener on any trip by air. Number 2 child (6 years) has an obsession with catastrophes this week and has been busy drawing pictures of planes being hit by either lightning or tornadoes and falling apart and passengers falling out. Just looking at them makes me want to practice my breathing exercises and get into the brace position.

My only reservation about leaving is the fact that it’s the rainy season and we have had an almost unprecedented amount of rainfall. This in itself is not a bad thing, although there has been severe flooding to the south, the problem for us is that our home is like a sieve and every time the heavens open we have to strategically place towels around the house. After the rain we get an influx of creepy crawlies and slugs which can fit through the gaps at the bottom of our exterior doors. The snails would join the party too but their shells prevent them from squeezing through the gap so they just watch through the window. Luckily we have many house lizards which help to remove some of the unwanted guests, I just wish they would stop using my shoes as hideouts.

There is an ominous bulge on the ceiling in the living room and every time it rains it gets a little fatter. It’s like a giant abscess and everyday I have to resist the urge to lance it with a sharpened pencil.

I am in no doubt that once we hit South Africa we will be in such a state of bliss that we wouldn’t care if our Angolan house got so water-logged that it washed down the road and into the sea.

We recently learnt the hard way that it isn’t wise to visit the beach within 48 hours of heavy rain. Our boat taxi pulled up to the shore and as we disembarked into the surf we were forced to navigate our way through a wide variety of rubbish including dirty nappies (diapers) and a very smelly dead dog. Having gone to all the effort of making a picnic and hauling all of our beach equipment there, we were not going to let any amount of human detritus or putrid animals put us off from a fun day at the beach. We consumed our ham sandwiches and built a couple of sandcastles before leaping back into the boat and racing home to thoroughly disinfect ourselves.

The beaches of Cape Town will be a far cry from our local patch of sand and on that note I better go and finish packing…..


Was it worth it?

Once the Littles were safely despatched onto the school bus I went and sat on my bike in our storage room for an hour. I should add that the bike is sitting on a bike trainer so I was actually exercising, quite ferociously in fact. My current gardener likes to have a good look in my windows whenever he strolls past and this morning was no exception. I often wonder what he thinks when he can only see me from the waist up, bobbing around and sweating profusely. I like to think that he is impressed by my conviction to getting and staying fit. More likely is that he is utterly unconcerned with my activity and thinks only of the likelihood that I will pay him a larger tip this month.

Having ‘staff’ is something that I am still getting used to. I m fairly sure that I will never get used to it. I have drivers who take me here and there; I have my nosey gardener (Beto) and I have a maid called Teresa. I call her Dona Teresa out of courtesy (DT behind her back). She spends her days washing our dirty laundry, cleaning the house and ironing the small mountain of shirts and school uniform that a family of five generates. I am fairly picky about what I put in the washing basket as DT likes to bake everything in the tumble dryer regardless of the printed care instructions – which of course she doesn’t understand as she speaks only Portuguese. Anything that I want to save from the tumble dryer I hide on a shelf in our wardrobe and wash it in secret at the weekend when DT doesn’t work. Sometimes, when DT is away and we have a stand-in maid, the maid will come across the screwed up bundle of smelly gym gear and other exotic dirty clothing and assume that we are too lazy to fold our own clothes. On occasion Michael has discovered a very smelly pair of dirty gym shorts that have been carefully folded and put back in his draw.

DT likes to sing. She sings as she irons and she sings when she is cleaning the bathroom and she sings as she sweeps around me when I am talking on the telephone or trying to write. Obviously I can’t ask her to stop as that would make me an asshole, but I really wish she would. Right now she is in the room next-door playing Portuguese ballads on her telephone as she does the ironing.

On a Tuesday (today) I have a cook (Lena) who comes and cooks the same two meals for me every week – Meatballs ala Lena and Chicken Parmesan. When you are the chief provider of meals for a family of five you tend to get into a habit of cooking the same meals week in week out. They are meals that 80% of the family like with a further 20% eating it too providing I withhold snacks in the preceding 4 hours.  In a country that lacks convenience and fast food (and sometimes even the basic food we are used to) it is a joy to have someone come and take care of two meals. Sometimes, as a special treat, I like to get into bed for an hour on a Tuesday afternoon and think about DT doing the ironing (singing of course) and the lovely Lena preparing the dinner. It does make up for the portuguese ballad torture.

After the bike ride my driver and I drove from the Luandan suburbs, where I live, to a house downtown to attend a coffee morning of mostly American embassy spouses. Everyone had gone to a lot of effort to bake delicious fare except me who arrived with just a box of biscuits that we discovered upon opening were slightly stale. An Italian lady offered me one of her parmesan laced baked items. It looked exciting but I soon discovered that the paper case in which it came was welded to the pastry. Not wanting to put it back on my plate, I popped it into my mouth, paper case and all. Naturally I told her that it was delicious before downing half a mug of microwaved tea (my friend doesn’t have a kettle) in order to swallow the paper. It was a 2.5 hour round trip in the car for 1 hour of socialising. You might say that that wasn’t worth the effort, but Valerie (the hostess) is lovely and, despite her lack of tea making skills, I think we have a long friendship ahead of us. Angola can be an extremely challenging place to live with a small family but what gets us through is having a close network of friends around us. So it was worth the long journey to attend Valerie’s social function.

While writing todays entry I have inadvertently eaten an entire packet of chocolate digestives. I blame the portuguese ballads (which DT just turned up, must be one of her favourites). Michael can judge the type of day I have had by the quantity and variety of junk food wrappers he finds in the kitchen bin. Today there will only be the digestive’s wrapper as I was quite full when I returned from the coffee morning (paper cases are surprisingly filling). I should probably stop here and remove the crumbs from the keyboard before they cause any permanent damage to my precious blog writing device. Thanks for reading. Ciao ciao.