Finally experienced loadshedding Ntinda style. That’s right, I’m still calling my area Ntinda. I have been told it’s actually called Kigowa, but my mind won’t process the word. Understandable really, you don’t want to be jumping into a cab after hanging out and slurring that you are going to Kigoowa. It sounds like a haven for thieves and ladies of the night… or thieving ladies of the night.
So anyway, the black out…
When I was moving in, I carried the notion that this side of town had ministers and such, so I wouldn’t have to worry about the forces of darkness striking. I was wrong.
The reach of Minister’s Village is limited…and ministers have generators and inverters.
I relied on the light from my phone, as it kept dropping hints, suggesting its calling did not extend to illuminating my life. It’s battery was not so charitable. Where my phone merely implied that it didn’t want to help me, the battery realised what was going on and chose right then and there to quit.
Fortunately, I found candles. Long blue, icky-feeling candles . . . that smelt oba-how. They also had an annoying habit of blacking out after a while. The housemate later told me that they are insect-repelling candles. I guess candle lit dinners have got that going for them.
Speaking of…
The housemate does exist, just not often enough. It’s been suggested that I might have actually fabricated the whole thing. That I have a beautiful mind and he is a figment of my imagination. The thing is, it is sort of true. I do have a beautiful mind, but I know he exists and intend to issue proof of some sort as soon as he gets back.
Evil in diapers has since taken a sabbatical and won’t be bothering me for a while. I really don’t know where he went, but I’m not one to question a good thing. I now know the meaning of peace and quiet…and it’s no thanks to the new pillow. I’ve tried to break it in, but it seems to be having the upper hand in this fight.
My neck can’t take this stuff anymore.
Not because I can’t do it myself, but because I don’t have the time, I had someone bring some cleaners over. They did a so-so job with the clothes {I suspect if I’d left them out for a couple of days, the combined effort of the rain and the wind would have done a better job ridding them of Friday’s sweat (no one sweats before that. FACT)
Also, I think the cleaners used my toothpaste. Scratch that, the thought conjures up images of some random person using my toothbrush as well.
Let’s say they ATE my toothpaste.
Meanwhile, I’m in the market for cheap food. Cheap as in, ‘inexpensive’. I’m tired of contributing towards the take-away next door’s paint job, I need something else. Their food is not bad..as such, but my fries seem to be going through a rough patch or generally react badly to cooking oil.
Does anyone in the Ntinda massive know a kikumi-kikumi joint I can put on retainer?
I’ve briefly considered fluking meals at my friends’ place in Ministers’ Village, but getting a hold of them is just too much work. I miss the old days, when people walked to school and showed up unannounced at your doorstep during mealtimes.
Man, I miss the 90s.