Last night, and the night before, I found myself staggering around the darkened back garden, armed with a fierce torch while I urged the two dawgs to complete their nightly ablutions.
The torch is a vital accessory during loadshedding, much like a nice string of pearls goes well at a royal funeral… along with an edgy black frock.
Continue reading “The Other 44”There’s nothing I like more than seeing something that makes me laugh or really think about what took place…and sometimes I stare in amazement! My arrival in the Garden Route has been punctuated by a series of these moments.
On the second or third day here, we were confronted by a donkiekar trundling the streets of George’s suburbs, sifting through residents’ rubbish bins and garbage. In Joziburg™ there are waste pickers too, but the guys on those operations pilot ricketty trolleys that look like they’ve been salvaged from a warehouse yard. Self-drive and potentially lethal when they steer them down steep hills, fully loaded. Meanwhile, George operates at a more gentle pace.
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