Zimbos in West Berkshire

After all the frantic renovation activity and the atrocious weather of late March, compounded with the start of a West Midlands consulting contract that gave me a choice between staying away all week or spending 4 hours a day commuting, it was a relief when Craig and family arrived and the weather eased up a little. We drove up to Shropshire to see some relatives there, hosted some cousins for an al fresco meal on our back patio (although it was too cool to have a proper braai in the adjacent little brick-built pub which was a major contributory factor in purchasing this place) and generally had as good a time as we could in changeable weather.

It was great to see my African family meeting my ex-African now English family after a gap of some years, and I hope the more sunburned ones got a sense that it is quite possible to have a good life here in the UK.

Lots of Southern Africans are terrified of the unknown world outside their borders, and have been told tales of woe by the returning masses of carers, waitrons, supply teachers and the like who have suffered at the bottom of the economic ladder here, lived in squalid communes in bad parts of London, dealt with disturbed and feral inner-city schoolkids or incontinent old folk, earned low wages and generally had a bad time of it. Well there is a little more to life in the UK than that - but you have to do your homework before coming over, live somewhere other than Greater London and work as a professional.

I am not optimistic, however, that any of my immediate family will ever move to the UK. For various reasons they seem wedded to their various parts of Africa - I do understand the attraction of the dark continent, it is just as much part of my heritage and ancestry as theirs, but to me it is a simple equation. I believe that conditions in SA will never get better than they are currently, and for me they are currently unacceptable. I also believe that the inevitable battle for decreasing resources by members of an increasing population will make the future for my children very difficult.

Also, frankly, having lived in Europe since 2001 has given me a taste for other things that generally just don't exist back in Africa - dependable infrastructure, good health and education services, centuries of art and culture, cheap travel, great libraries and a huge array of community services, support groups and the like.

I miss the sunshine, my family and, funnily enough, the Afrikaans language. So here's the deal - if I win the Euromillions I'll move all the extended family to Italy and we can have sunshine and togetherness - and I'll play some Tolla van der Merwe comedy CD's now and then...

Springtime and renovations

I say Springtime - well sadly in the UK this year that has been more a technical term used by Druids than an actual experience. My long-lost and long-suffering family from Zimbabwe were planning a visit in a month or two, our house was still in dire need of loads of renovation and outside, instead of blue skies and flowers busting out all over we had somewhat more Arctic conditions. These pictures were taken in our front garden in late March....




... and as you can see there was a bit of a difference between local conditions and those prevailing in Harare where brother Craig and his family somehow manage to survive against all odds (and against all reason too, if you ask me).

My plans for taking the little ones somewhere jolly for a bit of outdoor fun looked in serious danger - and of course as mentioned in the previous post, the inside of our new house in West Berkshire was a war zone of builder's rubble too.

When we bought this little semi-detached post-war place it was in spite of the interior decor and not because of it; previous owners had demonstrated bizarre tastes in plaster, Artex, artificial stone, MDF and all the 1970's and 1980's lapses in judgement we have come to know and hate here in the UK.





For example the large living room had been partially sectioned off by a bizarre circular arch which led into a sort of snug, in the rear of which crouched a gas fire in amidst a horrible pile of moulded plaster, brickwork and stone that effectively cut a metre off the room space.


Space, incidentally, that we desperately need. Not only am I a packrat of note when it comes to books, papers and photographs, but having a child with a Hogga-like attention span means we need a plethora of toys to keep her amused.

Now as already established in earlier postings, my DIY abilities are small to non-existent; I have been known to pick up injuries reading the B&Q catalogue. So what we needed was the strong right arm of my brother in law Gabi - and to prove that his dexter forelimb is indeed as sturdy as advertised I proffer this picture of our living room after he had finished swinging his hammer.




Well done Gabi and many thanks!!