It’s the most wonderful time of the year: the end of the school year. There are both sincerity and sarcasm expressed in that statement. While it is great, and kind of a relief, that the school year is winding down (four weeks to go!), it is a crazy, crazy time. I used to compare my status to treading water—just keeping my head above the surface. Now I feel like I’m a couple of feet under, and occasionally I get to break the surface to gasp for air, but then I’m back under again for another bout: plans, supply orders, reports. Crunch time with no six-pack results.
Last week, we had a brief two-day break. I was asked to house-sit while a colleague went on holiday with her family to the Kenyan coast (lucky her). They just moved from Nakasero to Mbuya and totally traded up as far as houses are concerned. Their new house is up on the hill and has one of the most amazing views of Lake Victoria, plus there are also two swimming pools on the compound. I thought I’d spend four days there lounging around the pool catching up on some reading.
It often rains of my parade. Above is a photo of the best my view of the lake ever got during my stint as house-sitter, and it was too cold to be comfortable around the pool. There was also DSTV and internet at their house (both of which I don’t have at mine) but Mbuya has some of the worst load shedding in the area (much worse than neighbouring Bugolobi), and I felt bed having the generator switched on just for me and my recreation, so my viewing of the true Hollywood story behind Sex and the City and the amazing accomplishments and struggles of Mary-Kate and Ashley was sporadic and often interrupted before finished.
The silver lining of the cloudy weekend came in the form of a stacked washer and dryer. I’ve gotten used to washing my clothes by hand. I spent two years in Brazil too poor to employ help and then three years as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I find washing clothes a bit therapeutic—washing away the grime of the week, plus instant results. However, laundry can pile up to a monstrosity of a task, and jeans and towels are hell on the hands.
I’m in a better financial place than before, and I could employ someone to wash for me (which I am considering); however, I’ve seen too many disasters with knits. The average person hired to help out in a home can wash clothes made of woven fabric just fine, but knits are pulled, rung and stretched from here to Timbuktu. I like my t-shirts to fit. It is amazing what a little extra soap and soaking time can do: really save your knits.
My friend finally left for Vietnam last Sunday. Keeping up with my habit of correspondence, I’ve not sent her an e-mail yet. We had yet another farewell party for her on Saturday night. The food was good but there were some issues with the music and the not-so-friendly or considerate owners/management of the venue. Otherwise, I was happy.