My life is a B-Grade movie

Have you ever watched a movie and thought, "What utter rubbish!  That kind of thing doesn't happen in real life!  No way Jose, that's not real!"  Welcome to my life.  Even I often believe that my life can't be real.  That this is some kind of a weird dream I am living.  One day I will wake up and sigh and say, "Thank God it was only a dream!"  I pray that day comes soon.

There are those people who go through their schooling knowing what career path they are going to choose.  They succeed at everything education, relationships, parenting, career.  They have a gorgeous house in the suburbs, go on great family holidays every year.  They are always happy and smiling, a bit like in those toothpaste commercials.  I am not one of those people.
Whether my life was pre-destined to be as chaotic as an untweezed eyebrow or whether I subconciously create the little dramas and adventures that populate it I'll never know.  I just know that some of the things that happen in my life are as unbelievable as a plot of a B-Grade movie.
It always amuses me when people say, "You need to put that in a book."  The problem is that I don't write fantasy or science fiction.  I write realistic fiction.  If I write about some of the stuff that happens to me, my readers will say "far-fetched, can't be true, improbable."
For example, take the events of the past week.
When my mother said goodbye to us at the airport after our holiday in Cape Town, I told her to get her cough seen to.  The next night she was rushed to hospital unable to breathe after a coughing fit.  Diagnosis: Pneumonia.  Now remember this is summer in South Africa.  While much of the world is freezing, it's the hottest time of the year in Cape Town.  How do you get pneumonia in summer?  My mother was released from hospital the Monday, re-admitted the Thursday and put on antibiotics intravenously.  Friday night her blood pressure starts dropping dangerously low.  Friday night on the other side of the world on his way to work at the Ritz in Naples, Florida, my son gets knocked off his bicycle by a woman failing to stop at a stop street.
We now have two dramas, two plot-lines in this B-Grade movie.  Remember, I am living in Tanzania.  My mother and my son, both in hospital.  Only one of them on the same continent as I.
My son luckily only has torn ligaments in his knee, a sore head and a bone cyst on his elbow.  He will live although his bicycle is a total write off.  The woman pays his medical expenses and buys him a new bicycle.  Despite advice to the contrary, my son wants no more than this.  He figures it's immoral to make someone pay for their mistake.
Already some of you are thinking, two dramas on one night, how improbable.  But I swear to God it's true,
My mother makes slow progress and is eventually discharged the Tuesday afternoon.  On Wednesday she decides, despite being told to stay in bed and have complete bed rest, to amble over to my brother's house.  He happens to live next door.  My brother has a very big dog.  It's paws are the size of side plates and it slobbers everywhere.  I think it's a bull mastiff.  The dog was so happy to see my mother, it jumped on her knocking her flying.
Back in hospital.  Cracked vertebrae, effectively a broken back.  Remember, she hasn't yet fully recovered from the pneumonia.
Doesn't sound real, does it?
But it gets more bizarre.  My stepdad has had several back ops.  For the last couple of months he's been getting a lot of pain from a pinched nerve.  He's scheduled to have an operation on his back on Tuesday to fix the pinched nerve.  The same day my mother will be having an operation to repair her broken vertebrae.  How romantic.  A hospital honeymoon both flat on their backs, sharing a ward together.
Seriously.  I mean, seriously.  Does anybody's life get more B-grade than this?

Never say that the ants have gone

Who the hell was Murphy anyway?
Never say the ants have gone
One would have thought that by my grand old age, I’d know how the world works. One would assume that I’d know all about Murphy and his ruddy laws. But, a wise old man once said, never assume as it makes an ass of u and me. Quite clever that, and probably quite true. I announced to the world that my problem with ants was solved. The blighters were gone. Vanished, forever removed from my home. This was obviously a misconception on my part. The ants has just temporarily gone on vacation. Obviously, the messenger ant read my missive about the ant problem being solved, alerted his cheery general, who then sent scouts to inform the ant CEO, that I was gloating at their demise. The ants were recalled from their holiday at the coast. They were lined up in squadrons, regiments even, of every possible type of ant on this planet, and dispatched forthwith to my humble abode. They arrived unheralded and unannounced on Saturday afternoon. They approached from many different directions. The big black ants with fat obese bodies, managed to squeeze their way through the gap between bath and tap, and congregated in their hordes around the edge of my bath tub. Others decided to use their bodies to make pretty ring patterns on my toilet seat. A few stragglers wandered around lost and left out on the bathroom floor. But not to be outdone, the medium sized black ants, twelve abreast, marched in formation along the wall from outside to congregate on my kitchen sink. A few squadrons ended up on my kitchen bench top, and still others practised their camouflage techniques, to blend in with the black beads Siobhan had accidentally dropped on the floor and neglected to pick up. Then, there were the little brown ants. The poor cousins, the ones that come out of the holes in the woodwork, who marched solemnly along the door frame to hold union meetings on the margarine tub, and feast on the droplets of Fanta Siobhan messed on the counter top. The ants were back! With a vengeance! But, quicker than a prostitute slips on a condom, I opened the cupboard where aerosol cans of ant spray stood at the ready, and I went ape. Completely wild, spraying everything that moved, including Siobhan who was trying to beat a hasty retreat out of the kitchen. And so began the Pink Pather’s theme tune, “Dead-ant, dead-ant, dead-ant dead-ant dead-ant.” Rambo had nothing on me. I swept from room to room with my weapon of ant destruction, until like Agent Orange, I too was consumed by the vilest of tastes in my mouth, my nose streaming from the poison, and I had to stop. The moral of the story is: “Never say that the ants have gone.” That is tempting fate and we don’t want that, do we?
Weddings, yes, there are some people who still want to get married. Weddings in Tanzania are completely different to anything you have ever witnessed before. The first wedding I inadvertently dropped into, I was completely taken aback and not too sure what was happening. You see, I was driving into town, and getting ready to go around the circle, when a long column of cars covered in ribbons and flowers and followed by a pick up truck filled with cutely dressed men in waistcoats and bow ties playing saxophones, trumpets and anything else you blow, beat me to the circle. Then, while I sat impatiently waiting, sitting spellbound in my car, the cars drove round and round the circle while the blow musician men played jazz-sounding music. The lead car stopped, I must add – on the circle, and a bride in a bridal gown befitting a member of the royal family hopped out with her groom in tow with his black tuxedo fitting snugly on his muscular butt. A photographer hopped out of another car and followed closely behind the loving couple, avoided tripping over the marigolds in the flower beds and snapped happily away as the couple posed – on the circle. Africa definitely has a vibrancy unrivalled in many ways. Since then we have seen many weddings, not always on the circle, but always accompanied by the fanfare from the pick up truck filled with horn-blowing musicians.
We are quite spoilt here with game parks in such close proximity to where we live. Sunday, all new teachers were taken to the ArushaNational Park on the side of MountMweru, the second largest mountain in Tanzania. We went on the back of the school’s truck which is used especially for non-existent roads. I made the mistake of sitting at the back of the truck on the back seat. Never sit at the back of a truck when you know you’ll be driving through potholes a fraction smaller than the super bowl. Many times we went over a bump and I literally left my seat and jumped about 20cm into the air. Despite my ample buttocks and extra padding, the landing was never soft. I discovered that I had a coccyx and that if you land hard on it, it shoots pains up your spine. Another discovery, was that the muscles holding my head onto my body are not as developed as they should be. My head bobbled like a baby’s mobile in the breeze. Muscles I never knew existed are aching. Luckily, I avoided bumping my head on the bar perfectly positioned at head-height at the back of the truck. Others were not so lucky. Some were walking around school today in a semi-comatose state, but that could have been the celebrating our safe return afterwards. We did drive past a cement truck that had overturned completely. There was no sign of what he’d hit to make him spin completely upside down. It was like he was trying to do a stunt which had back-fired. But, back to the animals. Lakes filled with pink flamingos, large herds of buffalo, zebra, duikers, water buck, giraffe munching thorn bushes wherever we went – I’ve never seen so many giraffe, vervet monkeys, hornbills, crowned cranes, black eagles, colobus monkeys and warthog running everywhere. Thick tropical jungle, grass plains, lakes, waterholes and a volcanic crater and the cherry on top – a lone hippo out of the water mowing the grass on the side of one of the lakes.
Man, Africa is a blast! Last week, a traffic cop stopped me and asked me for my driver’s licence. I have to admit, I’ve been a little remiss in filling in my driver’s licence application and paying the bribe to get it issued to me without being present. To make matters worse, my South African driver’s licence was in my other wallet which was at home. I gulped nervously, imagining a huge fine or bribe coming my way, and said with a watery grin, “Jambo, nzuri?” Which is Swahili for hello, how are you. Lesson one, always practise the little Swahili you have, it melts the hearts of those in authority. The cop smiled, and asked again for my driver’s licence. I replied that I’d accidentally left it at home. He then laughed and asked me if I thought I was a good driver. Obviously I said yes, and he indicated that I could go because I was a good driver. Phew! But, the minute I got home I put my licence into the wallet I use over here. No use in tempting fate. Like I did with the ants.

Dizzy dentists

Just when you think you're over China...

"Teachers wanted for international school. Sense of humor needed."

When you see this kind of advert then you know that you're in for some potentially tough situations where if you don't laugh, then you might just cry. China is definitely one of those countries where you need that sense of humor. Boy, do you need that sense of humor! Take today for instance. I've had this bothersome tooth for over a year. I avoid going anywhere near the dentist as my medical insurance does not cover dental treatment. Previously, when infection flared up in the tooth, I got over the counter antibiotics - the stuff you need a prescription for in the West, and after a day or so the pain subsided. Well, today the pain flared up again. So much so, that it feels as if someone has taken a chisel and started to chisel away at my cheekbone. In fact, that whole side of my face feels swollen, like I've been punched. (And yes, that has happened to me before so I do know what it feels like!) Teaching nine year olds with toothache is not the most pleasant of experiences. Every little shrill voice seems to jar your nerve endings. Anyway, one of the other teachers happened upon a local Chinese dentist the other day whom he says cleaned his teeth well for a very cheap price. So, after school, grimacing with pain, I made my way to the recommended dentist, only to find that the examination room was filled with workmen of all shapes and sizes, drilling away with giant jackhammers and hammering with hammers. The brand new dental surgery, only open for a fortnight, was already being revamped. Something you see quite often in China. With the deafening noise sending spasms up my swollen cheek, I timidly advanced into the front office which was set out like a little pharmacy. "Drugs," I thought to myself, "Need drugs badly!"

An old man who could have been the dentist, approached me and rattled out a few sentences in Chinese, which I completely failed to understand. "Ting boo dong," I replied, wincing with pain as the jackhammers hammered away in the background. That mean that I don't understand. The old man smiled revealing severely rotting brown and grey teeth. I hoped that he wasn't the dentist, as obviously, he'd never done any work on his own teeth. It turned out that the old man could write English, even though he couldn't speak it, so he wrote down for me that the dental surgery would be re-opening on Sunday. "Mmmmm, mmmmm...," I moaned holding my cheek in pain, hoping that if he noticed I was in pain then he'd be able to give me some drugs. The old man smiled at me and nodded, opening his desk drawer he removed a slightly grubby flashlight covered in oily fingerprints. He then reached inside his drawer again and removed a chopstick. He opened his mouth with the grey brown teeth, signalling to me that I must open mine, which I dutifully did. I'm not sure if it was because my common-sense was dulled by the pain. He used the chopstick as a tongue supresser and peered into my mouth, with one of his nurses holding the flashlight and shining the light into my mouth cavity. He nodded to himself and wrote out a script in Chinese and gave it to the other nurse who fetched me some medication. Three boxes, I seriously hoped that one had pain meds in it. "P-R-N," he said slowly in heavily accented English, pointing to where he had written exactly that on the box. He picked up the next box and read what he'd written, "B-I-D," he said slowly. I was confused. I had no idea what the old man was talking about. "T-I-D," he said as he pointed to his writing on the third box. Having lived in China for three years and asia for four, it took a while before I figured out what he meant. P-R-N meant only take when you have pain. T-I-D meant three times a day. B-I-D means twice a day. Don't ask me how I figured that out, but he nodded vigorously when I repeated that to him.

The medical encounters are just one of the things that makes China, China. The other is split pants. I have an aversion to split pants, probably because I've twice been in Walmart and seen toddlers pee through their split pants all over the bottom of the trolley and drip urine all over onto the floor. The mothers just laughed and carried on walking. I was aghast, when I glanced back and saw other people happily pushing their trolleys through the pee, spreading it all over the shop floor. Then, when you walk on the streets, you often see people holding babies and toddlers over the gutter or rubbish bins and letting the babies poo through their split pants. Then again, there is the hoiking, another personal favorite. Wherever you go in China, you continuously hear people hoik as they clear the mucous from their throats and spit it wherever. On the ground, in the ashtray on the table next to you in the Italian Restaurant, on a plane, and then of course - on my motorbike seat! The pollution is also something to grab you. Permanent smoggy skies, sore throats and often funny metallic tastes in your mouth. The list goes on.

But why, you may ask, besides the money, why do expats go and live in a place like China? I have to say that there is something about experiencing a different culture and traveling around and seeing amazing centuries old sights. My first year I though everything was wonderful. The second year you tend to see more of the negative that the rosecolored glasses of your first year hid from you. By the third year you are over the wonders of the new culture and start to get easily irritated. then you know, it's probably the best time to move on to new adventures, see new sights, experience a different culture. When I looked at my fake terracotta warriors already in their shipping cases, the piles of packing boxes delivered by the relocation company yesterday, I felt a little sad. China has been frustrating, irritating, but at the same time beautiful and magnificent. The great wall is definitely a once in a lifetime experience, something that should be on everyone's bucket list. The fact that the Oasis concert I was going to in three weeks' time has been cancelled because the Chinese Government refuses to give them a visa because they played in a Free Tibet concert in 1997, is one of the frustrating things of living in China. However, the friends you make who hail from so many different countries, and the wonderful memories you've made together, the fantastic times you've had - all make living the expat life a very rewarding and enjoyable experience. Even in a country like China.

Chines New Year and life goes on...

As I'm currently on a save money and not spend a cent drive, I decided not to go away for Chinese New Year, especially as we had a weekend in sub-zero temperatures in Harbin just before. Actually, in my three years in China, we've never travelled Chinese New Year. This year wasn't quite as noisy as others, but there were still times when all the fireworks going off at some godforsaken hour made you feel as if you were caught up in a war zone somewhere in the Middle East. Staying home proved to be a wise choice and the week holiday soon flew past in the midst of parties, dinners and scrabble playing days. This week was followed with an inset week at school, as my son so sweetly refers to as 'Incest' week. More technology, God, when is it all going to stop!
But, it also flew by so quickly and now it's just back to the normal same-old, same-old. Work, work, work and the occasionally time out to play.
Our summer holiday plans have changed since I got the job in Tanzania starting in August. Hence the decision to work very carefully with finances, as I have to pay in extra for shipping, Tony's Hotel School costs, and Kerri's Great Marathon run trip. I suppose all good causes.
Haven't been too inclined to make sausages of late - too cold and the bloody beef kept getting jammed up in my sausage filler, making me frustrated as hell. Oh well! But, I have already organised my shipper and have managed to sell off some of my stuff to try and cut down on the shipping costs. The school only gives a certain amount which doesn't cover all of it, and I'm keepin the Tanzanian school's shipping to airfreight some of my stuff from Cape Town.
The highlight of the last while has been the 99 Red Balloons Party where we celebrated two staff members birthdays - their combined birthdays added up to 99! A lifetime memory-making moment was when a group of us stood on the upstairs balcony and slowly threw out 99 red balloons down into the lounge area below where the birthday babies were waiting.
Definitely time to go out on the town tonight. I must say, the last few months in China I'm becoming increasingly agoraphobic, having no inclination to go out and be pushed and shoved and narrowly missed by people hoiking up huge globules of mucous and spit.
Catchya later! And check out my new website where you can buy my books as ebooks online! www.cindyvine.com