Where Defunct Objects Come to Die

At 5 am this morning our alarm system went off, grabbing us suddenly out of our sleep.  In twenty minutes of strangeness our sirens blared and the security company telephoned to see what was happening before arriving moments later with a team to search the property. (If you’re wondering, baby Jonas slept through all of the ear blasting, and awoke later when a security guard quietly tapped on the window to give us an all clear.) The cause was most likely a malfunctioning sensor.

Everything in Zim aaaalmost works… At least, that is what we have come to find out over our first full week here.  This realization comes after a week with six power outages (all 5-7 hours long), 1 day without hot water, 1 day without cold water, 3 days without internet, 1 broken pipe, 1 broken gate, 1 broken door, and a washing machine that not only broke twice, but literally exploded in our kitchen (flying socks included) and sent gallons of standing water throughout two large rooms. Those challenges given, this blog is a miracle.

 “Make plan” is a saying the locals here have.  It’s used often, because much of the time Plan A (and Plan B, and Plan C…) has failed and other arrangements must be figured out.  The people here are seemingly pros at patience and second options.  I am still getting used to it. 

Our country has a unique relationship with China.  And by unique I mean, we apparently take a lot of the defective crap that does not pass inspection for other countries. There are flaws in everything… tiny enough to usually still make something usable for a time, but big enough that the American in me wants to march back to the store immediately to return it before it self-combusts. Translation: invest in Africa's tape and glue industry.

That’s what I was thinking about this morning (at 5:30, since Jonas did not return to sleep) as I boiled the container of syrup I’d brought home yesterday as a rare sweet treat for Jonas.  When we got it home, it was like four other things we’d bought from the market this week: the seal was broken inside the bottle. 

I find myself challenged to use things I would have thrown away a few weeks ago, but now feel grateful for having, broken or not, because I am part of the “haves.”  I didn’t really want the syrup in its current state, but throwing it away or giving it to someone less fortunate when I did not deem it safe to pass my lips tugged at my guilt levels, too.  SO, if this is my last blog entry, you’ll know we died from food poisoning.

Or a faulty washing machine.

How many of our electrical cords look here.  

This one has three different colors and ages of tape.

I'll leave out my picture of our toddler playing with one...