A load of crap
The other day a man called at our gate. This is not unusual; we
often have people knocking, either looking for work or selling
something from chests of drawers to live chickens. Our guard
usually sends them on their way, but this time the man asked for
me by name. He said that his name was Jacky and he came from
Chilomoni. This is the large township where my husband runs a
social enterprise centre. Through the various projects and
construction sites he has employed hundreds of casual labourers
at some time or another, and he is well known in the area.
Anyway, it turned out that Jacky was a landscape gardener and had
just completed a garden nearby. He knew my husband, and wanted to
off-load some manure that was left over. It wouldn’t cost me
anything; it was a gift. He would bring it over in his 2-tonne
pick-up.
My first instinct was to say no thanks. I was busy supervising my
children who had friends over to play and a game of
murder-in-the-dark was turning into anarchy. Besides, I didn’t
particularly want a load of manure dumped in my garden. Just then
one of the mothers arrived. She said that the offer sounded
great; manure is pretty expensive and it will soon be time to
plant.
With dogs barking and children screaming, I agreed that Jacky
could bring round the manure. I thanked him and went to sort out
the ripped pillows and broken mosquito nets in the murder room.
The guard came back to me. ‘Jacky needs fuel to bring the
manure.’
‘How much?’ I asked, putting a plaster on a bloody knee.
‘Five litres’ came the reply a little later, as I was mopping up
spilt juice. I grabbed my purse and handed over the money,
without even thinking about it. I just wanted some peace and
quiet.
Later, when all the friends had left, and we were sitting
quietly, I wondered what had happened to the manure. I hadn’t
heard a pick-up arrive. And then I felt so foolish. I had handed
over money to a guy I didn’t know for a pile of shit that I
didn’t even want, and still haven’t seen to date. And it was all
a load of crap.
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15 Comments
Thanks for sharing - it made me smile :) (but in an annoyed way of course!)
I'm writing this with my french doors open and a whiff of manure has just come in, I'm not sure if I'm imagining it or if it's real.
I was robbed in Malawi once - reported it to the police - who didn't have petrol for their car and asked me if I had a car.
It was such an unusual occurrence (being robbed, not a dry police car) that I found myself on national radio in Chichewa (sp?). It's another of my claims to fame.
Whisks, when were you in Malawi? If it was the days of Banda (pre1994) then being robbed was very unusual. The police are still the same though. When someone stole my husband's work car he had to drive the police to do an armed raid on the suspect's house at 4am and give them all phone credit. The other day I saw the Rapid Response team (with guns slung over their shoulders) pushing their broken down pick-up through town - the kids found it hilarious!
I can sell you some insurance against crap delivery failure, if you would like?
Whisks, Malawi hasn't changed much since then, although the main roads are now tarmaced and not all dirt. I was there between 1990 and 1994 and used to hitchhike every other weekend to visit my boyfriend (now husband). I was living on the Mozambique border (during the civil war) and he was living 300kms away on the lakeshore (lucky fella). It could sometimes take me more than a day to get there, for just a few hours before I had to be back at work....ah, those were the days....
I'd love to hear more about your adventure. Sounds like it could be an entertaining short story one day!
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