On Sunday my husband and his technician managed to get parts for the airconditioner in our bedroom (it had broken down!) and repaired it. However, when they turned it on, half of the desert blew into the bedroom, whirled around and settled on everything. I mean everything.
My least favourite household appliance: the humble vacuum cleaner!
Hubby came indoors to tell me what had happened and nonchalantly suggested I vaccum the room. He reckoned it was a "bit dusty".
Now those readers who know me well, will know that I do not like housework. In fact I have a total aversion to housework. You can read a little about this here. Don't get me wrong; I've had my share of housework in my life. Since I can remember my mum set my sister and me to doing the chores in the house. When I reached my teens, my mum worked outside the home and my sister and I took on the responsibility of running the house. When I married, it was second nature for me to "do the housework". Until eight years ago when Emily came to my door and asked me for work, I used to do all my own housework. (Here in Khartoum I have a lady who comes in twice a week, but Sunday isn't one of those days!)Back to the problem of Khartoum dust in my bedroom. I unearthed the vacuum cleaner from behind a cupboard in the spare room and dragged it (none-too-gently!) to the bedroom. When I saw the damage, I was horrified. It was far worse than hubby had made out but I set to vacuuming the floor, the bed, the curtains. When I got to the dressing table, I suddenly thought I should photograph this. I fetched my camera but as I'd already cleaned up the worst grit and dust, the [top] photo doesn't do the situation justice.
When I'd finished my husband offered to take me to the fruit and vegetable stalls along the Nile river. He could see I needed a diversion! I'd asked him previously if we could go there, but we never seemed to take that route to or from the city. He parked the ute on the side of the busy street and cautioned me to watch the traffic as I crossed over. This is not a problem though, because women seem to have the right of way when crossing a street. I have watched them from my flat balcony: a women would step into the street, hold up a hand (almost limply) and the traffic stops and allows her to pass. On Sunday as I stepped into the street, I held up a limp hand to the oncoming traffic. I was thrilled when the driver of a Mercedes stopped and a whole line of cars stopped behind him. By now I was in the middle of the street, held up my other hand and viola! The first car came to a gentle stop (no screeching brakes, no horns blowing) and the cars behind it stopped as well.