Flood

You've heard the old saying `be careful what you wish for'? Well, in Mozambique, be REALLY careful what you wish for. Its been so hot that we have been collectively wishing for rain - and lots of it. Mother Nature clearly has an excellent sense of humour, because it rained on the weekend and today it rained some more. And rained. And rained. Over the course of an hour or two, rain crept up to the edge of the walkway and then the lawn outside became a pond. The rain leaked into the server room and the computers completed a collective suicide. And it rained.
DB, driving back from Swaziland , let me know briefly that Maputo was `under water', but (being DB and full of fortitude) he not only took the maid home, but was able to get to school (about an hour late) to collect our littlest and somehow managed to buy cheese on the way. He asked me if I was going home too, otherwise, he warned `you won't make it'.
But I'm quite used to ignoring DB.
So I stayed late to help with logistics and then considered my options. According to DB, the dirt road was out of the question for my little Pajero (bonnet-high water in his Toyota Surf means roof-high for my car) and later reports said the small bridge had washed away. I was told the alternate, past the fishmarket, was blocked. So I locked up the Pajero and walked. Very pragmatic and just a bit stupid. (I should mention at this juncture that strappy little sandals are not the best footwear should you feel the need to conquer a flood). Not wanting to swim the dirt road, I decided to try the fishmarket route.
What a thing! The road past the fishmarket was actually flowing with water. Power lines have keeled over and the cables were (maybe still are) dangling down into the flood. All my Western sensibilities were screaming `get back!' but the locals seemed unperturbed and there wasn't really an option.
The real problem with a Mozambiquan road in a flood is the same problem as a Mozambiquan road without a flood - holes. And in a flood you can't see them coming. I started by wading ankle deep, but before long I was in a rut thigh deep and then a bit of ankle deep again. The locals chatted to me in Portuguese as they waded beside me, the women with their capulanas bunched up high and buckets on their heads. Most tried to point me in the direction of what they thought was slightly higher ground. I made sympathetic responses in English and we actually all had a bit of a giggle as we staggered through the brown road-river (the contents of which don't bear thinking on...). There were several vehicles abandoned in the middle of the road and one brave (stupid?) band of men trying to push their truck out. One or two idiots in large vehicles drove down the road at high speed, churning up the water and then tried to reverse. Local residents stood on the side of the road and commented.
At the final corner before the fishmarket, I began to think of all the disgusting stuff that gets dumped outside the market and decided to take the back route. Not a good idea.
Initially I was getting along quite well, (even a bit impressed with my adventurous attitude - all a bit Lara Croft), but then I fell down a man hole.
Oh the humiliation! Two cars stopped, their drivers leaning out to check I was ok. (I had by then dragged my sodden self back into the thigh high water) and some man on the corner was gesticulating wildly.
Nothing for it. Liberally covered in orange mud, I waded home.
The gate guards were amused. DB was amused. A neighbour asked if I was going to go round and help with the plumbing.
I believe we can expect more rain tomorrow.