in a time of cholera

The man on the verge is mouthing something as I close the gate.

"Some sugar," he croaks. "Please."

We're staying in a cheap boarding house in Harare's Avondale suburb: the flat we normally rent has no running water. There are piles of rotting rubbish outside the shed where my son plays with his friends Tino and Tino. Terrified of cholera -- I regularly receive cholera alerts on my cellphone -- we've temporarily relocated. This is not a licensed guesthouse: in a sign of the times, an impoverished bachelor is renting out a wing of his home and a converted garage to bring in some extra income for himself and his ageing parents.

I run inside. This is not my house: what do I put the sugar in? I find the top of a Nescafe jar, pour in some spoonfuls of South African Selati I was given a week ago. I hear the gate rattle with impatience.

By the time I get outside again, the man's collapsed on the verge. Already a small crowd has gathered. Three men have taken charge.

"Can you dilute the sugar?" one asks and I run inside again. I fumble around to try to find something to put a drink in, measure out precious pre-boiled water from the plastic water containers that go everywhere with me. I must look as if I'm taking my time, uncaring, an irritable white madam.

Out on the grass -- the owner keeps his verge lush green, using precious water from his well -- the man is now conscious. He wants milk. There is almost no milk in Harare. The state-owned Dairibord is barely selling a drop now. Any milk you get is from private sources: a few brave dairy farmers taking a risk by "side-marketing" their supplies. I have milk in the guest house fridge. But there's less than a cup-full left. My son will also need milk when he's dropped off by a friend any minute now. I don't know when I will be able to get more. Feeling guilty, I split the milk: half for the man, half for my child.

The crowd thins. The man gets up. He will survive, this time. He is in bad shape, diabetic probably, poorly-fed like most Harare residents. Except for the very rich, we have all lost weight.