"What would you like in your sandwich Audrey?" my son asks. Audrey, 6, is the granddaughter of Mai Agnes, our cleaner. She's come to stay for a couple of weeks. My four-year-old adores her.
There's a short silence.
"Rice and chicken and polony," says Audrey hopefully. Rice and chicken are once-a-year delicacies, traditionally enjoyed at Christmas by the Shona.
"We don't have those," says my son. You bet we don't. At 50 million new dollars a loaf (and rising) bread is a delicacy in this household, like most in Zimbabwe. The half-loaf on offer today is a day old at least.
Pacified with apricot jam, the pair of them are soon drawing and sticking imported gold stars at the table (on torn-out pages of old reporters' notebooks. I'm banking on Audrey not being able to decipher my very scribbled notes).
"Look, Mummy," he says happily. "Audrey and me have got exactly the same fingerprints."
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