power cut

Sixth hour of the power cut. The tractor battery linked to our inverter starts to screech. The charge is running low. Soon we will be in total darkness. Well, we do have three candles...The 'phone rings. It's Mrs H, my friend Siba's mother. Siba left for Zambia two years ago. Mrs H is not amused. "I haven't even seen Tapiwa." How old is the baby? "Eight months. Doesn't it bother Siba that her mother hasn't even seen her baby? If she's got a problem, she can tell us and we can send her 20 US." I fear 20 US won't be enough to get Siba here, partly because of the carload of groceries she'll be expected to arrive with. "T. talks to her from Bots. But I can't get through." Me neither but Mrs H is on a roll. "And it's cold and dark and the lodgers keep moving out without giving me notice and messing up my budget and I've got nothing for Tamara (the 6-year-old granddaughter who lives with her). What -- haven't you got power either?" No. We are on the same line. "I'm so bored," says Mrs H. "Haven't you got books you don't want, maybe magazines you've finished with?" I glance over to where my son is reading Zoric The Spaceman. OK, books I can do. Magazines too: I buy ancient copies from pavement vendors and store them in my husband's old school trunk. But the rest? "Paint," says Mrs H. "It all looks so dirty. Haven't you got some paint lying around? I want to paint the gate, and the garden wall.." "We haven't painted a thing for a good two years now and even then it was so expensive we only bought exactly what we needed. I'm sorry. "The bills," says Mrs H. "My rates are 800 US. I mean, who's got that kind of money...?"