Bush, the Zimbabwean man living some way up the road across from me, had again started to work for Sheila, as he had been to Zimbabwe, and stayed away so long that Ronalee had taken on another gardener. He came to say hi when he returned, and announced that because he could not see the reason for planting flowers, as he had to do at Ronalee's, he was happy to be back at Sheila, where he tended the animals, and worked in the veggie garden.
Anyway, he had decided to resume his driving lessons. When he just bought the car it was in quite a good condition, but on his first lesson with Sheila he drove it into a ditch up the road, and I was indeed very glad that I had refused the honour of teaching him when I saw him and Sheila came walking back, both looking quite upheaveled, with Sheila's face as white as a sheet!
After coming back from Zimbabwe, the car was fetched by what looked to me like a fly in the night mechanic from Uniondale, who struggled for ages to get Bush's car out of my yard and onto the road. The drive up to the gate is very steep, making a kind of boggle at the gate, and I told the guy, who was a very arrogant young black, that he had to take the car out at an angle, otherwise the underside would stuck, but did he listen? NO!
He drove into my place well enough, as his truck was quite high, connected the two vehicles with a tattered looking rope, and put his foot down heavily on the petrol pedal. Bush's car jumped like a scared horse on the bolt, then steadied, and followed the racing truck, but came to a grinding halt as it's underside struck the boggle! I stood at the window and watched, and had a hearty laugh as the guy got out of the truck to see what was on the go, and his furtive look at my house when he realized that the car was see-sawing over the boggle. Bush, who had been watching this farce with his usual friendly face, did not look very happy anymore with his mechanic who tried everything to get the car off the boggle and moving, and was perspiring fiercely, and I saw him talk to the man, then disappeared up the road.
After a while he came back with five guys, all of them highly intoxicated, faces vague, legs like match sticks, and toothless smiles, and the young mechanic looked at this lot with disbelieve, and had a serious discussion with Bush, supposedly about the ability of his helpers. Of course most of the village men were at work on the apple farms, and only the drunkards and elderly were at home!
So, with the mechanic behind the wheel of the truck, Bush and his motly lot at the ready to heave and push, operation rescue began, but as the helpers had absolutely no sense of the whole situation, and could hardly keep upright, the effort had to be abandoned, and when I saw poor Bush standing forlornly with his face all puckered up, I took my spade to them and suggested that it might help to take the soil out  to flatten the the boggle, at which the mechanic, who saw his dignity taking a dip, gave me a look of disgust, and told Bush that no, he will try again pulling out the car! But Bush could see my logic, grabbed the spade and started digging, at which the helpers, all of them now very, very scared that Bush would call on them to do the hard work, disappeared down the road on their wobbly legs.
Bush worked like maniac, and before long the mound was flattened, and the last I saw of this episode was Bush behind the wheel of his car, eyes like saucers, as the young mechanic, his dignity as flat as the mound by now, roared passed my house, not deeming it neccesarry to look up and greet. The picture is of Bush's house.

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