So, we didn't take pictures because we were too worried about the camera being stolen (we've heard horror stories). But, I do have a few funny stories to share.
The moving truck with our household goods and consumables shows up with five crates. Four on the base of the truck and one on top of those. I'm looking at it wondering how they plan on getting my stuff down from 15 feet in the air without dropping or breaking anything. Well, low and behold, the truck comes with a crane. They strapped two tow straps around the crate and lifted it up another 5 feet in the air and dangled it 20 feet above the ground as they manipulated the crate around a cable that was in the way. After watching them hook it up using a half-attempted slip knot instead of the prefabricated loops and wobble it in mid-air, I decided that maybe I would prefer them to break the crate and hand our boxes down to us. Less chance for error in my brain.
Well the crate made it safely to the ground and the chaos of moving stuff into the house began. The guys showed up with someone from the Embassy and two movers. Two. Yes, two. For 5 crates of stuff. So, guess who got to put on their moving hats ONCE again. I thought I had retired from the moving rodeo. Not so much.
Liam enjoyed watching the two wobbly-kneed movers approaching muscle failure as they carried our 250 lbs safe upstairs. I wish I could have seen them. Liam and I would have probably done better carrying it and we come with two bad shoulders. I did however get to clean their little grubby finger and shoe prints off of the white walls. How they walked on the walls, we still haven't figured it out. Nor, do we know how they managed to touch as much of the walls as they did. I have a little more sympathy for my mom and fingerprints on the wall now, though.
I do think the guards, movers, and embassy guy are a little scared of me after I helped move one of the wooden crates because the guard couldn't pick it up himself. And don't worry, Jane & Margie, Liam wasn't watching me move the crate - he was helping carry stuff upstairs. Now, the reason we were moving the wooden crates (think 5'*8'*4') off of the perfectly good truck that would haul them away was due to the guards SALIVATING about selling the wood to the locals. Apparently, this makes them a little extra money. And since they make almost nothing (~$80 a month), I wanted to help them out. Especially, since I'm hoping they will take extra care of our house! You know, "you take care of me, I'll take care of you" kind of thing.
So, here we are, a really nice house (promise to take pictures soon) in the fancy area of Dar with 4 (couldn't fit all 5 in the driveway) half-broken wooden crates. That's almost as bad as our clean laundry hanging off of our over-the-water bungalow in Bora Bora. We are so high class. It kills me. I guess you can take the girl out of Mississippi, but you are NEVER going to get the Mississippi out of the girl. And Liam's birth certificate says Jersey Shore...so there isn't any hope for him either.
So, that night, my guard asked for a hammer. Now, I had just bought an African hammer (read crappy quality) for 12,500 TZ shillings which is approximately $8. He said he only wanted to take out a couple of nails. Well when they started beating at the crates at 6am (after the guard slept most of the night - cause we were up unpacking and we caught him a couple of times). Well, here comes momma, boys! Seriously, they need to learn not to wake me up. I was pissed all day. I had no sleep and you start beating a wooden box at 6am in my driveway. You are asking for the ass chewing you are about to receive. Well, they stopped for a few minutes.
In fact, the noise didn't stop completely until one of the guards walked up to the kitchen window (the doorbell is broken) and motioned me to the front door. He proceeded to look me in the eye and say "I'm sorry madam" as he handed me the two pieces of my now broken hammer. Well, now momma is really pissed. Cause in my culture, if you break something of someone's, you replace it. Well, he has no money and I know this. So, I know it is ABSOLUTELY pointless to demand he replace it. Another lesson learned, do not let the guards borrow anything. Cause you are not going to get it back in the same condition you lent it to them in. Is there a hard knock class we can go to and learn all of our Africa lessons all at once? I'm sick of this slow learning curve I'm on.
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| My first African hammer. (Keep in mind it was probably made in China for Africa - which means it is 100% crap). |
But, all in all. Our stuff is in our house, mostly unpacked and in great condition. Too bad we aren't there to finish unpacking. But, the spice islands were calling our name...
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