Zimbabwe Absurdity

I am typing this on a flexible keyboard! Seriously, it can be rolled up, washed and even used in sandstorm. I can’t say that I like the feel of the keys too much but it is a bit of a novelty. It is made of silicone rubber so really is very flexible but the keys are a bit far apart, I guess that I’ll get used to it. Like a lot of electronics these days it is made in China so the manual makes for some humorous reading.

• It cannot be contacted the sharp object.
• It cannot be putted into the oven and putted on the fire to roast (what, no-one for roast keyboard?)
• It cannot be contacted the oil or the organic impregnate like acetone and tolul etc.
• Cannot places the heavy object on it in long time.
• We cannot put out strength to twist or pull it.

This afternoon one of my better customers dropped off a cheque for an order for which  we quoted 2 weeks ago. Our prices went up 10 days ago so I was more than a bit miffed that they had the cheek to expect us to hold our prices down in this hyper-inflationary environment. So, with more than a bit of righteous indignation I set off to see they errant party. It so happens that this customer rents me the house in which I stay very cheaply on the farm so I do tread a bit carefully but this was a bit much. However, on getting to the office I was reminded that I had to see Gordon, the farm accountant who has been away from work a lot recently to care for his terminally ill wife. My righteousness fizzled more than a bit before I got to the door. It is not Gordon’s money that he administers but I really like the guy and I could not find the courage to make his life more difficult than it already is for about Z$2,000,000 (about $US65). So it folded the bits of paper badly into my left hand and chatted about other things instead – such as how his wife had taken a turn for the worse. Poor guy, he is living in a state of denial, it really hasn’t hit him that his wife is dying (and has about a couple of weeks by the sound of things). It is all too familiar to me, my mother died of cancer some 15 years ago and I can remember going through all the same emotions,  it was only when she was in a coma and the priest came to administer the last rites that it hit. I could see why we were chatting that his eyes occasionally strayed to the papers in my left hand but he did not ask and I did not volunteer.

I can remember thinking while looking after my mother, that during the few times in my life that I have been ill, somewhere deep down I have known that I would eventually get better. My mother could only look forward to death, and even then, there was not going to be any release from the pain, no “whew, thank goodness that is over”. That really shook me. I did not mention this to Gordon.