Gloom and doom pervades the start of 2009. It’s hard to be an optimist in the face of worldwide economic recession, wars in the Middle East and Afghanistan, the Iraqi situation still unresolved and Pakistan and India sizing each other up after the Mumbai debacle.
Gloom and doom pervades the start of 2009. It’s hard to be an optimist in the face of worldwide economic recession, wars in the Middle East and Afghanistan, the Iraqi situation still unresolved and Pakistan and India sizing each other up after the Mumbai debacle.
All eyes will be on the new US President to wave a magic wand and make it all go away. Not likely in the short term, if ever! And in our election year, will Cope make an impression on the ANC’s voters? The best we could hope for would be for them to erode their parliamentary majority.
“All doom and gloom,” agreed neighbour Jan. “But my major concern is the drought! We’ve only had 30mm of rain this whole season and then it was just drizzle which dried up instantly in the hot wind. The dams are empty and as for how long the boreholes will hold out, your guess is as good as mine! How can the weather forecasters get it so wrong despite all their satellite technology? They promise 95% rain for our area and we don’t get a drop! Will our store of lucerne hold out until the rain eventually comes? If not, we’ll have to sell our cattle and start all over again!”
There was no consoling Jan. Not even a freshly opened bottle of Klippies, which was disappearing fast. I went to fetch my Inca rainstick. “Not that thing again!” he scoffed. “Don’t knock it, Jan. Last time we were in this predicament we turned it over, listened to the seeds inside trickle down the bamboo shaft just like rain and it poured – remember?”
“Ja, and when the dominee found out, he said it’s witchcraft, not to be dabbled in. But what the hell, let’s give it a go. The forecasters practise witchcraft all the time, why shouldn’t we?” said Jan. We took turns upending the rainstick and listening to the sound of falling rain that it made. Expecting instant miracles we looked up at the sky. Was that a rain cloud gathering over the mountain top?
Jan rose, unsteadily. “Where are you off to Jan?” I asked. “To church to pray for rain.” “Oh ye of little witchcraft faith,” I chided.
Readers, watch this space – I’ll let you know if the Inca gods have smiled on us again, or whether the dominee’s hotline to the heavens was the better route.
Either way, Wifey Dear and Jan’s Hettie have vowed to do a rain dance in the nude when the rains eventually come. Let’s hope the dominee’s not visiting that day! They’ll be branded as witches and banished from his church! – Derek Christopher. |fw
