Miles of Smiles Part One

Getting There . . .

It was a road trip that we had dreamt of, discussed and planned for months, and it was finally here.

My girls awoke me at one in the morning, we packed Daisy to the hilt and headed off to the coast, I was the designated driver and Nicole sat next me riding shotgun and keeping me awake.

Nighttime, toll roads and tarred roads as long as Granddad's tales of "when I was your age", as the road rose to meet us I found myself as relaxed as a fatboy eating a bucket of KFC and not having to share. With the sound of Sugarman humming in the background, i reflected on the past year, tough - yes, lonely - hell yes, rewarding - undoubtably. The sacrifice that my girls and I had made when I took on my Lesotho adventure had made this holiday possible, this was the icing on the top complete with a lit candle and singing voices.
We drove and chatted and sang our lungs out, my version of white man rapping had my girls hiding their heads in shame ad thus I persevered. By the time we got to Grahamstown, it was 40'C and we were melting, no-one was singing anymore and Simon was as pale as she was red and flushed, it was as if someone had switched the cold water off in a shower we could not escape. This continued for and hour and a half and then we saw the ocean. We had arrived in JBay.

My Mom met us with hugs and a smile that I had sorely missed and I went through to see my Dad.
He was lying on his bed. He looked like a stroke victim with a huge scar on his arm when he had had a plate inserted after he had broken it. I was shocked and shaken, but put on a brave face, afterall this was my Father, my hero, the man who loved and encouraged me to reach the sporting standards I had, and now he was lying here staring ahead with no recognition of me at all. My Mom came into the room and I put my arm around her and we chatted about Dad, how she managed to stay so positive through all of this will remain with me forever. The words "for better or for worse, through sickness and in health till death us do part" brought a tear to my eye and I rubbed it away quickly.
In the days ahead my Dad would improve and slowly get stronger, the Parkinsons has eaten away at him yet he fights it daily with the aid of a loving wife who refuses to give up and leave her partner of 48 years. Were it not her, my Dad would have left us years ago.
She feeds him, washes and clothes him and changes him when he has messed himself, she talks to him throughout it all and lies with him when he sleeps. She is as protective over him as a teenager with her first Blackberry.

We had arrived, tired, hot but happy.

Rural Bathing

Two days without bathing and I feel as if I am on the verge of launching a new kine of body odour called "You're Feisty".

Our water is pumped up to a holding tank and then distributed as and when we require it, when we have a power outage, we have no water and the odour of the past creeps back like heartburn after a dodgy pie.

I had set aside 3 wetwipes from a restaurant chain and this would been my plan of attack if the electric gods once again felt us unworthy of their gifts. It's moments like these that make living in Africa great, we have so much we take for granted and yet we have this fickle structure that is as reliable as Blackberry's future.

I awoke and water ran from the tap and I had to fight down the urge to run down the passageway singing "Rock and Roll dreams come true". It was a beautiful moment and even though the water pressure was a weak as a priests alibi on a youth camp, it was enough for me to wash all the bits that needed attending to.

So here I am at my desk, sick as a dog with flu, but not smelling like a lemon scented wetwipe and grateful for running water and electricity.

Nite All