The rain falls down hard on the tin roof of the cottage. We’re on the couch, watching an empty fireplace in the corner. The cottage’s interior is stylish and spacious. Our shoes are muddy and placed on an old newspaper, full of political news. Not a bad place to put your muddy shoes.
The continuous drum of the rain on the roof seems to get louder until we realise someone is banging on the wooden door. I quickly open it and in the dusk I see someone, panting, wet, with rubber boots. He’s pointing towards some really dark clouds in the distance.
He turns around and points to the car, which is the only one still outside in front of the house. I understand and I follow the rubber boots up the slope towards the car. Hail is common in this area. With soggy shoes I climb behind the steering wheel and see the large wooden doors of the hay shed being opened. I start the car and drive inside. The wind is so loud around the shed that it drowns out all other noise. We both wait for a second at the door, before we both start running back, he to his family at the farm, me back to the cottage.
February 19, 2016
It’s early morning when we drive down the muddy path that leads us back to the main road, it’s covered with leaves and broken branches from last night’s storm. We turn onto the highway and mix ourselves with the few cars heading towards Harding. We are on our way to a workshop to have one of our batteries tested. Since our arrival in Durban, our starter battery seems to not have enough power to start the car. A test at the workshop proves this and we decide to leave the battery to see if slow-longterm charging helps.
We look around the village, do an extensive puzzle journey through the supermarket in search for familiar products and enjoy ourselves on the farm.