The little pothole that could |
I am happy to report that I witnessed an actual pothole filling in our hood the other day.
I was sitting working
on the porch, ducking the swooping swallows which nest in the eaves, when
outside on the road up pulled a white bakkie from one direction and a yellow municipal
maintenance truck from the other. I couldn’t see much from behind the May bush
and the azaleas on my porch, but I heard a lot of talking and discussion, some laughter. Tea break and a bit of quiet, then some general commotion for about two
hours, then quiet.
I went outside to see what happened, and there it was. The pothole that got filled. The little pothole that could. It
may be the smallest pothole in Limpopo – I hadn’t actually noticed its previous existence – but it got filled. Er-mazing. Right here in our street, in our
little village, Haenertsburg, where there are only 200 odd houses and our neighbour is a pig.
I don’t mean Linda or Louis, I mean an actual pig.
Our neighbour Mathilde is a pig |
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