Oh Happy Day!

Boxing Day dawned damp and misty. After a late night spent watching Christmas present DVDs, it took me a few minutes to shake off the mantle of sleep, and become aware that dogs were barking. And the neighbour’s dogs. In fact, all the dogs in the road.

Oh happy day! At 7.30am on Boxing Day, this can only mean one thing – the dump truck has come to collect our rubbish, and of course, to ask for a Christmas bonus. “Dump truck!” I shout at my comatose husband, as I pull on some clothes and rush to the door to take out our bins. I rarely see my husband leap up with such alacrity.

You might think we are being a bit over keen to greet the dump truck, but you'll begin to understand once you learn that our rubbish has not been collected since September.

And because we live in Africa, a continent that has always recycled and re-used everything man-made under the sun, we only have two (admittedly bulging) bin bags of rubbish to throw out, two bags that are ant-ridden and developing a distinctive pong.

My husband suggested we tell the rubbish collectors that we will give them their Christmas bonus next time they come back, to ensure that they do. But I take pity on them. The city council consists of opposition party members, and as a result it has been steadily bankrupted by the ruling elite. Council workers are very poorly paid, and of course, like the rest of us, they can’t even get their salary out of their bank accounts before its value erodes away to nothing. There is no fuel to drive the truck, and the majority of council workers (like everyone) are malnourished, in poor health and suffering.

The least we can do is give them a little handout. A few dollars produces warm, toothy grins. And it ensures that they will come back – probably next year around Christmas.

And me? I feel like a queen. I am the proud owner of two large, sparkling clean, empty bins – what luxury!

A happy day, indeed.