My bad hotel experience

Christmas is here, and in Swaziland, a tourism driven country, hotels have started aggressively advertising their services. Staying in a good hotel is a pleasurable experience. Not having to clean after myself and plan family meals suits me just fine. On the other hand, staying in a bad hotel really sucks. I had a bad experience at The George Hotel in Manzini.

When we relocated, there were a number of logistical problems that resulted in us having to camp there for a few days. The hotel touts itself as “home away from home”.  My foot! I don’t know about other people, but it certainly didn’t feel like home for me. Moments after checking into Room 104, my son went to use the bathroom and there was a loud droning sound emanating from there. When I went to check, I discovered the toilet floor was flooded too.  In panic, I called reception and a lethargic receptionist came and looked annoyed for being summoned for such a small problem. “It must be the lights, I think you switched them on that’s why you’re getting that sound.” That was it. So weren’t we supposed to switch them on? We’ve switched lights in a lot of places but never got that sound. To sort out the mess on the floor, an angry cleaner just waltzed in and walked straight to the bathroom without acknowledging anyone. It didn’t stop there, when we wanted to put our valuables in the safes, we discovered they didn’t work, and staff members were as surprised as we were that there was such a problem.  After an exhausting trip from Joburg and a bad start to our stay, we retired for the night and hoped life would look brighter the next day. Joy comes in the morning, right? Wrong!

When we reported for breakfast in the morning, some guy in hotel uniform waited until we had filled our plates with food before announcing, in a voice loud enough to wake the dead, that our room was registered under one person so the rest of the team wasn’t supposed to eat.  When my husband corrected him, he went to check his records, and with a grandfatherly smile, he said, “Yeah, you can all eat,” as if he was donating the food to us. He did not even apologise for having shouted the wrong thing in the beginning  or at least admit he had made a mistake.

The George Hotel

I don’t know if it’s because I was now in a very foul mood because of all the wrong things that were happening, but the breakfast plates were very small! Don’t they say breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dine like a pauper? And the heat from the ban maries was so intense it  appeared targeted  at burning hands that lingered too long in them. There appeared to be a concerted effort to ensure people didn’t eat too much.Waiters littered the whole place and kind of reminded me of our prefects in my boarding school dining hall. Sometimes they outnumbered the guests, and looked like they would arrest anyone who overate, the way they just hovered without really saying or doing much, just watching, like weight watchers. 

A few of the waiters were quite sweet, though, I realised after a day or two. They offered to hold my baby while I dished up for the bigger brother and myself. One of them unfortunately didn’t have an eye for beauty and cheerily said, “Hello, Boy Boy!!” to my pretty little girl.

When we got back to our room, a new monotonous humming sound had started, and no, it wasn’t the lights. The noise reminded me of my days as a little girl at my rural home in Dowa, where there was a grinding mill. I called reception again to complain about the noise. He said it was coming from the turbines turning the laundry machines. Again, no apologies.  My son, who has autism and is sensitive to loud noises, spent his time with his fingers plugged in his ears. That, naturally, upset me and I requested to be moved from that room. Even though, the hotel staff I came in contact with were mostly sour, they had quite a sense of humour, I’ll give that to them. After two days we were moved – to a room adjacent to the pool bar where revelers drank and cackled like a pack of hyenas till late into the night. As they got more and more inebriated, they began to sound as loud as the turbines we had run away from initially.

The trainee who came to help us move to the new room is the only person who ever apologised for the noise.  Everyone else appeared annoyed that I was annoyed by the noise. I found the courtesy of the staff at The George Hotel quite wanting. I asked my husband where he would place this hotel on a scale of 1-10. “Zero,” he said without batting an eyelid. I’m not de-campaigning the hotel, just giving an honest assessment of my experience with them.

My fall from grace to tar

Yesterday evening brought a better understanding to the adage “the bigger they are, the harder they fall’. I had cancelled my daily jogging plans because my fitness partner, who also serves as my husband, came home a bit late from work. It wasn’t completely dark, so he insisted that we jog and I complied.

The evil slope

We hit the road. About 2km away from home, like Humpty Dumpty, I had a great fall. I have no recollection whatsoever of what caused the fall. All I remember is that as I ran downhill on a steep slope, I suddenly realised I was so going down after staggering for a few metres. I always told my husband that if I fell in a public place I’d just pretend to faint to cover my shame. When you eventually have as ugly a come-down as I did, theatrics won’t even cross your mind. I felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me and the pit of my stomach really hurt. Someone tried to scoop me off the ground, but I didn’t want anyone to touch me as it appeared to aggravate the pain. Without opening my eyes, I could tell a group of men had surrounded me and were fussing, fanning my face and pulling my body parts in all directions, with all good intentions. Bless their golden hearts, but first aid should be made compulsory in schools. If I had got a fracture I would have been in trouble because those men really had no idea how to handle an injured person, from the way it looked.

Needle to say, the jog was cancelled. I had an ugly gaping wound on my left elbow, which I had inadvertently used for support when I met the ground.  Within a few minutes, my arm had this searing pain and I thought I would collapse. I don’t remember ever feeling so much physical pain, maybe a year ago when the anesthetic wore off after the C-section to deliver my baby. When we got home, my husband cleaned and dressed the wound and I took a painkiller.

After the pain had somewhat subsided, I began to think deeply about this misadventure. I never jog by myself as a precautionary measure. There are stories about unsuspecting joggers getting attacked, and I felt safer running with my husband. Did you notice the past tense – felt? A certain percentage of idiotic African men think a full-figured woman’s body is made for sin, so walking alone in my tights elicits wolf whistles and lewd comments from depraved men and I deplore that.

For me, running together as a couple means we are a team. When my teammate isn’t in sparkling form on a certain day, I reduce my pace or walk with him. Anything, as long as I am by his side.

Jogging together is more than just about fitness and weight-management. It’s also about bonding, an opportunity to touch base in the fresh air, away from the kids. But evidently, different strokes for different folks. My husband is occasionally faster than I am because he doesn’t have hips, boobs and pumpkins to carry. So regardless of my pace, he just runs ahead of me like a cheetah on steroids. I’m sure sometimes not many people can tell we are actually running partners because of the geographical distance between us on the road. There are times when we have to cross busy roads, and if he’s ahead of me, he just runs across the road. I’ve had occasions when I just followed him blindly on the assumption that the road was clear, only to find myself almost getting hit by cars. I called him out on this before, that we are a team and have to look out for each other, so he can’t just run and cross roads at the risk of having me follow thinking the road is clear when it’s not. The most natural thing when you are running with someone is to want to catch up with your partner and you might overlook checking the roads. I realise how stupid this sounds. Road regulations stipulate that pedestrians must check left, right and left again before crossing the road. They don’t say husbands ought to do that for their wives. To each his own.Yesterday as I tumbled down, my husband didn’t even see it. I could see him sprint away as I struggled to find my balance. The one that proclaimed before God and man he would be there for me “to have and to hold” wasn’t there to catch me when I fell. He only realised there was a catastrophe after I screamed in agony, already on the ground. 

As they say, pride goes before a fall. I had to tell him that if he had been by my side, I would not have fallen. Isn’t that what marriage is all about? Catching your wife when she falls? I told him it could have well been a thug stabbing me with a knife and running off and he wouldn’t have been able to defend me. The fall left me really shaken. It was a nasty one and if I had fallen on sharp objects, like broken bottles peppering the road, or hit my head hard, I wouldn’t have been able to come back home to my babies the same.I’m not even being dramatic, I’m really rattled. Now I can’t even giggle or cough without feeling pain around my rib cage.  It will take me a while to feel bold enough to run, especially on that particular slope where it happened.

In retrospect, I think I was unfair to my husband. He has his own reasons for running. It’s not like we sat down and drafted some ground rules for jogging together and he flouted them.Maybe he wants to beat the clock, in which case he doesn’t have to be slow because I’m slow. The fact that I stop when he’s tired or out of form doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate.  Like in all painful things in life, there are lessons to be learned from this. The first one is that sometimes there’s absolutely no security in numbers. I should get used to looking out for Numero Uno, watch my step, look left, right and left again on busy roads, and take karate lessons in case I have to defend myself against the perverts that might want to go further than making cat calls. The other lesson is that there are absolutely beautiful people out there. The security guards that came to help me out might not have known exactly what to do to help, but they were there and tried what they could. Then there was a motorist that also stopped to check what had happened. He said he was sorry about my fall and added that I shouldn’t give up running. I don’t think I will give up completely. I will just slow down a bit, and run my own race without trying to catch up with anyone. I also think it’s better to use the stationary bike or skipping rope at home.

Sorry if I sounded like I was ranting, but it’s not every day that a grown woman just falls while chasing her husband down the road. It could also be the meds that I’m taking for the arm.  

My 11 Favourite Things in the World

1.       Mazoe Orange / Raspberry/ Cream Soda/Blackberry

   I am yet to encounter crushes and syrups as tasty as this Zimbabwean brand. The South African Mazoe Orange comes a little close, but it has 11% pure orange juice in comparison to the 50% in the Zimbabwean one. I’ve searched far and wide for a replacement for the Mazoe brand, but I’m yet to find it. I even tried various concoctions of Oros, but decided if I can’t get Mazoe, then I should stick to water and rooibos. They are healthier versions anyway.

2.       House of Gallia Vanishing Cream

     The last time I used Gallia products was before my wedding in 2005. Then I went to Ezulwini Pick ‘n Pay and came across this vanishing cream. After years of using Johnson and Johnson’s and Ponds products, I decided to try it. I wasn’t disappointed. With SPF 15, it also has this rich finish on the skin and I’m not left with the residual white flakes that come with some vanishing creams to rub off my face and palms.

3.       Ranch House Cheeky Chilli

This particular brand is super if you like a bit of heat in your food. Some might say chilli is chilli, but they won’t say the same after trying out this one. I use it in meat, green vegetables, sugar beans, as well as in marinades. 

4.       Vitamin C Skin Boost from The Body Shop

This provided my turning point with facial serums. It has the most delicious scent I’ve ever come across in cosmetics. The smell is citrusy and it feels like heaven on the skin. The velvety texture on my face feels like I’ve spread clouds on it, that’s the best way I can describe it, I guess.  If I could nominate my favourite beauty product, this would be it! But like most products from The Body Shop, this serum doesn’t come cheap. When I got it, it cost R180 for 30 ml. I only got it once, not I settle for cheaper brands, but I have kept the empty bottle just to look at it and muse over that divine smell and feel on my skin.  

5.       Countrystyle Boerewors

This, for me, is the absolute best boerewors in the whole wide world. It’s a product of Colcom Zimbabwe. The last time I had it, it didn’t have additives that ended up overpowering the natural smell of the pork used to make the boerewors. I would not go to Zimbabwe and not buy and eat Countrystyle Boerewors, otherwise the whole trip would be pointless. Colcom makes really delicious products. I’m also a fan of their polonies, especially the garlic one.

6.       Seed bread

    I was brought up to believe that breakfast equals tea and bread. What you put between the slices might vary, but it cannot be breakfast without bread. Now that I’m all grown up and everywhere I turn is an article written about how bad bread is for my health, I’m at a loss over what to have for breakfast.  I have oats, but I must follow them up with tea and bread. So now I avoid ordinary white and brown bread and opt for whole-wheat, rye, and seed bread.  Anything that’s touted as healthy and I’m there like a bear. This dissipates the guilt of putting bad food in my body, which my bible says is the temple of the Lord and must not be defiled. Now Prof Tim Noakes has declared all flours, including rye and whole-wheat unhealthy, what shall I eat? That bible I mentioned above says man shall not live on bread alone, so I have to find options, and soon!

7.       Cerevita

This, in my books, is the best cereal ever! A product of Nestle Zimbabwe, it can be enjoyed by young and old and comes in Corn and Soya, Corn and Wheat, Corn and Banana, Corn and Choco malt flavours.  My favourite is Corn and Banana, followed by Corn and Wheat. I don’t like Corn and Choco malt because I think it’s too strong for my palate. I don’t like anything with chocolate flavour, including ice cream, except chocolate bars and chocolate cake.

8.       Stationary Bike

 

I’m a heavy TV watcher and have programmes that I hate missing while going out to jog. The stationary bike ensures that I will never have an excuse to be a couch potato ever again. I can work out while watching TV and spending time with my family. When it’s hot inside, I can take it out and cycle. When it’s raining and I can’t jog, I can just use the bike and not feel bad about missing a workout.  Although I feel jogging on the road, not on the treadmill, is more effective than cycling, this bike is a treasure.

9.       Homemade Peanut butter from Zimbabwe

I’m a creature of habit and find it hard to acclimatize to different products. This is why I continue to feel that where food is concerned, Zimbabwean brands are the best. Homemade peanut butter from Zimbabwe comprises of roasted peanuts and a bit of salt ONLY, no emulsifiers and sugars and other funny ingredients.  The factory-produced ones in Zimbabwe are almost as good because they also never put sugar, but I’ll take home-made peanut butter over any other brand.

10.   Sweet Potatoes

I grew up having these for breakfast with tea when they were in season. I preferred bread. Now that they aren’t as easily available to me and I’ve become more health conscious, I crave them. I tried buying some in retail shops in South Africa but was badly disappointed. After cooking they came out all soggy and pathetic on the plate, and tasted abominable. I like the ones from Zimbabwe and Swaziland for their firmness. It’s almost difficult to tell if they are cooked to perfecting because they remain solid even after boiling. People have told me about various tastier ways to prepare them. Some said chips can be made out of them, others said they can be drenched in olive oil and roasted, but I will stick with boiling them. I don’t have to add any grease to them, just a bit of salt and they are perfect.

11.   Macadamia Nuts

These are my absolute favourite of all nuts. Usually I can’t have more than a handful of peanuts, but I can wipe a medium pack of macadamia nuts all by myself in one sitting. their price is prohibitive, though. But once in a while I like to spoil myself.

16 Days of Activism Contribution

I don’t actually think commemorating 16 Days of Activism against Gender Based Violence (GBV) will yield any big results. Women will continue to be brutalised, raped and killed. I, however, believe that just like with other important days we observe, it gives us an opportunity to discuss certain issues that are usually left on the wayside as we concentrate on the “more important issues”.

Gender-based violence, in my opinion, is mostly a product of poor communication between men and women. Deceit, power play, and especially sex have contributory roles in how people end up holding each other’s throats instead of hands. I really went to town trying to analyse how I view relations between men and women – the cheating in marriages, how married women are mostly at the losing end while men emerge victors most of the time, and how women view sex and what they really treasure in their relationships with men.  

I was fortunate to get contributions from my good friends Vitalis and Peace, which I’m publishing verbatim to avoid any distortion. I’m sure most men won’t like what I write about their treatment of women and will think I just hate men in general. Not true, I like men so much that I even went ahead and married one of them. But I keep my eyes and ears open and observe things.

My contribution to the 16 Days of Activism against GBV is in the articles To have and to (strangle) hold, “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others”, and What do women want, really. Enjoy!