nary a drop to drink

The water utilities corporation people turned up this morning to shut off my supply.

Before they left, the good folks from whom I inherited this house (if you will) talked me through the processes of paying bills. Bills are largely paid in person in Botswana. Each month, one goes from utility company to utility company, paying in cash. (It's hard to open a bank account as a foreigner; I usually just withdraw as much cash at one time as I can.)

Sometime in late June, I ponied up to the Water Utility Corp. ('we keep it flowing for you') to pay the bill. Our water consumption as a household averaged between P500 and P600 each month. The bills for March and April reflected this, but the bill for May was P1,575.

P1,575! That's almost a $300 water bill, folks.

I chatted with someone who works in customer service, explaining that there had been only two of us living in the house for May, and that there was no way the two of us could have tripled our water consumption. The gentleman with whom I spoke said the WUC would do two things: 1) They would inspect the system leading into the plot for leaks; 2) If I paid P55, they would inspect the meter itself. If the meter was found to be faulty, they would credit the P55 to my account.

I heard that the WUC folks had come round, and tried to blame the tripled water bill on the morogo (a spinach-type green) that the student who rents the flat behind the house had planted. I didn't think so. In any case, I received two letters in late August. The first, dated 17 August, informed me that the WUC had found no leaks in the meter, and I was responsible for the outstanding amount. The second, dated 23 August, informed me that the meter was found to be out of order, and that my consumption would be monitored for three months before the account would be adjusted.

So I didn't pay the water bill. A former housemate had actually tried and failed to pay for only March and April, so I didn't think it would be possible to settle the bill until the WUC figured out what I owed them.

About 9am this morning, someone buzzed the gate -- for longer than was strictly necessary, I might add. When I opened it, two guys walked in and handed me a card informing me that my water was being shut off due to an outstanding balance of more than P4000. Then they walked over to my meter and shut the thing off. They were quite rude about the whole thing, too. I don't know if they are customarily rude, or if there was some amusement in seeing a lekhoa get her comeuppance.

I changed out of the jeans and tank-top in which I had planned to spend the day and into a skirt and blouse. You are usually helped out in bureaucratic encounters in Botswana if you smarten up a little. I marched down to the WUC. The guard-lady there and I are chummy; she's amused that I try to speak setswana, and pushes me on it. She chided me for not answering my phone when she called, but sent me off to the customer liaison office. The lady I found there explained that the disconnection orders were supposed to go through her office so she could remove the ones that were in dispute or still open cases, like mine, but that this hadn't happened for some reason. She advised me to pay what I thought my average consumption was for the past four months, but that she would get the water turned back on today.

In line at the cashier, I got into a lovely conversation with the man in front of me, who was quite complimentary about my paltry setswana skills. Reinforcement in this area is always welcome. The cashier, as I was leaving, handed me a plastic ruler with the WUC logo on it and a blue plastic bracelet of the kind Lance Armstrong made popular "for your child."

What to do with that one...

The upshot is that I was expecting a major fight at WUC. The guys have not come back to turn the water on yet, but it's only half past noon. But this is so Botswana, in a way: bureaucratic, polite, a bit slow, not necessarily always functional but not corrupt or totally inept.

In other news, a friend and I had arranged for dinner last night, but things ran late, so I just started cooking. I was eager to put those sun-dried olives to good use. He arrived around 9pm, and we had a little informal dinner. And in the middle of it, I kid you not, a cockroach crawled out from behind the set of wooden cabinets in the dining room. Yes, winter is over and it's roach season again in Botswana. I disposed of it with a shoe. My guest asked me if I wanted help killing it, which I found kind, but startling and distinctly hilarious. Mount Holyoke women are not meant to require help in these matters. It wouldn't even have occurred to me to ask.