Interpol and Chaos

As I'm sure you've all figured out I am now happily ensconced at the Mufindi Highlands Farm in central Tanzania (although not for long now). So how did I get here you might ask. So here's the story of the great adventures of coming to Mufindi.
The adventure began early one morning I set out with Mr. and Mrs. Fox, saying goodbye to Lazy Lagoon. Along we went in Mr. Fox's fancy new SUV, bouncing through the Tanzanian countryside for a quick stop in Dar before heading onwards... After we'd said our goodbyes to the Fox's Dar contingency we were off to run errands before making our escape from the city. As we drove to our final city destination a traffic police officer beckoned us to the side of the road, where we were informed that Interpol was conducting a search for imported stolen vehicles in cooperation with the Tanzanian government. We were in a quite a rush we told them, and so they popped the hood and disappeared into a van to run the engine serial numbers. Mutely we sat and waited. The three officiers approached as if in slow motion--"Sir we regret to inform you that your vehicle has been positively identified as being stolen. It was stolen from Japan and we have no choice but to sieze and impound it immediately." Silence and shock. We were escorted to the police station, where father Fox was made to write a statement. And we waited, and waited, and waited. We never gave up hope that their in this country of lax government control that the car might be returned to us--the police had determined that the Foxes were in no way responsible or knowledgeable about the theft. But to no avail, the brusque French, and handle-bar mustachioed South African, Interpol officiers would have none of it. At last after withering in the heat of the day and having spent in waiting outside in the dirt courtyard of the police station, we returned to Fox son number four's house to stay the night, certain that the car would be released the following day.
I slept the beginning of the night comfortably in a mosquito net tent on the floor in the livingroom. Around 2 am, I was awakened by the sound of my tent zipper being opened...I froze and then whipped around to see the falsely angelic blond curly haired head of one of the 4 year twins hovering in my tent. "Go back to bed!" I hissed, and soon fell back to sleep. Two hours later at the brutal hour of 4 am I woke again. This time the face of the seven year old looked down at me through the mosquito net. The scene unfolded as before and back to sleep again. At 6:15 am I woke up for good, the boys were getting ready for school and livingroom traffic was beginning in earnest.
There were so many other adventures during our time in Dar--for the three days we stayed there it was my job to supplementally bottle feed ten doberman puppies who'd been rescued along with their skeletally thin mother, too thin to feed them, from abandonment. There was the occassion of the scrambling 9 Jack Russell puppies whose freedom from the bathroom and resulting scampering and mischief throughout the house was the twins eternal goal. At the sight of one bouncing puppy all adults were on the offensive, screaming at the twins to "PUT THOSE PUPPIES BACK NOW!!!" to no avail...one could almost hear the tripping of circus music in the background. Soon the twins began to reguard me as an archenemy who stood in the way of all things fun and naughty but in the end we made friends, despite a particularly nasty Sara-issued time-out, after I died a dramatic death at the wrong end of a Lego gun. I have never been a beer drinker but in Dar I gratefully sat down with Mr. and Mrs. Fox to a relaxing glass after the traumas of each day--the screaming, running children, the yapping, scrambling puppies, and the lack a car to take us away.
The final straw occurred when one of the Jack Russells, who, true to form, crawled into one of the doberman's food dish seconds after being (legally) let outside, was bitten or hit or something by the offended doberman. All I heard was screams and yelling "She's killed the puppy!" the poor little animal was rushed into the house where for some reason I was the one to hold ice to it's tiny head now ballooning to twice the natural size. I was also the one to hold the little animal as we rushed to the hospital. The poor thing shivered and whimpered, ice white tongue hanging out and foam collecting around its mouth, while I tried not to panic for me life as wife of son number four zipped through the traffic disregarding all safety precautions routine in driving. To make a long story shorter, against all odds the puppy survived and is actually back to normal (so I'm told) and suffers no brain damage. I was a bit traumatized however.

The highlights were food, TV (sick I know), the adult outing to the movie theater to see "John Tucker Must Die" (the only movie playing, and again, sick I know), and finally eating relatively authentic Chinese food for a change. So, at long last I was put on a bus to Mafinga to catch a car to Mufindi...but that's another story for another day...

Love to all of you and as always, I eagerly await hearing from any and all of you!!!
Sara