Every once in a while (and sometimes for half of every day in the week), water refuses to flow from our faucets. Our realtor told us it was because there is not always enough water pressure to force the precious liquid up the pipes to our second-floor dwelling. SO. She said don't worry, i know a solution, we'll rig you up a pump that you can turn on whenever the water's not working. She ALSO said that this would happen in 2 days. Here it is a couple of weeks later, and Mom (Annette) is off at the airport or who knows where trying to get us resident visas. I hear a knock on the door, and it's an old guy who jabbers at me in Arabic and points at some switches on our wall. I hear "water pump", cotton on, and show him in. He heads to the kitchen, opens our window, reaches up and drags in some dangling electrical wires. I watch him for a while, not entirely sure if he's a workman or a very creative thief, then gradually get drawn away by other things. After half an hour or an hour or so, he comes and gets me, brings me to the kitchen, and shows me this:
He demonstrates: "Oof . . . on . . . oof. OK?"
Umm . . . OK.
In any case, the pump seems to work.
I wonder how he knew he spelled it wrong the first time . . .