I had an exciting day! I made jam for the first time. Deliscious, scrumptious Mango Jam. It is such an easy recipe I don't think we will ever have to buy jam again.
Mango Jam Recipe
3 mangos
1 C water
1 ½ C sugar
1 Tbs vinegar
pinch salt
Peel and cut mangos into 1/2 inch pieces. Put in blender with water Bring to a boil on medium high. Then reduce heat to medium and boil slowly for about 30 minutes, stirring frequently.
Reduce heat to med-low and simmer for another 30 minutes, stirring frequently, until thickened.
Move pot from stove and set aside to cool.
Transfer into boiled jars.
This recipe makes about 12 ounces.
Of course you can increase the amount if you need to.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Emma update
She is really getting into saying words. This week she has been interested in words beginning with "m" or with the sound "oo"in them. Of course, Moo was a natural starter but she has also started saying Broom, Room, Poop and Mole. Mole because I have a mole on my knee and she wanted to know (repeatedly) what it was. Then I showed her that she has one too and from there she just loves the word. Poop came from the large cowpats dotting the center recently and anyone who knows me, knows where broom comes from.
Most of her other "words" are sounds that are close to the word but the same sounds for a number of words.
"Ow!" for when she gets hurt and also "ow" for out.
"oh" for discovering something new and also for "open"
She has become far happier about letting me change her diaper and will even go into her room and climb up on the bed saying "Di" when I say it is time for a change. K yesterday told her that we would be going to Aunty D's house and she very excitedly said "Di!"
Most of her other "words" are sounds that are close to the word but the same sounds for a number of words.
"Ow!" for when she gets hurt and also "ow" for out.
"oh" for discovering something new and also for "open"
She has become far happier about letting me change her diaper and will even go into her room and climb up on the bed saying "Di" when I say it is time for a change. K yesterday told her that we would be going to Aunty D's house and she very excitedly said "Di!"
Miscelleny
Chocoholic
I decided that the size of my belly needs massive reduction and so I banned chocolate from the house. This has been a massive failure the size of... well of my belly. As I sit here I have in my mouth an empty spoon. What was in it? Nutella. I have raided all forms of chocolate in our house to get my fix. I even baked brownies one night. This is a lesson to me. Give up something else. And please - until you have played ring-a-rosie with Emma sixty-eight times in a row, don't tell me to get more exercise.
Boo
There is a group of students studying at the Center at the moment. They are very young and make me feel very old. Things that they do that make me feel old include the boys throwing water balloons at the girls and the girls not wearing enough clothing on chilly evenings. (Or warm evenings) A few of them like to jog around the ring road at dusk, and it makes me tut-tut that they could get eaten or gored by some creature. But here is the thing. It brings out the evil in me. I really want to hide behind a bush and then LEAP out at them with a ROAR. Even thinking about it I am giggling in a mini-me kind of way. See, you can feel old and still be completely juvenile.
The African Jungle
Recently our dining chairs were re-upholstered with a lovely giraffe print. Our couch is currently covered in some hideous palm tree sort of thing and we are going to get it re-upholstered too. I really want to do it in a zebra print to go with the giraffe. It is a large couch and it could be REALLY bad. There is a part of me, (perhaps I have some Mob wife in my heritage) that just wants a zebra covered couch. Emma and I can pretend to look at it through the binoculars, or pet it like we are in a zoo. I could make some fluffy lime green throw pillows to go on it. OOooh, I LIKE that!
Progeny
I think our Dikdik has had a baby. There was another family around but they never responded to my calls. Today I saw a family of dikdiks and when I called the female took a few steps towards me but didn't come any closer. We did think she was awfully fat for a dikdik, but had put that down to the banana peels we had been feeding her during Emma's dinners.
I decided that the size of my belly needs massive reduction and so I banned chocolate from the house. This has been a massive failure the size of... well of my belly. As I sit here I have in my mouth an empty spoon. What was in it? Nutella. I have raided all forms of chocolate in our house to get my fix. I even baked brownies one night. This is a lesson to me. Give up something else. And please - until you have played ring-a-rosie with Emma sixty-eight times in a row, don't tell me to get more exercise.
Boo
There is a group of students studying at the Center at the moment. They are very young and make me feel very old. Things that they do that make me feel old include the boys throwing water balloons at the girls and the girls not wearing enough clothing on chilly evenings. (Or warm evenings) A few of them like to jog around the ring road at dusk, and it makes me tut-tut that they could get eaten or gored by some creature. But here is the thing. It brings out the evil in me. I really want to hide behind a bush and then LEAP out at them with a ROAR. Even thinking about it I am giggling in a mini-me kind of way. See, you can feel old and still be completely juvenile.
The African Jungle
Recently our dining chairs were re-upholstered with a lovely giraffe print. Our couch is currently covered in some hideous palm tree sort of thing and we are going to get it re-upholstered too. I really want to do it in a zebra print to go with the giraffe. It is a large couch and it could be REALLY bad. There is a part of me, (perhaps I have some Mob wife in my heritage) that just wants a zebra covered couch. Emma and I can pretend to look at it through the binoculars, or pet it like we are in a zoo. I could make some fluffy lime green throw pillows to go on it. OOooh, I LIKE that!
Progeny
I think our Dikdik has had a baby. There was another family around but they never responded to my calls. Today I saw a family of dikdiks and when I called the female took a few steps towards me but didn't come any closer. We did think she was awfully fat for a dikdik, but had put that down to the banana peels we had been feeding her during Emma's dinners.
The Ants went marching two by two... Hurrah! Hurrah!
For months we have been plagued, literally plagued, as in, like a plague on our house, by ants. So many ants, millions, nay gagillions of ants. They have even been coming in through the cracks in the walls and floors of the house.
This is how bad they have been:
- When Emma has a cracker and is walking around the house eating it - you can hear them chanting: Crumbs! Crumbs! Crumbs! Crumbs!
- K, after cooking dinner one night, said to me: with all these ants around it's best just to cook with a lot of black pepper.
- They were in the fridge!
- anything left in the kitchen not immersed in water became immediately black instead of green/yellow/etc.
- We have not been able to give Emma milk at night because the ants climb INSIDE her bottle or sippy cup.
- If Emma spills food down her front, we have to change her clothes because the ants will climb her to get to it.
I instituted some house rules. Emma eats outside or in her chair and nowhere else. Dishes are immersed in soapy water immediately. All food products go into tupperwares. The drain in the back of the fridge where the ants were coming in is corked and released only periodically. All cracks in the house are gummed up with caulk.
Then at last some rain came. Oh blessed heaven, the ants have left! But, don't heave a sigh of relief yet! They have been replaced with beetles! Thin ones, thick ones, black ones, red ones. Ones as fat as your thumb! Beetles that click, beetles that clack and beetles you find in your bed! Also... beetles you find in your food. It's much harder to pretend; "oh my, that was a crunchy piece of black pepper dear!"
This is how bad they have been:
- When Emma has a cracker and is walking around the house eating it - you can hear them chanting: Crumbs! Crumbs! Crumbs! Crumbs!
- K, after cooking dinner one night, said to me: with all these ants around it's best just to cook with a lot of black pepper.
- They were in the fridge!
- anything left in the kitchen not immersed in water became immediately black instead of green/yellow/etc.
- We have not been able to give Emma milk at night because the ants climb INSIDE her bottle or sippy cup.
- If Emma spills food down her front, we have to change her clothes because the ants will climb her to get to it.
I instituted some house rules. Emma eats outside or in her chair and nowhere else. Dishes are immersed in soapy water immediately. All food products go into tupperwares. The drain in the back of the fridge where the ants were coming in is corked and released only periodically. All cracks in the house are gummed up with caulk.
Then at last some rain came. Oh blessed heaven, the ants have left! But, don't heave a sigh of relief yet! They have been replaced with beetles! Thin ones, thick ones, black ones, red ones. Ones as fat as your thumb! Beetles that click, beetles that clack and beetles you find in your bed! Also... beetles you find in your food. It's much harder to pretend; "oh my, that was a crunchy piece of black pepper dear!"
Sunday, March 27, 2011
And a good moo-ning to you too Sirrah!
It has been so dry around Mpala that the ranch's cows have come down to the Center and our house to graze. This has been a fabulous opportunity for Emma to learn about cows and she is fascinated and excited each time they come through and has even learned to moo in a deep voice just like they do.
Yesterday they came through the yard slowly, crunching the grass and lowing almost mournfully. Emma and I dashed out as we do and sat in the comfy chairs to watch them go by. Presently the Askari who tends them came past the front of the porch where we were sitting. He was startled by us and looked askance in our direction but kept going. He collected the cows around the side of the house and while doing so kept looking our way. Then he moved across the driveway to the cows there but still kept looking at us. I was starting to wonder if perhaps he had not seen many mzungu (white) women and children and what was so fascinating about us.
Finally the cows and the staring Askari moved off and Emma and I sat in silence for a while looking at the view. Then it hit me. We were sitting in silence. For about half an hour we had been mooing in ominous tones, at the tops of our voices and with great gusto! The poor Askari - never mind mzungu... maybe just nuts!
Mmmmmmmmmmooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Yesterday they came through the yard slowly, crunching the grass and lowing almost mournfully. Emma and I dashed out as we do and sat in the comfy chairs to watch them go by. Presently the Askari who tends them came past the front of the porch where we were sitting. He was startled by us and looked askance in our direction but kept going. He collected the cows around the side of the house and while doing so kept looking our way. Then he moved across the driveway to the cows there but still kept looking at us. I was starting to wonder if perhaps he had not seen many mzungu (white) women and children and what was so fascinating about us.
Finally the cows and the staring Askari moved off and Emma and I sat in silence for a while looking at the view. Then it hit me. We were sitting in silence. For about half an hour we had been mooing in ominous tones, at the tops of our voices and with great gusto! The poor Askari - never mind mzungu... maybe just nuts!
Mmmmmmmmmmooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Belly Buttons and Umbilical Cords
Recently Emma has become even more obsessed with belly buttons, lifting everyone's shirts to see if they have one, what shape it is, and how fast they can suck in their belly when it is exposed to view. She also lifts her shirt to show you she has one too and pokes her bony little finger in as far as she can to whichever button is closest.
She still likes to put her finger in mine as she nurses to sleep. This slight discomfort gives me more than ample time to contemplate something I really would not think about at all. And truly, it is possible that belly buttons are in fact profound.
Of course our entire being exists because of our Mother and her body's ability to grow a human being, complete with passions, happinesses and toenails but here on each of our bodies is a very specific spot that, if we take a moment, reminds us of all that.
No matter your relationship with your mother or how grown you are, you can always put your finger in your belly button and remember that you reverberated with her heartbeat, bounced in each of her steps and had her love flowing down the umbilical cord and into you.
She still likes to put her finger in mine as she nurses to sleep. This slight discomfort gives me more than ample time to contemplate something I really would not think about at all. And truly, it is possible that belly buttons are in fact profound.
Of course our entire being exists because of our Mother and her body's ability to grow a human being, complete with passions, happinesses and toenails but here on each of our bodies is a very specific spot that, if we take a moment, reminds us of all that.
No matter your relationship with your mother or how grown you are, you can always put your finger in your belly button and remember that you reverberated with her heartbeat, bounced in each of her steps and had her love flowing down the umbilical cord and into you.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Emma update
I taught her how to play ring-a-rosie today and she loved it, especially the part where I fall down. It's a slippery slope though, because, as with all things energetic, she wants to play again and again. So I have to get up and fall down about a hundred times before we can move on to another game.
Her words are increasing but mostly she babbles in a language indistinguishable to anyone except her. She can say the following though:
Mom, Dad, cow, cat, there, hi, bye, where and an impressive array of animal noises. These include pounding her own chest and hooting like a gorilla, raising her fists like a boxer and growling like a lion and going bltthhhttt like an elephant.
She loves to play hide and seek, and likes to make you hide with her. This sometimes means that it is she and I hiding behind a door with no-one looking for us. We usually stand for a while, looking through the gap between the frame and door and then jump out at no-one. We were doing just this the other day when I heard her going blthtt like she had something in her mouth that was bad. When I looked down she had her finger on her mouth and was trying to say shhhh. Too cute!
Her words are increasing but mostly she babbles in a language indistinguishable to anyone except her. She can say the following though:
Mom, Dad, cow, cat, there, hi, bye, where and an impressive array of animal noises. These include pounding her own chest and hooting like a gorilla, raising her fists like a boxer and growling like a lion and going bltthhhttt like an elephant.
She loves to play hide and seek, and likes to make you hide with her. This sometimes means that it is she and I hiding behind a door with no-one looking for us. We usually stand for a while, looking through the gap between the frame and door and then jump out at no-one. We were doing just this the other day when I heard her going blthtt like she had something in her mouth that was bad. When I looked down she had her finger on her mouth and was trying to say shhhh. Too cute!
Look around, this is your hometown
Driving around Nakuru I felt I was in a surreal time-warp. Knowing that these were the roads my parents (and I) travelled over 30 years ago. Each building held a possible conversation, a possible meeting, each grocery store could be a place where my mother chose what she would make for dinner. I had few details of where and what they did in Nakuru so the possibilities for connections were endless.
In a way this was good, it allowed me to just absorb the town, to revel in the feeling of strangeness and to try and imagine my parents as young adults with a new baby living in this place.
As a town it is no different from any of the others we have seen in Kenya with terrible drivers, red dust and brightly coloured advertisements every which way you look. So I allowed my imagination to roam free. Here was a clothes shop where Mom got the red and white nightgown she wore 'til the holes in it were so big it no longer provided warmth. Here were the offices that Dad went to visit clients in. Here was the Chemist my grandfather worked in, etc. etc.
It was in the midst of one of these reveries that K and D got very excited and pulled off into a neighbourhood, following signs for the Nakuru War Memorial hospital. We passed a funeral procession, and parked. Here was something I did not need to imagine. Here I was born. Here was a piece of me, of my lore. Perhaps it was my imagination run amuck but I did feel something, something like home, something like the comfort of a place well loved. I also added something new to who I am, here I visited the place of my birth with my husband, and child and best friend.
In a way this was good, it allowed me to just absorb the town, to revel in the feeling of strangeness and to try and imagine my parents as young adults with a new baby living in this place.
As a town it is no different from any of the others we have seen in Kenya with terrible drivers, red dust and brightly coloured advertisements every which way you look. So I allowed my imagination to roam free. Here was a clothes shop where Mom got the red and white nightgown she wore 'til the holes in it were so big it no longer provided warmth. Here were the offices that Dad went to visit clients in. Here was the Chemist my grandfather worked in, etc. etc.
It was in the midst of one of these reveries that K and D got very excited and pulled off into a neighbourhood, following signs for the Nakuru War Memorial hospital. We passed a funeral procession, and parked. Here was something I did not need to imagine. Here I was born. Here was a piece of me, of my lore. Perhaps it was my imagination run amuck but I did feel something, something like home, something like the comfort of a place well loved. I also added something new to who I am, here I visited the place of my birth with my husband, and child and best friend.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
A Crisis of Identity
Conceived in Belize, born in Kenya, raised in Namibia, British passport, in love with an American and lived there for the last ten years and most importantly my child is American, South African mother and British Father. I have in my blood, Irish, English, German, Malaysian, and Hottentot. With all of these names and places to define who I am I have ended up being none.
Growing up in Namibia I was never Namibian because I was not born there and my passport was British, I was reminded of this by people who liked to tease me but I chose to be Namibian in spite of the passport and in spite of the birth. It was the place I was, so how could I be anything but? If I chose one of the others I would always be yearning to leave and never be home. And so, emotionally, I clawed my way into a place where I stood up and claimed the dunes and the cold sea and the sun and the winter wind and made them into the things I loved and longed for.
Then I went to England, and Cape Town and America and always I wished to be back in Namibia, back where I belonged and back home. But now over time the balance has shifted. Many people I knew have moved away, the country has moved on and I have not been there to keep up. My accent has changed, and so has my perspective and those left behind take every pleasure in reminding me of it all. If I ever was Namibian, I can no longer claim to be so.
So now in my soul is a space, a place where who and what I am is blank but also like a puzzle just dumped out of its box. It isn't something that should be so and I must decide. Shall I fill it with everything or will I be able to finally belong to somewhere and some identity alone. Some place that will make me feel like I am home and I will always be home?
Tomorrow, I am going to Nakuru, place of my birth. I hope to stop at places that my parents and grandparents lived and worked, places I visited as a small child. I hope to fill in one more piece of who I am and make clear some of the confusion and loneliness I feel, at least by givng images to stories and places I have heard of throughout my life.
Growing up in Namibia I was never Namibian because I was not born there and my passport was British, I was reminded of this by people who liked to tease me but I chose to be Namibian in spite of the passport and in spite of the birth. It was the place I was, so how could I be anything but? If I chose one of the others I would always be yearning to leave and never be home. And so, emotionally, I clawed my way into a place where I stood up and claimed the dunes and the cold sea and the sun and the winter wind and made them into the things I loved and longed for.
Then I went to England, and Cape Town and America and always I wished to be back in Namibia, back where I belonged and back home. But now over time the balance has shifted. Many people I knew have moved away, the country has moved on and I have not been there to keep up. My accent has changed, and so has my perspective and those left behind take every pleasure in reminding me of it all. If I ever was Namibian, I can no longer claim to be so.
So now in my soul is a space, a place where who and what I am is blank but also like a puzzle just dumped out of its box. It isn't something that should be so and I must decide. Shall I fill it with everything or will I be able to finally belong to somewhere and some identity alone. Some place that will make me feel like I am home and I will always be home?
Tomorrow, I am going to Nakuru, place of my birth. I hope to stop at places that my parents and grandparents lived and worked, places I visited as a small child. I hope to fill in one more piece of who I am and make clear some of the confusion and loneliness I feel, at least by givng images to stories and places I have heard of throughout my life.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
A con at governmental levels
Recently we received a parcel from Emma's Great Grandma. It was two very cute little dresses, originally wrapped in pink tissue paper. When K picked it up from the Post Office he was told the following little story and then charged a fee for the package.
When international packages come in, apparently Customs is allowed to charge an import duty. To deduce the amount that this duty should be, a customs official opens the package in front of a postal employee, unwraps any gifts and assigns value to the gifts. Then they charge you some percentage of that value. Yes... that's right... they OPEN the package and UNWRAP the gifts. All sanctioned by LAW. I love this country, where even postal theft is governed.
I wonder, do they read the birthday card too? I am now tempted to have someone send me ribbed condoms and body chocolate and write salacious things in the card. Would that be 50 shillings? Or would that be free?
When international packages come in, apparently Customs is allowed to charge an import duty. To deduce the amount that this duty should be, a customs official opens the package in front of a postal employee, unwraps any gifts and assigns value to the gifts. Then they charge you some percentage of that value. Yes... that's right... they OPEN the package and UNWRAP the gifts. All sanctioned by LAW. I love this country, where even postal theft is governed.
I wonder, do they read the birthday card too? I am now tempted to have someone send me ribbed condoms and body chocolate and write salacious things in the card. Would that be 50 shillings? Or would that be free?
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Emma Update; dance with me darling, sweet and slow
Since she was born we have danced with Emma. Keir dances with her to Opera and Banjo music and I dance with her to 80's music and powerful female artists. Recently when you put on the music while holding her, she will grab your free hand and wave it around to indicate that it is time to dance. When you oblige she giggles, hums and asks to be dipped by throwing herself backwards while you twirl around the room.
You Little Beauty!
When you have read all the books written by a favourite author you can only read them again. But when you started reading their books as a teen and have been reading them for 15 years it's possible there are books you haven't read, or books you have forgotten that you read. Sometimes you think you discover one of these, dusty on your mother's bookshelf. There is an excitement at the familar grouping of letters in the author's name, coupled with the unfamiliar grouping of letters in the title. Perhaps you savour the book, not opening it for a few days, just letting your eye get used to the cover. Finally you settle down, snuggle up and open it. But oh! The terrible suspicion that creeps upon you by page 23. "Don't I know this character?" By page 100; "I do know this plot" by page 212, I recall the ending. You have two choices. Accept that you have read it and enjoy the prose once more, or set it down, unfinished but remembered.
I recently found what I thought had to be one of these. On a bookshelf in the dining hall at Mpala. A graveyard of books where "good" books are quickly snapped up and others grow ever dustier and infested by spiders, mice and other scurrying creatures.
Surely, surely, I have read all Elizabeth George's novels? Page 23 came and went, followed by page 100. Now I am in the deliscious excitement of letting her pull me towards the great reveal at the end, all the while amusing me, educating me and entertaining me. What a pleasure her words are, and how delightful to find new aspects to Tommy Lynley's character.
So now, having put my own words down and shared my find, I will return to the soft pages of my paperback and Ms. George's enlightening diction.
I recently found what I thought had to be one of these. On a bookshelf in the dining hall at Mpala. A graveyard of books where "good" books are quickly snapped up and others grow ever dustier and infested by spiders, mice and other scurrying creatures.
Surely, surely, I have read all Elizabeth George's novels? Page 23 came and went, followed by page 100. Now I am in the deliscious excitement of letting her pull me towards the great reveal at the end, all the while amusing me, educating me and entertaining me. What a pleasure her words are, and how delightful to find new aspects to Tommy Lynley's character.
So now, having put my own words down and shared my find, I will return to the soft pages of my paperback and Ms. George's enlightening diction.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
follow-up
Since I posted this I have had confirmation from my Mother that the tragic story about Cina and her violent beau was true.
Emma Update
She is really learning how to control the world around her, which includes K and I. She now takes one of our fingers and leads us around, showing us things and getting us to play with her. She has also started helping me with packing away things instead of just unpacking. Her conversation also sounds more and more like she knows exactly what she is saying and it is only us who don't. She will repeat the same "sentence" again and again trying to tell us something and we try and guess what it is she is saying from her body language.
She has started a really strange thing while she nurses, which is to put either her finger or her toe into my belly button. It is so uncomfortable but she is most insistent that this is the way things will be now. I am quite curious as to whether other babies do this, or what her reason is for it. Is it just that it is a perfect big-toe sized hole?
Her memory is also lasting longer as we logged onto Skype with her aunty and uncle and she nearly climbed into the computer in her excitement at seeing them. The last time she had seen them was three weeks before.
She has started a really strange thing while she nurses, which is to put either her finger or her toe into my belly button. It is so uncomfortable but she is most insistent that this is the way things will be now. I am quite curious as to whether other babies do this, or what her reason is for it. Is it just that it is a perfect big-toe sized hole?
Her memory is also lasting longer as we logged onto Skype with her aunty and uncle and she nearly climbed into the computer in her excitement at seeing them. The last time she had seen them was three weeks before.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
cucumber sandwiches anyone?
Today we availed ourselves of a friendly Mpala babysitter and went out for a couple of hours. We played tennis and then had a picnic on top of the Landy at a spot called Hippo Pools.
The tennis courts are up at the original Ranch house which is kept as a place to house VIP guests. It is kept up as it was when it was the home of the white Kenyan ranch owner and fits the bill of a colonial home perfectly. Think "Out of Africa" with shaded porches containing comfortable wicker furniture and sweeping lawns sloping out into the view of Mount Kenya.
The ranch's tennis courts are clay, which I have never played on before. (Actually, if I am honest I have never played tennis at all. I have, on many occasions, batted and swatted and even heaved at a tennis ball with a tennis racket, on a tennis court) The red clay is reflected beyond the court into the savanna which surrounds it, and as you lob the ball up for a serve Mt. Kenya is framed behind it. Quite a venue.
K and I thoroughly enjoyed tooling about on the court and he even made me do some real warm-up exercises. Then we settled in for a "game". Within minutes we abandoned the game and decided to just try and manage to hit the ball to one another. This was quite effective as K is fast enough to run about and catch most of my forehand. My backhand sent birds, dikdiks and monkeys outside the courts scurrying. After a while we decided that we would hit the ball to each other twenty times and then go and get lunch. Then we decided we would hit the ball to each other fifteen times and then go and get lunch. Eventually we decided nine was a little bit like fifteen and left.
Hippo pools is a spot where the Ewaso Nyero river makes a big loop and creates a still pool with a broad bank perfect for Hippos and crocs to pull themselves out of the water. Well, actually just one croc. The bend in the river has created a floodplain where incredibly tall fever trees grow. These are acacia xanthophloea. They are trees with a bright green bark on trunks that grow straight up and tall, and their branches spread out in a thick fan high above. They are graceful trees and their presence at Hippo pools makes it the perfect spot to sit and watch the wildlife and birds. After our exertions we enjoyed our lunch of avo and tomato sandwiches and felt completely vindicated in finishing a whole bar of chocolate.
The tennis courts are up at the original Ranch house which is kept as a place to house VIP guests. It is kept up as it was when it was the home of the white Kenyan ranch owner and fits the bill of a colonial home perfectly. Think "Out of Africa" with shaded porches containing comfortable wicker furniture and sweeping lawns sloping out into the view of Mount Kenya.
The ranch's tennis courts are clay, which I have never played on before. (Actually, if I am honest I have never played tennis at all. I have, on many occasions, batted and swatted and even heaved at a tennis ball with a tennis racket, on a tennis court) The red clay is reflected beyond the court into the savanna which surrounds it, and as you lob the ball up for a serve Mt. Kenya is framed behind it. Quite a venue.
K and I thoroughly enjoyed tooling about on the court and he even made me do some real warm-up exercises. Then we settled in for a "game". Within minutes we abandoned the game and decided to just try and manage to hit the ball to one another. This was quite effective as K is fast enough to run about and catch most of my forehand. My backhand sent birds, dikdiks and monkeys outside the courts scurrying. After a while we decided that we would hit the ball to each other twenty times and then go and get lunch. Then we decided we would hit the ball to each other fifteen times and then go and get lunch. Eventually we decided nine was a little bit like fifteen and left.
Hippo pools is a spot where the Ewaso Nyero river makes a big loop and creates a still pool with a broad bank perfect for Hippos and crocs to pull themselves out of the water. Well, actually just one croc. The bend in the river has created a floodplain where incredibly tall fever trees grow. These are acacia xanthophloea. They are trees with a bright green bark on trunks that grow straight up and tall, and their branches spread out in a thick fan high above. They are graceful trees and their presence at Hippo pools makes it the perfect spot to sit and watch the wildlife and birds. After our exertions we enjoyed our lunch of avo and tomato sandwiches and felt completely vindicated in finishing a whole bar of chocolate.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Emma Update
It is a joy to watch Emma growing in leaps and bounds daily. She lovesto fogure out stuff, especially real stuff rather than toys. She puts lids back on bottles, opens cupboards and drawers, tips up her sippy cup and presses buttons.
She also "talks" on the phone. She loves few things better than to put your cell phone to her ear and walk around, having a chat with someone. She has long conversations which are mostly one-sided and holds one hand out to the side, fingers splayed. What is really funny is that when the phone actually rings she looks at it in horror and gives it to you to take care of the annoying person who dares to talk back.
She has just this week started to love her stuffed animals. She has a number of them and has mostly ignored them. This week she has been carrying two favourites around with her, snuggling them and talking to them. One is a Frog who is bigger than her, named Prince Charming and the other is a soft hound dog named Bond. She adores it when you take all three of them on your lap and cuddle together.
She also "talks" on the phone. She loves few things better than to put your cell phone to her ear and walk around, having a chat with someone. She has long conversations which are mostly one-sided and holds one hand out to the side, fingers splayed. What is really funny is that when the phone actually rings she looks at it in horror and gives it to you to take care of the annoying person who dares to talk back.
She has just this week started to love her stuffed animals. She has a number of them and has mostly ignored them. This week she has been carrying two favourites around with her, snuggling them and talking to them. One is a Frog who is bigger than her, named Prince Charming and the other is a soft hound dog named Bond. She adores it when you take all three of them on your lap and cuddle together.
A Tall Tale?
When I was young my maternal grandmother had a maid who always wore a cloth over her face. She wore it to cover the lower part of her face but her eyes were always kind above it. The cloth made it very hard to understand what she said and her voice sounded raspy, as if she had been smoking since she was as small as I was then.
Her name was Cina and one day I got up enough courage to ask Granny Hazel why Cina wore the cloth. The tale went like this. When Cina was young she was incredibly beautiful with a rosebud mouth and a small pert nose. She had many suitors but eventually she started going with just one very handsome young man. They were well matched and she cared a great deal for him but of course there was a fly in the ointment. Her beau was incredibly jealous of Cina and suspicious of any man who had contact with Cina. One day they went to a braai of a mutual friend and Cina's boyfriend saw her flirting with another friend of theirs. Cina's boyfriend flew into a rage and took up the woodchopper sitting next to the braai. He first chopped at the flirty friend and then swung the chopper and sliced off the front of Cina's face.
Cina tried various kinds of surgery to reconstruct her face but was left with terrible disfigurement and much scarring.
I was utterly horrified at this story and have thought often of it, the details remained very clear in my mind as I grew up. It is only now though that I have examined the tale and thought that it has the resonance of a tale rather than a true story. Do people truly have rosebud mouths combined with pert noses? Is it possible to cleave a persons nose from their face with a woodchopper? My Grandmother always told very good stories and now she is gone I am left to wonder forever if this is just a story, or true and tragic.
Her name was Cina and one day I got up enough courage to ask Granny Hazel why Cina wore the cloth. The tale went like this. When Cina was young she was incredibly beautiful with a rosebud mouth and a small pert nose. She had many suitors but eventually she started going with just one very handsome young man. They were well matched and she cared a great deal for him but of course there was a fly in the ointment. Her beau was incredibly jealous of Cina and suspicious of any man who had contact with Cina. One day they went to a braai of a mutual friend and Cina's boyfriend saw her flirting with another friend of theirs. Cina's boyfriend flew into a rage and took up the woodchopper sitting next to the braai. He first chopped at the flirty friend and then swung the chopper and sliced off the front of Cina's face.
Cina tried various kinds of surgery to reconstruct her face but was left with terrible disfigurement and much scarring.
I was utterly horrified at this story and have thought often of it, the details remained very clear in my mind as I grew up. It is only now though that I have examined the tale and thought that it has the resonance of a tale rather than a true story. Do people truly have rosebud mouths combined with pert noses? Is it possible to cleave a persons nose from their face with a woodchopper? My Grandmother always told very good stories and now she is gone I am left to wonder forever if this is just a story, or true and tragic.
Tru Dat
Our cistern sprung a leak. When the tap is turned on water poured from it in a pretty arc like one of those boy cherubs peeing artfully into a fountain. Our plumber came along to look at it and said that it was fine. After I showed him how to turn the tap on and allowed the leak to flow, he played his hand in the water appreciating the cool on his fingers for a moment. Then he proclaimed; "It is broken" and left. We haven't seen him since.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Emma Update
She is just a walking fool! Last Monday she decided it was time and suddenly released her grip on the table, chairs and bath and struck out into the spaces of the house. We were so thrilled and watched her with tears in our eyes. True to her social form, she walked mostly towards people, giving the Mpala folk as much of a thrill as she did us.
On Tuesday and the rest of the week she changed her mind and decided crawling was easier. On the weekend she gave it another go and has really taken to it. She walks most places and has found that it is most convenient when you need to carry things. It is so convenient that she is carrying around hilarious items, like the trash can and laundry basket, both of which are far too large for her.
Her walk is a little shuffle, where each knee bends awkwardly and the foot crashes to the floor to be dragged a little ways. It sounds like we have a very tiny zombie careening around the house. She has little control so sort of aims herself in the direction she wants to go and gets faster and faster as she goes along 'til she falls against the couch, your legs etc. I think her right leg is stronger than her left as she tends to pivot on that leg and so quite often just wonders in circles around a room. We managed to post a couple of very short videos on the picasa site - if you don't have the link, email me.
On Tuesday and the rest of the week she changed her mind and decided crawling was easier. On the weekend she gave it another go and has really taken to it. She walks most places and has found that it is most convenient when you need to carry things. It is so convenient that she is carrying around hilarious items, like the trash can and laundry basket, both of which are far too large for her.
Her walk is a little shuffle, where each knee bends awkwardly and the foot crashes to the floor to be dragged a little ways. It sounds like we have a very tiny zombie careening around the house. She has little control so sort of aims herself in the direction she wants to go and gets faster and faster as she goes along 'til she falls against the couch, your legs etc. I think her right leg is stronger than her left as she tends to pivot on that leg and so quite often just wonders in circles around a room. We managed to post a couple of very short videos on the picasa site - if you don't have the link, email me.
Monty Python was wrong
My Mother's shower in Namibia is the kind that makes you sing. Volubly and for the entire glorious time it takes you to get clean. I sang "gone fishing", "cheek to cheek", "morning has broken" and a favourite - "the bright side of life". It is HOT, there is pressure, the light shines in through the window, and the towels are fluffy and dry.
There was nothing to sing about in this evening's shower. It was the opposite of a singing kind of shower. It was a shower in which songs run down the drain and into Grevy Houses' septic field, never to be heard again. You won't even be able to find their lyrics on Google.
The water trickles, nay, it oozes from the nozzle. It is lukewarm, not cold so that you can complain with pride about having a cold shower. The parts of your body which stick out of the water (ie: most parts) are vulnerable to dive bombing and large mosquitoes. The water is weak-tea coloured, leaving you in doubt as to whether you are actually getting clean. The last and final insult is that here is another country where towels do not dry from day to day, but instead are clammy to the frail and beaten and bitten skin.
There is no bright side of life to this shower. Monty Python should go take a hike.
There was nothing to sing about in this evening's shower. It was the opposite of a singing kind of shower. It was a shower in which songs run down the drain and into Grevy Houses' septic field, never to be heard again. You won't even be able to find their lyrics on Google.
The water trickles, nay, it oozes from the nozzle. It is lukewarm, not cold so that you can complain with pride about having a cold shower. The parts of your body which stick out of the water (ie: most parts) are vulnerable to dive bombing and large mosquitoes. The water is weak-tea coloured, leaving you in doubt as to whether you are actually getting clean. The last and final insult is that here is another country where towels do not dry from day to day, but instead are clammy to the frail and beaten and bitten skin.
There is no bright side of life to this shower. Monty Python should go take a hike.
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