Some Favourite Corners Of My Home ...............

How personal is my blog ? How much of who I am - my tastes, my beliefs, my views do I really share on here ? Mmmmmmmm ..... I rarely show personal glimpses of my life on the blog, or glimpses of my home ..... but here are a few to share with you today, because a few of you have asked .... and because I, too, like peeking into people's homes and seeing what I can tell about them from the things that they keep ......

Above ..... a shelf of recipe books in my kitchen ...... Whittard of Chelsea hot chocolate tins (now empty) were a gift from my sister & brother in law in the UK .... I use these to keep spare coins in, for buying local village eggs ..... an invitation to a local political event for our region in the party's colours .... a babies monitor .... photos of a long passed but still beloved cat .... a message scribbled across it in desperation when she went missing one day .... a message to her - along with beaded charms and things given to me by a wise old man .... charming her back home again. (She came).

Below .... a 'spirited' spice rack .... it holds all my spices (I cannot live without these with all the cooking I do) and once had a life of it's own .... we had been living on the farm for only a few days when a shadow passed behind me one day & then the spice rack jumped off the wall and the spices were flung far and wide, scattered about the kitchen by ??? This was not the only odd thing to happen to me here .... but everyone - everything - is at peace here now ..... and I've kept the spice rack up. To show that I am not afraid.

Our kitchen table ..... rowdy family lunches, homework, writing Christmas cards, casual meals with old friends or family from afar, giggly girlie chats over cups of tea, tipsy dinners over bottles of wine .... laughter, arguments, love, tears and food .... always food ..... precious framed baby foot prints on the wall behind, children's artwork, vitamins and omega 3 high up out of little people's reach, fruit bowl, bread bin and wine rack of lovely reds ......

Tears in my tea. One of the first rituals of my day ..... I make tea and talk to her, she's with me always and sometimes I still can't believe that she's gone. A photo of her in her happier, younger, cancer free days. A ball in her mouth, her eyes begging me to throw it for her. I will never get over losing her ......

Part of one of the many bookshelves in our home ..... a favourite framed Taung mask from the Cameroon .... medals from North Africa ..... photo of hubby & I on our wedding day ..... photo of my sister and I on her wedding day. She lives so far away. I walk past her photo several times a day & think of her. (I miss you !)

Mantlepiece over our fireplace in our main lounge. Flowerless in this photo, I'm afraid ..... framed prints above bought in Mauritius on our honeymoon, framed photos of family below .... my niece and nephew .... candlesticks and clock from a market in South Africa ..... a silver dish I bought in Doha, Qatar .... hedgehogs from my Zimbabwean childhood ..... an old brass bell from Tanzania's past .... photo frames from Zanzibar ..... a secret box where 'emergency' cigarettes were once stashed ... now forever empty .....

Carved Malawian dining table, with monkey balls in woven basket plate atop .... hand carved Tanzanian Mninga chairs ..... too heavy to lift almost ! Brick fire place peeking out behind ..... oh, the stories this table could tell, if only it would speak ! Most recently .... privvy to late night chats and melting candles - and melting hearts .... the tears and anguish of a friend in need, hubby and I sat up late into the night offering our support to him ..... and the next morning, a full table of bright, cheerful children (too many of us to fit around the kitchen table today) fighting for the cornflake box and golden flakes spilling happily into all the carvings on it's surface ....

My favourite time of the day .... late afternoon, just before the the sun sinks below the horizon and night falls .... when the shadows are long and the rapidly diminishing light is a deep golden colour ..... the view out of our veranda doors, with my favourite little man crawling happily across the floor ....


It must be these cold Winter months that prompt me to write blog posts like this one. If you click here you can see a similar one I wrote last year, about my favourite Winter things ......

Mother's Day !

07th December 2004 with my newborn baby daughter - the day I became a mother for the first time ..... and my life was forever changed !

“Just as there is no warning for childbirth, there is no preparation for the sight of a first child. There should be a song for women to sing at this moment, a prayer to recite. But perhaps there is none because there are no words strong enough to name that moment.

Like every mother since the first mother, I was overcome and bereft, exalted and ravaged. I had crossed over from girlhood. I beheld myself as an infant in my mother’s arms and caught a glimpse of my own death. I wept without knowing whether I rejoiced or mourned. My mothers and their mothers were with me as I held my baby.”

(taken from ‘The Red Tent’ by Anita Diamant)

Wishing all the Mum's out there .... a wonderful Mother’s Day today !

Lynda

xxx

Giving ....

My friend E. (who does so much for neglected animals here) stayed over with clients in our guest house over the weekend, and I took these festive cupcakes around for her with a Christmas card one evening. It always feels good to spread a little festive cheer at this time of the year .....

Whilst the festive season may be a time of indulgence and abundance for many, it’s also a time of hardship for many others. Imagine not having enough food for your family over Christmas, let alone presents ? Imagine not having a proper roof over your head, or being ill and not having enough money to get the medicine you need. Sadly, this is a reality for many people – especially those in poverty stricken parts of Africa.

Of course, we all know this. So … we make donations of some sort to people less fortunate than ourselves – to ease our conscience, or because we really feel it will make a difference ? Because it is the ‘right thing to do’ or because we really feel that we’ll enjoy our extravagant Christmas without any feeling of guilt for those less fortunate than us, because we’ve ‘done our bit’ ?

I see so much poverty around me. I see so much excess, too. I see spoilt expatriate children on one hand, and hungry local children on the other. Not everywhere, mind – but wherever I choose to look. That’s if I choose not to look away. As many here do. I used to look away sometimes – before I had children of my own. Sometimes it’s easier that way …. not to have to look at someone else’s pain. Almost as if you don’t look, it’ll go away. And you can just carry on with your life.

My mother instilled in me from a very young age the value of giving to others. I grew up as a child in Zimbabwe, watching people come to the back door of our house as she gave them food, clothing, medicine – things that they needed. She taught me – not so much in her words as in her actions – that if you have more than someone else, you should help them out. No question.

I think that many children these days are really pampered. I joke with my own 5 year old daughter, when she balks when I ask her to help me with something trivial for her little brother … like ‘Please fetch me his toy’ … I tell her ‘If you were living long ago, you would be bringing your little brother up and feeding him, changing his nappies and looking after other brothers and sisters too, whilst Mummy went out to work cleaning and ironing for a living or something (and Daddy worked down a coal mine) so don’t you get in a huff when I ask you to bring me his toy’. Then afterwards I feel guilty – shame, she is only 5 after all. But then on the other hand, I don’t want her to grow up only knowing the good things in life. Or being spoilt.

So this year, I decided that she was old enough to appreciate the value of giving to other children less fortunate than her. My guest room cupboard is BURSTING to the seams with Christmas gifts sent to the kids from family in the UK, South Africa and dear friends from Tanzania and as far away as Spain – so I decided it was time for a little clear out, to make way for the new stuff.

I began a couple of weeks ago by completely ‘de cluttering’ our home and sorting through clothes and household items – it felt so great to get rid of ‘stuff’ and de clutter …. making way for the New Year … my daughter watched, and I explained what I was doing - and then I sat her down and spoke to her about her own toys.

I explained to her that by getting rid of toys that she no longer used that much (not her much loved or 'special' toys), she could give them to needy children in our area – children who otherwise may have nothing at all this Christmas. Children who, perhaps, have never had a teddy bear or a doll of their own. ‘Just imagine’, I said, ‘the joy that you will bring to a little girl when she sees this doll ?’ My daughter was reluctant at first, and it was not an easy process – but we spent a good hour or so and she eventually got into the whole thing and that night when I put her to bed, she hugged me and told me that she was glad that her ‘old toys’ would be given to children who would love them as she had.

I have split the toys into age appropriate bags and we have given them to our own staff and then to the neediest of families in our community. I have also put together food parcels (rice, sugar, oil, tea, juice, sweets, fruit) for our immediate staff, as I do each year.

I now plan to make this ‘toy clear out’ an annual tradition in the weeks leading up to Christmas. Something I plan to do with the children each year – so that they never forget how lucky they are to have what they have. So that they never take what they have for granted. I’ll clear out my own clothes and household things at the same time each year, too. And I hope that one day my kids will realize … that it really is true what they say about the joy you get in giving to others. That they, too, will feel the delight of making a difference where it really matters. And that sometimes - just one small teddy bear, is all that it takes.

LONGING .......

The tip of Kilimanjaro's snow capped peak - viewed from the back of our garden, late one afternoon ....

I'm missing my garden, too !

And the views from my garden, out towards Kenya and beyond ................ I long for those, too .....

Longing

For Tanzania, as if she were a person ……. like an absent lover ….. or a long lost friend ….

Longing …………… an ache

For those intangible parts of her which make her what she is

Wide, clear blue skies which stretch on forever

The thick African dust

The smell of rain in the air …..

Cool green grass beneath my feet.

The warming, golden heat of the sun

And it’s blood redness as it sinks into the horizon - leaving behind a sky streaked in pink & lilac hues at the end of yet another African Day

The coolness of a full moon - an icy disc rising, rising in the sky

Kilimanjaro’s snow capped peak. Just like a Christmas pudding.

Cowbells tinkling in the breeze, the songs of the Maasai as they herd their livestock along

Toothy grins - men & women wisened & wrinkled like prunes under the hot African sun

The night sounds of the creaking gum trees and bush babies, and hyena’s and nightjars and owls. And mosquitos, too, of course.

The smell of the smoke from the old wood fire

The smell of the bush … wild flowers and grass and acacia trees and elusive animals and … and … and ….

And the chaos. Did I mention that ? The complete unpredictability of living in a place where no two days are the same. Glorious, delicious - unpredictability. And where you can bend life's rules. (If you care to follow them in the first place !)

I miss the heart of this country. Which has stolen my heart.

Soul. My soul. That’s it - my soul always feels empty when I’m away from her. The feeling of never quite being completely alive - like half a person - until I’m back on her soil again.

I can’t wait to return.

(Justin got a friend to send me an SMS on his behalf a few days ago. A mixture of Kiswahili and English translated loosely as follows …. ’Welcome back home soon, Mama’ he says ’we miss you on the farm. We miss you & the children. We welcome the new baby back to Tanzania with you, we celebrate the new baby’s safe arrival. We all send you greetings from the whole of Tanzania. We wait for you to come back and the dogs and cats too they are also fine. Safe journey back to us, Mama. Many greetings & good day to you from me, Justin’)

Bless him !

Not long to wait now.

All The Waiting's Over ....

'All the waiting's over
and our hearts are filled with joy ....
Our prayers were truly answered, now we have our baby boy .....
He'll fill our hearts with pleasure
With all the fun he makes,
We'll watch his precious life unfold
With every step he takes.

His love will last a lifetime,
He'll make our dreams come true,
He'll fill our lives with love and pride
As only children do ................'

I dreamed I was carrying a son from the moment I found out that I was pregnant again. It therefore came as a shock to me when I was told after a 3D Ultrasound scan a few months into my pregnancy that I was, infact, expecting a little girl instead. It just didn't feel right, and I mourned the 'loss' of the son which had felt so real to me & had appeared so vividly to me in my dreams ....

I felt really bad about this - everyone always tells you to just be happy that you are bringing a healthy child into this world, no matter what the sex of the baby is - and of course, that's true. But still, despite this, I mourned the 'loss' of a child I had felt so sure was mine ....

So you can imagine my surprise - delight ! - when the doctor placed my beautiful baby boy on my chest for the very first time last Tuesday - the one I'd always dreamed of holding, was now right here in my arms .......

Yes, life truly is full of surprises and yes, miracles really do happen ..... even when you least expect them !

Sisters .......

'Nigella Christmas' - an unexpected & surprising gift sent to me by my little sister, all the way from the UK !

I was so surprised to open the book & to find that it had been personally signed for me by Nigella herself !

“I posted something to you on 5th December as a surprise, but I gather you haven’t got it yet” said my sister as I spoke to her all the way in Chester, UK on a crackly phone line from Nairobi, Kenya two week's ago (I’d ‘phoned her to tell her that we’d just found out we were expecting a baby girl !) “I don’t really want to spoil the surprise by telling you what it is though” she said. “Oh don’t worry” I replied “You know there’s never any hurry in Africa and the parcel should eventually turn up – in fact, I’m still waiting for several Christmas cards”.

Of course my sister, being an African herself, and having lived here for over 30 years before emigrating to the UK with her husband and 2 children a little over a year ago, knows only too well how slow and unreliable things can be in Africa. But still, she sounded exasperated and after chatting a little bit more (about our kids – what else ?!), we said goodbye & hung up.

I miss my sister, although we haven’t lived in the same country for years now. When I was working in South Africa many years ago, she was traveling & working her way around the world. (She also has a hotel background/qualifications and has worked in hotels in South Africa, the UK and Israel.) She was away for a long time but eventually returned & settled in South Africa, just as my husband and I left to start a new life for ourselves in Tanzania. Over the years she visited us here and we also saw a lot of her and her family on at least twice yearly trips to South Africa. Now they are living in the UK (we’ve visited them there once since their move) and because she’s living on a different Continent, it feels extra far away.

Families are funny things, and I’ll admit that my sister and I have our fair share of arguments and disagreements & live completely different lifestyles, but at the end of the day I really love her, not only because she’s my only sibling but because – well, she’s my sister (and I’m sure that all the sisters out there reading this will understand what I mean by that !)

Anyway, on Friday afternoon last week I got an email from the receptionist at our head office in the city “A parcel has arrived for you” she wrote “I’ve given it to the truck driver who’s delivering seed to the farm tomorrow. Have a lovely weekend”. When my husband came home for mid morning coffee on Saturday, he had the parcel with him. I immediately knew that it was from my sister and opened it with glee !

Imagine my delight when I saw that it contained Nigella Lawson’s latest book “Nigella Christmas” (which will no doubt become one of those “classics” to be used year after year as it contains almost 300 pages of gorgeous, illustrated recipes). Not only that, but it has been signed “For Lynda, with love, Nigella” – she had got me a signed copy ! Well of course I started crying when I realized the effort my sister had gone to, to get this wonderful gift for me and how much she must know it would mean to me (as it is, she knows how much I love Christmas – and Nigella - and that Christmas cooking and baking are my absolute favorite pastimes each year !)

In writing this post today, I guess what I really wanted to say to those of you who live close to your sisters – treasure them. To those of you who’s children grow up with their Aunts (& cousins !) within driving distance - treasure them. To those of you who can drop by to see your sister for a cuppa tea & a chat whenever the need arises – treasure those moments. Don’t ever take it for granted. You just don’t know how lucky you are ! As an expat, living with family scattered all around the world, the hardest thing for me to bear is being away from extended family –and not having my sister there when she needs me or vice versa.

Which makes the fact that she sent me such a thoughtful gift even more special.

Which makes me realize that I’m lucky to have her, and (to change and old saying) that no matter how far the distance between us, our love & sisterly bond is the bridge that closes the distance between us.

(P.S. Did I mention that my sister is a fabulous cook ? You can see one of her recipes here)

Respecting Our Elders

Mzee Ramadhani, a delightful old man who I had the pleasure of meeting along the road on our recent trip to Pangani. He gladly posed for a photo !

We hear it so often as children “You must respect your elders”. Of course people have to earn each other’s respect and you can’t respect everyone – no matter how old they are – especially if they are really criminal/evil old people, but in general, here in Africa, it is a very strong teaching in all communities to “respect your elders”.

We are taught to respect our elders as they are older and wiser than us, they (generally !) know much more than us and can guide us in all decisions that we, the younger generation need to make. They are to be obeyed, looked after and treated with care. Respecting your elders – and showing them that respect – is never in question.

I have yet to see a local African child be cheeky, talk back or show any disrespect to an older person. (Which can’t be said for some of the children I’ve encountered in other countries – ha !)

All villages here have a “Monja Kiti” (excuse my Swahili spelling, not sure if this is the right way to spell it !) - this is the village chairman, who is almost always a village elder & he is looked upon whenever there are any problems that need addressing, or decisions to be made. For example, if we have a problem with villagers bringing cattle to graze illegally on the farm, we will go to the Monja Kiti of that particular village and ask for his help. If we are having problems with someone from the village (like a person who a few years ago attacked Justin when he was walking home one night) then we will go to the Monja Kiti & ask him to assist us with the discipline of this person/course of action to take. If the village need our help with something (access to grazing through the farm, water pipes etc) then the request will come to us through the Monja Kiti.

I don’t know about you, but I think that in the world today there is a terrible breakdown of family units and values, I am horrified to read – daily – of reports in the press from far flung countries of the elderly being beaten, mugged, robbed, killed (many times by the youth). Vicious attacks on the elderly by anyone – let alone those younger than them – are unheard of here - or very, very rare indeed. I believe that everything starts in the home, I cannot believe how a child could grow up not having the utmost respect for the elders around him/her and I believe that if we all respected - & took advice from - the elders in our community, the world would not have as many problems as it does.

It is our elders who have the wisdom, the knowledge, who can guide us and support us and be there with advice that just cannot be bought. Why are they so ignored, neglected in so many parts of the world ?

I am always very respectful of the elderly I encounter here, and when we went to Pangani recently we met a delightful elderly man called Mezee Ramadhani as we were crossing the Pangani River by ferry. My Dad actually got talking to him on the way over. He had pedaled into the village that day on his bicycle to sell some of the fruit he had harvested the day before from his small ‘shamba’ (farm), & was on his way back home.

After saying goodbye to him, several km’s up the road we stopped to repair a puncture, and he cycled past us again, stopping to offer his assistance. We thanked him, gave him an ice cold soda and said it was okay ! He told us how he had been born in Pangani and did not know how old he was. “I was born in 1920 … 1920 something … ahhhh …. 1920 so-long-past” he eventually said, as he could not recall the year. His age was not important to him, but what was important to him was having his family all around him, the fact that he had a small farm of his own, a roof over his head, food in his tummy, good health - and a bicycle to ride.

“Next time you are here” he said to us “Just ask anyone in the village where Mezee Ramadhani lives, and they will bring you to my home. Welcome !” What a wonderful old man, and maybe next time I am there, I will take him up on his offer. I’d love to spend an afternoon with him, asking about what life was like here in the 1920’s, how he came to speak such excellent English and a million other things.

Yes, the elderly amongst us are true blessings and I am honored to have met so many wonderful old people, and heard their fascinating stories, in the time I’ve lived in Tanzania - because my life is all the richer for it.

Justin & I

We've worked together for almost 8 years, yet this is the first photo ever taken of Justin & I together !

Justin was such a help to me last weekend when I had a house full of guests, excited children and my daughter’s birthday party to cater for. He worked beside me tirelessly from morning ‘til night and on Saturday night even came back to work at 8 pm to help me with all the clearing up after dinner. He was back on Sunday morning to help me again, with a cheerful smile on his face and a bounce in his step.

I’ll admit that when I am under pressure and have a lot to do I get quite snappy with people and boss them around. Not in a rude way though (I hope !) I sometimes tend to forget that I am no longer running a camp or a lodge with up to 300 people to cater for, and a team of professional catering staff working alongside me in a kitchen equipped for it. Justin is very patient through it all. After almost 8 years of working with me, he knows exactly what to do/say/how to react to calm me and ensure that the job is done and that I have no further need to worry. He never complains, just gets on with the job at hand and is very patient with me.

I realised that after all these years of working together, Justin and I have never had a photo of the 2 of us taken together ! So this past weekend (amidst all the party preparations) I asked my Mum to take a photo of us in my kitchen. (Justin asked if we could take a ‘proper’ one at some stage when he is dressed in his Sunday best, so I will do that at a later stage). He was not too keen to look into the camera for some reason, and as you can see I am looking rather harassed (& just look at my HAIR - ewwww !) as I had been busy all day & still had lots to do ! (The apron I’m wearing is one my parent’s gave me for my birthday this year, it has a photograph of my daughter on the front and the caption “Mum’s Angel”. Justin's shirt is one I bought him a few years ago in the UK during the English world cup soccer).

Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say how much I appreciate all that Justin does for me and my family – in fact, he is like part of the family. People often say to me “Justin is so lucky to have you in his life, you have done so much for him – where would he be without you ?” and my reply is always “Well, actually I am the lucky one because I honestly don’t know where I would be without him !”

(You can read more about Justin over here.)

A Momentous Day for America ...

Support for Obama in a small Tanzanian village as roadside vendors display his name on their stalls & carts

I don’t usually publish 2 blog posts in one day, and politics is one of the things I don’t discuss on my blog. But I feel that, as today is a momentous day in world history with the American Elections upon us, and as almost 60 % of my blog readers are American, I just wanted to say that we, here in dusty, 3rd world Africa are thinking of you all today as the eyes of the whole world are upon you …

Obama, as many of you know, is part Kenyan and Kenya and Tanzania are close neighbours - so the feeling here is one of support and pride for Obama because he is part African – perhaps more people here are following the elections than would usually be, because of Obama, I’m not sure.

Tanzania has a huge base of American expats, indeed the United Nations has a huge base in the city of Arusha, where the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda has been held for several years now. I know of at least 2 gatherings being held in Arusha today, where large groups of American citizens are watching the elections live.

I also know of Tanzanian citizens huddled in dusty villages, listening to their radio’s for election news and people crowded into local bars and restaurants in the cities, all watching a single TV flickering in the corner, probably run by generator power. Justin’s face breaks into a huge grin when I ask him what he thinks about the US elections and he gives me 2 thumbs up as he says “Obama !”

News reports speak of hope and prayer in Obama’s ancestral village in Kenya – we hear that election fever has swept Kenya and that people are standing by for the election results, with bulls to slaughter in celebration if Obama wins.

So, America – far, far away, on the other side of the world, your African friends are watching the events unfolding in your country today, and hoping and praying for peaceful elections and the best outcome for your country. We, too, wait with anticipation to see who your new leader will be – we’re thinking of you, America !

Devastated

ZONDE - 25th July 1996 to 13th October 2008

My beloved Zonde has gone. She died on Monday night, soon after we returned from our safari. The cancer which had so evilly invaded her beautiful body, finally got the better of her. Just as it was my decision to save her over 12 years ago so, too, was it ultimately my decision to end her life - as I could not bear to see her suffer and made the decision to allow her to be put to sleep once our vet advised me that she probably only had a few weeks left to live. The post mortem revealed tumors in her spleen, thyroid and liver. The vet was amazed that she was still so fit and strong, considering. She had a great will to keep on living and up until last week was still acting like her normal self – going for short walks, jumping up onto the couch, chasing the farm motorbikes up and down the fence and begging for treats at supper time !

I had some quiet time with her on Monday afternoon before she left me. I lay beside her, holding her and hugging her with my face buried into her soft fur as I cried my eyes out. She lifted her head to gently lick my arm, reassuring me (as she has done so many, many times before) as my tears soaked her fur and I sobbed that it was okay, she could leave me now – she could go and rest and that I would be okay. Thanking her, for years and years of companionship and for everything that she meant to me.

I feel as if someone has cut me open and scooped all my insides out. I feel hollow and empty inside and I cannot stop crying. Zonde was my constant companion and walked beside me for over 12 years. I don’t know how I am going to live without her. I just don’t know what to do. I keep thinking that she is here, yet she has gone. I can’t quite believe it. Will I wake up and find it is all a dream ?

My darling, beloved, precious Zonde dog. I don't know how I am going to walk through life without you constantly by my side. I am going to try, though. But my life will never be the same again. That much I do know.

I will miss you always. My angel.

"Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, these quiet friends, is that they carry away with them so many years of our own lives."
John Galsworthy

Beauty In The Small & Unexpected Things

Do you take for granted the beauty all around you ? I know that I do. When we moved to Tanzania a decade ago - one of the most truly beautiful countries on this vast African continent of ours - I made a promise to myself that I would never take her beauty for granted. But I admit that sometimes I do .... I get so caught up in my day to day life that I forget to lift my head and admire the beauty around me - to drink it all in.

Which is why the other day, when I was picking a basketful of fresh flowers from my garden to arrange inside the house - as I do every week - I caught my breath when I saw it standing there on the lawn - a roughly woven & commonly found "kikapu" (basket) that I use when I do my fruit and vegetable shopping - filled with a gorgeous array of blooms in every colour. I caught my breath at the simple beauty of it all, and ran inside to get my camera .....

Then I took another photo of one of the arrangements which I always have on the mantle piece above the fireplace. I realised how lucky I was to be able to grow my own flowers and pick them by the basketful to fill my home. A basketful of beauty - and joy !

I hope that whatever your basket is filled with that it, too, is brimming with beauty and joy .... and that you always find the beauty in those small and unexpected things ....

Zimbabwe Farm Memories ... and Tears

My husband with his parents & sister in their farm garden in 1960's Rhodesia - the same farm we visited in 1995 which has been completely destroyed

My entire family – except my parents – live in the UK. Everyone originally lived in Zimbabwe (then Rhodesia) and slowly one by one, they all left in the early ‘80’s.

My husband’s parents were successful tobacco farmers in Zimbabwe. They had their farms taken away from them in the early ‘80’s. My husband and his brothers had grown up believing that one day, the farms would be theirs – passed down through the generations. That was not the case. But that is Africa for you. No title deed or 100 th generation legacy or promises carved in stone ensure that you get to keep your land !

My husband and I met each other in South Africa and in 1995 – many years after his family had fled Zimbabwe – he took me back to show me the farm he’d grown up on. We drove from South Africa to Zimbabwe and stayed in the beautiful Inyanga mountains - it was a beautiful journey. I took him back to my home in Harare, to the old shopping centre where my Mum used to take my sister and I for the weekly grocery shop at “OK Bazaars” … which brought back memories of soapy tasting chocolate Fredo frogs as a special ‘treat’ … never mind the taste my Mum would tell us, it’s because of ‘sanctions’.

“Sanctions”, “The Bush War” and “The Terrs” (terrorists) were all part of our day-to-day life growing up in then Rhodesia.

So, my husband took me back to the farm. Of course his Mum had shown me the family photo albums before we left …. a beautiful home, landscaped garden, fertile farm fields. It is now – barren. The house has been destroyed, the gardens over grown, huts built where lush flower beds once were, starving children gathered around, chickens scratching in the dust. An eerie sound, as my husband’s name was called out by a stranger … recognition. 13 years absence, yet the old farm staff were still there. They remembered him … ohhh … the joy, the celebration as everyone gathered around, calling his name .. tears flowing.

You see, the farm had been taken from my husband’s family, and given to the farm laborers. But they had not been given the know-how or the resources to keep it running. No seed to plant the next crop, no fertilizer to nourish it, no diesel to put in the trucks to transport the crop to market, no spares or farm equipment. Years later, they were starving – literally starving to death – begging, begging us to please return. They said they would help us, support us, do everything they could to get the farm running again, work for no money, just to have us back there, helping them, working alongside them. But we couldn’t go back, even if we wanted to.

So, why do I write about this now ? Well, my mother-in-law arrives from England tonight, to spend 3 weeks with us. Back on the African soil which she loves so much. My mother-in-law, who tells me how amazing she finds it that I can live in such remoteness like I do & asks me how I can do it, when SHE was a farmer’s wife for so many years and had it MUCH harder than I. She lived through a war, for goodness sake ! With 5 young children to protect, landmines on the farm, blowing up 1 of their tractors on it’s way to the fields one day, terrorist attacks, no way out in an emergency unless you asked the army for a helicopter. My mother-in-law, who lived through it all & eventually lost her beautiful home, farm and life …. she asks me how I cope – bless her – and when I remind her of how she lived (never mind without any satellite TV or internet connection !) she waves me off and changes the subject !

Such a strong woman, I am very close to her and am so glad to have her here with us for 3 weeks …. the late night chats and gorging ourselves silly on chocolate whilst she tells me about life as a farmer’s wife all those years ago are just one of the things I’m looking forward to … I can’t wait for her to arrive, and to share part of our lives with her for the next 3 weeks. Although I must admit that our Africa is a lot wilder and less refined than the Africa she remembers. But knowing my mother-in-law, she’ll take it all in her stride, with a dash of humor along the way and a beaming smile – and I’ll hug her a million times, and beg her not to leave !

Honesty ....

An overseas reader recently reviewed my blog & said that what she really liked about it was the fact that it was such a positive account of Africa “when most of what we hear in the media over here about Africa is either negative or about the wildlife”. I was quite touched by her comment, and pleased, too because I love Africa and I would like people to learn about her through the eyes of an African like me, rather than only the Africa that is portrayed a lot of the time by the media (often by people who have never lived here or even spent a great deal of time here).

Another reader recently tried to summarise who I really was as a person, merely by what she had read on my blog about me. Yet others have emailed me more personal questions and observations about my life and indeed, some have asked whether I should be writing quite so ‘openly’ about my life on a blog.

Anyway, back to the reviewer’s comment – it really got me thinking. I had to ask myself - how truthful am I really being - about the state of Africa & my life here - when I write on my blog ?

Honestly ? I avoid writing about the negative stuff, the hair raising stuff, the shocking stuff. Why do I do this ? Well, for 2 reasons mainly. The first I suppose, is that I don’t want to bring this stuff into my blog because how on earth would I sandwich that in between a Malva Pudding recipe and a post about my gardening endeavours, for example ? It’s not really the purpose of this blog.

Secondly (and this, I suspect, is the main reason why I “censor” my writing to a certain degree) is because I am ‘afraid’ to write about certain stuff because I don’t think that people out there will believe me. I’m trying to establish myself in the blogging world and I think I have to earn more credibility before I can do that. Or perhaps I don’t ever want to do that. I’m not sure.

Sometimes I can’t believe some of the things that happen around me/to me here, so how on earth can I expect the people who read my blog to not think that I am making wild stories up ? (I mean, do people really want to hear about my daily trials like the 15 - live - flesh eating parasites I recently removed from one of my beloved dogs, the fact that my husband has been attacked by bandits twice on our farm road and had an AK47 fired at him, the fact that someone on the farm is accused of practicing witchcraft and putting curses on some of our staff ?)

What I’m saying, is that my life is not all rolling green hills and idyllic gardening as I watch the sunset over the mountains before whipping up a gourmet supper in the kitchen. But then it’s not that terrible either. So what I do write on my blog is about all the nice things about life here, and not the not-so-nice things.

Life is tough here, and I have certainly had my fair share of heartbreak, loss and devastation – but then my blog is not about that. Possibly, this blog has become an outlet for me ….. I find it therapeutic to write, and I know that the most read posts on this blog are the ones I write about my life rather than, say, the recipes or gardening bits. Which tells me something about what people want to hear from me.

So for now - I’ll keep on writing the way I do, and hope that you all continue to enjoy the blog & visit it as much as you do. Because your feedback and support means a lot to me. It really does.

Thank you !

Kindness .....

Simon brought us a gift of pumpkins & sweet potatoes from his garden to welcome us home

When we returned home last weekend from our holiday in South Africa, we came back to an almost completely empty fridge and pantry, and nothing much to eat ! When we go away I usually leave all my fruit and vegetables for Justin to take, and I clear my freezers out to make way for the endless packets of frozen meat I have to bulk buy and store to feed not only our own pets whilst we are away, but also the village waifs and strays.

Re stocking my kitchen after being away from the farm for a few weeks is usually not a problem, as when we arrive back from holiday it is usually during the daylight hours, and we can pick up a few basic items (like tomatoes, potatoes, onions) in the small villages on the way out to the farm. This time, however, we arrived back in the dead of night so could not buy anything on our way home.

All we had to eat in the house for the next 3 – 4 days (my husband was due to go in to the big city for work related things on Wednesday) was tinned produce and some fresh farm eggs which Justin had bought in for us.

I searched for more items and found some flour in the cupboard so was able to bake some bread, I also found a frozen portion of beef fillet at the bottom of the freezer along with 2 chicken breasts. That would do us for a couple of nights, and I had a tin of tomatoes which could be used to make a pasta sauce for another. I also had some tinned peas and beans on my pantry shelf, so we had ‘vegetables’ at least, and thank goodness I still had around 4 litres of ‘long life’ milk on the shelf. (Phew – I couldn’t survive without my endless daily cups of tea !)

The things that we were really in need of though, were fresh fruit and vegetables. My vegetable garden is also looking pretty miserable at the moment, but I did find some nice red lettuce which I was able to pick (& thought that I could make a salad with it by adding pickled onions and gherkins !).

Then late on Sunday afternoon, I heard a knock at the door and Justin was standing there with a big bowl of juicy red tomatoes for me “A zawadi (gift), Mama” he said “from my girlfriend’s garden …. she has a lot of tomatoes right now, and she wants to give you these”. I was touched by her kindness and a few hours later at nightfall, Justin was back again. This time with a sack over his shoulder which contained potatoes, onions and carrots “Mama - the people on the farm have heard you are back and I told them that you do not have any vegetables, so here is a gift from some of them for you”. Again, I was touched by their kindness.

The next day Simon, our personal askari (guard) came to the door with a battered cardboard box in his hands – in it were 2 small pumpkins & some lovely sweet potatoes. “Welcome home, Mama” he said as he pushed the box into my arms “I thought you would like to have these, from my very own garden – I picked them this morning”.

Wow. I was touched – and humbled – by the generosity of all these wonderful people. My husband’s workers, their families and our own staff had just come together, seen what we’d needed – and provided it. Gladly - as a gift. These are people who have very little, very little indeed – and yet they never falter to give, never hesitate to help out … even to people who have much more than them.

This is the spirit of the Tanzanian people. It is things like this which make us proud to call Tanzania our home. Although not the country of our birth, you can see why Tanzania is most definitely …. the country of our hearts.

Sally Worms ..... & Memories of War

My sister, Bobby (the first beloved dog I ever had) & I as children in '70's Rhodesia. Ours was a carefree childhood - despite the ugly war raging around us at the time.

My daughter came to me this morning, as she has been doing each morning since we arrived in Johannesburg, and asked me once again “Mummy, is Daddy coming today ?”. My answer, once again was “No, sweetheart, but he will be here soon. Next week. I promise. Not long to go now !”

My Mum and I decided to make her a “Sally Worm” to help her count down the days until my husband joins us. I’m not sure if you’re familiar with a “Sally Worm” but it is basically a “count down” worm cut out of cardboard and stuck onto a wall with each round segment of the worm’s body representing a day and then each day the child removes a segment of the worm, to count down to the special day. This makes it easier – especially to a 3 year old – to understand the concept of time and phrases like “next week”.

Anyway, making a Sally Worm this morning took me back to my own childhood, when my Mum used to make Sally Worms with my sister and I. The Sally Worms of my childhood were also made to count down special days – the number of days until we went on holiday, or the number of days until our birthdays, or the number of days until my father came home. Or should I say, the number of days until my father came back from fighting in the Rhodesian bush war. Counting down the number of days that he would - pray God - come home alive. Or if he would even come home at all.

Only I was a child, and I never knew exactly what Daddy did when he disappeared for weeks or months on end to “the bush”. It was not in my realm of comprehension as a child, that he may never, ever come back again. My Mum made it out to my sister and I, to be one big adventure, and we were never afraid. In ‘70’s Rhodesia (present day Zimbabwe), everyone’s Daddy was “in the bush” and no one had their father’s present on special days like school functions or birthday parties … because all the women and children were alone at home and all the Daddy’s were off “in the bush”. It was a natural part of life for us as children. As was sleeping in Mummy and Daddy’s big double bed with Mummy when Daddy was away “in the bush”. With me on one side, my sister on the other – and a revolver underneath my mother’s pillow. Which we knew that we must never, ever, touch.

I don’t know why all these memories are being stirred up for me now … a lot of it has to do with the fact that I am back with my parents at the moment, which always brings childhood memories flooding back to me. Even more of it , I suspect, has to do with what is happening in my country right now. The country of my birth, Zimbabwe .. just over the border from South Africa, closer to me than when I am in my adopted country of Tanzania. I look into the eyes of Zimbabweans everyday here. Whereas in Tanzania, I never do. They are on most street corners here in Johannesburg, they are in almost every shop. Zimbabwe seems very, very, close right now. Closer than before. (Goodness, it has even made the international news !)

I think back to the days when my father would return from “the bush” in his army fatigues. Dropped off by an army truck at the bottom of our driveway, carrying a filthy knapsack over his shoulder ….. unshaven, dirty - a stranger to us. But even then, even though I never knew exactly what went on in “the bush” I was proud of him. Very proud. My father, born and bred in England, fighting for this little piece of Africa – not even the Continent of his birth, yet prepared to die for it. As he says now, when seeing the turmoil Zimbabwe is in at the moment “Was it all in vain ? All that bloodshed, all that loss ?”

All I can say, is that I thank God that he spared my father. Just as now, I thank God as each morning when I go to remove another segment of the Sally Worm with my daughter that I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that when we remove the last segment, my husband will be here. Which is more than my mother could say to me as a child all those years ago. Which is more than many mothers living in war torn countries around the world can say to their children today. And for that, I am very grateful. Very grateful indeed.

Poverty

Many people live without running water or electricity in remote, dusty villages. Many more subsist on a dollar (or less) a day.

Several years ago when my husband & I were still running safari camps here in Tanzania (we were not yet married then), he took one of our overseas guests and her son to our camp airstrip for their flight out after their 3 day stay with us & just as this lady was about to board the ‘plane, she turned to my husband and said “I don’t know how you can live in a country like this. Amongst all this poverty, disease and filth. I don’t know how you can expect, or even want, your fiancée to live with you like this either”. My husband was gob smacked ….. speechless …. and insulted. (I’m not even sure exactly what he said to her !)

Just after I had my daughter, one of my family members asked me something along the lines of “What are you going to do when she gets older and sees all this poverty around her ? What are you going to say to her ? How do you explain that to a child ?” I had never thought about it before, I had never considered it to be a problem – my answer was a defensive one, but it did get me thinking …

I was born in Africa and I have grown up seeing poverty around me my whole life. I know that there is poverty in some form everywhere in the world, but I think that the difference here is that none of it is hidden. The poverty here is on every street corner … along every road you drive … in the eyes of most people you look into each day. Africa thrusts poverty in your face and forces you to breathe it in. She never lets you forget it. She will not let you look the other way.

Have I learnt to accept and live with the poverty ? Yes, I have. As harsh as that sounds. But I have not become resilient to it. At least I hope I haven’t. There is little I alone can do to solve the poverty problem in this country as a whole (which, I must just add, is not as bad as the poverty in many other African countries), but there is a lot I can do to solve the immediate poverty around me. Which is what I (we) try to do … by helping our staff and their immediate families financially, by supporting as many people here as we can, by improving the living conditions of people on the farm, by supplying water points for local villagers to come and get water from, by letting people bring their livestock in to graze on portions of the farm during times of drought … and by teaching my daughter, even as young as she is, that she is lucky to have what she has and that because she has so much, she can help those who have so little.

Is this a harsh lesson for a 3 1/2 year old to learn ? Is this one I should even be teaching her at this age ? Yes, I think that it is. Because I am (gently and age appropriately) teaching her compassion for her fellow man, courage to face the not-so-nice things in life head on and gratefulness for what she has. What’s that old saying again ? “If you know better, you do better”. It’s a harsh world out there and by sheltering her from the truth (especially a truth so blatant) I feel that I will only be harming her in the long run.

I’m proud to be an African, and I want her to grow up being proud that she is, too. Warts and all, this is Africa - our Africa and these, too, are our problems. Problems that need to be solved.... and there’s no denying that.

Reuters online published this post on 27th June '08. Click here if you'd like to see it.

Food For Thought

Lone beetle on Hydrangea flower

"I am only one,

But still I am one.

I cannot do everything,

But still I can do something.

And because I cannot do everything,

I will not refuse to do the something that I can do."

Edward Everett Hale

I love this quote. I want to have it tattooed on to my forehead, written on my car, pulled through the sky on a huge banner behind an aeroplane for all the world to read. I want to teach it to all the children in the world, make them really understand it and want to live it – and then, maybe, this world we live in would slowly start to change.

I wish that the media would concentrate more on profound quotes like this, than on frivolous things like the latest celebrity diet/divorce/drug overdose.

I, for one, am sick of reading about celebrities dying of drug overdoses who are made out to be some sort of hero’s and become more famous in death than in life, because of it. What sort of message is this sending out to our youth, anyway ? These death’s are tragic, yes – but when you live on a continent where poverty, hunger and disease surround you every day … where people fight just to survive another day without death caused by famine, disease or war, where children go to bed hungry at night and some parents are forced to give them leaves to eat as they have nothing else ….. it just seems so …. so …. POINTLESS reading about some person dying because they chose to spend large amounts of money snorting foreign substances up their noses and injecting goodness knows what into their well fed bodies.

Anyway, back to the profound quote above - don’t ever think that because you are only one person, or because you don’t have a lot to give, that you can’t make a difference. If the whole world felt this way, nothing would ever be accomplished.

It only takes one small thing to make a difference in someone’s life. Just one small thing. It doesn’t have to be money, or even much time. You’ll know what it is when the time comes – you’ll just know what you need to do. Or maybe, you already do ?

So, next time you are faced with that ‘one small thing’ … don’t turn away. Help if you can. It may be something as simple as putting a few coins in a tin. It may be as simple as writing a note to tell someone you’re there for them if they need you. But it WILL make a difference. Trust me.

I don’t know why I felt compelled to blog about this today, I don’t want my blog to be all “preachy” but I just wanted to put my thoughts down and share this lovely quote with you. Thanks to my friend Jackie in Egypt for bringing this lovely quote (and the works of Edward Everett Hale) to my attention. I think that from now on, I’m going to make it one of my motto’s in life …..

It's Raining Today In Africa ...

Viewed from our veranda - the rain pouring down over the garden & newly planted lawn

Africa is a Continent of contrasts. Feast or famine, drought or flood. There is rarely any middle ground when it comes to Africa – it is all, or nothing. Africa gives abundantly. She also takes away.

I have watched Africa on her knees as her arid, cracked plains cried out for rain and ancient trees withered around her, casting little shade on the animals below, who lay dying and gasping for water.

I have also watched Africa swell and rise as water has flooded her plains and filled her rivers and lakes to the point of bursting, and animals have grown sleek and flat, and up and down her lush green valley’s and mountains people have rejoiced and thrown their hands in the air with glee.

As a farmer’s wife, it is considered “bad luck” for me to complain about “too much” rain. As an African, I also know that rain is the life blood of this Continent, so I really should be grateful when it comes. Even when there is a little too much of it for my liking. Even when the roads are so muddy and slippery we are completely cut off from the outside world. Even when the stray village dogs I feed have to take cover in the flowerbeds as they wait for their supper. Even when I have just planted hundred’s of flower seeds (carefully carried home across Africa) and fear they will all be washed away and wasted.

But I won’t complain, because knowing Africa, next year there will be a drought.

I also won’t complain, because Africa is my home and I want for no other.

Africa’s life blood is water. My life blood is Africa.

So.

Let it rain on .................