I'm off to Africa - again!!

Ethiopian Restaurant, Kampala, Uganda

Jubilation! I depart from an extended ministry trip to Africa at the end of next week! This blog is intended to be mainly a record of my trips so I am delighted to be facing new experiences - there to be lived, enjoyed, suffered, endured and later relished.

All my plans are in place, the money paid, the teaching material written, the donations allocated. I have two new ventures this time. I will share aspects of discipleship with the Living Hope Ladies in Gulu, Uganda, many who have been traumatised through war. I have been to Gulu, but this will be the first time I've worked with Watoto. What a privilege.

My second 'new thing' will be in travelling to Kenya. Just the name evokes wonderful imagery, stories read long ago and movies from my childhood like "Where No Vultures Fly" and "Snows of Kilimanjaro". Definitely the 'olden days'!

The Ethiopian Restaurant in my photo was bombed recently - on the day of the World Cup Soccer final. Many innocent people were sitting nearby on rows of chairs outside watching the last few minutes of the game on a giant screen when the bomb went off, killing over 70 people (I think). Uganda has been through so much. What hate-filled people they must be, to do such a wicked thing?!

My Mercedes is not for Sale

I have been reading this book about Dutchman, Jeroen Van Bergeijk's trip from the Nederlands through North Africa. It's not really a girlie book, but he does make this interesting observation which is worth sharing (see My Mercedes is not for Sale, UK: Broadway Books, 2008, 78). To one who travels to Africa quite frequently, I found it thought-provoking.

“Things in Africa come in two forms: broken or almost broken. Whether it’s the power plant or the water supply, the Internet café’s computers or the city buses, the sewage system or the airport runway—seldom does anything in Africa work like it’s supposed to work. The art of motorcycle maintenance? The art of any maintenance whatsoever is a completely unknown concept here. It’s not that all Africans are groovy that they re romantic thinkers, that they’ve not read Pirsig. No, the philosophy here is of a whole other order; the general attitude toward life is that of inshallah—God willing. If its Allah’s will that my cab fall apart, then that’ll happen whether I maintain it well or not. So why should I care whether my brakes are in order and whether the tires still have sufficient tread if it’s ultimately Allah who runs the show? But I don’t really believe that religion is the true cause. I think you have to look for the explanation in the fact that in Africa the future does not exist. Each new day is a struggle for life-even apart from wars and famines. A great many Africans don’t know in the morning if they’ll be able to eat come evening, so why would they think of tomorrow? Why would they look any further than next week if they don t even know if they’ll still be alive tomorrow?

One might object that poor maintenance in Africa is a consequence not of religion or a lack of a concept of the future but simply of too little money. Maintenance would come of its own accord if we, the wealthy Western nations, would just make sufficient funds available. Of course, the problem is, in part, a matter of money. If you have to choose whether to spend the few miserable cents you’ve earned today on food or on an oil change for your cab, the choice isn’t hard. You choose for now and not for later. But is it really that simple?”

Happy Chapattis!

What IS a happy chapatti, let alone how do you make one?! A happy chapatti is one which puffs up during cooking. It is an indication that your bread will be light and fluffy and will pull apart into neat pieces which allow you to scoop up your other food easily. Yum!

I have to confess to never having tried to make chapattis, despite being a reasonable cook in other areas. Cooking with yeast is a challenge, in my book and not one I have yet taken up! But I have been paying close attention, against the day.

Once you have pulled off a ball of dough, rolled it, flattened it with the heel of your hands, you then slap it around a bit to flatten it out. Good therapy for dealing with latent aggression, I should think! Next you place your dough on a board begin rolling it to the required size.


When it's ready, flip it onto a preheated dry griddle and allow it to brown on one side.

Turn it over, taking care not to burn yourself.

If the chapatti puffs up - as shown - it is called a 'happy chapatti' and you're home and hosed!

Only thing left to do is gobble it up while it's still hot with delicious spiced veggies or curry! Sigh! Memories are made of this!

School Outing in South Africa

I have been browsing through old photo albums - the sort where there are actually pages with pictures pasted onto them and tracing paper between the leaves to keep them from sticking. Very old fashioned! But thank goodness for technology, because I was able to upload this one from a visit my family in South Africa a few years ago.

My sister Joan was teaching at a Primary School and she invited me to accompany her on one of the buses with the children on their end-of-year outing. All the little ones had backpacks overflowing with goodies to eat and drink for the day. I have vivid memories of this because we suspected one little boy of having tucked in on the bus. Just as we drew up in the parking lot of Gold Reef City (the mock 18th century mining town from Johannesburg's history) he vomited luxuriously all over himself. He was cleaned up by one of the teaching staff. How happy I was to be the visitor that day! Poor little fellow! It was the result of breakfast eaten in a hurry and the excitement of the day we discovered.

It was a lovely day, seeing the bubbling joy of the children as they raced around together. On the way home, I snapped this little tot sleeping. It had been so exciting and exhausting that he couldn't even finish his snack!

Bibles for Gulu

This is the church at Opit Refugee Centre just outside Gulu where I held a teaching seminar in 2008. They asked me to bring them Bibles if I returned. I have made it a priority and can joyfully report that money has already begun to come in for this project. I have received a significant donation which will buy 50 Bibles. There are 99 in a box, I've been told by the Bible Society, and there were 80 people present when the request was made to me.
I know the joy will bubble up in me when I have the privilege of being the messenger who delivers the Bibles! Thank you to Jesus and His people!

"I'm playing cowb's, Mum!"

I am travelling back in time now, through the foggy mists of memory. My Aunt Joan was married in 1951 at the Anglican Cathedral in what was then Salisbury, Southern Rhodesia. She had one bridesmaid, three flowergirls and two page boys. My sisters and I were the flowergirls and two cousins the page boys.
Our dresses were so cute! Full length with pointy puffed sleeves, with two belts at the waist which were fashioned into a sweet little bow over our bottoms. A coronet of flowers in our hair and a posy of fresh flowers completed the ensemble. The fabric was grainy to touch, but shiny and exotic. Mine was pale green, not milky and insipid. I thought it was gorgeous! At five years old, I was already a confirmed tomboy, so that was saying a lot! My eldest sister's was pale pink and my next oldest sister's a light blue. We were all very satisfied with the colours we'd been allocated - our favourite colours.

The wedding reception was held at the Old Forces Club, Hatfield, set amongtst huge granite boulders which held a particular allure for us children. It seems we played the ever popular 'Cowboys and Indians'. I loved that game! The dresses Mum made for me always had the tie belts and they doubled as spendid reigns if I needed to be a horse in an action piece.
At some point I found it necessary to return to my Mothers side. I was probably hungry or thirsty. It was ever thus with children. My Mother recalls the moment with clarity, for it left her aghast. The coronet and posy were long gone. The bodice of my dress was detached from the skirt and holes worn in the fabric where it had been crushed against the bounders, leaving a black residue. My Mother, who was a good dressmaker, was unable to salvage the dress. Washing never dislodged the black marks and no darning could fix the scraped holes! Looking at me in disbelief that I could have wrought so much damage in so little time, she asked "What have you been doing?!"
"I've been playing cowb's, Mum," I bubbled happily.

A Peep into Another Culture - Pakistan

Badji Shameem's Kebab Recipe
1/2 kg cooked potatoes, mashed
2 cm piece of fresh ginger, peeled and chopped
a little fresh coriander, chopped
salt and black pepper to taste
1-2 green chillies, chopped (optional)
pinch red chilli powder

Mix all ingredients together, dip in beaten egg and shallow fry in a little oil.

A peep into a village kitchen in rural Pakistan

Badji is a common word used in Pakistan usually in deference to a lady older than oneself - a sister, aunt, close friend or even a stranger. Badji Shameem is known for her excellent cooking! Enjoy!