Natural Beauty

We are getting ready for Dry Season. The ground will become a uniform brown colour, the dry leaves will fall off the trees and the lack of rain will mean little relief for eyes weary of seeing the dusty greyness that will enshroud the semi-arid Dodoma region.
However, the rains have been good this year and lasted longer than usual, meaning that there are still many beautiful wild flowers to enjoy. Last weekend, we visited a place called Kongwa, out in the "countryside", or local bush, where it was wonderful to feast my eyes on all the pretty colours of the flowers which are still in bloom.
To remind me of these fabulous natural colours of sunny Tanzania, I took plenty of pictures. Now I will be able to enjoy these flowers through the dusty dry season and will be reminded that these lovely wild flowers will bloom again next rainy season!

Pasta

My dad always used to say that the one thing worse than finding a maggot in your apple was finding half a maggot. In other words, it was too late- you had already eaten the other half of the maggot!

I felt the same way about the pasta I bought in town a couple of weeks ago. One Friday evening, I was in a rush to make dinner. I created a creamy cheese sauce and hastily emptied half a bag of pasta into another pot of boiling water. Once it had boiled, I quickly drained it and added it into the cheese sauce, a little distracted by  keeping an eye on Joel playing at my feet and whilst answering a million and one questions thrown at me by a lively and hungry Esther and Ben...With relief, I served our hungry family. We all ate happily.

 Two days later, we decided to have pasta for lunch and Andrew offered to cook it- hurray! A break for me! I was set free from the kitchen! However, it was not long before a disgruntled Andrew called me into the kitchen, where he was busy examining the other half of the bag of pasta we had tucked into on Friday. The pasta was alive- with weevils!! They were not only having a lovely time scurrying all over the pasta shells in the bag, but they had actually built little homes in each individual pasta shell - each piece had a weevil firmly embedded inside! They must have been there quite some time and were very much at home. With squeals of  disgust, Esther and I took the bag outside to the bin, whilst Andrew was busy in the kitchen having a fascinating time, dropping escaped, live weevils onto the oven hotplate and watching them pop and boil!!

We realised with dismay that we had must have eaten the other half of the weevil colony along with our cheese sauce on Friday evening! Yuk! Weevils for dinner:

I suppose at least one consolation is that they had been boiled with the pasta and were not alive when we ate them, like the ones we sometimes find in our cereal! And another consolation could be the thought that we unwittingly added a bit of protein to our diet with our dinner that evening!

Honey

Whist on the topic of shopping, I thought I would add a little word about buying honey in Dodoma...
Since living in Dodoma, I have had to get used to the idea of buying honey at the local doctor's surgery. In Tanzania, honey is considered a medicinal product, with great healing properties. Thus, when I run out of honey, I pop across the road to the doctor's surgery where he also has a "duka la dawa" (literally, a medicine shop)...

...to buy a jar of tasty, locally-produced honey!

Esther and Joel can vouch for how delicious it is:

I just hope I don't get confused on our next trip to the UK and ask for a jar of honey at the medical centre- I might get some funny looks!!

Milk

Since Joel has joined our family, I have tried to cut back on my workload by only ordering fresh cow's milk on the 3 days a week when Jane comes to our house to help me with all the domestic chores. That way, I can ask Jane to boil the milk and wash up all the bottles, milk pan and sieves which is part of the whole process of boiling our milk. A kind friend in Burscough first inspired me with this wonderful idea on our return to Tanzania last June (thanks, Mel!!) and since then, I have followed this very helpful system.
For the days when the cow's milk runs out, I use either long-life milk or we make up jugs of milk using powdered milk + filtered water. These are both 3 times as expensive as fresh milk, but I consider it a worthwhile investment in terms of time gained to spend with the children, as well as freeing me up for the other home-based jobs.
It is not a fool-proof system though! Last weekend, the 6-pack of long-life milk I had bought in town and lugged home turned out to be a disappointment, ruining our afternoon cuppa with its unpleasant texture and nasty lumps:

It just so happened that these cups of tea were destined for Claire and Esther's teacher, Debbie, who had joined us for Sunday lunch- not a very nice drink to offer our guests! (Big apologies to Claire and Debbie!). I never knew that long-life milk could turn bad, especially when there were still 4 months until its expiry date and when it is from a well-trusted South African brand!

I took the 6-pack back to the shop in town where I had purchased it. I was really happy when the kind shop-lady took it back and agreed to replace it with a large tin of powdered milk for the same value.
This morning, my cuppa with a spoonful of powdered milk was delicious, with nothing suspicious to put me off! (So "karibuni" Claire and Debbie- we promise to give you a nice cup of tea on your next visit!)

Fairy Liquid

Shopping in Dodoma can be a bit random. One week I can find all kinds of goodies. The next week, the shelves can be rather bare; I come home from the shops without finding many of the items on my shopping list. Some weeks, there is no cheese. Or perhaps no sausages or bacon. For months, it was impossible to find yoghurt, not even even a small pot as a starter to make our home-made yoghurt.
An important shopping list item is washing-up liquid. Back in England, my preferred choice has always been Fairy Liquid, so I was delighted when bottles of it appeared a few months ago on the shelves of the Indian food stores where I do my shopping! I bought a bottle and went home excited that I could now do dishes with quality Fairy Liquid!
However, my excitement was short-lived. Once that precious bottle of bubbles ran out, I went back to Dodoma town in search of a second bottle- but in vain- so when we went to Dar es Salaam in March, Fairy Liquid was high on my shopping list at the big Dar supermarkets. I bought 2 bottles and stored them carefully away in our cupboard on returning to our house.
Back home, I was surprised and pleased to discover more Fairy Liquid on the shelf of Dodoma's "2 Sisters" store! I thought perhaps I had better buy another bottle, just to add to my stock, in case it runs out again.
The following week, the same thing happened and I subconsciously picked up another bottle...It seems that I have now become automatically programmed in Dodoma so that when I see something I like, I quickly stock-up, just in case we don't see that product again for many months.
But I surprised even myself last week when I added one more bottle to my growing supplies... maybe I got a little carried away this time??

Poverty

When you live in one of the word's poorest countries, sometimes the poverty we see around us on a daily basis can unfortunately start to seem commonplace.
Occasionally, though, something happens that reminds me just where we live and what poverty can mean.

I have just returned from picking up Ben and 3 other little MAF children from school. On the way home, I stopped in the town centre briefly in order to buy some "daggar"- dried fish (cat food for Moshi!). A man on crutches, dressed head to toe in black, ragged clothes caught my attention as I stopped the car. I could not see his face, but his movements were strained and awkward. He seemed to be struggling as he hobbled along and then I realised that he was lowering himself gingerly onto the floor in the street in front of my car, next to the large, filthy puddle which was spilling out from the roadside shops and stalls.
I got out of the car, jumped onto a wooden board placed in the middle of the puddle and took another jump to land on dry ground by the food stall. I glanced over at the crippled man, who was now on the floor, supporting himself with his hands behind him, when, to my horror, I realised that he was defecating right there in front of us, right next to the puddle in the street. I took another look, as I could not quite believe my eyes and was equally horrified to see the green mass he had left behind on the tarmac. Not a healthy sign. I felt somewhat queasy because of what had been deposited in front of my car but also terribly, terribly sad that a person could be reduced to such terrible need that he had to squat down in the middle of a street in order to relieve himself.
He looked unwell and it took him several minutes to get himself back upright in a standing position with his crutches propped precariously under the rags hanging from his armpits. During this time, I was waiting for my daggar to be weighed on the scales, squashed into a small, black plastic bag and then I had to find the change I needed to pay.
When I hopped over the puddle again and climbed back into the driver's seat, the man was painfully making his way up the street. The 4 children in my car were oblivious what had just occurred but were happy to watch when I drove over to the side of the street to offer the man a packet of biscuits. He turned around as I called to him from the car window.  I looked into the face of an old man who seemed fully aware, but worn down with pain- and perhaps with the loneliness of coping by himself on those rickety crutches without anyone to assist. However, his face lit up as he reached out for his biscuits- with hands that were locked into a claw position, the fingers all folded into themselves so that he could not straighten them. It was a heart-rending moment: that a person could be so thrilled by a small packet of biscuits; that he could give me such a beaming smile through all of the suffering he must endure.
 I felt like a fraud- to give such inadequate help in a country of so much need... Sometimes I am reminded of where I live. Sometimes I am reminded of just how aware I should be of the thousands of blessings I have had- and have- in my sheltered life.