Joys, Traumas, and The Moment

Life is so precious. So unpredictable and fragile.

On top of a mountain - overwhelming happiness. Joyous reunions.

At the bottom - tragedy. Young lives taken too soon. Children left without a mother.

What dictates these incidents?

What cruel twists of luck and fate bring familiar faces together in joy, yet also tear lives apart.

Simultaneously, I was reunited with an old professor and classmates at a beautiful mountain lodge, while just below us others desperately sifted through the wreckage of a minibus accident, trying to save the lives of those whose paths brought them to this point of disaster.


How do we proceed in the face of the uncertainty of our fates?

I suppose we accept life’s fragility and determine to live in a state of carpe diem. We accept that we cannot control what may happen tomorrow, but that we can choose how we will live now - how we will spend these precious moments we are given.

School time now.
Enjoy it. Make it count. :)

More Cooking Catastrophes...

May 23^rd
 Here is a translation of the conversation that took place between Mama (our landlady) and I last night over the cooking fire (which I had finally lit on my own, with only ONE match I might add!!).

Mama: You are cooking nsima?”

Me: “Yes! (proudly…) Cassava nsima!”

Ma: “You know how?”

Me: “Well… I have seen it done a few times!”

Ma: “Hmmm…. Where is your relish?”

Me: (Excited now!) “Oh, I am eating beans!” (At this point I proudly hand over the freshly opened, massively overpriced, can of Heinz baked beans I had found at the shops).

Ma: (eyes narrowed , pointing the beam of my flashlight into the can, dips in her finger and grimaces as she tastes the delightful canned wonder.) “You want fish. I will be back. Don’t touch that.” (points to gently simmering water for nsima).


A few minutes later, positive the water was ready for more flour to be added, I decided to get started, despite her warning. Shortly afterwards, Mama returned with a beautiful piece of fish and sauce, to find me crouched with the pot between my feet, desperately trying to stir my pile of mush into something edible.

Mama took a scoop between her fingers, tasted it, and said simply, “Bad sima”, as she tossed the pot aside.

“It’s ok, I can eat it anyways,” I pleaded, desperate not to waste the cassava flour that my blistered fingers had so enthusiastically pounded with mortar and pestle.

“Nope. Bad sima,” Mama repeated, shaking her head as she put on new water to boil.

“Maybe the dog can have it for supper?”, I suggested, as a last attempt to save my doomed blob of ‘supper‘.

Mama turned to me with a raised eyebrow and a pitying look as she replied. “The dog can eat at my house….”


And there you have it.
My cooking is not even fit for a village dog.

(Please bear this in mind when I invite you for supper one day, and have a back up meal waiting for you at home!)

Moment of the Week

Receiving June 4^th’s TIME magazine. On June 2^nd. In Malawi.

Thanks Mr. and Mrs. Cohen! :)

Glimpses of Life as it should be

Please excuse my absence… again! Life is just so full and wonderful and busy at the moment! :)

So as an update, I am still in the village, though I will be moving out next month, and I am missing it already! L It has been so wonderful staying with J., listening to country jams as we cook in the garden… (Oh, did I say as we cook? I meant as she cooks! My cooking is not something I would subject anyone else to, so I mostly stick to chopping! Haha)

As a summary of my time in J’s adorable little place, here are some photos and notes I have been jotting down over the last week:

June 3^rd -morning

Today the magic is once again apparent.

Waking to a morning cold enough to snuggle up with a jumper.

Sharing the spoils of visitors - John Mayer and Ferrero Rocher over a breakfast of beans reheated on the fire (which I lit), while the dog blissfully chews a charred goat’s hoof from last night’s slaughter.

Coffee filtered through some old, gray, crotch-less leggings.

Getting stuck upside down with my hair tangled round the tap and my face an inch from the surface of the soapy water during my bi-weekly hair wash.

Chasing a chicken out of the garden with my dripping hair still foamy and dangling in a bucket in front of my face.

Being caught by our guests while telling off said chicken as it scurried out the gate.


Pah hahahah
The simple, daily things that bring me joy…. :)

My cozy and beautiful room :)

June 3^rd - later
I feel my heart may just burst with happiness.
This is it. All there is.
Forget the bigger life questions. Let the world’s problems fade. Lose yourself in the moment.
The perfection of children.
That is where the future lies. Forget the rest.

S. in the hammock in pink sunglasses.
M. swinging happily while we try tickling her toes.
Why is it called a “bean bag?” Oh. Cause its full of beans!


Who needs a private garden when surprise intrusions such as this bring such joy and relief?

The nightly performance of the sun going to sleep

June 4^th
So, it hit me again, the hilarity of this life, as I crouched over the charcoal burner, blowing on the beginnings of a glow,, as I tucked my cell phone under my ear to set up a meeting for tomorrow afternoon.

How did I end up in the wonderful position of teaching, applying for Masters, fundraising, AND chopping my vegetables by candle, squatting in the garden to pee, and heating water over charcoal so I can take a cup shower under the stars?

June 6^th
“All I need, All all I need, all alllll I neeeeed, is you smiling at me….”

I will miss it here SO much! I am savouring every quiet, simple morning - sweeping leaves out of the kitchen and shower area with our brush broom, emptying last nights ashes in the compost, and watering the garden with the old school tin watering can. Then wandering along the path to work under a pink morning sky.

I know, I know, I am white and I have a salary. I should, therefore, be living in a house, paying staff to do these things for me. And yes, all things seem sweeter when there is a definite finish date. But… what if… I like it? What if I find it relaxing to wake to an active routine rather than a sleepy cup of coffee? (That comes later, at work… hehe).

What if I love sweeping the sand, my rhythm in time with that of the morning song going on around me - the simultaneous sweeping, scrubbing, water splashing, and crunch of feet on sand that let me know the world is waking.

I am so ungrateful...