"Miata Basa" Week

I've been saying "miata basa" all week.

Miata basa (pronounced my-tah bah-sah) is one of the most useful Shona words I have in my vocabulary.  It thanks a person and acknowledges with gratitude, "You have done work for me."  And oh, have people done work for me this week.... 

We've had some exhausting weeks here, but we are on the tail end of a doozy.  

Wednesday: Dead car battery.  Friend Karyn comes with cables for a jump.  I am nervous- no idea how to even open the hood of this borrowed car- but as Karyn just jumped her husband's car that very morning (welcome to the African auto industry), she is ready and able. Miata basa, Karyn!

Thursday morning: Our security alarm has been broken since, well... basically since we got here.  It's not that it doesn't work well enough.  It's that it works too well... our alarm has been going off in the middle of the night at least twice a month due to a creepy false alarm indicating the movement of the interior side of our bedroom windows while we sleep.  But over the past few weeks it has increased to going off every night at least once between 12 and 3 am.  (Awesome with a three year old.) After 7 or 8 times of having the repair team attend to this issue, the housing manager switches companies and brings in someone new to deal with our mystery. They spend almost six hours working on it, and finally "finish" everything Thursday morning.  Miata basa, security guys!

Thursday afternoon: We have a new hot water heater (here they are called "geysers") then installed in our home.  (And by "new" I mean a dented thing that fell off the truck twice in America before being sent to Africa for safe keeping.)  We waited seven months for this lovely new piece of high-tech wonder, which heats half of our home's water.  

(Quick infrastructure lesson:  Water, filtered by mother nature herself, is pumped cold out of the ground from a thing called our "borehole" -when we have electricity, that is- and goes straight to our tap or to one of our two geysers, both of which are located above the house in the attic.  Gravity is used to create water pressure -terrible, terrible water pressure- to then send the hot water down to sinks, tubs, etc.)  So yes.  Our hot water heater needs to be carried 15 feet off the ground... 

Here two handy-men and our gardener open up our roof, done by removing cement tiles.

Next our rafters are sawed through to provide an opening for the old geyser to be removed and the "new" one to be installed. 

Here comes the old geyser, being removed from the attic.  This is not a light piece of equipment... especially with all of that rust and lead paint in it.

I love how the guy on top thinks his tiny piece of dental floss will catch the geyser if it falls!  Two hands, buddy.

This is no small task.  Kudos to any man who can carry a hot water heater on his head down a ladder.

Miata basa, strong workmen!

Thursday evening: We cannot find Jonas' beloved baseball hat anywhere. Searching for it, a quick trip to the grocery store, and an unsuccessful run to the petrol station (they are out of the diesel we need) fill all of our time before Kurt arrives home just in time for dinner after his ball practice. Kurt plays with Jonas all evening while I cook.  Miata basa, Kurt!

Thursday night:  It is close to midnight.  I have just completed two loads of laundry, and cooking four lasagnas, thirty cupcakes, and a large basketball cake for tomorrow's basketball awards dinner for Kurt's team.  I have convinced husband Kurt to stay up late doing dishes after putting Jonas to bed.  It is around this time that we realize the new geyser in the attic, running all evening for laundry and dishes, has been raining down water through the ceilings into the rooms below.  We then empty out two closets and a bathroom, trying to keep dry ourselves and praying the crumbling, sopping brown ceiling does not cave in on us.  It continues to "rain" in our house all night long.  Miata basa, Kurt!

Friday morning: The security team calls to see how the alarm works.  You have to explain that because of water flowing through the alarm panel, you could not even turn it on, let alone run it for the night.  You apologize and promise to let them know if you can turn it back on when it eventually is emptied of water. Our gardener Shoman cleans up from the flooding while a new plumber comes at 7 am.  Dressed in a suit and tie, he was clearly not expecting the school's emergency call. But thankfully, he rolls up his sleeves, and gets to work with two others for over three hours.  When he arrives, he calls it a "disaster," but by the time he finishes he was calls it... well... "still a disaster."  We are now waiting for everything to dry before the ceiling work begins next week.  Miata basa, Shoman and plumber!

Friday afternoon: Jonas and I are in our borrowed car on the way to the petrol station when it literally dies on the middle of an intersection half-way between our house and school.  The sun is beating down, I have no stroller, we have three large bags with us, and we are in a hurry.  I call friend Karyn again.  Though she is in the middle of teaching a class of pre-schoolers, without hesitation she jumps in her car to pick us up.  As we drive to the school, she reminds me that the car cannnot be left for more than a few minutes. It will be dismantled from the tires up if we do not get back to it immediately, and most likely phone calls had already been made to summon people to the intersection.  I interrupt Kurt's class (which I have never done before) and explain in a whisper.

Kurt runs around school for a few minutes while Jonas begs for lunch.  Kurt comes back with keys from a wonderful co-worker named Al, and we hop in his car to get back to the intersection.  As we drive, we chatter about how to transport the four lasagnas, thirty cupcakes, and one basketball cake to the party that night with no working vehicle.  Meanwhile we have no idea what to do with a car in the middle of an intersection if our one option does not work... We decide to get more gas.  Quintessential Zim car: the dashboard lights are nonfunctional, and without a gas gage, we have no idea how much diesel is in this borrowed piece of tin.

Kurt drops Jonas and I back off at the car, where we eat our sandwiches while Kurt drives home to get a jerry-can to fill with diesel.  Jonas and I watch while six men with tools in hand walk up the street eyeing the car.  When they realized we are in it, doors open and on the phone, they turn at the intersection and walk away.  Kurt returns, fills the car with diesel, and voila.  It works once again!  Kurt rushes back to school in Al's car, and Jonas and I rush to the petrol station for a real fill-up. Miata basa, Al, Karyn, and Kurt!

 

Friday evening: After spending the rest of the afternoon decorating the cake and cupcakes, Jonas and I rush to an after-school party at our friends' (the Mullens') house.  After a half hour, we rush back home and pick up food. We drive to our other friend's house to pop lasagnas in his oven for the basketball dinner, then drive to school to drop the car to Kurt.  We ride with "other friend" -also known as "Jon"- to his house, finish cooking food, and then enjoy the party when Kurt arrives with twenty-some high school basketball players.  After the party, we clean up, bid Jon goodbye, and head back to party #1 for another appearance. Miata basa, Jon!

Saturday morning: After turning the house upside down for days we find Jonas' missing hat outside in his stroller. Basketball tournament to finish off the season.  By this point I'm too tired to even describe.  We sit down back at home for lunch and sigh.  We have just survived our week.  Miata basa, God!

Ubuntu

American friends have asked me recently why Kurt and I have had so much bad luck in Africa.

We haven't.

And I'm not just saying that.  Everything that has happened to us here is part of normal life in a more challenged country.

-The car accident.  (Unsafe roads, unsafe cars, few laws, and little traffic enforcement = huge, huge cause of death and serious injury here.)

-The visa issues. (Bureaucracy is like rolling a dice when most individuals in the system make up their own rules and expect bribes.)

-The falling-apart newly renovated house. (Challenging getting quality equipment and tools here, as well as an educated laborer familiar with actual repair techniques.)

-The theft of our shipping container.  (Absolutely not shocking when there are millions of needy people, all with different values and ways of supporting extended families.)

-The car problems. (Here a new car costs its price + a 100% tax.  Therefore, the used car market is more successful here than anywhere in the world- cars are used and worn out exhaustively while being held together with tape and mold- no inspection requirements!)

-Electrocution. (I am the seventh person from my social circle- it's almost like joining a club!)

Bad luck in Africa is not bad luck at all.  It is normal life.  And it's the reason that human beings are so important to each other.  In challenging environments like our country, having good friends and helpful strangers makes life possible.  This love for valuing others is called the spirit of Ubuntu. "Ubuntu" -"I am what I am because of who we all are"- comes from the South African Zulu and Xhosa tribes. It is a word that describes a traditional African belief that there is a universal bond of sharing that connects all people. Valuing ubuntu means carrying a spirit of humanity toward others. And in a continent that is gritty, raw, and real, being surrounded by ubuntu means everything.

We have indeed had our challenges here.  But we are constantly helped by loving individuals who get us right back on our feet for the next adventure this tough continent throws our way.  And that is anything but bad luck.

Random Pieces of Learning

I had a meaningful conversation just this morning with a local friend regarding the subject of excuses. Businesses here are obsessed with the excuse, almost to the point of loving having a reason to not get things done...

"Sorry. Couldn't answer your email.  The power was out."

"Sorry. Can't come today.  Flat tire from a pothole."

"Sorry.  We got tired of restocking shelves, so we're not selling anything that people buy too quickly."

"Sorry. We are closed today because we are not open." (Seriously-just saw that sign on the door of a pharmacy yesterday.)

Very normal.

So here is my excuse.  I was electrocuted this afternoon.

Very abnormal. 

But seriously.  I was electrocuted this afternoon.  (Picture Timmy on Jurassic Park, minus the blood coming out of his ears.) And while I sit here giving our security fence the stink-eye, grateful it wasn't our three-year old or my right arm, I am thinking I’d like to say that this excuses me from producing a quality blog today.  I have such a hard time writing this blog on a normal day, let alone ones in which high voltage has gone through my brain.

Don't get me wrong; I love writing this blog on most days.  But I find myself tiptoeing on Well It's Africa much of the time, which makes it difficult. I am constantly challenged to communicate our experiences without stepping over the line of what is allowable for me to say while we're at the whim of our host country.  And I still feel ignorant, which just won't do when I am attempting to be as accurate as possible without making generalizations.  I avoid the subjects I feel too ignorant to speak upon; but after posting even simple thoughts on Well It's Africa, I still go to bed nervous that I've said too much. I learn what Africa means every day in some new way, and recognize I am moving forward.  But it's slow. 

In the meantime, despite my list of excuses, please be entertained with silly fluffy things, like observations about big spiders and fascinating bird beaks, as well as some of the harder subjects I skim, but wish I could expand upon more, like the complexities of being an affluent white American girl in a culture that is… different.  

Here are some more random pieces of learning, while I recover from my "shocking" afternoon:

-Speaking of fences, metal and plastic objects are often used on fences around game parks and farms to keep wildlife from walking or stampeding into them. 

-B.Y.O.V. ... Never assume how anything is done here.  Two weeks ago I made an appointment at the doctor's office, where Kurt and I were to get the final dose of our Hep A vaccination, right on schedule.  Except that after sitting in the waiting room for a while, one important detail was clarified.  We were supposed to bring the vaccinations.  Doctor's offices do not keep vaccinations because of power outages.  You buy them at a pharmacy first, then take them to a doctor to inject. I missed that one.

 

-Pudding is a funny thing in Africa... When the hostess at a Christmas Eve party we attended went inside to "get the pudding," I was surprised to watch her return with brownies, cake, cookies, and well, more cake. (They love their cake in this country!)  "Pudding" is a term that can be used to describe any assortment of desserts.  Pictured above is what you get if you specifically order a dish of "pudding" in a restaurant... cake covered in a sweet sauce.  Jonas is having to re-adjust his definitions...

-You can get ice cream in Africa.  In fact, a local market here even sells Haagen-Dazs… only $17 for a small container. Other prices for luxuries: 
Small package of diapers- $25
Container of make-up foundation- $35
Small bottle of sunscreen- $30-$40
Container of contact solution- $30

 

-Life does not stop for child-care. Here are how almost all Shona babies are carried in our country: wrapped in a bath towel, legs stretched around the back of their caregiver.  One can tell if a woman is slightly wealthier, because she will be wearing a towel that matches her clothes.  It does not matter if it is over 100 degrees; babies are bundled to their chins in these for hours a day, sleeping with their heads hung sideways, lulled by the motions of their carrier.  It is cute, but it results in many bow-legged Shona babies who get little time running around.

White Man's Mazhanje

Painful.

The other night I dropped one of my most prized possessions besides my child...

I watched a glass jar- my last glass jar- of mazhanje slip out of my hands and smash into tiny shards on my counter, floor, and three-year old.  Had we not had good friends over for dinner at the time, I probably would have laid on the floor sobbing before making a ridiculously desperate attempt to wash the shards off of the mahzanje to salvage my tainted treasure.

Sigh.  No more mazhanje until next year.

We have one mazhanje (pronounce mah-shaun-jay) tree in our yard.  But unlike most of the native mazhanjes growing in our country, we somehow have a unique foreign variety also known as "white man's mazhanje," or "white sapote," usually found in Latin America.  The fruit, whose taste has been likened to a creamy custard with hints of banana, vanilla, pineapple, and caramel, is an ugly duckling for sure.

We harvested this difficult fruit towards the end of December much to my disgust.  I drug my feet all the way, rolling my eyes as my husband and child braved the fly ridden tree and ground to pick up what appeared to be a nasty mushy mess of rotten fruit in the name of "an African experience."

I'm so glad they did.

After some difficult research online, we learned that the fruit is eaten when it's softer than a marshmallow and stickier than a melted one. What appeared to be rotten fruit was actually right on schedule... as tasty as ever.

 The white sapote tree is a mess in every sense.  Hung with what must be several hundred fruit pieces about the size of a medium apple, the weight caused numerous branches to split and fall throughout our summer. Pictured above, a sapote branch leans on a mango tree growing beneath it.

 Disgusting.  The tree drops hundreds of mazhanje on the ground over the course of a month.  These brittle fruit pieces smash on the ground below, attracting thousands of flies, wasps, and honey bees.  The ground becomes laden with a creamy, pudding-like coating if it is not constantly raked.  We'll need to get a tree sitter if we go away for the holidays next year!  Talk about high maintenance. Can you see why I wanted nothing to do with this apparently rotten fruit?!

 Here Jonas and Kurt have just finished clearing a section under the tree.  We used little from the ground; we mostly gathered directly off the tree, then waited for the fruit to ripen further on the counter.   This avoided fly contamination.

 Don't be fooled by the ridiculous knife Kurt has in his hand... These brittle things can be smashed with your bare hands.  Here Kurt uses a knife as he tries to best figure out how to peel the fruit.  The skin outside of the pudding-like interior is strange, too... picture a skin about half as thick as apple skin, coated with a brittle, cracking natural wax.  We finally gave up on this knife, as things were too slippery for safety, and just settled on a butter knife.  It was used less to cut the skin and more to just separate it from the creamy interior.

 Our mazhanje had five seeds inside of each piece of fruit, configured in the shape of a star.  The seeds, considered poisonous, have narcotic properties. Colon cancer research has been giving special attention to these white sapote seeds as of late, attempting to make good use of some of the chemical properties found within.

  

 The cleaning process is an arduous one... but after a few batches we have mastered this sticky mess. First the skin is removed and placed into a bowl (a the top of the picture) for composting. Next, the round ball of mushy custard is dropped into a bowl of warm rinse water. It sinks. This gets most of the residual wax and small flecks of leftover skin off. 

 Then the fruit is held over the middle bowl. We extract five seeds, which are a variety of sizes, and compost them.  The remaining, mushy mess is the edible fruit. This edible fruit gets strained through a colander before using, to ensure that every poisonous seed is out.

 Local mazhanje is more citris-like than the sapote variety we have.  Sapote like this is most often cooked down into a syrup to be used with pancakes, smoothies, or fruit dips.  It can also be used in muffins and cakes, any baked goods that usually have a filling, or it can be used in place of mashed bananas for bread, as well.  In Latin America white sapote is also often put with liquor to produce a creamy tropical drink.

Here Kurt is cooking our mazhanje down into a delicious syrupy sauce, which we will use on meat and pancakes.   If ever you get a chance, try this amazingly strange but delectable fruit. Highly recommended.

Wanted: One Advertising Expert

I've mentioned before that if you are in the marketing industry, Africa is the place to be... This is an example of an ad I recently saw in a bathroom stall at a local restaurant. Love it.

Thanks for the pic, Nisse!

African Banana Leaves with an Indian Twist

 

It turns out that blogging about infrastructure is a real drag.  Not to mention that talking about infrastructure makes me sound like a hard-to-please pessimist judging a singing competition on TV.  So don’t misinterpret: We love love love living on this continent.  But when it comes to infrastructure, we know how good it can be from places we’ve been in the past.  And we can’t help but know how challenged the amazing people on this continent are because of a lack of it.  Frustrating.  Enough said.

I promise to talk a lot more at various times about infrastructure in the future, but after a month of discussing large frustrations, right now I’m ready for a different topic.

When I mentioned to our three year old that some people in Africa, as well as in other places, cook with banana leaves, Jonas could not contain himself.  As he does with all suddenly enthralling topics, he needed to see a U-Tube video immediately…. Easier said than done here, ahem, speaking of infrastructure…

Here are the eventual results of our exploration with Africa’s banana leaves, grown in our own back yard.

 

Banana leaves are giant, but shred very easily. Here we have chosen an already dying, already slightly shredded leaf. First we cut our pieces from the leaves, making about 9" long squares and rectangles.  My sous-chef is very good at this. (Though, don't worry, I don't let him use the cleaver in the picture above!)

We then wash the leaves.  If using the leaves right away, use very warm water to make them a bit more pliable.

These are leaves we are using in place of aluminum foil. Because the leaves are porous, we also put them inside of a baking dish.  Here we are filling our leaves with a chicken and sauce mixture. Okay, so the recipe is not African.  But the ingredients were all readily available here, and we cooked it in true African style…

We made chicken korma, an Indian dish, with our first batch of banana leaves.  My association with this amazing dish is that it is made with a gluttonous amount of deliciously unhealthy cream.  But really, there was no cream involved.  Just pureed onions and a few spoons of unsweetened yogurt gave this dish a divinely rich but healthy make-up.  Even our three year old loved it!  I highly recommend it.  It is Indian for beginners- give it a try! (recipe below)

Before and after cooking.

Banana leaves are available at Asian food stores (usually in the freezer section for a few dollars) throughout Europe and the US if you do not live in Asia or Africa.  But if you don’t have banana leaves, try the recipe in a plain glass baking dish.  You won’t get the taste of the banana leaves, but it will be entirely worth it just the same.

Cooking in banana leaves gives food a special, slightly sweet taste.  Divine.

Banana leaves are also used decoratively in cuisine.

 Here, with the help of two toothpicks, we have used them to hold fruit and couscous, a popular African carb.

Chicken Korma

3 tablespoons olive oil

3 tablespoons butter

2 large onions, chopped

6 tablespoons plain yogurt (mine were heaping)

2 tablespoons mango chutney (can be bought in a store, or instead just puree a few pieces of mango)

4 cloves garlic, minced

2 teaspoons turmeric powder

1 teaspoon chili powder  (I cut out to keep it less spicy for my little guy)

2 teaspoons garam masala

2 teaspoons salt

3 boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into small pieces

1/3 cup sliced almonds (forgot this step, still good without!)

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Lightly grease a 2 quart baking dish.
2. Heat oil and butter in a skillet over medium heat. Cook onions in oil until soft.
   
3. Place onion, yogurt, mango chutney, garlic, turmeric, chili powder, garam masala, and into the bowl of a food processor. Process into a smooth sauce; it should be about the consistency of thick cream. Add a bit of water or yogurt to thin it if needed. Spread chicken into prepared baking dish, and pour the onion sauce over the chicken. (We mixed sauce with chicken pieces, put into banana leaves, then set packages into the ungreased dish.)
   
4. Bake in preheated oven for 30 minutes, or until the chicken is cooked through. Sprinkle sliced almonds over the top, and serve with rice.