My suitcase and hand luggage are ready. Let me put it on the scale one more timeÂ… suitcase 23kg and hand luggage 6kg on the dot. It is filled with all kinds of craft stuff. My destination is Dar es Salaam, Tanzania and then a three hour trip to Morogoro. Wait, wait, I have to make sure if my malaria tablets, the sun screen and mozzie repellent are in. Yes. They are almost as important as my passport and ticket.

I am a bit nervous – a bit of a fear of the unknown … will I like the food (this is a big one) Will I be able to swallow what is put before me? Will it be too hot? I don’t even want to think of all the creepy crawlies!!

Upon my arrival I was taken shopping. To my surprise, we went to Shoprite. Yes, Shoprite, as Shoprite in South Africa. I couldn’t believe my eyes – shelf upon shelf packed with South African goodies: Tennis biscuits, Liqui fruit juice, Ceres fruit juice, dried fruit, rusks, etc. I only discovered the boerewors on my way back to England.

Driving to Morogoro reminded me of Kwa Zulu Natal. Maybe it was the Shoprite impression still fresh in my mind. I have never experienced so many speed traps or police on the road as during this three hour trip. Like in South Africa, they hide behind the bushes, but I donÂ’t think they are making any money. The motorists are so loyal to each other and miles before we see them we were warned by the flicker of a right indicator.

My arrival at my destination was quite a ceremony! There was a quick cell phone conversation as we got close to the gate, and the next moment a group of women with branches with flowers and other plants came out the gate dancing and singing and shouting. Quite overwhelming! They all grabbed me and hugged me and welcomed me warmly.

To my great relief, I was taken to my own little place – bedroom, bathroom and a small stoep. I had many happy hours sitting there, watching the stars at night, seeing the reflection of the sunset on the buildings which made me get out quickly to see yet another beautiful sunset.

My first week was spent by leading a Christian Hospitality seminar. Some people travelled far distances to attend, and others even paid for the seminar with a kilo of rice. One girl came from Rwanda – I had so much respect for her. She lost most of her family during the genocide, yet she stayed gracious and gentle.

I have to tell you that everyone has a cell phone. There are hundreds of little corrugated iron shacks that sell them. I met a Masai man and as I admired his jewellery, when he reached inside his robe and pulled out a cell phone. All the bells, whistles and lights were going off. It was just so funny – I had to control myself for all I was worth not to laugh.

One highlight was a trip into the bush to visit the Masai. The Masai people are not popular in town. They are verbally abused, are spat on and rejected. The people I visited are helping the Masai to learn the Swahili language , and how to read and write. They teach them to sew and how to work with leather The Masai moves around a lot, and the men have many wives. I was told that a fifty year old man can have up to twenty wives. Jealousy amongst the wives is not tolerated – they are sent home to their parents.

Another highlight was a trip to the Game Park. We saw loads of animals: impala’s, elands, giraffes, wildbeasts, buffaloes, rietbokke, crocodiles, hippopotamus, and lions! The vultures were an ugly picture – about thirty of them were waiting for the lions to leave. We had two close encounters with some elephants and I thought one was doing a bit of low flying as she was running across the road to protect her young! Wow, that was awesome to see!

Even though the clouds were dark I was told it wouldn’t rain. All of a sudden big drops landed on the dust – oh, the smell! Not something you get to smell in England where it is always – or rather most of the time – raining!

I guess you are wondering I coped with the food. Well… I ate rice and beans every day! A few times we had rice and lentils. The only thing I couldn’t eat was the little dried fish.. :eek: The fruit was fantastic – watermelon, papajas, naartjies, sweet oranges, sweet little banana’s and sweet granadillas. No creepy crawlies. My breakfast was brought in the morning and left outside on the stoep. The last morning I opened the margarine to find hundreds of tiny, tiny ants in the tub! What a farewell present – it was almost as if they wanted to tell me they were around!

I left Dar es Salaam realising with a new appreciation in my heart for GodÂ’s creation and that the map of Africa is definitely in my heart. I am planning to Morogoro in 2007.

wholemeal flour 200g
butter 75g
brown sugar 100g
rolled oats 100g
orange zest 1, grated
[/B]fresh or tinned fruit[/B] 450g
(or use diced apples and lemon zest)

Preparation time: 10 minutes
Cooking time: 35 minutes

Pre-heat the oven to 180C

Mix all the dry ingredients together and then cut the butter in. If you have a food processor put all the ingredients into it and blitz for a few seconds until well combined.

Put the fruit in the bottom of your dish, cover with the crumble mix and pat down gently to make it form a nice crust.

Bake for about 35 minutes or until the top is golden brown.

Serve with plain low-fat yoghurt, custard or icecream.

Variations: Use any fruit you like - especially yummy is rhubarb and peach or apple and raisin.

Serves 6

10. You rejoice in rain...even after 10 straight days of it.
9. You have pride in how bad your hands look.
8. You have a decorative compost container on your kitchen counter.
7. You can give away plants easily, but compost is another thing.
6. Soil test results actually mean something.
5. IPM rules!
4. YouÂ’d rather go to a nursery to shop than a clothes store.
3. You look for gardens open to the public whenever you go on vacation.
2. Your non-gardening spouse is actually getting involved with your garden endeavors...digging ponds, building bird houses, watering, pruning, turning compost piles, planting...

And you definitely know your a Master Gardener when...

1. You are surrounded by terrific people who share your passion!

:daisy:

Am busy watching VH1 were it is Top 100 Worst Videos Day and of the 11 or so I've seen so far 10 have been from the 80s, including Danii, Freez, Marilyn and Bonnie Tyler, the only one that hasn't been from the 80s was Crazy Frog's "Pop Corn" :haha:

I knew he was very ill, but his death has really shocked me. Whereas many of you follow F1 I follow rallying and have enjoyed watching Richard drive and win some wonderful victories. The sport has lost a real gentleman.

May he RIP :rip:

Click on the worm to reshuffle the letters

The French are off to a good start. At the moment the score is
France 12 - S.A 0

eeld-deurloop: Tog ironies dat Hollanders by óns raad soek!

Luister ek afgelope Sondagoggend op radiosondergrense hoedat Nico Koopman uit Nederland in die program Kollig op die Kerk met my en die res van die volk praat.

Dis interessant en lekker daar, sê hy, maar sedert die dood van Theo van Gogh aan die hand van 'n Moslem (en sommige sê nie sonder rede nie) dra die Nederlanders baie swaar aan hulle plotselinge verlies aan identiteit. Die onluste in Frankryk maak ook geen goeie bydrae nie: Wie is ons? roep Europa.
En nou kyk die Hollanders, vertel Nico, die bedaarde, selfversekerde Hollanders, na Suid- Afrika om hulle van raad te bedien.

Hoe het ons die rustige oorgang van 1994 bewerkstellig, en hoe leef soveel kulture in een land rustig saam?

Nico se woorde Sondag het vir my ironies op die oor geval. Nie die feit dat die Hollanders in die nood is nie, dit is algemene kennis, maar dat hulle na óns kyk. Nou ja toe, ek weet ons president is 'n voorste vredemaker, hy reis wêreldwyd om ons reënboogstof oor al wat onmin maak, te strooi. Maar tuis is dinge miskien nie heeltemal so rooskleurig nie. En dis waar die ironie kop uitsteek.

Weliswaar is ek nie meer Gautenger nie, en hier in die Kaap is ons ou goed gewoond, maar ek het tog plesier gehad aan die nuus dat Pretoria haar 150ste verjaardag gevier het - 'n goeie leeftyd vir 'n statige ou dame. En Pappa was tog so 'n groot bewonderaar van Oom Paul. En nou kom vertel die burgemeester (of was dit sy spreekbuis - daar's skynbaar altyd 'n buiksprekerspop) dat Tshwane niks te viere het nie. Hulle sal vier as hulle vyf jaar se dienslewering agter die rug het!

Ja'k. Ek kan glo dat dit rede tot viering sal wees. Maar Pretoria was daar voor apartheid en voor Tshwane. Of begin die ge skiedenis opnuut met die totstandkoming van 'n nuwe regerende party? Natuurlik verander die historiese blikhoek wanneer regerings verander, veral so 'n drastiese verandering soos ons s'n, en dit sal altyd gebeur, dit is die manier van geskiedskrywing, maar het jy die reg om die res sommer in die vergetelheid te laat verdwyn?
Daar steek geen logika in nie. Lees ek in Die Burger 'n brief van (juis) 'n Nederlander wat Dan Sleigh se Eilande in Nederlands vertaal het, vry dikwels ons land besoek, en groot waardering het vir wat in die land gebeur.
Maar, skryf hy, hy was vir die eerste keer nou op Robbeneiland, en wat 'n geskiedenis het dit nie! En wat 'n man is die Nelson Mandela tog. Maar die gids wat sy apartheidstorie so goed geken het, het van Autshumao nog nooit gehoor nie, en van Eva Krotoa nog minder. Weer kom die vraag op: was daar dan geen geskiedenis (selfs geen swárt geskiedenis) voor apartheid nie?
Ons moet versigtig wees. Met my eie besoek aan Robbeneiland, en terwyl die groep in die groot tronksel aandagtig na die gids luister, gaan 'n jong swart vrou se selfoon af. En sy antwoord en voer kontant haar gesprek klaar, sodat dat die besoekers nie een verdere woord van die gids bo haar opgewonde gebabbel kan hoor nie. En toe ons uitstap, pronk die skraal lyfie in die jeans - dis mý erfenis dié.

Nè? Ek glo die wonderwerk van '94 moet homself bly herhaal om wonderwerk te bly. Anders sal die raadop Hollanders vergeefs by ons na oplossings kom soek.

“‘n Venster om te kan uitkyk…” het ek altyd oor gewens.

En hier het ek dit nou: verfraai met kant, blou bottels, pietersielie- en basilikumplantjies. En ek kan uitkyk, sien, dink en droomÂ….

Wit bloeisels en blink blare aan die appelboom langsaan, is die baldadige lente wat wakker geword het en uitstrek na ‘n heerlike seisoen van lewe.

Die buurman oorkant in die groot villa (volgens buurvrou onder, is daar glo ‘n binneshuise swembad ook) ry bane oor die groot groen grasperk met sy rooi grassnytrekkertjie om die somerse groeivreugde te beheer.

Vroeg soggens wanneer die oranje skoolbus vir Kirsty kom haal, hang die ry beige broekies saam met die blou vadoeke reeds netjies aan die waslyn, ‘n paar tuintjies verder. Dis nie “panties”, “deurtrekkertjies” of “vlaggies” nie, maar gemaklike, ordentlike broeke. Die eienaar is ‘n besige tannietjie wat bure se pos uithaal wanneer dié weg is met vakansie; wat vinnig en doelgerig die straat opstap winkel toe; self nog die somergras sny met die elektriese grasmasjien; alleen woon en weet wanneer Kirsty se bus gekom het en hoe lank hy vir ons gewag het!

Die ou liggroen wilger met sy onderdanige slap takke laat my in die nasomer soms terugverlang na die hoëveld, Potchefstroom en die grensplaas by die Limpopo.

Vlaamse Christine wat in ons straat grootgeword het, het nou haar eie praktyk as spraakterapeut in die regop huisie wat eers aan Oupa en Ouma behoort het, reg langs ons. Pa kom sien haar fiets na van tyd tot tyd en kuier dan graag oor die draad wanneer hy die ou aartappelplante uithaal en die grond losmaak om die aarbeie. Nie eintlik sy stokperdjie nie, maar sit die tradisie van Oupa voort om self groente te plant.

Die rankplant se rooi en geel blare beloof iets moois, maar dartel dan grond toe vir ‘n opskopmat om uiteindelik te gaan lê as kompos. Winter is oppad…

Skielik verskyn hy uit die wolke op die horison, geluidloos en stadig… Op sy stert herken ek die embleem van Lufthansa en sien ek hoe die einde van ‘n reis aangebreek het wanneer die “silwer arend van die lug” grasieus gaan land. My gedagtes gaan land vir ‘n oomblik by jare gelede se drome wat nooit waargeword het nie…..

Vanoggend, die misterieuse spierwit laag op mure, drade, dakke, bome… ‘n Paar skoorstene verder kronkel die kaggelrook stadig boontoe om aan die winter ‘n warm hart te gee.

Die groot bak skottelgoed van gisteraand se kuier, het klein geword voor my uitkykvenster!

:rofl:

:high: