Relaxation and Food

Friday afternoon, so it is the weekend again and we all bundle into The Coffee Shop for coffee and cake. Today they have lemon cake and oh, it is such a lovely moment! Life is definitely more simple here, although someone has booked a massage, so more luxuries available.

Saturday morning and we are all up early so we can walk into town without melting too much. I have no idea of the temperature, I can only say that it can be hot, very hot or sweltering, with the rare pleasure of a breeze. It is the same with time, most of us don’t wear a watch, so heaven knows how we get to places on time. Well to be honest we don’t, Friday morning was a big scramble to go to clinic and I think there were at least two bodies leaping out of the doors as we headed towards the gate, realising that they had forgotten things. [This includes me, when I’m driving, as the seat length is fixed and so is my leg length, and my legs fall rather short of the requirement so I have to dash back for a large cushion to prop myself forward].

 

The roads have dulla-dullas (a name derived from dollar dollar, though they cost a lot less) as local buses. These are like VW campers in shape, and have seating for around 16 (?) inside, so they carry about 25 people, with the extras hanging out of the sliding door. There are also numerous motor bikes – I think that they are all below 250cc, certainly no Harleys here. And then there are the 4WDs ranging from the dusty, well-loved (that’s a term you use for ancient teddy bears), that cross the numerous deadly speed bumps at a slow pace, to the pristine, perfect white speed wagons that take the bumps at an incredible rate, scattering all before them.

Monday night we plan an entertainment extravaganza, with Swedish meatballs courtesy of Anna. I offered to make flapjack for pudding so then had to source an oven – thank you Camilla! I looked up various recipes and assembled the ingredients, noting very carefully the oven temperature in every possible format. I then bowled over on Sunday, enjoying the lack of time pressure, and began to bake. [A small luxury, but a pleasure nonetheless when cooking is limited to 2 ½ gas rings the rest of the time.] I had some little helpers, which was nice, so I dubbed them sous chefs then just had to hold back on my language as I assumed the role of head chef. All was well until it came to the oven, and despite my assiduous preparation I had underestimated the Tanzanian Oven; it seems the options here are Big Flame, Little Flame or Somewhere-in-between.

So, with the joys of technology – a timer on Noga’s phone – and a bit of careful watching the wonderful smell of baking flapjack began to fill the house. Of course the smell made us impatient, and the timer highlighted how much longer we had to wait, so Noga began to tell me of the time when she had eaten flapjack at school. This was two Investigation Units ago – a time frame I am unfamiliar with, but as she couldn’t convert it into days or weeks, we just accepted that it was long enough ago for her not to be able to remember what the ingredients were apart from milk, and that it was cooked in a frying pan. I think she will be surprised at the difference between that and what we have baked.

We feast tonight!