British Christmas Explained

 

We start our day getting the turkey into the oven, trussed and stuffed.  Fortunately we no longer attempt to do this at 6 am; health and safety no longer approves of those long roast times at low temperatures. I cannot talk my family out of stuffing the bird, so the chestnut mixture goes in and my mother goes in search of her thimble.  This particular bird proves a tough one to stitch and we go through 3 needles in the process. One was still unaccounted for when the bird went in the oven, so we might find a sharp surprise when carving!   Henry Vlll is credited in starting the tradition of roasting a big bird on Christmas day, although it may have been roast peacock. It has been nothing but turkey ever since.  

Another food you are sure to find on the Christmas day table is Brussel sprouts. These, along with parsnips, have become such a symbol of Christmas in Britain, that it is hard for me to imagine a seasonal feast without them.  I don't know of any other country that embraces these vegetables, many find them unpalatable. No one knows the reason for their introduction, but they do promise to be the one really healthy item on the menu.  As all our other favorite side dishes become frozen foods, the Brussel sprouts will always be fresh and green.  

The most misunderstood Christmas dish is the Christmas pudding, followed closely by the Christmas cake and mincemeat pies.  You must understand that the roots of these traditional sweets are actually in medieval sausages.  Fat, fruit and spices were used to preserve meat that was stuffed into animal intestines. Later dried fruit was used, leading to the name "plum" pudding, which was served without the sausage casings.  The pudding, as well as minced-meat, no longer contains meat, but the spices, fruit and suet remain the same.  If you are not British you have either never tasted this seasonal treat, or wondered how it has endured as a favorite.  For me it encapsulates the British tradition of Christmas. There is a real need to adhere to something that binds us together and makes us feel British. This doesn't mean that the dishes haven't needed a little embellishing to create the enduring appeal, especially for children. Coins are hidden in the puddings which are soaked in brandy and lit on fire: great PR! And if that isn't enough, the pudding is served smothered in a hot buttery brandy or rum sauce. As a child I was given the nonalcoholic sauce, but, like eggnog, I have graduated to the adult version since. The last clever ploy to give prominence to the 'figgy pudding' is to ensure it doesn't share the limelight with any other Christmas treat.  It doesn't have to compete with gingerbread, cookies, or chocolates: there is only one desert choice on the menu Christmas Day. 

Of course, you realize, Christmas is far from over on December 25th.  Boxing Day is another enigma of the British holiday season, because who needs another day of feasting? Well, Christmas is a Church holiday, while Boxing day is the real holiday for all those who spent the last month baking, shopping and preparing. There is no church service, no deadline and no traditional menu. This year COVID has brought back the true meaning of Boxing day by closing stores and stopping shoppers from spending time at the post Christmas sales. We can spend time unboxing our gifts, clearing away the wrapping paper, and eating left overs.  It is a true day off, a time to relax with a glass of wine, some Christmas cake and cheese. 

Christmas cake is a fruit cake, usually soaked in brandy, that will last for months or years.  There is no hurry to finish it.  We can make turkey soup and settle in.  After all, the twelve days of Christmas meant feasting from December 25th until  January 6th until Oliver Cromwell banned everything, including pudding, in 1647.  However, certain traditions survived, allowing Christmas in jolly old England to deliver enduring delight, if not slightly misunderstood.

The Perfect Christmas Storm

 

No, we are not preparing for a snow storm, but for Brexit.  The UK will sever ties with Europe in, what appears to be,  a way that leaves no room for trade deals to be made before January 1st, 2021.  What does this mean? Well we are starting to find out, as the COVID virus is giving those of us in the UK over Christmas, a sort of a trial run. 

The present government had leaned towards continuing with the opening of businesses, and allowing people to travel for the holidays. Then, in an about turn, Boris Johnson announced a partial closing of all businesses in the southeast and London, and a ban on travel out of the area, for two weeks beginning midnight Saturday, December 19th.  Jon and I arrived in London to the news, and we were one of the few who didn't immediately rush out shopping or to train stations and airports.

Christmas had been cancelled. No one was to be traveling to be with loved ones, stores would close, and all gatherings should be avoided.  The ripple affect was that 40 countries immediately put into place a travel ban for passengers leaving the UK. That meant that airports and airlines were scrambling to refund, rearrange and answer questions about the millions of travel arrangements made by every passenger hoping to get home for Christmas.  We found you could fly into the UK, but then your were marooned, unable to leave.  So that affected flights into the country as well. A friend flew Monday through the UK in transit to Ireland. The flight to Dublin was canceled and the airline had to reroute her through Belfast. Not only flights were cancelled, but ferries as well, cutting off that route to Ireland or the continent.  

France very quickly closed its ports to all trucks trying to cross the channel.  That led to long lines of thousands of trucks en route, with nowhere to go.  Would that affect the shipping of our favorite holiday treats and produce? Good thing we already bought the turkey! But those trucks were trying to make their last delivery before all trading must stop on January 1st. If a no-deal Brexit comes before the border opens, then those loads will be lost.  This led to Scotland's declaring: "The U.K. government has to recognize that we are in the midst of a perfect storm and to risk further disruption and financial damage to businesses in just 10 days’ time is completely unacceptable", and asking for there to be further consideration given to the Brexit deadline.  This is already a Brexit that has been delayed since the referendum in 2016, and further delaying the date might be contentious.  Can the UK afford to delay even more? Can it afford Brexit at all?

Many are blaming the governments slow actions towards both Brexit talks and COVID guidelines. However, the real catalyst to this perfect storm is a new variant of the virus that is 70% more likely to spread than the original strain.  This is what is prompting the economic shut down and transport bans. They are attempting to keep the variant from reaching Europe. "Plague Island" has been used to describe the British Isles. They may be too late. This variant has been detected in other countries: Denmark, South Africa and even Australia. 

Could all of this been avoided? Could the Brexit deadline have been set for another date? Probably. Could the country have kept stricter COVID guidelines since the first wave of infections? Certainly. Could the European Union be on better terms with the UK? Hard to say. One quote from the NY Times: “Little England has always wanted to cut off the continent, they’ve finally achieved it.” (Powell).  But their timing is way off!

Where's an Uber when you need one?

 

It is after 6pm, the sun is going down, the bugs are biting, and we are waiting for a driver to come and pick us up.  Since moving to Abuja, and after being released from quarantine, Jon and I rely on Uber drivers to take us out and about. There are other transportation options available, but the Uber app is both convenient and familiar. We are able to connect with a driver, give both our location and destination, and make payments, all electronically. This bypasses the problem of using cash and verbally explaining where we want to go.  The only problem is... there just aren't that many drivers, and during peak hours, we find ourselves waiting quite a while for a ride home.

We could go another route: buy a car or hire a driver.  Other teachers find either quite affordable. However, Jon and I tolerate the Ubers, and here is why.  In the 20 to 30 minutes that we wait for a driver, we watch a whole new world go by! Every time we go out, that wait time turns me into an observer and opens my eyes to what it means to live in Abuja.

Night had already fallen while we waited outside the Bush Bar, unable to distinguish which, of the oncoming headlights, was the car coming for us.  A car slowed down and turned off the main highway. Bad idea! The car fell into one of the deep ruts left by the last rain.  If this was our Uber, then we would need to pull them out first. The men who sit by every entrance, some sort of security, came to the rescue. There is no lack of people on the side of the road.  They are waiting for rides, selling products, and even doing their washing.

Our wait outside the supermarket 4U can be chaotic. Everyone is trying to sell us something.  The ladies carry their avocados and bananas expertly on their heads, while the oranges and tangerines seem to be for only men to sell.  We hear, "Tangerines,.. like honey!"  I noticed they are able to keep the pile in place on the trays by using scotch tape.

The Uber is stuck in traffic, so we wait on the side of the road, except there is no side of the road.  If there is a sidewalk, then that space is full of vendors and parked cars. Some times the police show up, to eat or direct traffic.  They look scary with their machine guns, but I do not feel a sense of alarm.  Everywhere is heavily protected. 

On another hot day, we waited outside the farmer's market with our produce for what seemed to be the only available driver on a Sunday. I wanted to be away from the flies and the dried fish. We were followed across the road by a cripple on wheels, and several women selling buckets of something I didn't recognize.  Although there was a large mosque nearby, prayers were taking place at the edge of the market between the onions spread out to dry.  I noticed men washing themselves by pouring water from small tea kettles. An armed guard approached us, wanting to know what we were up to. Fortunately our Uber arrived the same time and the policeman kindly directed traffic to allow us to get to our ride and on our way.

Jon's haircut put us out on the curb, waiting for a ride home, about 6:00pm.  We are realizing that this is a bad time for getting an Uber and, depending on your location, you might just be out of luck.  If all we wanted was a ride, any ride, then we were spoiled for choice.  Every car that passed honked and offered to drive us; and on the corner just opposite was a tuk-tuk stand (known as 'keke' here). As we were pondering the possibility of taking one of these, a man walked by with a sewing machine on his head. Another came by, this time signally with his scissors that he was open for business.  Then another man dropped off a pair of polished shoes to one of the guards at the gate.  He carried his cobbler tools in a box.  Just down the street another man had set up shop and was fixing shoes.  There was a watermelon stand next to the tuk-tuks and other vendors had paused for a rest from carting around their boxes of dates and nuts. An informal barbecue was roasting meat: perhaps the drivers evening meal? Whereas there was plenty of business potential here, I think most of the men had called it a day and were on their way home.  And so were we, Mustafa showed up in a air-conditioned car, and saved us from having to take another form of transport that may or may not have made it to our destination.

The Cube Cafe

 

Our Uber driver pulled up to the closed gates of what appeared to be an abandoned amusement park.  We assumed he had the wrong address and asked him to back up past the chickens and overgrown stream bed, to retrace our steps through the upperclass district of Abuja called Maitama. Our destination, the stylish Cube Cafe, must be nearby. 

"Leafy Maitama is an upscale area of grand embassy buildings and chic hotels. Fine eateries offer global cuisine," a description that led us to believe the Cafe would be a popular destination for expats.  Some had described the place as offering live music and a craft fair as well as coffee and smoothies.  The district certainly lived up to its reputation, with wide tree-lined streets and guarded gated communities. However, the empty amusement park seemed out of place. Wandering around, we found Disney style rides, on a much smaller scale, in overgrown grounds. 

The Cube Cafe was tucked away between a memorial to George Floyd and a Beauty and the Beast themed teacups ride.  Inside the quiet atmosphere, the coffee shop offered an inviting menu and seating options.  I ordered a smoothie and perused the books on offer. Other than the fact that there were African patterns on the seat covers, we could have been in any tourist destination around the world. 

The only activity outside, in the park, was a very loud church service: lots of singing and "Alleluias" over the loud speaker. About 1:00pm the meeting broke up, (how long was the service, I wonder?) and the congregation made their way across the park of merry-go-rounds and pirate ships, in their Sunday best. Certainly not an expat crowd.

We followed the crowd out of the park, past the chickens and up the street lined with palms and bougainvillea. We stopped briefly at a farmer's market to buy some bananas and papayas.  A large group of men were in the middle of prayer, kneeling amongst the onions and potatoes, after using tea kettles for washing. Nigeria is roughly half Muslim and half Christian, however, in Abuja, the majority are Muslims.  

This got me thinking about the mixture of cultures that exist in the country.  Yoruba, Hausa, Igbo, Fulani, Ogani, Tiv, Nupe, Kanuri, Ijaw and Annang are just some of the tribes here, and with over 520 languages spoken, there is no wonder that there is a need for English as an official language. 

"Nigeria is a nation of people who eat beef and chicken and cow skin and intestines and dried fish in a single bowl of soup, and it is called assorted, and so get over yourselves and realize that the way of life here is just that, assorted." Nigerian author Chimamanda Adichie in her novel, Americanah (2013 Knopf)

 

Expat Thanksgiving

 

The Turkey Trot has been run, and the club house is being readied for an a Thanksgiving feast put on by the AISA faculty.  This is a unique event, mainly because we all live on the closed campus of the American International school in Abuja, Nigeria.  Although we met just a few months ago, we are accustomed to collaborating on events just like this via WhatsApp.  This post, of the turkey being put in to roast, began the today's feed at 9:13 am.  

Roasting a turkey this size that only arrived frozen yesterday is no mean feat.  Most of us are new to Nigeria and lack roasting pans with racks, and basic familiar ingredients like celery or cream of mushroom soup.  In fact the preparations began days ago, with various shopping trips around the city looking for yams.

I was fortunate enough to find some old cans of creamed corn from Thailand.  The rims are rusty but their sell-by date is March of next year. I put out an all-call for a cheese grater and had another member of staff offer to lend me hers within minutes.  I feel like I have been to so many stores, looking for this and that, but still my kitchen cupboards are almost bare. 

 I am attempting to make scalloped corn and green bean casserole for our feast.  Mohammed had green beans for sale from his veggie truck making sales in the parking lot. Making french fried onions as a topper is beyond me, but I am adding some local ham-bits I ordered from a local butcher. I considered buying a whole turkey from Michael, the butcher, but I am still getting used to what various cuts of meat look like here, and was afraid of what "whole turkey' actually meant.  Would it arrive with feathers and head still attached?

At 9:49 am, our HS principal posts a picture of how an Australian prepares a Thanksgiving turkey: "Terry's breast have been throughly massaged and he's now going in the oven."  This prompted the question, "He's got a name?" and the reply, "We've become very attached."

An I've become quite attached to the staff here.  We Zoom together, work together, live together, and now celebrate together. I am thankful for this group that started bonding over the long wait for visas and travel plans to Abuja. We bonded across time zones, nationalities and age groups. There is little to compare to the faculty of an international school.  They hit the ground running, look out for each other, and pool their resources.  Daily I have advice and words of experience shared with me.  The fact that I am a veteran teacher with over 20 years of teaching and living overseas doesn't mean I know where to buy sunscreen in Abuja.  I have great respect for those among us that are making this move with small children.  I had little support when mine were young, but I have a feeling that won't be their experience here. Here we have family.  We may not be able to get together the way families back home do, because of the measures put in place to prevent the spread of COVID, but we manage to support each other digitally.

It is nearly time to Google the Celsius equivalent for 375 ° F, put my faux green bean casserole in the oven and head down for cocktail hour at the club house.  We plan to eat outside and share each other's recipes from home.

Mama Africa Market Day

 

I was excited to visit what I believed to be an arts and craft market to get a picture of local culture as well as pick up some decorative items for my apartment in Abuja.  I had visions of something similar to the 'hippy fair' in Brasilia where tourist can pick up leather goods, jewelry, and perhaps a capoeira demonstration.  

The Mama Africa Arts and Crafts, or Jabi Art Market, does not exactly cry out to tourists.  One would hardly take the cluster of shabby canvas covered shacks for a place to buy souvenirs. As one reviewer described it: Excellent works of art and craft can be found here at reasonable prices. However, the area is reminiscent of a transit camp and needs intervention of a befitting premises. Recommended to visit. 

We glanced quickly at the wooden furniture, and dove into the 'camp'.  Jon and I have learned not to show too much interest in items early on, or the vendors will make it difficult for us to move on to other stalls. We also new that prices were 'negotiable', and haggling was the norm.  I have never been too good at this sort of bargaining, and so was careful to point out that I was "just looking".  Each vendor tried their best to get us into their stall, but they in no way aggressive, and gave us space.  

Honestly, I couldn't at first see anything I would buy.  I was more interested in the colors and variety, the basket weaving activity, and staying cool.  I finally decided on a couple of key chains (very necessary!), two baskets (more decorative), and a fan (both decorative and necessary).  I was quite proud of myself for getting the price down 1000 NGN on the baskets, but the fan guy was proving to be quite difficult.  

Only when I had given up and walked away, did he concede to my 'best price' of 1500 NGN.  The win was short lived, for as soon as I got back on our bus, the fan guy came after me with his friend.  They circled the bus looking for me, tapped on the window, and explained to anyone who would listen that they needed more money for the fan.  He was selling for his friend, and his friend wanted more.  I was safe inside the bus, money had already changed hands, surely he would give up.  But he was determined, and even acted out a fight scene with the friend, trying to get my attention.  In hindsight, I should have simply offered a bit more money, another dollar probably would have ended it.

Unfortunately, the business of haggling for a price, detracts from the actual value of the crafts.  I would have rather have learned about the origin and process of the varied pieces, about the artists and their culture, about the way these artisans are treated in Abuja. Next time.

Next we visited the Maitama Farmer's Market.  If you aren't distracted by the armed guard, and large chunks of dried mystery meat, then you can take in the huge variety of fruit and vegetables.  Again, I will use the words of another reviewer: This place is really good, the amazingly healthy veggies and fruits and luxurious colours of their skin is totally worth the drive. You will think the foods are plastic cause of how fresh and good they looked. And here, we were warned, there was no haggling! I found my okra, bananas and limes.  Jon was denied his mangoes (out of season) and tomatoes (he tried to haggle the price down).  

Our final purchases came from a small market store, that sold imported items like British biscuits and American cans of creamed corn.  Jon was happy to find a large jar of honey that we purchased from a sales girl squeezed into a corner of the tight space. Only after walking out did we realize that we had paid over $60! On inspecting the receipt we saw that the honey cost over $30.  Naturally, we tried to take the honey back.  Unfortunately the sales girl had already shoved the large amount of cash into a slot in the safe.  So Jon had to wait until someone else bought the honey's price with cash before she could refund him. 

At the end of the day, I realized that the experience had been more about business tactics, prices and money conversions.  It is hard to look past how much you are spending to what you are getting.  Fortunately we didn't venture out alone, but with a group of veteran overseas teachers.  One wise college, spoke from experience about her last move: " I had to put a conscious stop to the constant converting of local currency into  US dollars in my head when I was out and about.  That was the only way I could enjoy myself in my new surroundings."

Quarantine Dining on Olives & Dates

 

What did I pack for this trip?  A corkscrew, a good knife and a coffee filter holder.  Was I ready for 14 days quarantine in my apartment? It was hard to tell.  I had sent a grocery list ahead for my recently hired house help to buy.  Hopefully my apartment would be decently stocked with sandwich ingredients, breakfast options and even some bottles of wine.  I knew to expect at the very least salt, pepper and Ramen, because the shopping trips to local stores had included me via WhatsApp.  I was feeling quite proud of myself for including items I would readily find abroad in other places I have lived.  I included weights in grams and liters.  And we received two Dominos pizzas on the drive from the airport, to save the trouble of cooking on arrival.

It wasn't until the next morning that I realized that feeding myself for the next 14 days would be a challenge.  The coffee was instant, which I have never understood, the ham some sort of baloney lunch meat, and I could find no peeler for the potatoes and carrots. We found large amounts of fruit, bananas and oranges, that would not last the 2 weeks, along with 5 dozen eggs and a box of 42 packets of ramen. Well, we could snack for a while. 

Our most popular snacks are olives, dates and peanuts.  Something to remember for next time.  I was given the opportunity to have someone run to the store for me, just for a couple of things that I couldn't do without.  I asked for real ground coffee, tonic water and ice cube trays. 

By the time we were 4 days in, Jon was putting all his efforts into acquiring a phone and ordering in.  I was more determined to use all the food in our refrigerator.  What to make?  Lots of side salads, and these basic meals:

• boiled potatoes, hot dogs and baked beans
• rice and garlic chicken
• potato and mortadella frittata 
• ramen noodles with spring onions

I am finding that just about anything is palatable when doused in lime juice and olive oil, sprinkled with salt, pepper and spring onions.

Viewing International Travel thru a COVID Lens

 

I am glad to be able to travel at all, but I do have a new wariness regarding the whole travel process during a pandemic.  Airlines seem to be doing their best to put safety measures into practice, and passengers are trying to comply, yet there is a general air of confusion and chaos to flying these days. 

The first COVID guideline to go by the wayside is WATCH YOUR DISTANCE.  Instead of lining up single file, we are now asked to crowd around a small group of check-in kiosks to get our boarding passes and baggage tickets.  With 14 pieces of luggage, three being oversized, it was near impossible to negotiate the crowd, and social distancing just wasn't happening. The ticket lady helping me asked me to kindly step aside while she entered information and interacted with the display.  It was then impossible to hear what she was saying above the din, so she called me back and pointed out that I needed a visa to enter Ethiopia.  But I'm not going to Ethiopia!

The flight to Chicago was packed to the gills.  I was in the middle seat, trying not to breathe.  The attendants attempt to deplane people by rows had failed miserable, as passengers were eager to get out of this toxic, in-your-face environment.  

Then the real chaos started.  Ethiopian Airlines requires all passengers to visit the desk at the gate for new boarding passes and covid test checks.  But nobody new this and tried to board normally with their original boarding passes.  Furthermore, each country seems to require covid tests within different times of departure, and the attendants at the gate were looking it all up.  You try telling a passenger with limited English that he can't board his plane home because his negative covid test was taken outside the 90 hour window! Things were not going well.  The flight attendant was trying to get people to stand on taped markers for social distancing, only to then send then all over to the smallest desk space you can imagine for re-ticketing. I squeezed in and produced both receipts for post-travel testing to be done upon arrival, and for the 10 extra bags, before we could attempt boarding.

The flight attendants onboard were struggling equally.  For some reason the seat rows had been numbered incorrectly, and we found someone else in our seats.  Someone else was in their seat, and so on.  You can imagine that having 6 rows of passengers all get up with their belongings and change seats was not easy, especially when you are supposed to be socially distancing. 

To my dismay, when finally seated, I found my seat splattered with what could have been food, or something worse.  The window also was smeared with unidentifiable yuck.  I asked the attendant for something to clean it with and found that yet another COVID guideline was being ignored: WASH YOUR HANDS AND SANITIZE AFTER USE.  There was no sanitizer on board, and I was asked to use a blanket to clean my seat.  Fortunately I had brought my own sanitizer and kleenexes, and was able to clean most of it.  The Kleenexes came in handy for a trip to the lavatory later where I found there was no TP either.

I suppose I was lucky that I was allowed on board with a bottle of hand sanitizer, some airlines would confiscate it at security.  This time they confiscated Jon's roll of Duct Tape, with no explanation.

At Addis Ababa airport we watched as a large number of cleaners moved around wiping down seats.  But when we entered the cafe, the tables were crowded together with no elbow room, NO MASKS, and we all had to share the same sugar pot and spoon. 

Some passengers are taking care of themselves and following their own guidelines (or their company's guidelines).  We saw many passengers in full hazmat suits, visors and masks which they never removed for the duration of their travel. 

Touchdown in Abuja was just another opportunity for chaos.  Employees tried to sort everyone out, line them up and check documents. Diplomats in one line, foreigners in another.  But few people took notice, and kept switching to the shortest line. Those without proper Covid papers were sent off to correct this, and then there were more lines for visas and customs. The porters fought over a chance to carry our 14 bags, and we were directed towards the 'declare' room where officials swarmed round and went through all our things.  Outside the traffic made it difficult to navigate our bags to the pickup van.  Once there, we were greeted with a "How was your flight?" and a temperature check. 

After a restful sleep in our apartment, we wake up to more chaos: the kind where you can't find the scissors to open the new adaptor to plug in the electric kettle to make some tea.  Where did our maid stash the toilet paper, 'cause there is none in the bathrooms? How does the gas cooker work? However, this is my chaos, one I understand.  It is of my making.

COVID has created a chaos all of its own, and everyone is trying to make their own peace with it as we travel through this pandemic.  

Armchair Travel: Playful and Edgy!

 

The ability to go new places without leaving my comfy chair has not only become easier with new technology, it has become convenient for this time of pandemic.  It is not uncommon for me to do research on a place before I travel there.  However, for this coming move to Nigeria, I was able to do so much better than download a "to bring" list before beginning to pack.  It all started back in early summer with emails from my new coworkers. Some tidbits: " I have long been itching to meet with you." and "Until August, and hoping that COVID-19 relaxes its muscles soon, take good care of yourself. Stay strong and safe!"  And a later communication, "I hope this email finds you enjoying a good cup of tea or coffee," as a follow up to several Zoomed staff meetings and WhatsApp conversations. 

The staff have become a close knit group.  We commiserate with each other's visa trials, and celebrate final travel plans.  There is a continual sharing of information via our phone app: packing tips, grocery lists, travel requirements, etc. I have little need to look something up, because we are all in this together, and sharing is the name of the game.  And this is as close as it gets because, when we finally arrive we will be in quarantine, social distancing and busy working.

Due to COVID, our initial tour of the campus was made virtual by way of a video created by the school.  We received both a bird's eye view of the housing, and an inside look of the school.  Later our principal offered to give us a personal tour of our apartment via Google Meet.  If we had any questions left as to what to bring, this answered them.  We talked voltage, outlets, storage, appliances, and measurements.  This really contrasted with other moves where we have begged for this sort of information knowing that there is so much needed to make a household function.

Another contrast was the ability to connect with and hire some household help prior to arrival.  I offered employment and received a polite acceptance, "OK Ma, thank you!" via text message. This lady will be doing my grocery shopping for me during quarantine.  I was asked to make a list for her to shop for.  Knowing that every country has its own unique products (lessons learned from trying to shop for Thanksgiving dinner in either Sofia or Kuwait!), I decided to visit a local supermarket online and check availability of everyday items like wine.  I found the website difficult to navigate, and searching for items like bread was impossible.  I also got distracted by the descriptions of the items, which often omitted the size/weight, and included glaring mistakes such calling white wine red.  I thought I would close this blog with one such description which ensured me that my move to Africa will certainly be colorful, if not playful and edgy!

DECLAN WHITE WINE Declan white wine is incredibly juicy, very fruity, full bodied rich taste. Declan white wine is easy drinking, ripe berry and jam. Declan wine is soft and smooth. Greatly enjoyed when chilled. This new wine has a perfect balance of sweetness. Declan white wine pairs well with lively foods and friends. Declan white wine combines its sophisticated taste perfectly with the playful fruity taste. If your all about the perfect combination of playful and edgy. Declan white wine is ideal for all celebration, dining and events.

Timeline of a Tooth

Three root canals on the same tooth!  One was incomplete, one a lie, and one a retreatment.  I was quick to go to the dentist this time around, but found it hard to believe that the same tooth that had had a root canal procedure, x-rays and a crown would be bothering me again.  I was asked about the tooth's history and wasn't sure anyone would believe the whole story, but here it is.

The pain began on the road from Wisconsin.  We were taking Sam on a college tour the summer before his senior year.  At the time we were living in Sofia, and didn't have a dentist in the US I could call for this emergency.  And it was an emergency!  I finally got into a chain and related the experience in the facebook post below:

Anne Jahnke is feeling pained.
July 16, 2015 · Alden ·

I had a root canal today... And experienced much of what is wrong with US healthcare. The pain came on quickly and the local dentists were either booked or closed. I got in at a national chain about 1 hr away. I arrived in great pain and was given forms to fill out, a TV to watch, but nothing for the pain. After waiting 2 hrs in a freezing room, enduring unnecessary tests and a lady trying to sell me a $150 toothbrush, I finally saw a dentist. Only after deciding I needed two crowns and a root canal, did he give me something for the pain. The most sympathetic person was the clerk who swiped my credit card. They were as anxious as I was for it to be over, and see me gone before the nova cane wore off and I realized that after 5 hrs and $1000, I was still in pain.

I had decided to get the two crowns done back in Bulgaria, where everything is cheaper.  My experience with Bulgarian dentistry was a story in itself, you can read about it in the blog post: Close Please. I distinctly remember being told that the tooth in question did not need a crown, and vaguely remember being sent to get an x-ray to prove it.  Since most of it was done with limited English, old Soviet technology in dimly lit echoing buildings, I can't be sure what was done. 

My next position in Kuwait came with dental insurance, and I decided to take advantage of this and finally get a crown put on the tooth which had been making do with a temporary filling for over a year now. We had little choice in dentists, as our insurance was only carried by one clinic in the city, and of their dentists, all were booked up except one.  I soon found out why this particular dentist had vacancies!  When I inquired about the crown, he asked me to close the door and lowered his voice.  Apparently the insurance didn't cover crowns, so he would call it a root canal.  I would get my crown, but I couldn't tell anyone.  He wasn't really a rule follower, and I rather suspect he had never been to dental school.  I understand why the Bulgarian technology didn't pick up on the fact that one whole root of the tooth had been missed in the original treatment, but this last dentist was just lazy, .. and negligent. 

Since moving to Minnesota I have used both our family dentist and dental insurance a fair amount. They do a great job and quickly found the missed root that was causing me pain.  I now have a temporary filling in the crown.  However, this is not the end of the saga.  Since I have now taken a position in Nigeria, my insurance will be changing at the end of the month, before I can finish the procedure.  I might once again be going overseas with the need to find a friendly dentist who can finish the job. 

I gave an abridged version of this to the last dentist retreating my tooth.  Her comment was, "It's a good thing you have  those memories to help you recall the time line of events of the tooth!" To which I responded, "Good for something, but not for my dental health!"  I could do with a few less memories of this sort in future.

A Flying Cigar and Strong Coffee

Caixa Postal 4216 -ZC-05,

Rio de Janeiro, GB., Brazil

February 20th, ‘64

Dear Mother and All,

No news yet though Audrey wondered if she would make it through the night two days ago. We are definitely hoping for a girl, especially as we are having real difficulty in selecting a suitable boy’s name. Michael is quite certain that the ‘likkle baby’ will be a girl. If we do get a boy and he turns out to be no worse than either Michael or Andrew, we shall be more than satisfied.

It was Monday when we finally got out to see Dr Kerr and we couldn’t help smiling when, after questions and examination, he decided that the baby should have come on the 13th! That was the day we travelled from Cuiaba to Rio. We left Cuiaba at about 7am and reached Rio at about 7pm. We could have come on a faster plane but we decided to save the 25,000 cruzeiros that represented the difference (about 8 pounds). We came on a rather old plane that resembles a flying cigar and which seems to bump a bit more than its cousin the DC-3. We had fairly bad flying weather the whole way and Michael felt sick on a number of the descents. However, everything palled into insignificance compared with the storm we encountered near Rio. Had this been my first flight in an aircraft, I think I would have been really scared. We pitched, rolled, rocked and jumped like a little boat in a rough sea. People seemed to jump up in their seats despite the fixing of seat belts. The pilot’s door swung open and it was reassuring to see him calmly smoking. Obviously he wasn’t worried. When we reached Rio, the airport was closed because of bad weather and so we circled for a while. When we finally got a taxi and reached the Alto House through Rio’s traffic congestion, we were very tired and very hungry. This cheap flight only serves strong coffee and our last meal had been at 10:30 am.

As usual the boys have taken the move in their stride and settled here very happily. The house is really quite empty at the moment and so we are enjoying the extra space and stretch around the house. Besides ourselves there are the Leidtkes and Mullens and two single fellows.

We will need your prayers especially for the boys during these potentially unsettled times. Michael won’t like it very much when I go back to Kaiwana alone. Then there will be the further traveling - we cross the Andes four times! - and the stay in Peru. We’ve discovered that in times like this there is no alternative but to spend extra time with them, because we are their security rather than some special bed or room. Will close now and go to bed.

All our love, JAMA * (*John, Audrey, Michael, Andrew??)

C.P. 2221

Brasilia, D.F.

April 16th, ‘67

Dear Mother and All,

It is Sunday afternoon here, the children are abed and the lake, in one of its loveliest moods, lies before me through the windows. The children seem to have settled very happily here. Anne, after a long time in the wilderness when she seemed to be so often fighting and contrary, is like her old self again. Her diction, though full of childish errors, is so animated and her eyes open so wide that folk just sit and watch her with fascination. Andrew has still not begun to grow. Since Anne now has a trike, Michael and Andrew got a bike last Saturday. The only chore is transporting it up and down stairs. We live on the top floor and there is no elevator - I mean, lift. Audrey is kept busy with teaching the two boys in the morning and running the apartment. Life continues busy, but it is a help to have a stable home life.

The Group bought some land off the North Wing some years ago and now we know that it really belongs to the National Park and that the original sale was illegal. Legal squabbles could continue for years. Meanwhile we stand either to lose the plot with no remuneration or to be charged with a further illegal sale if we try to sell it again. It is very difficult to know what we should do. We don’t need the land now, but we would really like to recoup our investment.

About the end of the month, you should receive from me a glass case with a pair of broken glasses, at least one lens is broken. It is difficult to replace the lens out here and so I hit on the idea of sending them home. My glasses situation is fairly desperate since I am using a very old pair with scratched lenses and wobbly frames that have to be glued now and again. These particular glasses were broken just after Conference on the volleyball court.



Love to all, John

A New Country at Each Stop

Caixa Postal 4216,

Rio de Janeiro,

Brazil.

November 22nd, 1959

Dear Mother and dears all, 

Here we are safe and sound in Rio! It seems strange to look back and see how quickly and comfortably this great journey was completed.  Finding a new country at each stop takes some getting used to.  We were very well looked after in Miami and then duly transported to the airport at about 10 pm.  Owing to a late arrival the plane did not leave until about 1 am, and we shared the time between listening to Portuguese from the tape and walking the baby up and down this super new modern terminal.  Poor little mite - he got a wee bit overtired and fretted a little until the motion of the plane rocked him soundly asleep.  For the rest of the journey he caused us almost no trouble at all - in fact when we landed he slept right through immigration, customs and a zigzaggy taxi ride up to our mountain home.  The plane was less than a third full and so we had no difficulty in securing three seats in a row.  The carry-cot proved to be ideal for the circumstances.  We put one end on the seat and then extended the legs of the other to the floor. This was very comfortable for him and also gave us plenty of leg space.  The stewardesses saw that his bottles were kept on ice and then warmed up at the appropriate times.

After watching the lights of Miami disappear behind us, we snoozed through what was left of the night and first light found us just in sight of land near Panama.  We didn't see the canal but we enjoyed stretching our legs in the morning sunshine.  Soon after leaving, we began to climb over the foothills of the Andes to Medellin in Columbia. Since the plane belonged to a Colombian line, this was where some of the crew lived.  They accordingly went home and we changed to a new plane.  With two long jungle hops ahead, the pilot waited about half and hour until he was quite certain that one of the engines was in proper working order.  Knowing that the vast stretch of Amazonia lay ahead, we didn't feel in the least impatient!

We flew high but through the clouds we had superb views of the great green carpet of trees, broken only by meandering rivers and oxbow lakes.  Sometimes too, we could just pick out a tiny Indian village perched on the bank of the Rio Negro.  It seemed strange to think that people actually lived in this vast wilderness.  We crossed the equator wrapped in blankets, but really felt the tropical heat on the ground at Manaus.  The final 9 hour trip to Rio was made in the dark.  They say that this is done on purpose in case folk get scared by seeing nothing but jungle for nearly 2,000 miles.  

We glided down over Rio harbor- the best way through the surrounding hills - and punctured a tyre as we landed.  The only result of this was that the kitchenette was thrown into chaos and we had to wait nearly half an hour while the ground staff wondered how to get the steps out to the plane which was a mile from the normal unloading point.  Finally we were driven from the plane in a couple of Volkswagens.  Apparently 4 am is a good time to pass through customs because they didn't open our bags or charge us a cent for the tape recorder.  Now we are in a beautiful house up in the hills with a gorgeous mountain view, all set to plunge into Portuguese.

As I write to you the sun has just broken through after heavy rain and through our windows we can see so clearly the different shades and colors of the trees as they climb up the mountainside.  There are still wisps of cloud but the highest peak, between 3 and 4 thousand feet, is now clearly etched against the bright blue sky.  

The baby is settling in fine and has already started on a little mixed cereal. 

This had better be all for now, so goodbye and God bless.  Much love to you all from the family and a special kiss to Gran from Michael.  John

The Magic of Kew

The Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew were founded in 1840, and I have visited them numerous times since childhood.  So why have I never written about the experience?  It could be that my visit there this July was under different circumstances that brought out a different beauty and appreciation for the grounds. 
I can't remember the last time I visited in summer. The rose garden, kitchen garden and rock garden are all in bloom.  I recognized some of the very same plants in my garden back in Minnesota, but without the weeds.  There was so much to see, smell and take in.  The gardens are planned, but still informal with groupings of perennials that complement each other in height, color and texture.  Lavender grows beneath the fruit trees and passion fruit climb over the vegetable beds.  The grapevines provide shade for the tea drinkers.

 There were notable absences as well. None of the beds that are carefully planted out with bulbs and spring annuals were blooming.  Some were left bare earth, others were planted with mustard to compost and enrich the soil.  I was surprised to find that not every inch is used year round.  Of course, there is so much else to see, with many new plantings and often an art exhibit. 
Kew has Europe's largest compost heap which is mainly used for the gardens, but is also occasionally auctioned off as a fund raiser!  There is a horticultural school and student beds.  The composting and experiments are hidden from the public, but are just a small part of the botanical knowledge to be gained from the gardens.

I also noticed the fewer numbers of people people, the 'Closed for your safety' signs and strictly enforced path ways to follow that meant many parts of the gardens were not open to visitor.  Because of the pandemic, the gardens have only just reopened, and all visitors must prebook online to enter. There is no inside dining in the Orangery,  and the orchid hothouse is closed.  That meant I had less options, but came across some hidden gems nonetheless. I found the carnivorous plants and a very interesting beehive ginger whose waxy leaves resemble a large pine cone and hold water.  A peacock was posing in the Japanese garden, delicately patterned leaves climbed up the palm trunks, and Love-lies-bleeding made a soft curtain of hanging blooms.  At a certain point I stopped trying to photograph everything, and let myself just take in the refreshing experience.

 The water lily house had not changed, but reminded me of my last visit here, with family on my mother's 90th birthday. She loves Kew, and this house in particular. Unfortunately she was not strong enough to come on this visit. I hope to get her here soon, even if in a wheel chair, so she can feel the peacefulness of being amidst all this beauty.  Even without the ability to wander, one can feel the surround of living things, and benefit from the calming sounds and scents.  I am especially aware of the garden's healing effects as this visit comes at a stressful time of my caring for my mother.  My sister-in-law was the one who suggested the visit, her words:

I really felt that you needed a break somewhere beautiful like Kew with everything that has happened. I always find it healing and calming being in God's creation. Hope that this happened for you too.

I love to tend to plants in the garden, but they also tend to me - their seasons mirror my own.

“God made a beauteous garden
With lovely flowers strown,
But one straight, narrow pathway
That was not overgrown.
And to this beauteous garden
He brought mankind to live,
And said "To you, my children,
These lovely flowers I give.
Prune ye my vines and fig trees,
With care my flowers tend,
But keep the pathway open
Your home is at the end."

God's Garden”
― Robert Frost