Reading by the Sea

A couple of Saturdays ago, The Engineer and I decided to head down to South Beach. There are two ways to get to there:

1. The ferry
2.The road

The ferry is technically the shorter route. The ride lasts all of 15 minutes (at the most) but the problem is, you have to wait an additional 2 hours to get on the thing which hardly seems worth it.

After having suffered through other ferry waits during our previous 2 visits, The Engineer and I decided to risk the road even though we weren't certain of the route. Roads are not clearly marked in Tanzania and our appalling Swahili speaking skills would prove no help at all if we ever had to ask for directions.

Despite these risks, we felt that driving down the wrong road would still be 'driving' as opposed to sitting like a pair of losers in the never-ending queue to the ferry - so off we went.

It turned out to be a fortunate choice because we arrived in just one hour, without making even one wrong turn! I credit this to The Engineer's impressive 'inner compass' that has been honed over his years of working in the field, optimizing mobile networks all over the world (goodness knows it's no thanks to me! I sometimes can't find my car at mall parking lots back home!)

Despite its extremely boring and grammatically incorrect name (there's more than one beach) , South Beach has a lot to offer the visitor who wishes to unwind by the sea. The Indian Ocean twinkles in the sun and seems to stretch to eternity. If you know where to go and you're really lucky, you can get an entire powdery white beach to yourself.

With this in mind, we gave the more popular (read: disturbingly crowded) beaches a miss and drove to a place called Kim's Kamp (apparently not just grammar but spelling is also somewhat of a challenge at South Beach *grins*) We knew of this place from our previous visit to South Beach with The Boss on Easter Sunday.

There was just one other family occupying one banda (hut in Swahili) in the short row bandas that faced the beach.



A Tanzanian man collected the entry fee of TSH3,000 each and brought us a little waste basket so we wouldn't litter the beach. After that, we were left to our own devices.

We chose our banda and spread out our Maasai cloth in front of it before placing the only two pieces of camping gear we own in all the world - a pink chair that doubles as a backpack and a picnic set. Both of these are fabulous presents from Pinky and I took a picture just so she'll know that her gifts are being put to good use! Thank you, Pinky *blows kisses*



The water was right in front of us - no obstacle to the view. It was so perfect that it looked like it had been painted just for us:



We spent all that afternoon reading (even The Engineer, who generally prefers the TV, was engrossed in The Kite Runner)


It was absolutely lovely to sit by the sea and read with no sound but that of ocean waves breaking softly on the shoreline.

Tanzania may lack Body Shop, Aldo and OPI nails but I must admit that every once in a while, it doesn't matter.

Hari Raya in Tanzania

Muslims the world over recently celebrated Eid. In Malaysia we call it Hari Raya which, when translated literally from Malay, means Celebration Day. The Engineer noticed that Eid is celebrated in a more sombre manner by the Muslims in Tanzania compared to those in Malaysia and I must say that I agree.

Back home, there'll be "lagu raya" or raya music blaring in every shopping mall in the weeks leading up to the big day and this never fails to evoke the raya spirit (I suppose this is an unfair comparison between Kuala Lumpur and Dar Es Salaam since there are no malls here from which to blare anything!).

Certain streets, even in the middle of KL, will be lined with little stalls selling Malay cakes, cookies, curries and other goodies every single evening throughout the fasting month. This is to cater to busy Muslims who don't cook at home when they break their fast every day.

However, an observer would notice that Malaysians (and even expatriates) from every race, religion and walk of life will throng these little stalls for a taste of excellent Malay cooking at very affordable prices.Thinking about all this left the Engineer and I a little homesick so we decided that we couldn't go home to Malaysia then we'd have to find a way to bring a little bit of Malaysia to us.

So, I downloaded some of our favourite Raya songs online and played it full blast while we both cooked up a very Malaysian meal - nasi lemak. It's a very simple and delicious dish of coconut rice and boiled eggs eaten with a spicy, sweet anchovy sambal (sauce). This is what we came up with:




Considering that we were both previously good only at eating nasi lemak and had never tried making it (we usually wait for our mums to cook it up for us), we thought it turned out pretty good.

Silver lining: We didn't capture the true feel of the Malaysian Raya spirit but now, at least, we know how to make a pretty good nasi lemak!

The Shopping Ogre

I had a sudden and strong urge to shop last week - it was an attack of the Shopping Ogre, a creature that lurks just beneath the surface of my psyche and rears its monstrous head when I least expect it.

Just to be clear, The Shopping Ogre doesn't goad me into the goody-goody sort of grocery shopping which I normally do but the other kind of shopping - the guilt-inducing kind. It has previously been responsible for a host of unnecessary (but oh so lovely!) purchases such as Aldo shoes, Zara outfits and yet another book that will soon sit on the "I'm meaning to read it sometime soon" shelf at home.

Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on how you look at it) I'm in a place where malls are a distant dream. The reality consists of dukas* lining dusty, orange roads with, what often looks like, second-hand clothes within.

That didn't stop me though. There's this little duka that I pass by every day because it's right near my apartment. I've noticed that, of late, the clothes hanging on its glass doors look rather attractive. Last Wednesday, I finally caved and paid a visit.

Just so, I wouldn't forget that I'm in Tanzania (as if I could!) I stepped in to find that the air-conditioner had broken down and the inside of the little duka was approximately the same temperature as the centre of a furnace. This very Tanzanian picture was made complete with the presence of a fundi*, trying in vain, to resuscitate the dead air-cond.

Determined not to let this bother me, I browsed through the goods the young lady, whose shop it was, had hanging neatly on the walls. I thought it was truly ironic when she said that she gets her stock from Thailand. Here I am, a Malaysian, who can easily get clothes from Thailand at bargain basement prices back home, shopping for the very same sort of stuff halfway across the world and paying ridiculously high prices for it. I blame the Ogre!

I left 20 minutes later with two new blouses in my bag - my own blouse sticking to my back because of the oven-like heat that I'd barely survived.

I thought I had quenched the thirst of the Shopping Ogre but I was wrong. I was attacked once again on Friday while driving by yet another duka ( I told you there are only dukas here and no malls). There I was , minding my own business, when I caught sight of this, from the corner of my eye:



It was pretty, it was orange, it was a halter neck and I swear it was calling-my-name (maybe it was actually the Ogre again, whispering in my ear!)

Not one to ignore the call of Pretty Clothes I made a sudden U-turn, kicking up a cloud of orange dust in the dirt road and frightening the heck out of the taxi man behind me! I even endured this makeshift, flimsy changing 'room' (it's that thing hanging on the right - two rugs hanging from the ceiling!) to get my hands on the dress.

I ended up buying it and drove home quickly to try it on. I loved it so much, I went back and got the last one the duka guy, Eddie, had in stock. I have a bad feeling that Eddie and I are going to be good friends from now on especially since he explained that he gets his stuff from Zanzibar and that they are brand new (the labels on the clothes confirmed this)

The things Divas do to assuage the Shopping Ogre that lives within us...not even the looming threat of heatstroke, the risk of purchasing 2nd hand clothes (yech!) or the perils of dangerous U-turning will keep us away!

*Note to the blissfully unaware:
1. duka means shop in Swahili
2. fundi means skilled worker although the 'skilled' part can sometimes be a bit of a stretch!

The Little Potjie That Could

Before last Sunday, I wouldn't have been able to tell you what a potjie is even if you threatened to throw all my Aldo shoes into Lake Tanganyika (that would have been a true tragedy but there you have it).

A potjie (no, it is not, as I thought, pronounced pot-jee but poyt-kee) is an Afrikaans word describing a stout little three-legged cast-iron pot. It's not very large but do not be fooled by its size and seemingly innocuous appearance. It is a highly effective cooking tool and is extremely heavy (lift a potjie in each hand, 5 times a day, and you'd have Madonna envious of your defined arms).

The big deal is not the potjie itself but what South Africans put in the potjie - namely a delicious mix of meat and vegetables. Mysterious spices are thrown in and before long you have a lovely aroma floating in the air around the pot. Actually the spices themselves aren't particularly mysterious. The real mystery is the recipe. People are very proud of their potjie recipes and tend to guard them with their lives.

The reason I may appear wise to the ways of the South African potjie is because The Engineer and I were involved in a Potjie Kos Competition. Kos apparently means food in Afrikaans - so it was a Pot Food Competition (I'll stick to Afrikaans, it sounds imbecilic when you translate it to English!)

Anyway, quite a large crowd from the different departments at The Engineer's office turned up and some of them when to all sorts of trouble with the presentation. There was a team with a red carpet spread on the grass leading up to their table. The judges must've been impressed because the Red Carpet People people took home the prize for the Best Potjie even though I thought our potjie kos tasted better (talk about being a sore loser!) Some people arrived really early and already had the pot on the coals before anyone even had a chance to set up their tables.

Our team, on the other hand, turned up late and fumbled about for a long time. Here we are, finally getting our act together:

I was surprised things went as well as they did because there were people in our team who didn't know the difference between white onions and leeks! The guy proudly turned up with a bunch of leeks and announced that he'd brought the white onions. He later tried to redeem himself by saying that he'd confused white onions with spring onions. That doesn't explain anything at all because even if he thought he was buying spring onions, he still got it wrong - by no stretch, are spring onions leeks!

Overall, I thought we did really well as a team considering there were only two true-blue South Africans and everyone else was either Malaysian or Indian (with one Egyptian and one Ghananian thrown in for good measure). In fact our team was more varied than the ingredients that went into the pot!





The thing about cooking with a potjie is that it takes hours and hours and hours. After you've thrown everything into it, you've got to let it stew in its juices for ages so the meat really comes out all infused in the ingredients and very, very tender. Only problem is, there's not much to do while you wait. This is where the South African ingenuity really comes into its own...what does everyone do? Well, they drink of course! Drink themselves silly!

I must say it's fun. It's a day in the sun, spent with drunken friends. What could be more fun?

After a number of beers, some of the men (including The Engineer) began to (predictably) misbehave.

The hostess of the competition, the always gracious Lannie, had thought ahead and rented one of those bouncy castle slide thingees for the kids. Before long, the poor kids had to stand aside as the real kids took over. With all the jumping and extra weight, I expected the thing to burst but it, fortunately, didn't.

Some of the guys began to compete to see who would get to the end of the slide first (as if the potjie competition wasn't enough already). The Engineer and The Sales Guru dove in twice and The Engineer won both times.


No doubt, buoyed by his recent wins, The Engineer took on another friend, The Egyptian who gave him a good run for his money and won by a hair. The two of them then ran the risk of twisting their limbs and ending up in a sling by competing a bit too seriously. The Engineer, who went without a shirt in the slide, proudly showed me his 'war wounds', a couple of long scratches on his chest, the next day....boys*rolls eyes*

All in all it was a great day even though we didn't win but winning was never the point! That's the thing about South African events, win or loose, you are guaranteed three things: the outdoors, good food and a great happy heap of booze!

The Sporadic Blogger

This is my punishment for being a sporadic blogger. Now that I'm brimming with tales to tell, the Internet is not cooperating with me!

I just can't seem to download the pictures....it takes ages and then dies out on me!

Sigh! I may be a sporadic blogger but I sure ain't a quittin' blogger, so I'm a gonna keep on tryin' (dunno why I've suddenly adopted a Mid Western accent!!)

Dar Day

I'm having one of those 'Dar Days' as Pinkie calls them. It's a day when you wish you were anywhere but here. What made it worse was the lousy, gloomy, dark-clouds-in-the-sky weather this morning. Awful.