Back at my desk and drawing...

I am back in South Africa having been thoroughly kissed by my family.I am now at my desk and working on pictures for the new book, books, or what ever may come out of this trip. It was the most amazing experience and I feel very blessed to have been given the opportunity.

I am now going over the photos and the pics and seeing what will fit, what will work and how I can produce some really great books.

I am also planning on writing The Mozambican Illustrated Cookbook as the food there was fantastic, so I have alot to get going on. Am going to upload a few more pics from the trip then get back to the drawing board, literally!!

Flights, fights and a moment.

So I sat on the run way at Maputo airport and we were just about to taxi and leave the country when a fight ensued between the air steward and two Portuguese passengers. It was to do with the fact that the two men, father and son I would say, wanted to move places and the air steward said 'no not now as it wasn't safe' he was in the right. Then, to my suprise the two men hurled abuse at the air steward, along the lines of 'If it wasn't for people like us you would be nothing'. It was ugly.
The air steward kept his cool, went to the captain, opened up the side door and went to throw them off. Security came in, the shyest security man I have ever seen. He actually had dread in his every step as he walked on to the plane, he sheepishly asked another passsenger what happened, then shrugged his shoulders and walked off. Everyone calmed down, the doors were shut and the two Portuguese guys behaved themselves.

I thought it was a sheer racist attack and there are always two sides to one story as by the end of the flight one of these men had befriended an African man sitting opposite him, it was as if they were best friends for years, laughing and chatting no end.

As the plane took off I had a huge surge of emotion, the moment when planes leave a place or arrives in a place, always does it for me. As if the whole trip was suddenly condensced in to that moment, and I had a good old weep. I wept for the kids I was leaving behind, I wept for the poverty of the place, I wept for racism as a whole, big globby tears fell on to my lap. And then I summoned all my thoughts together and stopped, like turning a clean page waiting for what I am to put on it.

Maputo, Motherhood and going home.

My bags are semi packed in the upstairs air conditioned room I fly back to South Africa this afternoon.

We drove through Maputo yesterday and looked at the buildings, saw where Nelson Mandela and Graca Machel have their house. I went to look at The (famous) Polana Hotel, which is unfortunately under construction. I saw their stack of cakes and goodies which make up their well known high tea. I also saw the price in dollars and swiftly moved on.

We bought vegetables at the local market and maneuvered our way through the stalls.
We sat and had lunch at a cafe and asked the waiter if he was thinking of his wife, as he completely seemed to forget every order we gave him. He laughed and said he wasn't thinking of her but continued through giggles to bring us the wrong food.

My journey has come to a close. I have a huge sense of excitement about seeing my family again, my brilliant Ant and Olive, Amari and Jahli. They have held me afloat whilst I have been away. I have kept them in a box in my mind whilst I have relished this creative freedom that ultimately keeps me sane.

This journey has been a great reminder that I need to carve out this time for myself amidst the chaos that is motherhood. Am sad to leave Mozambique but am so looking forward to the kisses that await me back home. And am also looking forward to the books that come out of this trip...

Capalanas, cookbooks and my clothes

So I feel a cookbook rising in the oven of my mind...
The food here has been delicious, I shared a recipe with Maria in the village and she shared her yukka leaves Matapa recipe and her sweet potato leaves recipe. They were delicious and for me her cooking was the tastiest food I have had on the trip, really full of flavour and healthy. The idea of walking to your garden at 4.30 am and picking the leaves of the plants that are growing, then bringing them back to wash and clean them then chop them and cook them is so different to going to the shops and buying spinach, which would be the obvious replacement. It doesn't have the same ring. But the realist in me has a word with the romantic in me. I know that this simple basic way of life can easily seem idyllic but the reality is that it springs from a deep sense of poverty and having to exist on what there is. But the romantic then has to have a word with the realist and say there is something very beautiful about being connected to the earth in such a simple way.I have these two voices chatting in my head and I feel a fine balance of the two is good.

The food here is a delicious, a mixture of African, Portuguese and Arabic. The flavours are exquisite and the food is imaginative. Coconut bread, Peri Peri Prawns, vegetable leaves mixed with onions, garlic and cashews. Coconut puddings, I can see this book on the horizon. This country, to me, is an artists heaven, there are colours everywhere. I think that a lot of the people here are highly skilled and artistic, with the weaving, the painted buildings, the capalanas. It is a really colourful place. I am pretty simple, colours really please me and sometimes I would just giggle looking at the colours of doors, houses and the advertising. Well the advertising, that needs a whole blog to itself, safe to say that Vodocom and Mcel spent alot of money on paint!

Advertisers aside, it is as if the whole country has been taken over by someone with a really good sense of humour, a good eye for colour and a big paintbrush! But to put it in perspective and to possibly ask the romantic in me to step down and let the realist chat, the whole country is also war torn and some places look like ghost towns. They look positively creepy.

As for keeping tabs on the sloppy westerner in me I had to remember to try and dress smart, especially in the villages. However my clothes could not keep up with my journey, they disintegrated, I think when I am incredibly hot I lose the sense of how my body is moving and I managed to rip most of my clothes. Perhaps this white lady was just too hot and couldn't concentrate.

I want to squeeze in a word about capalanas, the beautiful strong coloured sarong like fabrics that the woman wear. In my next life, or maybe in this life, can I please be a capalana designer? They are brilliant, creative and beautiful. So what with the beauty of this place,the capalanas and the food I feel The Illustrated Capalana Cook book brewing...

Cashew wine and lost children

I am sitting on a lovely white sofa after having had a delicious shower, I showered the grime off my body for about 30 minutes solid, there was grey water sliding off me and I had to really scrub. We came back from Nwadjahane village today, we went to stay there for a night for two reasons. One was to go and see a woman called Maria and her family. The other reason was to see the children, follow upabout the books and do some painting with them.

We sat with Maria, who had lost her three children a year ago yesterday. Her children were killed in a terrible fire, it was an act of jealousy and rage done by a boyfriend of one of her daughters. The grieving consisted of family drinking cashew wine and falling over and staring blankly in to space. The kids ran around skipping and laughing, they seemed happy that thier cousins were there. Although they also had to slot in to working and helping with the food, the dishes, the cleaning and the endless tasks that children seem to have to do in these villages. Or should I say the female children have to do.

We were talked through the process of how cashew wine was made and I tried it. A sort of cross between fresh vinegar and off vinegar.
We gave Maria some food and some clothes that we had bought, all a bit irrelevant considering the enormity of her loss. But she was, within her sad face, beaming.

I can't and don't even begin to imagine that kind of loss. I guess I look at it from the outside knowing that it is wrong and wishing that I could go back in time and stop that moment before it happened. That match before it was lit.

I understand that faced with that kind of grief, cashew wine may well be a good place in which to swim.

Potholes Crocodiles and Varnish

At the moment I am propped up against a wooden shack like bar, the breeze is coming in off the sea and this is the first time I have been cool in about 10 days. I have my bag with me and I was about to dip in to it and get out my blog, that I had written, a day ago. I have been so far from technology these days that I have taken to writing on paper!! In my book, however now my clever words are in a bunk house over the other side of this resort, so I will have to rely on my brain.

After 9 hours of driving am not sure how well my brain is functioning...and it wasn't normal driving, it was 'Hold on...sorry...aaah' (swerve) Mozambican driving. It was like being on a computer game however it was real. That is always a worry when I start dodging the HUGE holes and think, wow this is just like a computer game... I have to remember it is reality and so I had to really concentrate. There are no rules in Mozambique when it comes to driving, I actually could and did swerve all over the place only to be be faced with other drivers coming towards me doing exactly the same thing. But am here, we are both safe and Mary Jo my most relaxed traveling partner seems never to be baffled by this way of driving at all.

This is true to say I have faced many fears over the last few days, my fear of...well driving on bad roads. My fear of heights, I climbed up the side of a very tall waterfall, my fear of snakes. I was told just as I was about to climb up the mountain, I was told of a large green mamba...I hate snakes. I thought, Mamba? What Mamba!! I am climbing up this waterfall, well up the side of it. I did and survived although I fell down three times on the way back. And a man named Segundo, who may I add is the father of 27, yes 27 children, helped me down. Well he stopped me with his foot and laughed, every time I slipped.

Another fear was this, we were on our way to another school to share the books and for me to act out the story of The Red Chicken. No one told us that we would have to stop the car and walk a lot of the way, nor did they say we would be carrying our books across a crocodile infested river. I said to our smiling friend Domingoes, 'Are there crocodiles in this river?' and he held his hand over his mouth and laughed. "Yes there are crocodiles in theees reeever' What I didn't say was that we were in a boat...'Phew!' But this is a river that has 'taken' 5 people this year. We were escorted in a dug out boat by another man called Varnish, what a great name, pronounced 'Verneeesh'. This man who was shot at in the war and the bullets bounced off him, or on some occasions turned to water. He said he had gone to a witch doctor to put a magic spell on him but now any one can shoot him as he had the spell taken off. We asked was this magic or just luck and he said that was he secret that he could not share with us. I love this place.