tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-100632502024-03-13T07:38:33.303+02:00unworthy am iSchmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.comBlogger339125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-38594328560808122932014-12-02T10:55:00.003+02:002014-12-02T10:55:56.810+02:00Foodie thoughts on Gabon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In each of the places we’ve lived we’ve picked up a number of things that have stayed with us long after we’ve moved - habits, ways of thinking, tastes for certain foods, recipes, even words from the language that seems to have replaced their English counterparts, and all of these things have woven themselves into the fabric of our lives. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As we are beginning the process again somewhere new I wonder…what pieces of Gabon will attach themselves to us in the next 5 years? After only 2 1/2 months here I find that I’m quick to respond in the affirmative with “oui” without thinking, even when speaking in English, although when I nearly bump into someone I still automatically want to say, “desculpa” (Portuguese). But just as my Russian vocabulary slowly began to bow out to make room for the Portuguese, I know that French will eventually take it’s place too. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I asked for some inspiration and got some. I was asked about adapting the local foods into our daily lives. and I can’t say whether “adapting” was meant to be “adopting” or whether adapt was the word chosen, but I’d say it’s most appropriate, because we aren’t Gabonese and I’ll probably never cook completely traditionally Gabonese meals at home on a regular basis. But we’ve already begun to adapt things. Substitute. Change things. Keep things. Adapt to them and them to us.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Plantains. It’s a good thing we both like them. They are everywhere. In Angola we had them on rare occasions when we were gifted some from Luanda, but never had much opportunity to cook them often. Here they are one of our staples. We boil them. Fry them. One day I decided to make plantain fritters and shared some with our Gabonese neighbor, Nesmy, who upon seeing them and having a bite said, “You know how to make these????”. I said, “I do know how to make them, but what do you think they are?” Then he turned to his wife and said, “beignets avec banane!”, which actually is exactly what they were, since “fritter” is the English word for beignet. He had been joking with me that I owed him some “cuisine de Pennsylvanie” and so I told him that we make something similar in PA, but not with plantains. He replied, “I’ve never had them with plantains either. It’s good!” </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Etangas. When we first arrived in Gabon, any time we would pass a market stall I was intrigued by this small blue thing. Everyone had them, and everyone seemed to be buying them. Was it a fruit? A vegetable? I mean, they are BLUE! Other than blueberries I can’t think of any other blue fruits, and I certainly have never seen a blue vegetable before. One day I ventured to ask the lady at the vegetable stand, “Que ce que c’est?” (“what is it?”) and she replied with a somewhat bewildered look that sort of said “duh” she said, “Etanga”. I asked, “C’est des fruit? des legumes?” she said, “c’est etanga.” Clearly I wasn’t getting anywhere. Later when I was able to ask Nesmy, he told me it was a vegetable and when I asked what it was like he said, “it’s like….. etanga" and laughed. But he promised to make some for me to answer my questions. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">* (once cooked they appear more purple, but raw they really are quite blue!)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Several weeks later I was invited to go along with Nesmy and his wife, Andoo to visit a friend of theirs for his birthday. To my surprise, the hosts had made etangas! They had been baked and were accompanied by a good deal of salt. I was quite excited to try one, so I chose a smaller one and watched the others to know how to eat it properly. They each ate them, skin and all, avoiding the pit inside, which is kind of like a mango or avocado pit. The flesh of the cooked etanga was quite soft, creamy - like the consistency of pureed pumpkin or a very soft overripe avocado, and as I took my first bite I thought, I could really like this, but after a second or two it was very sour, almost bitter. It kind of took me by surprise. I kept taking bites hoping that maybe it was just an odd bite, but each was accompanied by a rather strong flavour that i really find it hard to put into words. I dutifully finished my etanga and prayed that I wouldn’t have to eat another one or get put on the spot to tell everyone what I thought of it. I was offered another and I considered taking one, had there been another small one - just to see if perhaps i had gotten a bad one - but there were only 2 left and both were actually bigger than my first and I just couldn’t force myself to eat another one if it turned out to taste the same. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sam had not been at the birthday celebration, and had missed out on the etangas. The following day, Nesmy brought some to us. These had been boiled this time, but were served in the same fashion as the one I had had the day before - with a hefty amount of salt. I decided that this was my chance to see if the previous day was a fluke or not. For some reason I really WANTED to like these strange bitter veggies with the blue skin. I also decided that the key to eating them must be the salt, and made sure to get enough on my first bite. To my surprise, it wasn’t so bad. Perhaps it was because I knew what to expect, or because I had been expecting the worst - but this one, I actually kind of liked. I am still at a loss to explain the flavour exactly, but it does somehow remind me a bit of strong salt and vinegar chips. I can see now, though, why people were at a loss when explaining what they are like, because they really aren’t like anything I have ever had before. I’m told that you either love ‘em or hate ‘em. My first was a definitive hate. But maybe they are an acquired taste - the second may have started to win me over, as I have a strange desire to have more. Sam on the other hand, has no such compulsion and is strongly in the “hate” category. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Manioc/Cassava. This is something we ate in Angola as well. Sam in particular loves it and often came home from work carrying some. Generally we would boil it and then fry it. Before having it in Gabon if I had been asked, “Do you like manioc?” I would had said, “Yes. of course.” Now that I have had it here in Gabon, I wouldn’t be so quick with my answer. I have discovered that my liking it has a lot to do with how it is prepared. The way I have had it here - it is boiled and fermented and this seems to be the most popular preparation as far as I can tell. It is sold this way, wrapped tightly in the manioc leaves, at all the little vendors and market stalls. It has a rather spongy texture and with the fermented flavour and grey appearance it just doesn’t appeal much to me. We have actually only seen fresh cassava at the big market and we didn’t see any that looked really good enough to buy for making it ourselves at home our own way. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Smoked fish is another popular food here. We tried some in a peanut soup that Nesmy made for us. The soup was decent, but I think I would have preferred it without the tough, smoked fish. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Speaking of peanuts, that is another thing we’ve seen quite a lot of. Many of the stalls sell home-roasted peanuts packed in salvaged glass bottles. Some also sell jars of cooking “peanut butter” - for use in dishes like Nesmy’s soup, or cooked cassava leaves. We buy the peanuts, but grind them ourselves. I’ve made my own natural peanut butter with a little oil and honey and it was quite nice. There’s a spicy peanut chicken stew of sorts that Sam learned how to make from a Nigerian friend he met in Russia that we make fairly often. it will be even easier to make now that we can just buy the cooking peanut butter rather than having to grind the peanuts ourselves every time. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>French baguettes, of course! One of the many hand-me-downs of colonisation - these are the daily bread of the Gabonese. We get a fresh-baked baguette every morning at the little shop across the street. The young vendor knows what we want when we step foot in the tiny shop and we don’t even have to ask anymore. He just grabs a long baguette, slices it in half and puts it in it’s little bag. We hand over the 125 Francs (about 25 cents) and that’s it. He practices his English with Sam and Sam practices his French. You can even purchase the bread with chocolate spread (a favourite with the kids in the neighborhood) or with spreadable cheese. Seems like it’s a popular breakfast on-the-go for school children and people on their way to work. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Here in Libreville there is a lot of variety - a typical saturday trip to the market stalls for us yields plantains, sweet potatoes, carrots, zucchini squash, red peppers, green peppers, red onions, garlic, ginger, mangoes, bananas, tangerines, tomatoes, avocados, basil, cilantro, lemons, oranges, and watermelon. We’re preparing ourselves though for our move to Bongolo in January. We’ve heard much about how there’s isn’t much to be had there fresh vegetable-wise. So we’re enjoying the bounty while we can. I hope to try my hand at a garden there, but i also know the task is daunting - many have tried but have failed for lack of the time and effort it takes to keep away the multitude of pests and the rot that can come from living in the rainforest. I’m trying to do my research into tropical permaculture to make sure to choose plants that thrive in a hot, humid, wet climate. We shall see….</span></div>
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Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-56518270232947240112014-10-30T16:19:00.002+02:002014-10-30T16:19:47.156+02:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Taxis - The Gabon Edition</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It’s that time again - time to describe how taxis work in our newest home. If you hadn't noticed yet, I’m pretty sure I’ve posted about taxis in each of the countries we’ve lived in so far. The reason - they are different everywhere! Different colours & styles, different routes of operation and different ways to hail them, various ways to pay, when to pay, how to pay…I always make a point of asking a local how to hail and take a taxi before doing it (if possible) because if you assume you know how things are done and just do it whatever way you’re accustomed to, you could be very wrong. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Here in Gabon as far as I can tell, there are taxi cars and taxi buses. I’ll describe the cars since they are what I have experience with. Stopping one works the way you probably expect - stick out your hand/arm, but here’s where things get a bit different than our previous homes. When the taxi stops (or slows down and rolls slowly by) this is your time to negotiate price. Apparently there’s no set taxi fare here in Libreville, so when the taxi stops you tell him what you want to pay and where you want to go. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Example: Taxi stops. You say, “Trois cent, Mbolo” (price: 300 francs, destination: “Mbolo” - the big supermarket across from the French Institute where we have classes)</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">VERY IMPORTANT: it’s price first, then destination. I made the mistake of saying the destination first thinking that if a driver knew where I wanted to go and was going that direction, then I could tell him my price. But this just resulted in 5 taxis driving away before I had the chance to tell my price, and me getting very very wet in the rain before finally just deciding to walk home, since I was already drenched. Price first! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>If the driver agrees to your price, he will, in my experience, do one of the following things:</span></div>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">beep the horn</span></li>
<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">say ok or give some other verbal or non-verbal signal to you</span></li>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">if one of these things happens, you know that the driver has accepted your price and will take you where you want to go for that price. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">If the driver does not agree to your price, he’ll just drive away, unless you quickly up your price and offer more, in which case he may reconsider. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>If you successfully snag a cab, enjoy your ride to your destination and pay upon arrival. You should get out the door on the curb-side only and if you are on the wrong side of the car and other passengers are in the backseat with you, they will get out to let you out the curb-side. What I learned today is that if the taxi driver gets pulled over by the police while you are en route, it won’t take too long. Though this particular driver after a few minutes with the policeman did come back to the taxi, grab some cash, disappear back to the cop, and return with license in hand and we were off. So this may have expedited things a bit…..or maybe I just lived in Angola and Russia too long....</span></div>
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Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-21694474553097715522014-10-03T15:22:00.002+02:002014-10-03T15:22:34.591+02:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">First impressions</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 11px; letter-spacing: 0px;"> * It’s HUMID. We’re thankful to have arrived at the end of the “cool”, “dry” season, though really, </span><span style="font-size: 11px;">there's not going to be much change here on the Equator!</span><span style="font-size: 11px; letter-spacing: 0px;"> The quote of the first weekend we were here, in my opinion, was our first saturday while we sat by the side of the road along the coast, drinking coconut water…out of the blue and in all seriousness someone exclaimed, “It’s quite chilly today”. I’m pretty sure both Sam and I laughed out loud. </span></span><br />
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Gabon is quite expensive, like Angola. So nothing new there. We dropped $210 on a mediocre high chair for Isabella - the kind one could find at Walmart for less than $40. </span></li>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My high school French is coming back to me. I must note for my Warwick High School French classmates that I found it extremely amusing when, on our first night in Gabon, we were invited for dinner with the managers of the guesthouse where we are staying and I drank “un Orangina”. Yes, really. </span></li>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The bread. We’ve moved from the land of Portuguese rolls to the land of French baguettes. It is quite nice to have fresh baked baguettes every morning with just a few steps out the gate and across the street. </span></li>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We’ve already met several people from Bongolo Hospital, as they’ve passed through on their way to various places. One of the 4th year residents and his family are staying here for a holiday in Libreville, so it’s been nice to spend a little time with some people we’ll be getting to know a lot better in the next year. They have a little girl who is just about 2 weeks older than Isabella, so she already has a friend. It’s really cute to see them together for all their similarity at this stage, and also their differences in personality. </span></li>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We’ve taken several walks already to explore our new neighbourhood. We discovered that the Angolan Embassy is actually quite near where we’re staying. And as we wandered further, we ended up at the coast, which is also not very far at all. </span></li>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Our new friends here at the guesthouse have taken us around a bit - introducing us to Mbolo - the big supermarket nearby. It’s bigger and more diverse than Shoprite in Lubango. It reminds me a lot of OKEY in Saint Petersburg. One just has to be careful when choosing products. Some things are reasonably priced, while others are CRAZY. For example I was in an isle of kitchen items looking at salad spinners. Since we’re new here and haven’t quite gotten the exchange rate pricing in our heads yet, I was using my calculator to get an idea of what things cost. Something as inconsequential as salad spinners ranged anywhere from 12,000 to 38,000 CFA anywhere from $24 to $78! </span></li>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">TIA as far as things beginning “on time”. We’ve been here two weeks now and French lessons still haven't begun. We were supposed to received an email confirmation about starting today, which we never got, so we decided to go there anyway. There were 4 other students who had also come, having not received confirmation, thinking that class might begin today. But as it turns out, we were supposed to come today, but it was just for us to meet and decide what the real schedule for class would be and when we would begin. All things point to us actually having a class on Monday at 11:30. Alors! Nous allons voir! Entao! Vamos ver! Well, we’ll see….</span></li>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Libreville is a lot smaller than I imagined. I thought, as the capitol city, size-wise it would be something like Luanda or Saint Peterburg, but as it turns out it’s probably similar in size to Lubango. It’s really not that difficult to find your way around. We’ve taken a few walks around and have already figured out our area pretty well. I asked about the city population and was told it’s around 600,000. And yes, the majority of the country’s people do live in this city. Gabon is apparently pretty tiny. </span></li>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sometimes Sam and I have a conversation about something and afterwards I realise what a different world I live in compared to 10 years ago when I still lived in the US. For example, how many of you stateside have agreed with your spouse that neither of you knows what lizard poop looks like so neither of you is certain whether it is in fact the mouse or the lizard in your house that is pooping on your dishes in the drying rack? </span></li>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">more later….</span></div>
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Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-69490543212664481822014-09-16T13:09:00.002+02:002014-09-16T13:09:37.307+02:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The journey to Gabon:<br />
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We were blessed right from the beginning at the Lubango airport of all places, when the ticketing agent checking us in decided to give Isabella 30kgs of free baggage too, instead of the 10kgs she should have gotten as an infant. Perhaps it helps that she's cute. ; ) We had an extremely expensive breakfast to kill time in the airport restaurant while waiting for our flight to use up some Kwanzas, then crossed through security without any problems, right on time for boarding. <br />
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In Lubango, when you walk outside to board the plane, you also need to identify your checked luggage and make sure it gets loaded, as well as pass your hand luggage through another x-Ray machine. I could never figure out why, since you already did it when going through security before the gate - but I digress. The phrase, "Check your logic at the border" comes to mind. The x-Ray on the Tarmac is positioned so that you approach it from one side and must walk around the back I of it to retrieve your bags. So, we put our hand luggage on the short conveyor belt and watch it disappear into the machine, walk around the back, and there are our bags on the ground in a heap, having just dropped right off the back side of the machine as the dutiful TAAG (Think Again About Going) staff look on. (I'm sure that's really good for the electronics and laptops that people have in their carry-ons). The flight went well - Bella's first time flying - she she filled her belly with milk upon take off and subsequently slept for the next 30 mins or so. She woke up happy and had fun playing with the safety instructions card and greeting and smiling at the other passengers. We arrived in Windhoek and although another plane had just arrived from Europe, were first in line for customs - THANK YOU SADAC! (Every now and then there is an advantage to being married to an Angolan citizen.) We collected all our bags and picked up our rental car. After some pretty masterful packing by Sam, all our luggage managed to fit in our little Ford Figo - though finding Isabella was a little bit "Where's Waldo". We had lunch in Windhoek, met Sam's mom to get the house key and picked up some food to cook for dinner. <br />
The evening was fairly uneventful, except for the fact that the internet didn't work and the water went out - an irony that is not lost on my friends reading this in Angola. <br />
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Woke up Friday morning with a headache and nausea - not a promising feeling when you know you have a full day of travel ahead of you. Vomited and felt much better. Praise The Lord. We were running behind schedule but made it to the airport with just enough time to return the rental car, wrap our bags and check in. Even with 6 checked bags, we still were pleasantly surprised that the excess baggage fees weren't that bad, and happily paid them, thankful that we were able to take at least a bit of "home" with us. <br />
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Isabella did great in flight number two, playing and pointing to the guy behind us who pointed right back and had fun interacting with her. She didn't sleep at all and I thought for sure she'd be dead to the world during our layover. But she surprised us both by only taking a 20 min power nap. By the time our last flight was taking off, she was exhausted. I spent the first 20 mins of cruising altitude standing by my seat rocking her in the sling. Finally she konked out and slept for probably more than half the flight to Libreville. (Thanks for the prayers, Dad!)<br />
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The plane descended into thick grey cloud cover and finally we could green, lots of green. We disembarked into a wall of humidity and bonjours. We're in a new world now. <br />
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Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-67225730370559526752014-08-26T08:13:00.000+02:002014-08-26T08:13:21.038+02:00Countdown...T minus ????<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The countdown has begun. The problem is, I'm not sure at what number to begin the countdown! We have a reservation (not a booking) for a flight on Friday, but we still have no word about our immigration documents for Gabon. Yes, today is Tuesday. <br />
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I've been sorting and packing, planning and organizing, while Isabella crawls all over unsorting, unpacking, and disorganizing. Yes, SHE is on the move too, quite literally, and with quite a lot of determination and speed. She took to crawling quickly and shortly after decided that standing and walking are definitely the preferred mode of ambulation, and she keeps trying with true grit and persistence. So, often my packing takes a backseat to picking up and dusting off after a tumble, cuddling after one of many self-inflicted bumps on the head, or playing referee between Isabella and Koshka (our cat), whom Bella follows around relentlessly. For her part, Koshka has been a feline saint - putting up with numerous yanks, grabs, and all too-excited pats, accompanied by ear-piercing shrieks of delight. She has never snapped or taken out the claws, and more often than not, rather than running away or jumping up out of reach, she just stands her ground or lays there and takes it. Which, if you ask me, should probably be chalked up to either stubbornness or stupidity, rather than saintliness. <br />
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And so, we wait. We wait for word from our contact in Gabon about whether or not our immigration documents are ready for our planned departure IN FOUR DAYS. We pack up and put away, and tie up loose ends, with the expectation that we will not be here this weekend. Yet, because of this uncertainty, in the back of my mind there lingers the feeling that, "we're not REALLY leaving" yet. Saying our goodbyes haven't been true goodbyes, but "goodbye in case we don't see you again before we go". <br />
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We wait, as I savour wearing a fleece on the chilly mornings and evenings while checking the forecast for Libreville and mentally preparing for <a href="http://www.accuweather.com/en/ga/libreville/168271/weather-forecast/168271" target="_blank">THIS</a>. <br />
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So who knows? Next time you hear from me I could be writing from just north of the Equator. Or....maybe not. <br />
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Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-18913841460299809012014-07-25T13:06:00.002+02:002014-07-25T13:06:33.401+02:00ON THE MOVE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Here we go again. Another adventure. Another country. Another language. This time: Gabon. So, here I am again - the prodigal blogger - coming back to writing. I've realised that my blogging apparently seems to have a direct correlation to the amount of time it takes me to adjust to the new country, for things to stop seeming foreign/really different/interesting and for the place to become home, where, "that's just the way it is". I suppose I process culture shock through writing. Once I'm through it, my writing takes a dive. <br />
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Hmmm....is it any wonder that I blogged most consistently in Russia? <br />
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So....Gabon!. This will be my second move to a country I've never even visited before. Sam was accepted to a surgical residency program there, and when we got the word where we'd be going, honestly, I had to check the map to see exactly where on the continent it was. So not only have I never been there, but I really knew nothing about it, other than it's a French-speaking country. <br />
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Hard to believe, but we've been in Angola for more than two and a half years already. So much has happened here; most notedly, the addition of this little lady:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU7Mb8j2X3Hkmwu9Ab_dNZ3ezL96RbLQoUEMRHFmaUFbw2DFjnaxuCqL6UbhyphenhyphenrZLind_YFT4HrhGn4apt5vyfvTeBY5a8s46Tu7riaa-ZPRSLj3vHTdVam_yi9mrcuHf_vvUKk/s1600/IMG_0714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU7Mb8j2X3Hkmwu9Ab_dNZ3ezL96RbLQoUEMRHFmaUFbw2DFjnaxuCqL6UbhyphenhyphenrZLind_YFT4HrhGn4apt5vyfvTeBY5a8s46Tu7riaa-ZPRSLj3vHTdVam_yi9mrcuHf_vvUKk/s1600/IMG_0714.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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We've made some GREAT friends. Seen some beautiful places. We've lived in 6 different houses.<br />
It'll be hard to go. But new adventures await - <a href="http://www.bongolohospital.org/" target="_blank">HERE.</a><br />
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Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-70011458755689952822014-01-21T18:36:00.001+02:002014-07-25T13:09:55.493+02:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Isabella is now 2 months old. And
finally I think I may have time to sit down and record a bit of
background and the events of her coming into the world.
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As most of you know, Sam is a doctor at
the mission hospital here in Lubango, Angola. And although many
babies are born there, and we trust and love the doctors there, the
hospital just doesn't have the equipment and resources it needs to
provide for anything that might go wrong, especially concerning the
baby's aftercare, etc. so when we learned we were going to be
parents, we knew that we would plan on having the baby at a hospital
in Namibia.
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In mid October Sam and I made the +/-
16 hour drive (with an overnight partway there) down to Windhoek.
The drive was good – the 30 or 40 kms of off-roading went OK
considering my big watermelon belly, even the border crossing was
fairly straightforward this time and didn't take too long. We spent
some time together in Windhoek until Sam had to return to Angola for
a few weeks, while I waited things out in Namibia. I prayed often
during that time of separation that Isabella would hang in there and
not arrive before he could return. She did, and we were both VERY
grateful, especially considering how things unfolded when she did
decide to make her appearance.
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Flash forward to November 18<sup>th </sup>-
a day after my due date. My best friend, Amber, had flown in to be
with me with the hopes of being there when baby arrived. [It's
helpful to note that, in addition to being my best friend, she is
also a doula (labour coach), a labour and delivery nurse, AND she is
in her final semester of mid-wifery training.] This girl LOVES all
things mother and baby! She had been there for a week and was
nearing the end of her stay – with a return flight on the 20<sup>th</sup>
November. I think both of us were starting to get nervous that she
might have to leave without greeting our little one. So what did we
do? We went on safari of course. Even though she had been to
Namibia before and her main purpose in coming was baby-related, you
simply can't come to Namibia without doing a game drive! So the
three of us went to Okapuka and climbed up into the back of <b>this
lovely vehicle: </b> (not the easiest thing to do at 9 months
pregnant, I might add!) and we commenced bouncing and bumping and
taking in the wonder that is the Namibian outdoors and wildlife. I
think that both Sam and Amber were secretly hoping the terrain would
get baby moving and yet hoping she wouldn't get moving while actually
ON the game drive.
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On our drive back to Okahandja (where
we were staying) we made a stop at Monkey Mountain for a photo op.
Because what else should you be doing at 9 months pregnant, a day
past your due date, and in flip flops and a skirt? Scrambling up and
over rocks! We had not had any maternity photos taken yet and it was
dusk and the Namibian sunset was at it's finest. And it didn't hurt
that Amber also happens to be an amazing amateur photographer. <b>The
Result: </b>
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Well,
no baby that night, but I did wake up around 3am with some slight
cramps thinking, “I wonder...” The next morning the cramps were
still there, but no big deal – not even as bad as some menstrual
cramps – and we had plans in the city. We ran errands in Windhoek
and <b>had a nice lunch</b>
– returning to Okahandja in the late afternoon. As we made and ate
dinner I noted that the cramps were getting a little stronger and
decided that my hunch was correct and that we would finally be
meeting our baby girl. We finished dinner around 9:30 and we sat
down to watch sitcoms as a distraction from what I now could
decidedly call “contractions”. I remember thinking that the
pains seemed to be much closer together and more intense than I
imagined they would be at the start of things. I also clearly
remember Amber saying, “on a scale of 1-10 think of these beginning
contractions as like a 1 or 2.” and I remember thinking to
myself, “If that is the case....I am in trouble.” A few more
contractions after hearing this I could no longer be distracted by or
pay any attention to the show were were watching, and I decided to
take a warm shower.
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The
flat we were staying in is part of the Christ's Hope International
center. This is the organization that Sam worked for and I
volunteered with when I took my first mission trip to Namibia. It is
where he and I first met. The flat we were staying in has a tub, but
no shower, and the flat where Amber was staying does have a shower,
so I was planning to go use the shower there. As I collected my
things and headed to the door Amber asked, “Do you want me to come
down with you and hang out there, just in case?” Considering how I
was feeling I decided that would be a good idea so we headed
downstairs together. I took a shower and realized that it was rather
difficult to stand up straight during contractions and in my mind I
kept hearing Amber say, “think of these like a 1 or 2....”
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I
dried off, got dressed and figured that Amber and I would go back
upstairs...but the contractions seemed to be so close together and I
couldn't imagine trying to walk up the steps. So I just sat there
facing Amber, sort of bowing my head, closing my eyes and trying not
to hold my breath as she encouraged and talked me through
contractions. We talked about, “should head to the hospital?” I
remember her saying it was really up to me, about what I felt
comfortable with – how long to wait before going – because, you
see, we had a 45 minute drive from where we were to where the
hospital was. I remember saying, “I just don't want to go too
early.” for several reasons – 1) if we were too early and they
turned us away, where would we go? 2) if they admitted me, Amber
wouldn't be allowed in and I was really appreciating her
encouragement and knowledge through the contractions. A few more
contractions and I decided that it was time to go to the hospital –
mostly because I was having a hard time imagining what that 45 minute
car ride was going to be like if I waited any longer.
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Amber
went upstairs to tell Sam to put the bags in the car. I'm not sure
what time it was at this point – probably after 11 - it had been
maybe an hour, hour and a half since I had come down stairs for the
shower. Amber was gone maybe 5 minutes, and in that time...my water
broke. When she came back and asked how I was I remember tell her,
“I think my water broke” and I remember her asking me where I
wanted to be, if I wanted to change positions, etc....and I said, “I
don't know!” Ha. I just remember feeling like whatever place and
position I was in I didn't want to move. At this point Amber decided
to check my progress and Sam had the car ready and had just come in
the room where I was. Amber checked me and there was a moment –
this was the “I feel like I'm in a movie” moment. I felt like it
got very quiet....as Amber announced, “Uh.... you are complete.
You're having this baby now.” and then the classic line that I
will never forget – she looked at Sam and said, “get towels and
boil some water!” I may have even laughed out loud. I don't know
if I actually did, or just felt like it. It just felt so surreal.
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So
Sam was sent off to gather everything needed to deliver a baby –
his baby. He will be the first to tell you that it's a lot easier at
the hospital where they have everything you need lined up for you,
rather than running all over trying to find everything. I vividly
remember Amber telling him they'd need something to clamp and then
cut the cord with. And there was some discussion about sewing thread
and then Sam remembering he had some suture he could use to tie, and
as for cutting the cord, “Well....I have my Leatherman!” Wouldn't
that make for a nice commercial? (in the end they decided on boiling
the scissors instead).
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So
with Sam gathering things, Amber kept encouraging and helping me
through the contractions, which I have to mention were way beyond a 1
or 2 at this point! ; ) She asked if I felt the need to push -
which I did – and so it began. Sam did come back at some point
around here and helped. I don't know how many times I pushed, but it
really wasn't many, till Amber said she could see the top of her head
- and she had lots of hair. I pushed again and there she was – all
of her at once! Amber caught her and placed her on my chest. And I
looked into my beautiful baby's eyes. Such a flood of emotions. Sam
tied the cord off with suture thread and cut it with the boiled
kitchen scissors.
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Holding
Isabella for the first time was surprisingly so completely normal –
as if this was exactly where she belonged – so natural and at the
same time it was so completely strange – is this really happening??
I was a mix of relief, excitement, love and an immediate sense that
I needed to protect her. I didn't want to stop holding her and
looking at her sweet face.
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Logistically
speaking though, I had to. Sam took her and cleaned her up and got
her dressed while I did the same for myself, taking a lot of care to
hold on to things and move slowly, as I had lost/was losing a fair
amount of blood and was feeling pretty light headed. Soon we were
all ready, and we climbed in the truck for that 45 minutes drive to
the hospital. Once there, I waited while Sam got to continue playing
his role in my movie as he walked into the hospital and proclaimed,
“My wife just had a baby. We need a wheelchair.”
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Here
is where I'd like to share just how Isabella's birth was so
beautifully orchestrated by God. How His fingerprints were all over
it. Months before making the trip to Namibia for the birth, Sam and
I had been discussing where we would stay during our time there.
Although we planned to stay in Okahandja, I was nervous about how far
away from the hospital we would be. I spent a number of weeks with
my ladies praying about it. And then, somehow I just got a peace
about it and felt that no matter what, God would provide, whatever
happened would be part of His plan, and it would be fine. And it was.
It so was. I couldn't have asked for a better experience.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And
that, dear friends is how our little Isabella made her debut. For
us, life has always been an adventure. And we wouldn't have it any
other way.
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-81111598838884922642012-12-04T12:16:00.000+02:002012-12-04T12:16:59.849+02:00Photos, Photos, PhotosOur trip to the Benguela/Lobito area, in pictures.
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Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-75400736536928905352012-12-04T11:53:00.000+02:002012-12-04T11:53:15.402+02:00A Visit to Grandma's HouseA short while ago, Sam and I took the opportunity of a three-day weekend and took a trip to the Benguela/Lobito area to visit Sam's grandma and aunts. Benguela is a coastal town about a four hours' drive from here. It's also the province where Sam was born. We left early on Saturday morning and were in Benguela by lunchtime. We stopped at a little restaurant called "Tudo na Brasa" ("Everything on Coals") I wonder who chose that one? After lunch we headed to Sam's aunt's house where we would stay for the weekend. We spent the afternoon chatting with the relatives and adjusting to the HEAT! It's surprising how much warmer it gets when you leave the high altitude of Lubango. The weekend was laid-back, filled with leisurely afternoons of long talks, tea, and visiting. The main point of this trip was for me to meet grandma, and for us to spend a little time with her. Meet we did, and what a sweet little lady she is. She is in her mid-eighties. Sam's dad happened to be in town at the time we visited, so we had a chance to visit with him as well, and take some photos. Ok, a lot of photos.
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Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-50526381999959406712012-12-03T22:57:00.000+02:002012-12-03T22:57:50.483+02:00Things I have learned while living in Angola for the past 11 months:
1. Rain is a legitimate excuse for being late to work or school. Or for not going at all.
2. Sometimes “You can’t get there from here”, is the truth.
3. “Dinner is ready” does not mean you will be eating soon.
4. If you are inside and it’s pouring rain, sit down, have a cup of coffee or tea, and by the time you’re done you can walk to your car without getting wet.
5. Potholes and sink holes can break the axle of your car, and sometimes entire tires can sink entirely under the surface of the road.
6. Expect it to be ten degrees warmer when you leave Lubango for pretty much anywhere else in Angola.
7. Beautiful, unspoiled, natural beaches do still exist.
8. When the city haphazardly plants tall evergreen trees with no roots attached before the election, they will quickly become tall everbrown eyesores after the election.
9. Roads with no drainage dissolve very quickly.
10. If you eat too many mangoes, you can end up with the chapped lips from Hell.
11. A grown man operating a motorcycle carrying two other grown men as passengers at night with no lights, is a very bad idea.
12. Chickens are good gifts to give to sick people and guests who have come to visit you.
13. Turn signals don’t mean “I’m planning to turn soon”, but rather, “You see how I just braked hard? I AM TURNING. NOW.”
14. If the task at hand would take ten minutes to complete in North America, plan for it to take three days to six months in Angola.
15. Having a receipt that your paperwork has been submitted works just as well as having the actual paperwork.
16. It’s a good idea to laminate that receipt because you may be carrying it around for a few years.
17. Roads that were never paved are much more pleasant to drive on than roads that were paved at one time.
18. Live goats can be tied to the top of buses, or strapped to one’s back on a motorcycle for transport.
19. A pano (a large rectangle piece of colorful printed cloth) is an extremely useful and versatile item. It can be used as a skirt, privacy for peeing in the bush, a shawl, a baby blanket, to tie a baby to your back, used as padding when carrying something heavy on your head, and countless other uses.
20. When you hear the hum of the refrigerator, there is electricity! Plug in your phone, and laptop, use the microwave, electric kettle and coffee grinder, and watch tv while you can!
Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-72306028697941628852012-11-28T22:32:00.002+02:002012-11-28T22:32:38.747+02:00How Time FliesI remember a time when…
I used re-sealable plastic bags only once, then threw them away.
I could bought cheese without laying down ten bucks for 250 grams.
potholes were mere inconvenient bumps in the road, not black holes that could swallow the whole front end of your vehicle.
the majority of people in my town carried things in bags in their hands, not basins on their heads.
a seemingly unending range of coffee always lined the shelves of pretty much any supermarket I entered; no need to buy three months worth in advance.
Sam and I used to travel and return without our luggage filled with five tubes of toothpaste, three jars of peanut butter, various spices, new clothes, and any number of other items, often in duplicate or triplicate.
I couldn’t look out my window and see mango and banana trees, and a mountain with Christo Rei on top.
Driving to work didn’t involve dodging multiple stray dogs in the street.
Mosquitos were only pests that made you itch, not things that can and do actually kill people on a daily basis.
Football was called soccer.
Going out for dinner didn’t cost at least $40, no matter where you went.
There was electricity every day, all day and night long, and no one ever wondered at how absolutely marvelous that was.
Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-10375526275408282862012-11-09T08:30:00.000+02:002012-11-28T17:54:10.097+02:00Attack of the Malaria: a Reprise<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I sit here on a beautiful, sunny and cool Friday morning, having just swallowed my cocktail of 8 pills for the morning. Yes, I once again have malaria. And amoebic dysentery. Fun. This time it hit hard at night with fever and chills and abdominal cramping and trips to the bathroom every hour. I thought to myself, “This feels rather familiar…” When morning finally I came I dragged myself out of bed and took a shower. That took all the energy I had, so after that I lay down and promptly fell back asleep for another hour and a half. When I woke up I got a ride to the hospital and saw one of the docs who ordered a malaria test and feces sample. Then began the worst part of visiting the hospital for tests – the WAITING. CEML is always busy. Which means a severe lack of places to sit. When you’re sick and just want to lay down, finding a space on one of the hard wooden benches may not exactly be comfy, but the prospect is certainly better than standing or sitting on the cold floor.
The hospital is understaffed. There are a handful of doctors, some of which are actually surgeons, who do double or even triple duty as general physicians, ER docs, etc. There is a tiny lab with a few technicians who take in the paperwork, and draw the blood and read the test results. The little window to the lab is crowded with patients waiting to hand in their papers to have blood work done, or waiting to pick up their test results. I’ve been through the process at least 4 or 5 times now and I still can’t quite figure out if there is a system for who gets helped next or not. After waiting 20 mins or so to get someone to take my paperwork so they’d know I needed tests, I finally took the Russian approach when someone came sort of near the window - I reached through the window and thrust my paper in front of them. It worked. She took my orders and within 2 mins I was sitting in the chair in the lab getting my blood drawn. I’m sure it didn’t hurt that my orders were stapled to the “employee beneficiary” paper you get at the payment window that shows that you are a relative of one of the doctors or staff there. So I must say, that part was rather quick.
But next came the waiting for the results. In the 4 or 5 times I have had tests there I would say that the average wait for results in about 3 or 4 hours; which seems like an eternity when you feel horrible and don’t have anywhere but the floor to sit or lay down. This time, however, God provided a much more comfortable option. It so happened that a friend’s daughter had been admitted the hospital the night before (also due to malaria) and they had a bed right near the lab. I was invited to come share the much more comfortable place and was able to have someone to pass the time with too. Soon it was past noon and my friend and her daughter were being released, so bye bye cushy hospital bed. However, it does pay to have friends on staff. Nurse Audrey saw my pitiful-looking self and ushered me into the clinical director’s office (which pretty much doubles as the dr’s “lounge” or “break room” of sorts, complete with an exam table, which, while not as comfy as the bed, was a HUGE blessing. I lay down and promptly fell asleep waiting for my results which were “going to be ready in fifteen minutes”……RRRRRRIGHT.
About an hour later….someone from the lab comes into the director’s office apologizing profusely, something about unclear results. Another finger stick, another slide, another “fifteen minutes”. But then, hallelujah! Results.
Malaria, check. Amoebas, check. Prescription, check.
Now, into town on the adventure called “finding-the-pharmacy-that-has-the-medications- you-need”….
Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-90529508077176909212012-10-27T23:28:00.001+02:002012-10-27T23:32:23.282+02:00Happy Birthday, AmberDriving in Lubango is like being in a video game. People, dogs, children dash out in front of you, cars swerve around pot holes the size of small cars and you need to be alert in case they happen to swerve TOWARD YOU while trying to avoid the crater. Motorcycles fly by you on both sides and weave in and out of traffic. Mini-bus taxis slam on the brakes and stop without warning to pick up new fares. You also need to constantly scan the road surface in case they've recently been digging up the asphalt to install new pipes, for example, and have left the hole as is, or haphazardly filled with a little loose sand. Did I already mention sink holes that randomly open up in the middle of the road? If you're lucky, there may be a huge pile of sand in front of them to keep your car from disappearing into one. If you're unlucky...well, let's just say I hope you have insurance. Most roads are one lane in each direction, but be aware that the space between those two lanes will be taken up by cars passing in either direction and they will be inches from your side view mirrors. Yes, this is driving in Lubango....and I LOVE it.
Sure, you need to be on full alert all the time. But it's never boring. When was the last time you saw any of these things on a motorcycle: a man riding while sitting on top of two bags of cement that were balanced on the seat? a motorcycle passenger balancing three boxes on his lap while carrying several bags in each hand? Anyone on a motorcycle carrying multiple chickens?
I bet you've never had the experience of watching what can only be described as a "tunnel on wheels" driving through the streets on your city with four men riding on top, whose job it is to use wooden sticks to lift up the power lines so the tunnel can pass underneath? Come on! How could you not love driving in this city?
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Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-63468497470565612392012-04-09T22:07:00.000+02:002012-04-09T22:10:17.645+02:00Things You Can Buy While Sitting in Traffic in LuandaYou know how, in some in some big cities, there are people who walk in between the cars which are stopped in traffic or at a stoplight selling newspapers? Well, Luanda kicks that idea into overdrive. Just for fun, while we were sitting in traffic for hours inching along at a pace of only a handful of kms in half an hour, I took an inventory of some of the items you could buy from the comfort of your car while sitting in traffic.
Here is my (by no means exhaustive) list:
bottled water/juice/sodas,
flash drives,
sunglasses,
Shower heads
perfume/cologne,
textbooks,
rakes,
machetes,
bathroom scales,
jeans,
ties,
windshield wipers,
yogurt,
pillows,
dog leashes,
boxes of tissues,
ukuleles,
jumper cables,
remote controls,
irons,
clocks,
toilet seats.
Just to name a few!Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-65473072048789002972012-03-27T19:39:00.000+02:002012-03-27T19:39:52.641+02:00Alto Bimbi: A Long Overdue Photo Post<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHRsHY0n42QWw0UlfewxAWAhCXSwO820NRh2MGi47jv5vLsYplkslmJZxyLXVkKYHZvd21rfe9ReYLX8rK-RmG2RNPThpcdBRo8D2_mZA869-XxWIj7El831bjIsZW4-6-fP5/s1600/IMG_8441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHRsHY0n42QWw0UlfewxAWAhCXSwO820NRh2MGi47jv5vLsYplkslmJZxyLXVkKYHZvd21rfe9ReYLX8rK-RmG2RNPThpcdBRo8D2_mZA869-XxWIj7El831bjIsZW4-6-fP5/s320/IMG_8441.jpg" /></a></div>Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-19437891514238220832012-03-12T11:35:00.000+02:002012-03-12T11:35:52.220+02:00Part Four: The End of the SpearAfter what I must confess was THE BEST SLEEP I have ever experienced on a camping trip, we awoke to the sounds of the sea and the golden light just beginning to peek out over the cliffs. As the sun spilled onto to sandy walls of the canyon, they radiated an orangy-red warmth that contrasted with the cool morning air.
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The smells of coffee wafting around camp slowly woke the other campers from their tents and we gathered around the “kitchen” filling up cups and talking of the night's rest and the day's plans. After a little down time with everyone in their various morning activities - time in the Word, chatting around the table, walking on the beach, early morning fishing, sitting and watching the waves – breakfast began to take shape. Brent was our cook for the morning and he had been up quite early prepping what would become our breakfast. And now that preparation turned into yummy confections – fresh, piping hot donuts, right there on the beach. Can you say luxurious camping? Ocean waves, morning sunlight, cool salty breezes, more coffee and hot and fresh glazed donuts.
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“How were they?”, you ask. Let's just say Sam ate 5.
After breakfast dishes were cleared and washed, people went about getting ready for the day. Some were going to fish, others read or relax around camp, and some suggested getting in the water for some snorkeling. Sam nor I had ever been snorkeling before, and since most of the group had goggles and snorkels and not all were planning go, we would have the chance to try it out. I was excited to try. Sam, who swims fine, but is not a huge fan, was a bit more reluctant, but decided he'd go along to maybe swim or just wade at the edge a bit. We reached the rocky reef area just down the beach and everyone began goggling and snorkeling up. (Can those be verbs?) Anyway, I got a pair and as I looked over to my right, I saw that Sam was being handed a pair too. I could tell there was a moment of decision – politely decline, or give it a try?
“Are you going to try it?”
“Uh, sure. Okay.”
So on we put our gear and got our first simple instructions on how to ease into it, slowly breathing through your mouth and how to clear your snorkel if water got in, etc. And with that, we began – standing at first bending over to get used to the breathing. Sam seemed to get the hang of it quickly. I however, was having issues. It seemed every time I put my face in the water I got water inside my goggles and up my nose. Not pleasant. I tightened them up several times and – the same result – gagging and swallowing a lot of salty sea water. I looked over to see Sam swimming happily about looking like a pro and standing up from time to time to exclaim about how cool it was. Here I had been the one really keen on trying snorkeling and I couldn't do it right! Just as a began to feel really disappointed, someone suggested that I try a different pair of goggles – that perhaps it was the seal that was letting in water. I put on a different pair and tentatively place my face down in the water....and...success! Breathing air not water! It was the goggles! CAN do it! Now it was my turn to finally give it a real try. I pushed off the sandy bottom and placed my face in the clear water and all around there were fish – small, big, dull-looking, brightly colored, striped and spotted. There were big rocky reefs covered with sea urchins. There was the huge squid that Brent said had been chasing him all morning. I looked over at Sam who had just gone to shore to stand up, rest and adjust his goggles. He was beaming. Those of you who know Sam, know that he is not exactly the most emotionally expressive individual.
“How was your day?” “It was ok.”
“How did you do on that exam?” (the one he got nearly a perfect score on) “I did alright.”
“Did you like that new recipe that I slaved over for hours?” “Yeah, it was alright.”
Well, I looked over at Sam and yes, he was beaming. “We have to get some of these!”
Even though the water was absolutely freezing, all of us stayed in the water for more than an hour – swimming around checking out the fish. I am also not the most enthusiastic swimmer, but somehow with all the interesting things to look at, I didn't even realize how long I had been swimming around – not feeling tired, not worried about getting tired or panicked that I couldn't touch the bottom, and not caring about the coldness of the water at all. That morning, not only did we discover a love for snorkeling, but we discovered spear gun fishing! Sam was excited to give it a try and lo and behold, he caught fish on his very first try. From that moment on, he was hooked. (pun not intended). I believe those were even his exact words, “I'm hooked!”
Just look how happy:
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Then there were lunch and afternoon naps, more snorkeling and fishing, hiking and sundowners, dinner and the swapping of stories around the campfire. The was morning and there was evening - the second day.Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-70280110657758893602012-03-08T12:39:00.002+02:002012-03-09T10:49:56.094+02:00Part Three: The Arrival.Back on solid ground, we bumped on through the last 3 km until, there it was – the ocean. Blue and beautiful, visible through an opening in the hard sandy cliffs. Have you ever been to an unspoiled beach at mid-morning in the summer and found that you had the lonely coastline all to yourself? Glorious. Angola has what I would say is a non-existent tourism industry. Hallelujah! Yes, there are still beautiful beaches in the world that don't have boardwalks or hotels, spas, or millionaires mansions. How refreshing. We parked the vehicles and set up camp. And quite a deluxe camp I must say. Though we slept in tents and cooked over an open fire, we also had a shower tent with a battery powered shower and a small 4- walled privacy screen for our pit toilet. What I do believe may be the perfect mix of nature and comfort.
We had a light lunch and then got on to exploring. Some of us swam a bit - though even in summer the water was quite cold. Some of us did a bit of fishing, some napped or just relaxed on the sand. Late in the afternoon we took a hike along the cliffs to a small cove just out of view from where we had set up camp. As the sun grew heavy and started slipping into the sea, we set up our chairs to enjoy a sun-downer before dinner preparations got into full swing. Dinner was an amazing array of pork chops and steinbok shank grilled to perfection over the open flame, foiled wrapped potatoes cooked on the red-hot coals complemented by home made sour cream, and a fresh salad. With heavy cloud cover overhead, no stars, no moon – night wrapped us up it it's blanket or darkness.
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Around this time, Shelley said, “Let's go see if the ocean is glowing.”
What??
Yes. Bioluminescent algae! I have only read about it and I have to say this ranks up there with the coolest things I have ever experienced in nature. With the skies so dark and no light interference, the ocean brightly glowed as algae in its waves hit the shoreline. We marveled at this amazing wonder of God's creation as we walked in the wet sand. Looking down at our feet we saw tiny sparkles of light blinking with each step. The algae in the wet sand reacted as the sand was disturbed and glowed sparkly bursts of light with our footfalls. Shelley exclaimed that she had never seen it so bright before. Laurel, a resident at the hospital here on a short term visit, kicked up spray of wet sand with her foot and we all watched it glitter as it fell. Soon all three of us were kicking up sand, writing our names and jumping around like kids. Phenomenal. Hands down, coolest beach experience ever. God is an amazing artist. That is all I can say.Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-2774512024310876512012-03-08T12:38:00.002+02:002012-03-09T10:39:15.355+02:00The Road Less Travelled<div style="margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="500" height="375" data="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000"> <param name="flashvars" value="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=34a30caaff&photo_id=6820219688&flickr_show_info_box=true"></param> <param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786"></param> <param name="bgcolor" value="#000000"></param> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/video/stewart.swf?v=109786" bgcolor="#000000" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="intl_lang=en-us&photo_secret=34a30caaff&photo_id=6820219688&flickr_show_info_box=true" height="375" width="500"></embed></object><br/><span style="margin: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/amandafabiano/6820219688/">The Road Less Travelled</a> a video by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/amandafabiano/">adonutgirl</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p>I began recording once we had passed the worst of it and a) I didn't need to direct Peter around as many rocks, and b) I didn't need to hold on with both hands. =)</p>Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-46753569915382986932012-03-08T12:38:00.001+02:002012-03-09T10:38:05.180+02:00Part Two: The Journey Continues.After the greenery and various vegetation encountered coming down the Serra de Leba, Baobabs and lush green trees slowly gave way to scrubby brush and drier plains filled with huge boulders and rounded rock formations, which brought back treasured memories of Joshua Tree National Park with two of my favorite people in the world. Huge boulders soon turned to flat dry, sandy earth, barren and open spaces filled with small smooth rocks as far as the eye could see. After a while, hills began to rise from the ground again, with grass and short trees and shrubs. Then came the turnoff. Leaving the paved road. At a small post stuck in the ground approximately 2 feet high, we left the road and headed into the hills. Can you hear U2's “Where the Streets Have No Name”?
Here began the now-familiar bouncing and bumping and jostling around that comes with driving in Angola. As we bumped and bounced and jostled along, we spotted some baboons darting across the path and up over the hillside. Eventually we came to another nondescript marker – handwritten in paint on a small rock in English - “My Beach”. We veered left at this landmark and headed onward to my beach. =)
Soon the green hills lost their greenery and began to take shape, forming themselves into rocky crags on either side of our path. We forged deeper into this canyon, stopping briefly for a dog and human potty break before the bushes completely disappeared. Not that such cover would have mattered so much to the dogs, but for the humans it was appreciated. Back in the vehicles for more bumping and bouncing which soon became slow creeping around and over rocks and through ever-deepening sandy washes. When the sand got to be too much, it was time for a short stop to let some air out of the tires. Fifteen minutes later, with the tire pressure decreased, we piled back in the truck and slowly eased our way out of the sand. Over more rocks, winding our way through the canyon, expecting at any moment that the next turn would bring a glimpse of the ocean.
Then... “Houston, we have a problem.”
We reached a standstill as we came upon car number one in our two-car caravan halted at the base of a steep incline. Here the “path” (if one can actually call it a path) diverged. The left was a continuation of the grade we had been traveling – fairly flat (for the most part) but it was apparent that rains had washed through this riverbed of sorts and carried with them such debris and rocks that it made this path thoroughly impassible. Straight ahead what appeared to be a fairly new path forged onwards and UPWARDS. Up and over – circumnavigating the washed out section of trail. This path, which we suddenly knew was our sole option, was rocky, steep, narrow, and did I mention that it edged along one side of the steep embankment, leaving the driver's side of the vehicle skirting along the edge, looking down over the loose, rocky side? We had come so far, and at this point we were 3 km from that ocean view.
“Two roads diverged in a canyon, and I, I took the one less traveled-by.”
Of course, we went forward. We sent scouts ahead on foot to check things out and ensure that it would indeed be navigable and would lead us back to the main trail. Brent and Helena (and dogs) went first in their Land Cruiser Discovery. Now it was our turn - Sam and I, Peter and Shelley – with Peter driving their much bigger Ford and hauling a trailer. You should note that our vehicle was considerably bigger and bulkier, which presented a much bigger challenge especially in initially mounting the steep incline and in staying on the narrow path. Sam and Shelley got out to direct us on foot around the rocks and keep us from getting too close to the edge, while I moved into the passenger seat next to Peter who gripped the wheel and set his face to the challenge ahead. The going was S-L-O-W. Painstakingly slow; picking our way around rocks, skirting the edge...and then there is that moment – the moment when you reach the top of the roller coaster the nose of your car is pointed upwards and all you can see is the hood and sky. And you know that DOWN is coming next. You can't see it, but you know it's there. And so you move forward and yes, the road is still there, and you're headed downhill now and towards flat ground. We made it. Hair-raising as it was. Another life-adventure to add to the books.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvWl0p8X0cRGzI831UXxrQTIVuWwXowlTQG6oSLbpbZOkeyAzxuifhQyYrC1AFplffQm6QTCG24_Zu8kzCGnOwIsVteUbtyeZnzbSA40IWBoBuCGPSjdd_U_izaQkoLd9uiTtT/s1600/IMG_8145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvWl0p8X0cRGzI831UXxrQTIVuWwXowlTQG6oSLbpbZOkeyAzxuifhQyYrC1AFplffQm6QTCG24_Zu8kzCGnOwIsVteUbtyeZnzbSA40IWBoBuCGPSjdd_U_izaQkoLd9uiTtT/s320/IMG_8145.JPG" /></a></div>Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-26574300642161909782012-03-08T12:36:00.000+02:002012-03-09T10:14:42.588+02:00The Beach. Part One: The Journey Begins.What can I say? No, really....what can I say? I can't quite come up with the words to describe our trip to the coast, which is why it has been 2 weeks and I still haven't written down my thoughts. Today I shall try. But what can I say about the 4.5 hour drive that began on paved roads and turned to off-roading at the mid-way point? These song lyrics keep jumping to mind, “over hill over dale, we have hit the dusty trail...”
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
This trip began on your typical paved roads – well, typical Angolan-paved roads, anyway -generally not too bad, but with the occasional 3-foot-wide pothole in which you could lose your entire wheel if you hadn't been watching. This brings me to “the Leba”. If you were to Google images for “Lubango, Angola”, the Leba would be one of the main reoccurring photos you would see. While it's not IN Lubango, it is in Huila province, in which Lubango is the biggest city nearby. I had seen photos of <a href="http://www.prof2000.pt/users/secjeste/arkidigi/Jorge_Cruz/Leba_%20Serra%20da/02Serra%20da%20leba%20ao%20por%20do%20sol15_11_2003.jpg">this winding road of switchbacks</a> – which snakes its way down the side of the mountain.
I had seen photos of this road – which, granted, is impressive...but what took my breath away was not the view of the road, it was the view FROM the road. I hesitate to describe it, because I know it'll make you crave photos and I have none. Not one. I could have taken them. They would have been stunning, even though they wouldn't have captured the true grandeur of the mountains of various heights rising out of the misty green jungle vegetation, the sheer drop-off of completely unexplored rocky cliffs that made me wish I could call every climber I have ever met. But I made a purposeful decision not to take photos. I wanted to experience it full-on without thinking of artistic shots and angles and lighting. I wanted to just to stare at it as we drove tentatively down the steep sharp turns of the Leba. I wanted my first view to be unencumbered. So...I don't have photos. Yet. I will. I'm sure there will be numerous opportunities for photographic trips and sharing of this spectacular place. Until then, I'll treasure this beautiful spot in my mind.Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-5502309849212093512012-03-02T11:09:00.002+02:002012-03-02T11:10:32.080+02:00Photo ChallengeDay 28 - "Something I'm Listening To" (The Sound of the Generator)
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzo9Uy7eIwYFZ1i3pX6KRVSHsbYgbVphjUnWHtWFwdj_ytPnbAIz0YWD-XqaADob_SmFfP9eO-WerTm79DE8RvigBiSfgh9WdqmO9gGyAZFAry-BCwnVZeIf1OYYJjWThhnCgC/s1600/IMG_8294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzo9Uy7eIwYFZ1i3pX6KRVSHsbYgbVphjUnWHtWFwdj_ytPnbAIz0YWD-XqaADob_SmFfP9eO-WerTm79DE8RvigBiSfgh9WdqmO9gGyAZFAry-BCwnVZeIf1OYYJjWThhnCgC/s320/IMG_8294.JPG" /></a></div>Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-34919607796117131272012-03-02T11:07:00.000+02:002012-03-02T11:07:49.894+02:00Photo ChallengeDay 27 - "Something I Ate"
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZmA7FT0sKDLaN8yn6G-2Y0haQzV4bjSdc63jD_28hjWDgAT2OjquWQcL_ZP1Hc4U8zsHsR5TMot0tnrwOvci9SMqJGJLN_kDOoednkKdYXGVdsoEJPnk-fSvU5NFa9MfW5rWi/s1600/IMG_8227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZmA7FT0sKDLaN8yn6G-2Y0haQzV4bjSdc63jD_28hjWDgAT2OjquWQcL_ZP1Hc4U8zsHsR5TMot0tnrwOvci9SMqJGJLN_kDOoednkKdYXGVdsoEJPnk-fSvU5NFa9MfW5rWi/s320/IMG_8227.JPG" /></a></div>Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-30478772521716197102012-03-02T11:01:00.000+02:002012-03-02T11:01:27.768+02:00Photo ChallengeDay 26 - "Night"
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzsvh8lrvVeg91xyNMSxkiOTuyl1u9YqyHMUx6e7W6jIFbqmNk68E-QNzLvGrA-ttXvoGBhszrQS9houRU9T_Pqa2gjEx2myHb0qawH5FZIB3Oz_PMDSjYw_F80pucU9CCyHp/s1600/IMG_8268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzsvh8lrvVeg91xyNMSxkiOTuyl1u9YqyHMUx6e7W6jIFbqmNk68E-QNzLvGrA-ttXvoGBhszrQS9houRU9T_Pqa2gjEx2myHb0qawH5FZIB3Oz_PMDSjYw_F80pucU9CCyHp/s320/IMG_8268.JPG" /></a></div>Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10063250.post-27873540440466050182012-03-02T10:58:00.004+02:002012-03-02T10:58:51.936+02:00Photo ChallengeDay 25 - "Green"
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipAqx9KGiOduTzGDY1hUP2x1RKUpHIe5Gnol9cUyloBvlDSKnYenM4v0tZNwDzNg_yfpENAUZVix1wj3sa0apfs83HOhJzrORTNznivP_sOpILF_Bxmiviauuo-qv4L0kR54tk/s1600/IMG_8250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipAqx9KGiOduTzGDY1hUP2x1RKUpHIe5Gnol9cUyloBvlDSKnYenM4v0tZNwDzNg_yfpENAUZVix1wj3sa0apfs83HOhJzrORTNznivP_sOpILF_Bxmiviauuo-qv4L0kR54tk/s320/IMG_8250.JPG" /></a></div>Schmandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10696876154204709516noreply@blogger.com0