Dessert For Sir?

This month marks the completion of nine whole action packed and memory stuffed months here in Chikuni. Imagine, it’s been nine months since getting off the plane in the scorching hot morning heat of October. Nine months of delicious, fresh and organic fruit. Nine months of dealing with various forms of wildlife. Nine months of crap haircuts. Nine months of you reading this drivel…

I remember before I left for the airport in London, the priest in charge of the volunteer programme said to me “See you in six months” to which I replied, “Probably more like twelve or eighteen actually”. I knew ever before leaving that I wanted to spend more than six months here. And I was right, that’s exactly how I have always felt. In fact, I’ve had such a great time here that I’m adding a little aperitif to my one year plan. So it is that I announce that I will be here until December, December the 8th to be exact. I would probably stay longer but Christmas is in the way and I am far too much of a home bird to want to spend a second Christmas away from family and friends and any notion of a traditional Christmas.

As I am on the public service announcement bandwagon, I will also take this opportunity to announce a sad milestone. At some point during the beginning of July the blog finally reached €10 in advertising revenue. That equates to 33 ad clicks which is pretty crap given that the blog has had approximately 1300 visitors since January, which equates I think to a 2.5% click through percentage. I suspect I will reach no more than €15 by the end of the year so I think I am going to buy some colouring books and crayons for the HBC kids with the proceeds. The grand notion of being able to dig a well or do some other medium sized project has fallen flat on its face without the support it needed. But ce-la-vi, I guess people dislike or are impervious to advertising much the same as I am.

Your reporter in the middle of nowhere (for just a bit longer)

Earth-feckin-quake!!

I’m Irish; Ireland doesn’t do earthquakes or anything like earthquakes. Indeed, the only time I’ve ever ‘felt the earth move’ was when there’s been a lovely lady involved. Not so any more though. Yesterday afternoon I was happily sitting, drinking coffee, and trying to persuade my brain to restart. I was in the middle of a happy daydream when I suddenly heard glasses beginning to rattle together. “That’s odd”, I thought. Especially given that there were no cars/tractors/loud explosions around to cause such a vibration. But the glasses didn’t stop rattling and I felt more and more confused. This went on for maybe 7 or 8 seconds until things started to get interesting and the shaking intensified enough that I realised it wasn’t just the glasses rattling, the entire bloody house was at it, myself included!

Instinct told me to get up and get to a doorframe. I don’t know how I knew that or whether it was even the right thing to do, but I did it! I wasn’t entirely sure just how much of a joyride this was going to be and I knew enough not to go outside in case of falling debris. Thankfully/sadly after only a few seconds the entire thing (the earthquake that is) came to an end. I was left feeling slightly stunned and oddly, a little disappointed that it was over before things had become interesting. Yes I am a selfish, sadistic, inconsiderate bastard, with a clear adrenaline addiction problem! I promise to seek immediate treatment upon my return to Europe. It was very impressive to know that the entire earth, for many kilometres around, was shaking because deep underground two tectonic plates had just shoved past each other like rushing commuters.

While people came out to chat about what had just happened I went back to my coffee, which was getting cold after all. One has to have their priorities in order. So just to add yet another once in a lifetime experience to the plethora of memories I already have from my time here in Chikuni, I can now add minor earthquake to the tally. I love this place!

A taste of Chikuni

Yum, yum, yum I thought as I was led towards the bowl sitting atop of the table. Eating new foods is part of living in any new culture and each culture has it’s own food types. “Down the hatch” someone said and I thought I might as well just play it ‘cool’ and go for it. I looked into the dish to find thirty or so fried caterpillars. They looked a bit like dried beef but more circular in shape. “Oh God” I thought as my hand went in to fish one of the little buggers out. I grabbed hold of a medium sized one, opened my mouth, tossed it in like it was no more than a peanut and promptly closed my mouth. Now came the difficult part… chewing. I hesitated. My co-conspirator smirked. She had already tried and knew just what I was going through. I open my jaws and shudder, started to chew. It actually wasn’t too bad. Not good mind you, but if I had to I could have eaten another. Of course then I had to swallow the thing. My throat felt tight and my stomach was ill-inclined to receive what my brain knew I was eating. But it relented and I swallowed and it was gone, except for the taste. But lovely beer took care of that problem! Happy days…

I looked at her when she told me it was hippo meat. This girl has fooled me many times already and I am not about to be fooled again so easily. But this time she’s not kidding me. It really is hippo, as in hippopotamus! They had a time trying to cut the skin off of it but eventually through gritted teeth, stamina and sheer determination the epidermis was detached and just the meat remained. Later in the evening I get to sample and very nice it was too. Not too strong a flavour. I’m tempted to say “a bit like chicken” but actually I thought it was more like a mashup of beef and pork. This seemed quite apt given that a hippopotamus does actually look, at least to me, like a cross between a pig and a (very large) cow. It apparently had to cook for just three hours which I though was quite short given how tough the meat looked.

“So you eat the head as well?” I asked tentatively looking at the fish, held by its tail between two of my fingers. Yes was the answer and so with only minor in trepidation, in the fish went. The fish is only about five or six centimetres long and perhaps two wide so the bones and skull (do fish have skulls??) were easily crushed by my amble molars. Any fears instilled by my mother about the hazards of fish bones are momentarily forgotten as I enjoy the new experience. I do grind down the fish thoroughly though to ensure any stray bones don’t skew my throat because as the saying goes… mother knows best! Of course one of the reasons why the fish tastes so exceptionally good is because they are fried in oil but I don’t think cholesterol has been invented here yet so I just enjoy yet another new experience.

Your reporter in the middle of nowhere,
Bon Appetite