I am having adventures in Singapore airport. I woke up from my hour stay in the transit hotel relatively refreshed but since I checked out I have been fighting grumpiness. Sometimes I wake up grumpy and sometimes I let him sleep.

I have been drinking lots of water- well by my standards anyway. I had a lovely mango langon and a cup of coffee and blueberry muffin. I have also had two panadeine.

I have decided that wheelchair access toilets are the best kind to use. Unfortunately one Chinese lady also decided that and she did not lock the door. Fortunately she was not sitting on the toilet at the time but standing by the sink.
"Oh I forgot to lock the door, " she confessed.
"Are you finished," I asked.
"No," she said. "Give me five minutes."
I was not sure I wanted to use a toilet where someone had stayed for five minutes so I went to the ladies.

You would not believe the amount of blue smoke that puffs into the air every time an aircraft lands.

 I saw some air hostesses with lovely stripe scarves and saw that they were from Tiger Airlines. Then I watched  one of their aircraft land. I am sure Ms Whisks would not mind flying if she could go with them.

There is a butterfly house about 20 metres away. I should go for a look. Or maybe I should get another coffee. Butterflies? Coffee? Butterflies?  Coffee?
 Coffee!!
Butterflies.

 

Today I felt the smile of THEM-WHO-KNOW-EVERYTHING beaming down on me as I spent my last day in Hephzibah this year.

I caught the metro to Park St and visited the infamous Oxford Bookstore which is an institution in Hephzibah. It was established in 1919. I had a cup of coffee there in the Cha Bar. I suppose I should have had a cup of tea- there were heaps to choose from. I bought a couple of books and then strolled down the road enjoying the ambience of street life. I use the word ambience loosely.

At my favourite shopping market I managed to swap my too big a top for a smaller one despite the fact I had already worn and washed it. I also bought a new pair of baggy navy trousers. The pair I bought another  day are a little short in the crutch and would likely split if  I bent down too fast. If one behaved like a lady all of the time this would not be a problem. If anyone would like a pair of navy loose fitting pants they should make me an offer.

I dined on my favourite naan bread, drank a cup of coffee at my favourite café then decided to investigate the tram situation. I had this hunch I had seen a tram running that would take me close to home. In November several people who should have known vowed and declared that particular  tram run had been discontinued.

Glory to THEM-WHO-KNOW-EVERYTHING  I found the tram very fast and wouldn't you know it was about to leave. So I climbed on-board and made myself comfortable. I use the word comfortable loosely. Off we went. Past the statue of  Ram Mohan Roy whom my great, great, great, great aunt Mary Carpenter knew and whom had invited her  to Hephzibah. Past Victoria Memorial in the distance. Past Fort William. Half way past the race course and stop.

We all climbed down and there not that far away a tram had gone off the tracks. Literally. A tow truck was expected to come in half an hour to help it back on. Meanwhile at the race course it was race day.

A nice young man who was accompanying his mother on the tram because it was her birthday told me what was going on. His mother seemed very nice too. After I wished her happy birthday they invited me to share the taxi they were trying to catch. No taxi was willing to take them which is ironical because on the side of the cars are written No Refusal.

I waited around for a while but decided to catch a bus which took as long as the tram would have taken to travel to my stop because it took the long way home. It didn't matter to me. From my front seat in the bus I had a splendid last voyage home.

I had this fine looking blueberry cheesecake for lunch the other day. I know. I know. Hardly the sort of thing a health conscious person would eat for lunch but there were no mo-mo available which were my first choice. Besides which I figured it should at least have some protein in it. Cheescake does usually have cream cheese in it after all. However, the jury is out on whether there was any cream cheese in it.

The texture  of the filling was more like a mousse than cheesecake so it could just have been the usual icing mixture which fills many of the cakes here with some gelatine in it. It was tasty enough and if there was no cream cheese I don't really care.

Buying lunch was part of an elaborate plan to convert a 2000 rupee note in hundreds. To buy food on the level three of the devil's mall one has to put credit on a card which is then used at whatever stall you are buying food from. I put 1000 on the card and the man reluctantly gave me change. Then when we had finished eating we cashed in the remaining credit on the card.

One has to be inventive when breaking down 2000 rupee notes especially as there is a limit to how many times you can go through the supermarket cashier on the same day buying items worth two or three hundred rupees and expecting change each time from a large note.

Infinity and beyond

Yesterday I boldly and bravely  went where I had not been before. I am always a little nervous about setting out into the unknown. But as the ONE-WHO-KNOWS- EVERYTHING whispered in my heart," You can do all things." So off I went in a taxi to a world famous train station. The station was seething with multitudes of people but I managed to find a likely train and found a seat beside a nice man. The carriage did not have many seats because it was the sort of place where people with large bundles travel. There was a suspicious fishy smell like someone was transporting fish  to somewhere. There were several other vendors with vegetables packed into large baskets. One man was wearing a T-Shirts with the words. "Beer is the answer. I can't remember the question,"  on it. I thought that was not a good choice of shirt to wear to church on Sunday.

Each time the train stopped at a station someone selling something would enter the carriage. Men selling snacks, potato chips, and oranges came and went. Finally I reached my station and disembarked. Shortly after my friend L collected me and we drove to her house.

After lunch we went for a little tour. This village is where William Carey one of the fathers of modern mission was invited by the Danish to set up his mission. He arrived there in about 1800. Prior to him coming to India he had been told by an older minister at  a meeting, "Young man, sit down; when God is pleased to convert the heathen world, He will  do it without your help or mine."  Bill did not listen to this advice fortunately.

Carey is the dude who said,"Expect great things from God. Attempt great things for God." And he certainly did this in his life time. He has left an amazing legacy including Serampore College.

 

I think I may have blog diarrhoea. I seem to have a run of entries are coursing through my  bowels of creativity. If you've got to write you've got to write. Anyway enough of the intestinal puns.

This is an almond fudge brownie. It is totally delicious. Moist, flavoursome and rich but not too sickenly so.

It has a thin chocolate icing studded worth a few almond shavings. The cake is about two centimetres thick and sits inside a sweet little cardboard box with scalloped edges. Katrina and I who have eaten two of these morsels in the past two weeks can not decide whether there are ground almonds in it but it has no eggs. 

It is the perfect dessert.

By any other name...

Here is the menu for the Bong Belly café not far from the house here. We finally plucked up courage to see what sort of delicacies a place with a dubious sounding name would have to offer.
We  decided we would eat there this evening so off we trooped full of nervous anticipation.

Wouldn't you know it. The jolly place was reserved for some kind of celebration or other. So we found somewhere else to eat with naan bread of course.

It just so happens that I have discovered another gastronomical treat that is cooked just down the road from our house.

It is a chicken egg roll. A chicken egg roll is nothing like you would imagine. Basically it is a roti cooked, and lifted onto an egg that has been beaten and fried on one side. The egg and roti fuse together and once the other side of the egg is cooked the ensemble is laid on a chopping board. A mixture of cubed chicken that has been marinaded and precooked is heated briefly with onions and green pepper then placed in the middle of the egg roti on top of some cucumber that is already there. Chilli sauce and tomato sauce are s1quirted over the filling. Then it is rolled up and packaged in what looks like newsprint paper.

Regrettably I do not have a photo of one but if I manage to persuade Katrina to eat another one tomorrow, which should nope be hard, I will take a photo.

The egg roll wallah is a very nice man. Some people you can just tell are nice. Last time we ate one his wife was helping. I was going to ask him where his wife was tonight but I forgot the word.

It's been a little bit tricky the past week connecting with the internet which is why my blogs entries are a little sparse. I am still alive though.

Normal transmission should resume tomorrow which is Friday but by the time anyone in NZ finds my next blog it will be Saturday. If I manage to think of something to say!!

This is my friend Okitoki. I call her Little Oki for short. Little Oki is a wonderful servant-hearted young woman who spends all day looking after me. Whenever I need a cup of coffee or tea all I have to do is ask her and she makes it for me. Sometimes I do not even need to ask and Little Oki brings me a cup of something. She also serves me my lunch and dinner and washes my plates. 

If we are out and about Little Oki takes me by the hand so I cross the street without mishap. If I needed my clothes washed Little Oki would do that for me as well. However, I think the only one who should wash my stinky clothes is me so I put my foot down when it comes to laundry. I suspect Little Oki also tidies my room but I have never caught her in the act. She would make my bed as well except one of the other girls beats her to it.

By now I am guessing you are thinking I am very lazy. No wonder she likes going to Hephzibah when people wait hand and foot on her. The problem is I do not especially like being waited on. When I first came I tried to sneak into the kitchen to make a cup of something but I severely hurt Oki’s feelings. So now I let Little Oki do it.

As Little Oki  is in charge of hospitality in the household it is her responsibility to look after guests. And I must say she does a very good job. 

You never listen to a word I say pt 2

I am thinking of employing a new coping mechanism for tiresome situations when one would like to explode in a ranting tirade but it might not be wise to.

I call it smile and walk away. For those of us who watch too much television and remember silly advertisements it’s a variation of the ad where a cheery Chinese chap gets rid of pesky moss with “spray and walk away.”

 I first thought of this technique a few weeks ago when I was not getting my own way in the market. Shop keepers appeared to be asking a ridiculously high price for items simply because of my skin colour. I know that could be a little harsh but that is what it looks like.

In such a situation it can be tempting to rant. I do not remember ever resorting to this kind of immature  behaviour before although I have been with friends who have given shop keepers a lecture on how it is not good to cheat people. Unfortunately a shop keeper does not see it as cheating. From my observation he has no concept of paying a fair price according to what the item is worth. A fair price is as high as he can get or whatever a sucker will pay. Foreigners are obviously rich because they are here and so are fair game. I dare say if a rich foreigner was willing to pay me too high a price for something I was selling I would take it also.

 However, as I discovered yesterday when I had a pretend rant, it is a highly dissatisfying way to behave. If you completely lose the plot and shout at someone you might feel better although I would likely have a pressing need to go back and apologise. Pretend rants are just hopeless though. It is hard work trying to rant authentically. And rants whether authentic or not do not actually achieve anything.

So that is why I think I need to work on smile and walk away.

If I was really spiritual I would pray and walk away.

You never listen to a word I say

Today I had one of those conversations I believe husband and wives sometimes have when they forget to take turns at speaking and listening. Except I am not married and I never want to have another conversation like that again.

Let me start at the beginning. There is a cash crisis in Hephzibah at the moment because the government with very little  warning declared 500 and 1000 rupee notes obsolete. New 2000 rupee notes have been released and new 500 notes are coming but this has put considerable pressure on the remaining notes in circulation 100, 50, 20 and 10 bills. As a consequence people are limiting their spending to the necessities of life like food and travel.

I somewhat naïvely thought it would be a good day to do some clothing shopping. I thought I might get a bargain or two as desperate shop keepers lowered their prices to get a sale. When one buys an item one usually has to bargain for it. When someone tells me the price I usually  undercut it by more than half and then slower increase the price as the shop keeper slowly decreases his.

Sometimes I find the whole process annoying. I just want to pay a fair price but I know that kind of thinking is far from the shop keepers mind. He wants to get as much money as possible out of me. Foreigners are fair game.

Now I should say at this point that many of the clothing shop keepers are of the same religious persuasion. The religion where women tend not to have a particularly high public profile. I was browsing in one shop for salwar tops to replace the purple one that had shrunk. When I say browsing that is a rather loose description of what was happening. I was saying blue or purple tops only and the shop keeper was pulling items off a shelf that more often than not were the colour specified. As fast as he was pulling them off the shelf he was opening them on the counter for me to look at. I found one I liked and the haggling started. I should also say that I had tried to buy something from this shop two weeks ago and walked away because the seller would not go low enough. I think that is why he started the bidding at a lower price than usual. He wanted 900, I counter offered with 600. He said 800. I said 700. He kept going on about how it cost more because it was a big size. I finally told him he was hurting my feelings going on how big it was because he was making me feel fat. He said you are hurting my feelings because you are suggesting a low price. Next minute we were both,yelling isn't quite the right description , but speaking loudly trying to talk over the top of the other one, would be. It was kind of funny. I wasn't exactly angry but Katrina who was with me said I sounded it. Anyway as usual in those kind of futile  conversations where no-one is listening and everyone is speaking and no-one will back down there is only one way to end it.

So I walked away. Fortunately someone was on hand to sell me the exact same item in his shop down the corridor. In this shop the asking place started at 1100. That was too much like a stitch up if you ask me. Too much I said and offered 700. Too little he said. So I walked away.

I said to Katrina I might try the guy I bought some clothes off last year. I found him and asked him about the top and wouldn't you know it he had the exact one. He said I had bought a  red one for 1300 last year. No way I said. I'm pretty sure I didn't pay that much. The long and short of it was  I brought the purple one for 800. I know. I know. I decided by this stage that 800 was probably a fair price.

Moshime took a photograph of the dress for me and it almost looks a little big. I wonder if it will shrink?

 

Today I went to the devil's mall and a kind person shouted me cake and coffee. Sometimes the cake in Hephzibah not only looks the same with maybe a different coloured topping but  tastes the same as well. They look  extremely tempting but really you come away feeling like you have just eaten half a cup of sugar. And you very likely have.


Mmmm cake. 

This cake was not like that. It had a high ratio of cake to icing which was also different to the cakes one usually sees.  In fact it was a spectacularly tasty piece of cake and fortuitously I had not eaten much lunch. It would be best described as  a chocolate gateau  with a layer of soft  toffee on the top.

The same kind person told me about her favourite way of eating okra. After I came home I shared how you prepare the okra with  the young women here. The idea is to cut each finger into quarters lengthwise but not all the way through. You then sprinkle it in salt and turmeric and fry. The two girls decided to give it a go except the details I gave were a little sparse and so they cut it from the tip end rather than the stem end. It didn't matter to me because the result was okra chips.




 It is totally delicious and unfortunately lots of people will want to eat my okra now.

Sigh. And seeing as Jesus encourages me to share I guess I will.

I wish I had bought more than 300g now.

Honey I shrank the salwar pt 2

The salwar chemise in my extensive collection, seen here hanging  in a wardrobe I constructed myself from a $2 shop piece of rope, all have a similar colour theme. Most apart from the grey one and the Canterbury themed one are blue based. That is they are either blue or green or purple. Some have pink on them.

The hilariously funny thing is my roomy, 21-year-old Canadian Katrina, has a similar theme going on but with black and tan.

Unlike me however, Katrina does not have problems with her salwars shrinking. For one thing she is a fit slender young thing. But to be fair sometimes it's not so much that the salwar has shrunk or that I am not fit or slender but the salwar is not loose fitting enough. I put one on and then I have to take it off because in the heat I do not like being constricted by close fitting clothes. If I firmly tell myself to stop being so silly and leave the outfit on, it stops feeling tight after I forget about it. Usually though I give in and change unless all my loose clothes are in the wash.

I really like salwar chemise because they are comfortable and modest to wear. That is unless the wind is blowing and I am wearing one of the lighter fabrics. Then I have to surreptitiously hold it down while pretending I am not. Fortunately the wind does not blow that often.

Many of the young women I associate with are not solely wearing salwar chemise out on the street like they would have once. Sometimes they wear jeans and kuti (long blouse) and  sometimes they even try to  leave the house without wearing their duparta (scarf). Not on my watch though. At times like that I ask them where their duparta is and they go and fetch it.

Traditionally single women wear salwar and then graduate to a sari when they are married. Unless they are Punjabi.  Punjabi wear salwar no matter their age or sage in life and I seem to recall that sometimes salwar are called Punjabi outfits.

Nowadays salwar are worn by any fashion conscious women.

They are also cheapish to buy. This last time I bought one for about 350 rupees which is about $7 and the most I have paid is 700 rupees. My favouritist outfit in the history of the world, is the one I bought in 2008 and is still going strong. Most though do not last long being made of cotton that fades or wears out.

A royal occasion

I listened to a message by TD Jakes last night about the time an unmarried but pregnant with the Messiah Mary  trotted off to the hill country to see her cousin Elisabeth who was also expecting a child. I always find TD  entertaining and insightful. He made a  comment along the way that struck me like a piece of four by two.

The main point of his message was that with blessing there comes burdens. Part way through was a little gem hat helped me make sense of two experiences I have had since I arrived in Hephzibah. He said we need to spend time with cousins in life. People who are like minded and have a similar focus. If people do not accept us or relate to us we should limit the time we spend with them TD suggested. Mary was in a dire situation as a young unmarried but pregnant woman. She could easily have been stoned for that. She took refuge with her older cousin who was also in need of support at that time in her life. The two women were on a similar mission and were able to comfort and encourage  each other.

Today I met some cousins and I was treated like a royal visitor. It is the first time I have met these people but it was truly an empowering and special occasion. I met the ministry leader and he took me to the boarding house where ten boys live. There were some girls too but I don't think they live in.



  I was presented with flowers and seated on a chair in front of the young people who sang for me and danced.


I shared a brief message and then I prayed for us. Tea and biscuits were served. The young people left for school and we travelled to his house to meet his wife and children. There I was served with sandwiches, sweets, fruit and coffee.

Off we went again to a prayer group where I prayed with the ladies and more refreshments were served. As we had opportunity he told me about the ministry and asked questions about what my vision was. We parted company and the dear man said when I return to India he would organise some meetings for me to speak to the people under  his leadership some of whom are planting house fellowships.

In the space of three hours it was like God validated the direction I am heading in. It was one of those WOW moments that pop up unexpected.  This experience stood in stark contrast to another visit I made to a ministry recently where no refreshments were served and my presence was treated with cordial indifference.  In fairness to the first organisation they are extremely busy and I did ask G** to confirm whether he wanted me to work there which he certainly did.

However, for all that I learned a valuable lesson today about how to be hospitable and honouring of guests.

Honey I shrunk the salwar

Maybe I have put on weight???

 I  am fairly sure I am going to need counselling shortly. I am equally as sure that my new salwar top has shrunk. The salwar top is like a tunic-ee thing that goes over the top of baggy trousers. Only don't call it a tunic because I don't like tunics and refuse to wear them.

Usually when you buy a salwar outfit it comprises top, pants and sometimes a matching scarf. Sometimes you can only buy tops. If it is a shorter top but not as short as a blouse it is called a kuti and it does not come with trousies. Once upon a time there were three little foxes who didn't wear socks and they didn't wear trousies but they all had handkerchiefs to blow their noses but I digress.

This particular salwar that has become diminished in size is purple and has a lovely pair of matching trousies that are white with purple flowers. After I bought it home I tried it on and it seemed like a loose  fit but after I washed it I nearly had a fit because well you know what happened.

Apparently if you wash shrunken things with fabric softener it miraculously returns them to their previous dimensions. Here's hoping.

I showed my two fashion consultants what I looked like in the size challenged garment and they said it was a good fit and the way it should be worn.
"It's because you wear everything so baggy it feels tight," was the advice they proffered.
"Humphh," was my reply to that.

There is of course the possibility I have put on weight. That is unlikely seeing as I thought I was losing it. Mind you for lunch today we had mashed potato, thin lentil soup and rice which is fairly high carb tucker.

Still my story is the salwar has shrunk and I am sticking to it unless I have further evidence to the contrary.

Money its a gas pt 2

I think this money debacle is going to be an on going saga.

I went to Freeset today and joined three American chicks who were booked in for a tour. Freeset is a NZ initiative to provide women in the sex trade with alternative employment. One of the Americans owns a shop that sells Freeset products- T-Shirts, jute bags. Commercial break- For a full selection please refer to the Freeset website.

I did not want to do "the tour" of the factory.  It seemed too touristee for me. Anyway I did not want to be too uncharacteristically ungracious so I was about to do the abridged version of the tour when the Americans turned up so they joined in and off we went.

When we arrived back in the little shop that sells direct to eager customers, it transpired the girls did not have much money to spend there. They  had arrived in Hephzibah three hours after the 500 and 1000 bills were declared obsolete. However, that was all the currency they had on them. They also had American money and credit cards. They can virtually  spend no money unless they can pay by credit card.

They have tried getting money from the ATM's but the ATM's have all run dry of money which has not been replaced. They went to the airport to exchange money but were told the exchange had run out of rupees. They tried the bank. No go. They tried the money changers like me. No go. These poor but rich women have to watch every rupee they spend.

After they finished at Freeset they were going to the American Embassy. I thought that was a great idea to bring in the cavalry.

By ther-way people have until December 30 to exchange the notes. I incorrectly reported in Money, its a gas that people had until November 14. I apologise for any inconvenience readers may have experienced.

Apparently the new 500 rupee notes were released today. Once they become readily available spending will become fun again but not for those American chicks. They go home Saturday.

Money its a gas

I went to town today to snoop around my favouritist shopping market and to eat my favouritist naan bread from my favouritist restaurant. Lochumlo and Katrina came too. Lochumlo and I shared a curry which was very tasty. I do not usually eat anything with my naan which puzzles the waiter no end. Lochumlo was very impressed with the naan so maybe it is the best to be had. It is certainly the best I have ever eaten.

I tried to change the foreign money I had into the local currency  but the money changers had either run out of money or only had the old 500 and 1000 notes. These notes were declared  obsolete on Wednesday. People have until November 14 to exchange the old notes at the bank but can only do it 4000 rupees at a time. Or if  they would sooner they can deposit the money in the bank.

The situation seems fraught with opportunities for disaster if you ask me. Everywhere we went there were long queues of people waiting to enter the bank so they could change their old money for the new. I'm not sure what will happen if people can not exchange their money in time. Knowing the propensity for people in this country  to express their indignation in a forceful manner, I am hoping either everyone makes it to the bank or the government  extends the deadline.

It is not a serious problem for me as I have paid my board, bought clothes and other necessities. All I need is travel money and other incidental expenses.

I will try to change the money at a bank on Monday. If all else fails I can take out 2000 rupees a day,  which is the new temporary limit, from the ATM. That will incur a $5 fee each time so I am not too keen on that option. In theory I could go to the airport and change the money if I was allowed inside. Usually one can only access the airport building if one has a passport and plane ticket. There is also the slightly inconvenient fact a two hour round trip to the airport would cost at least 500 rupees which might be an unnecessary waste of money. Ki korbo.

You're not in Kansas now Dorothy

Yesterday I went to the school which my two friends K and G started  in an economically challenged area. I first met  K and G in 1995 when they were much younger than they are now. In those days they were working in a different area. They planted a church there and then moved on to greener pastures which is what every good church planter should do.


I thought I had written about this school before but I can not find the post. When I went to the school in March I was a little overwhelmed. It was rather noisy and lets just stay nothing like school in NZ.

This time I had much more fun. I told the children a story about the wise and foolish man, I marked one groups work, put stickers on it and gave everyone  a pencil with a verse on it. There are about thirty children at the school. If they did not come to this school they would not have any education. Their parents cannot afford to send them. The morning flew by and then it was lunchtime when I ate a tasty potato curry.

After lunch I went to G's little house. That was a little distressing because it had asbestos in the ceiling. In the kitchen it was visible but in her bedroom a woven mat covered the ceiling. Another distressing thing was I was bitten at least five times by mosquitoes in the short time I was there. G said several times how expensive housing is in this city which poses another dilemma for me but I am not going to write it out loud. See if you can figure it out.

On Sunday I will speak at a gathering of the people that K and G have introduced to J**** in their school community.

I have just noticed some spelling mistakes in my blog and while it could be human error I suspect it is more likely to be the spell check taking liberties and thinking it knows more than me about what I was trying to say.

So I am sorry. I do check but I have a hunch  it waits until after I check before making changes.

Fruity and spicy

The other day I made chutney from a slab of mango leather I bought in town. While it comes in a slab there are about five thin layers comprising the slab. The mango cost about 180 rupees which is $3.75 so it is a cheap way of accessing mango.

 

 

 

The trick is to cut the mango up small and melt it  down with water and vinegar. It takes some time and needs constant stirring but it is worth it. I add garlic, ginger, cinnamon bark, black cumin seeds, cloves, chillis and coriander. The great thing is it has no added sugar. I am not sure if the leather has sugar in it or is pure dried dehydrated mango paste.

The end product would bring tears of admiration to Aunt Daisy’s eyes- for several reasons, one of which is the mixture is quite spicy. In another fortnight if there is any left it will be even spicier. It is  probably more of an English version of a chutney than an Indian one. Their chutneys from my observation tend to be savoury.

 

The chutney adds a bit of variety and flavour to the meals which will be great especially when I go to the teaching phase of my stay here where the food is simple and budget constrained.

Oh if there is any left.

It is lunchtime in NZ and I am sitting on the floor in Hephzibah listening to the dawn chorus symphony playing outside my window.

I had an amazing thought as I settled myself to spend time with THE-ONE-WHO-KNOWS-EVERYTHING. I will choose  to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord. It was one of those left field H*ly Spi*it kind of thoughts that flash across your mind and bring illumination and perspective. Prior to that I was feeling a little grumpy with broken sleep, hard bed, itchy mosquito bitten feet, spilt tea and the weariness that comes from being out of my comfort zone.

King David wrote in Psalms 27:4  One thing I ask from the L**D, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the L**D all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the L**D and to seek him in his temple.

And it seems to me that in every life situation we have a choice about whether we will gaze upon the beauty of God or become caught up in pettiness, triviality and self-pity. One is a spiritual response one is a soulish one. One will lift me up, one will drag me down.

 In the past year or so I have tried to respond to life’s challenges with thankfulness. I have tried to see everything that happens to me as a blessing from God. I have not always been successful but for the most part it has made such a difference. However, gazing upon the beauty of God in a situation, whatever that looks like, seems to me, to be an even more powerful way of not only connecting with God but transcending the muck life throws at us. It is based on an attitude that says this is unpleasant but I will not focus on me but trust my beautiful God to bring me through.

 I do not think that involves denying what is happening. It is more like choosing not to focus on it. Whatever I focus has the potential to control me and maybe even consume and overcome  me. Therefore I will focus on the beauty of God. Better to be controlled, consumed and overcome by God who is eternally love than a momentary trouble.

If God works good in every situation then he must be in every situation. Therefore in every situation I can gaze upon his beauty as he brings his redemptive best from situations that could range in unpleasantness from inconvenient to extremely distressing.

What a crazy thought.

Now I just have to figure out how.



Psalms 19:1[19:1] The heavens declare the glory of God;

the skies proclaim the work of his hands

I guess he will show me.

 

NBC- Naga Boiled Chicken

Ever since I arrived the joyous sound of roosters crowing has assailed my ears early in the morning before it is light. Not that I mind. I am already awake. Yesterday someone made a comment about the roosters and I realised they were on the terrace of the house so I went up for a look. And there they were in all their roostery splendour. Well it was tethered splendour as a lead was tied to their leg.

The Bible says, there are three things that are stately in their stride, four that move with stately bearing and one of these happens to be  a strutting rooster. These fowls were not really strutting their stuff because the lead was too short but they still had that strutting kind of attitude even if they were stationary.

I thought to myself I must take a photo for the blog. Later in the day when dinner was being prepared I glanced into the kitchen and there in the bowl were the birds naked and disembowelled. It was a sad sight. How far these regal chaps had sunk.

There they are sitting on the kitchen floor waiting to be cooked.

Anyway needless to say we had chicken for dinner. Chicken body, chicken innards, chicken feet all merrily together in the same pot. It was a special  dinner because on this day the Lotha people who live in the northeast and are one of the 12 main tribes of the Naga people celebrate tribal unity. My friend Lochumlo, her sister and family and her niece are from this tribe. The dishes were all Lotha favourites. Just between you and me I have to confess my tummy is not particularly fond of Naga food. It is quite different to the Bengali Indian curries I am used to. I ate rather circumspectly which was rather fortunate and very  good for the waist line. Even so I could feel the food burning all the way down and burning a hole in my stomach lining once it arrived there.

Post note: On Thursday it is lochumlos birthday and her sister and brother-in-law are cooking. Glory to G*d.


 

Armed and dangerous

My war against mosquitoes continues. Within a very short time of reaching my friend Lochumlos house the little suckers were targeting me. This morning I went downstairs to pray and I noticed the room had new windows. There were no windows there last time I came. Great I thought to myself no mosquitoes but just after I made that observation who should I notice following me into the room but a stinky mosquito. I saw her put her feelers to her mouth and wolf whistle to her sisters. Then I heard her shout, “ In here my lovelys- breakfast.”

Apparently it is only the females who bite. They need the blood to produce eggs. The blokes who sound a bit blousee suck flower nectar. I know. I know.

What I do not understand is why they rarely bite me in a place on my body where I notice them. It is only the tell-tale sting of pain I feel after the mosquito has left that alerts me to the fact someone has just dined free of charge at my expense. I find such clandestine activity totally irreprehensible. However, the offenders do not seem to care.

The newspaper this morning contained a story about how the unseasonal rainy weather was encouraging the population explosion of the mosquito that carries dengue fever. So it might be especially important to try and avoid being bitten if such a thing is possible. The doctor did tell me that my lovely doxycyclines would not protect me against dengue.

I went to most of the shops lining the street to the market but no-one has any incence sticks for sale. These smoke from these drop mosquitoes dead as. I did buy some fly spray and a coil. The coil should be as good but the smoke is not as easy to control as when it comes from a stick.

The trip to my favouritist shopping place yesterday  was fraught with opportunities for blog entries.
For example the man standing on the street corner preaching the good news all have sinned and fallen short of G*d's glory and need a saviour.

The jury is out on whether I should have said anything to him or not. I sensed the judge gave me a look that said what were your motives for speaking to him. The fact is I didn't give it much thought before I spoke.

 The conversation went something like this:
Me, with uncharacteristic bluntness, "Do you know it is illegal to preach on the streets here."
Him: "Jesus said he would protect me."
Me: "Jesus also said obey the law of the land."
Him: "I didn't know. I wish you hadn't told me.
Me: "Sorry. You are doing a good job. God bless you."

The fact of the matter it is illegal for people on tourist and business visas to proselytize. He could have been arrested. It would not have been good for an elderly American to go to jail but just as likely someone would have given him a warning. However, she who broke the law recently herself spoke more out of self-righteous indignation and probably judgement rather than concern someone would end up in jail.

And he was a sweet little old man concerned about the souls of Hephzibah. And he did look quite deflated so I wish I did not speak now.

Smile and walk away.

It has been raining today so instead of braving the elements I decided  to take a taxi to my favouritism shopping centre in the world. When I say shopping centre I am being generous. Rundown overcrowded stinky rabbit warren with lots of small shops and annoying porters who keep trying to steer you into shops might be a better description. One should also add in to the word picture  extremely endearing. I do not want to paint too negative a picture. And to be fair it is only the meat market in the centre that is stinky and one can avoid that.

Katrina came with me. It is her first visit to Hephzibah. A couple of the shopkeepers asked me if she was my daughter. I was a little shocked to start with. How rude.  I nearly slapped the first guy which would have been extremely bad. Then I realised she is 33 years younger than me so I guess it was a fair question and she is quite a lovely young woman so it actually was a compliment. Sometimes I forget how ancient I am growing.

Anyway I dragged Katrina around all my favourite places and ended up buying another salwar. She bought some clothes too. I nearly bought another salwar but the price was too high so I smiled and walked away. I was after a leather belt and a kind porter led me to a shop. The man wanted 2000 rupees for the belt at first. I said, "1000," after Katrina did a quick conversion on her phone. We haggled for a few minutes but he was not budging from his price and I was not either. So I smiled and walked away.

A few seconds later someone from the shop called me back and we  bought the belt for 1000 rupees. I decided I was feeling brave and maybe we could catch the metro, underground train home. On the way there was a man selling belts on the street. I asked him what was the price. He said, " 250 rupees."
"Oh," I said to myself. I started to walk away and he kept dropping the price as I left. My smile was a little tight lipped as I walked away.

Katrina consoled me by saying the belt I bought was still cheaper than if I had bought it in NZ and the 1000 rupee  belt was probably much better quality. I smiled and walked away.

I cannot decide which version of the story I like best. Both accounts are truthful. You choose.

It was very funny last night. Firstly the airport police man who helped me ring the hotel to tell the driver to come and pick me up wanted a tip. He was so appealing I nearly gave in. As always in these situations  I never  know if I should tip or not so I decided not to.

Secondly the driver came and took me to a hotel building that looked nothing like the website photo. During the drive he  kept coughing and I wondered if he had Tb. It was just a random thought that floated through my brain.

Thirdly none of the hotel staff could understand English so they kept ringing the manager who also had trouble with my accent. He told me if no-one could understand me get them to ring him for help.

My $33 room was very basic but clean. There were no coffee or tea making facilities in the room but there was an en suite. When I got into bed there was so much noise coming in from outside  I wondered how I would ever sleep. Traffic, horns, bells, roosters and dogs. Next minute the manager was in the lounge next to my room having a conversation with someone. Too much. Then I remembered my ear plugs, stuck them in my ears and drifted off to sleep in relative quiet.

I woke up a few times but slept about seven hours. The Muslim call to prayer woke me up just before five and then some Hindus started their worship.
When I looked out the window the next morning the hotel was right beside a flyover at about the same level as my room.

I had a shower and then my breakfast turned up. I was not going to eat the toast but my favouritism fruit jam came with it so I spoiled myself.

One of the hotel staff helped me get a taxi and I was at Lochumlos house by 9.30am.

The view from the hotel window with the blue and white flyover to the left of my room.
 

The neurosis started when the hotel sent a car to pick me from the airport.

“Do you have id,” I asked the nice young man.

“No mam,” he replied politely.

With uncharacteristic bluntness I said “How do I know you are not a terrorist?”

He did not know what I was saying but he knew I was concerned. So he rang the hotel owner who calmly told me that this man was his driver.

“Very fine,” I said.

Then I thought to myself what happens if the man on the end of the phone was a terrorist? Ki korbo?

About this point I was regretting reading the article my good friend Gwen gave me to read about avoiding mishaps when you are travelling.

I seated myself in the car and off we drove. I was looking at where we were going and thinking oh I do not recognise where we are.

We ended up in a part of town I had not been before, off the main drag to the airport. There were many trucks centre parked and the area looked very rundown.

“I hope this doesn’t end in tears,” I said to myself.

I signed in to the hotel and was taken to my room which was clean but basic. It was only $33 a night.

By this time it was 12.30am so I went to bed bolting and locking the door and checking the windows were latched. There was a cacophony of sound coming into the room. Even though I had been sleepless for 24 hours the traffic, the dogs, the roosters were making too much noise. At least there were no mosquitoes.

Then I remembered my ear plugs. Thank goodness for ear plugs. They blocked out most of the noise.

I slept but woke up again at 5am. I started to pray but then fell asleep again. At 7.30 I woke up and decided to get up.

I turned on the unit to heat the shower and then checked my emails. I realised I had not told my friend where I was staying. If I disappeared who would know?

Breakfast came at 8am and the neurosis started to build. What happens if my tea is drugged? I consoled myself that at least I would be clean if I was kidnapped.

Half an hour later I checked out, found a taxi and after forty-five minutes of uneventful driving reached my friend’s house.

And the moral of this story……??? I think it has something to do with travel articles!!! And letting your imagination run away with you. And not trusting God.

PS the story is a bit tongue in cheek. I have overdramatised my neurosis for dramatic effect. There was never any moment in real life that I felt unsafe.

 

 

 

 

I find bat poo very interesting- Ima Batty, chiropterologist.

The boring as bat poo ramblings/adventures of a sleep deprived kiwi chick. I realised on the plane that by the time I get to Hephzibah at 10.30pm tonight which is really more like 4.30am NZ time I will have been awake for 24 hours.

Oh why did I realise that. I suddenly feel tired.

I am in Singers filling in time before my flight in about two hours. I tried to find the café that sells lavender flavoured earl  grey tea but to no avail. Maybe it is in terminal 3. I had the same problem finding it last time. So now I have given up and settled for ordinary earl grey.

I have had a lovely shower so at least I am clean even if I have had no sleep for 24 hours.

The naughty spell check keeps trying to outwrite me. And it is selective about what it tries to change.

The flight here was uneventful except because I checked in at Invercargill I didn't get to choose my favourite seat 47G on the aeroplane and by the time I tried to change it at Christchurch someone already had it. They must have wondered why I glared at them on my two trips to the toilet during the flight. For your information 47G is the last row of seats before the toilets. I was in 40G which was still great though. Oh but I sat beside a poor man who kept his padded jacket and gloves on most of the trip. It wasn't a straight sort of a padded jacket to be sure.

My tea is very hot and I am a little apprehensive I might miss my flight. Its so easy to get distracted when writing blogs. Still half an hour to the gate opens. Chill man.

I also realised that by the time I reach my destination I will have had three main meals plus breakfast so there are some advantages to staying awake for 24 hours. However, this time I must remember not to eat the chilli that will be sitting as garnish on the top of the meal which will be served on the trip to Hephzibah.

PS the comment about glaring at the person sitting in my seat was a little something for all my friends who laugh at my jokes. You know who you are.