I haven't posted anything for ages, largely because I find it hard to
sit at a keyboard in the evening given that that's how I spend most of
my day. Last week had so many cool things in it, that I got motivated.
May 1st in Martyr's Day in Tunisia, a day that commemorates the 2,500 who fell during the 1956 war of independence from France. And it's a school holiday.
The
Parents' Advisory Committee organized a fun run to help raise funds to
help children suffering from cancer. I didn't register, having not
jogged a step since my fall at the end of January. (If you missed that, I
tripped over a blob of hardened concrete and broke a bone in my hand.)
On the morning of the race, I woke up feeling perky and decided to
participate. I guess the last couple of months of regular gym time paid
off, because not only did I make it the full 5 kilometres without
stopping, I won bronze in the women over 50 group!
Young people, here is my advice. Pick an activity you enjoy, and even if you're not very good at it, stick with it. In time, others will fall away and the field will thin. At that point, start entering small events. You will win something. Eventually.
The next day was the Staff Talent Show at school and I was in three numbers. The first was a mock, and I mean MOCK, marching band complete with paper admiral's hats, metre sticks and a tableau for a big finish. The last number was a skit about what to do in the talent show (how original) that ended with us leading the audience in the Arabic version of the Mararena. I'm not sure that anyone noticed that the lyrics were not in Spanish. I mean, does anyone know words other than Eh, macarena? I think not. In the middle of the show, my French colleague Philippe and performed a song and dance to "La Seine et Moi", a song from the Disney movie A Monster in Paris. I flubbed a lyric (Philippe is sure to forgive me in time) but the audience seemed suitably impressed. The only photos were taken on a phone, but they'll give a bit of an idea.
On Saturday, I drove to Raf Raf, a beach town about an hour and a half from Tunis. It lived up to its reputation as a stunning beach facing a striking island, with forested hills behind. Truly stunning. I made a couple of tactical errors. One, I didn't get away until noon and I had to be back by 6. Two, I wore knee-length shorts. As in most rural areas, people were more conservative than in Tunis, but I wasn't ready for the degree. I didn't see a single woman without the head scarf, and the few who were swimming were (a) young and (b) in the sea in all their clothes. I walked the beach while throwing the ball for Libby for half an hour or so and had a nice chat with a French man married to a Tunisian. He told me that way at the end of the cove, there is a natural clay mud bath. Apparently, in summer, locals cover themselves in clay, walk back until it's nicely baked on, then throw themselves in the sea. I'd love to go back with someone and try it, but that's doubtful. I only have four weekends left!
Libby slept in the car while I went in for a smashing lunch of fresh grilled calamari, and then we headed back. On the way home, I stopped at a roadside stand and bought a dozen large artichokes for a dinar and a half, or about 90 cents. Just a few yards earlier, there was a stand with lettuce on it, and I asked the two men whose that was. Of course, it was guy number two. He walked back to the car with me, pulled out a knife, tromped into the field and cut me out a fresh romaine. The stuff on the table was just for show. I paid the equivalent of 40 cents for about two pounds of lettuce.
Pulling up to the house, I was moderately annoyed to find a small truck badly parked right where I wanted to be. My feelings did a 180 when I learned that he was selling fresh prawns. Now, when I say fresh, I am not kidding. He had a big bucket of sea water with what he claimed were a kilo of huge live prawns swimming around. My neighbor and I quickly made a deal to split them, but she wouldn't trust him as to the weight. Our corner store refused to weigh them for us because the fisher was dripping prawn water all over the floor. At that point the poor man went off to another store to get them weighed. (Why my neighbour would trust him to tell the truth about the results when she wouldn't trust him to begin with, I will never know. ) He came back to report they weighed 1.7 kilos. I took a kilo and she took 700 grams. We would have each had 800 grams for the same price if she had not been so suspicious.
I had just enough time to shower, feed Libby and head out to Kelli and Adam's for their annual Cinquo de Mayo party. You're never bored at one of their parties because don't just stand around and drink. Adam always creates entertaining games and competitions. This time, he had Photoshopped mustaches and sombreros on a dozen or so music stars' pictures. I don't think any of them were of my vintage and/or musical taste, so I couldn't recognize any of them, and probably couldn't have even without the 'staches. I amused myself by entering clever names like Che Guevara, Yo Mama, Piña Colada, Watt Tousi, and Mia Hairsblond. Typical teachers, they rewarded accuracy over creativity and I didn't win.
The next afternoon, a few people were invited to our colleague Jeff Smith's house for a Jamaican cooking lesson. Jeff made a batch of jerk chicken earlier in the afternoon, so we wouldn't have to wait while ours simmered in the oven. Here is what I learned. One, Jamaicans don't use the term jerk chicken. They just call it chicken. We're having chicken. Two, there is no such thing as jerk sauce; it's a rub. Three, the essential ingredient of jerk chicken is not chicken, it is ground black pepper. For six whole (12 separated) chicken legs, Jeff poured on three tablespoons of black pepper, plus several whole peppercorns. In case it might be too bland, he added a teaspoon of cayenne and two small chilies cut in half, seeds and all. Then some salt, a head and a half of garlic, maybe a tsp. of grated ginger, a bit of thyme, one onion and a single tomato. A few shots of soy. Here he is, massaging the spices into the chicken.
Into a covered casserole it went with about 1/3 inch of water. About half an hour before the chicken is ready, say after and hour or 90 minutes in the oven, you fry potato slices in oil and layer them over the top. Pop it back into the over for another 30 minutes. It comes out looking like this.
Ours went in, Geoff's finished version came out, and dinner was served. With rice. Plenty of rice.
I didn't stay to eat. There were prawns at home calling my name. Geoff brought me a portion for lunch on Monday, and it was delicious.
.JPG)
So you see, a great week. And in five more, I'll be home.
In the meantime, here's a rose from my garden, just for you.
May 1st in Martyr's Day in Tunisia, a day that commemorates the 2,500 who fell during the 1956 war of independence from France. And it's a school holiday.
The
Parents' Advisory Committee organized a fun run to help raise funds to
help children suffering from cancer. I didn't register, having not
jogged a step since my fall at the end of January. (If you missed that, I
tripped over a blob of hardened concrete and broke a bone in my hand.)
On the morning of the race, I woke up feeling perky and decided to
participate. I guess the last couple of months of regular gym time paid
off, because not only did I make it the full 5 kilometres without
stopping, I won bronze in the women over 50 group! Young people, here is my advice. Pick an activity you enjoy, and even if you're not very good at it, stick with it. In time, others will fall away and the field will thin. At that point, start entering small events. You will win something. Eventually.
The next day was the Staff Talent Show at school and I was in three numbers. The first was a mock, and I mean MOCK, marching band complete with paper admiral's hats, metre sticks and a tableau for a big finish. The last number was a skit about what to do in the talent show (how original) that ended with us leading the audience in the Arabic version of the Mararena. I'm not sure that anyone noticed that the lyrics were not in Spanish. I mean, does anyone know words other than Eh, macarena? I think not. In the middle of the show, my French colleague Philippe and performed a song and dance to "La Seine et Moi", a song from the Disney movie A Monster in Paris. I flubbed a lyric (Philippe is sure to forgive me in time) but the audience seemed suitably impressed. The only photos were taken on a phone, but they'll give a bit of an idea.
 |
| It felt good to be on the boards again |
Libby slept in the car while I went in for a smashing lunch of fresh grilled calamari, and then we headed back. On the way home, I stopped at a roadside stand and bought a dozen large artichokes for a dinar and a half, or about 90 cents. Just a few yards earlier, there was a stand with lettuce on it, and I asked the two men whose that was. Of course, it was guy number two. He walked back to the car with me, pulled out a knife, tromped into the field and cut me out a fresh romaine. The stuff on the table was just for show. I paid the equivalent of 40 cents for about two pounds of lettuce.Pulling up to the house, I was moderately annoyed to find a small truck badly parked right where I wanted to be. My feelings did a 180 when I learned that he was selling fresh prawns. Now, when I say fresh, I am not kidding. He had a big bucket of sea water with what he claimed were a kilo of huge live prawns swimming around. My neighbor and I quickly made a deal to split them, but she wouldn't trust him as to the weight. Our corner store refused to weigh them for us because the fisher was dripping prawn water all over the floor. At that point the poor man went off to another store to get them weighed. (Why my neighbour would trust him to tell the truth about the results when she wouldn't trust him to begin with, I will never know. ) He came back to report they weighed 1.7 kilos. I took a kilo and she took 700 grams. We would have each had 800 grams for the same price if she had not been so suspicious.
I had just enough time to shower, feed Libby and head out to Kelli and Adam's for their annual Cinquo de Mayo party. You're never bored at one of their parties because don't just stand around and drink. Adam always creates entertaining games and competitions. This time, he had Photoshopped mustaches and sombreros on a dozen or so music stars' pictures. I don't think any of them were of my vintage and/or musical taste, so I couldn't recognize any of them, and probably couldn't have even without the 'staches. I amused myself by entering clever names like Che Guevara, Yo Mama, Piña Colada, Watt Tousi, and Mia Hairsblond. Typical teachers, they rewarded accuracy over creativity and I didn't win.
The next afternoon, a few people were invited to our colleague Jeff Smith's house for a Jamaican cooking lesson. Jeff made a batch of jerk chicken earlier in the afternoon, so we wouldn't have to wait while ours simmered in the oven. Here is what I learned. One, Jamaicans don't use the term jerk chicken. They just call it chicken. We're having chicken. Two, there is no such thing as jerk sauce; it's a rub. Three, the essential ingredient of Into a covered casserole it went with about 1/3 inch of water. About half an hour before the chicken is ready, say after and hour or 90 minutes in the oven, you fry potato slices in oil and layer them over the top. Pop it back into the over for another 30 minutes. It comes out looking like this.
Ours went in, Geoff's finished version came out, and dinner was served. With rice. Plenty of rice.
I didn't stay to eat. There were prawns at home calling my name. Geoff brought me a portion for lunch on Monday, and it was delicious.
.JPG)
So you see, a great week. And in five more, I'll be home.In the meantime, here's a rose from my garden, just for you.
