Today I decided to get to work on putting my seeds in my pots.
The only trouble is that, like pots, good soil is also hard to come by. Remember that it's dry season, too, so the topsoil is mostly just dust. I mentioned the issue to David, and he said to leave it to him. David is what he calls a bakauye, a villager. His mother farms in the village, and David grew up raising pigeons. So he knows about growing things--plant and animal alike. And he's not afraid of hard work and getting dirty!
We got the wheelbarrow and a shovel, and I followed him over to our neighbours' house. These neighbours--a senior resident and his family--are the keepers of Chickenville. David asked the only person home (the doctor's in-law) if we could have some of their chicken droppings for our garden. Sure, the man said. So David and I crossed the yard and entered Chickenville. While David shoveled up some droppings into the wheelbarrow, Timothy and I peeked into the chicken coops made of tin sheets and chickenwire. There were three different coops. One had a light bulb, and that was full of little chicklings--not actual tiny baby chicks, but definitely young chickens. The second coop had brown and white chickens together, and the third divided the white chickens from the brown ones. I have no idea why, not being a chicken expert myself. But we said hello to the birds, causing quite a ruckus. It smelled bad, too. Whooee! That's the smell that sometimes wafts into our bedroom at night. Lovely aroma. When David had gotten enough droppings, we headed back to our house. David dug a hole in the yard and shoveled the droppings into it to keep them from scattering.
The next step was finding soil good enough for planting. As I said, all the topsoil is dust, so David had to use a hoe and dig deeper to find better dirt. It took a lot of work, since the ground is so firm and dry, but eventually, he got enough for all four pots. In two, he put sand on the bottom, but the other two just had soil all the way down to the bottom. On the top of all four, he shoveled some chicken droppings.
"Now how do I plant the seeds?" I asked him. He said to wait, to put water on the dirt tonight, and then to plant tomorrow. So I doused the dirt in the pots with water. I tried to saturate the soil, but who knows if I succeeded? (I was a little nervous about dipping my hands into chicken droppings to check the moisture.) So the pots are sitting outside, full of [wet, I hope] dirt. And tomorrow we plant!
December 29, 2007
Gardening II - Pots
My second step in planting my basil and dill was getting planting pots, since I wanted to keep them contained and mobile.
It's not as easy as you might think. I can't just pop over to Menard's, or Home Depot, or even Super Target (or whatever they call the one with the gardening shop). I thought I'd be able to get them in town easily enough, but when I asked my parents' driver/gardener where to get them, he said he had to think about it. Finally, a few weeks later, he told me we'd have to go to the outskirts of town, to a little village called Narraguta. I'd only been out that direction a few times, including a year ago when Mr. Magit took us to a leatherworks there. (That's where David got the shoes made for him and his groomsmen.)
So Friday morning, I got the baby into the carseat, hopped into the car, and Mr. Magit drove us to Narraguta. It's not a long drive, maybe 20 minutes. Some of the highlights along the way were:
Mr. Magit unloaded the pots when we got home, and put them by the kitchen door for me to fill with dirt later...
But I didn't get around to it.
It's not as easy as you might think. I can't just pop over to Menard's, or Home Depot, or even Super Target (or whatever they call the one with the gardening shop). I thought I'd be able to get them in town easily enough, but when I asked my parents' driver/gardener where to get them, he said he had to think about it. Finally, a few weeks later, he told me we'd have to go to the outskirts of town, to a little village called Narraguta. I'd only been out that direction a few times, including a year ago when Mr. Magit took us to a leatherworks there. (That's where David got the shoes made for him and his groomsmen.)
So Friday morning, I got the baby into the carseat, hopped into the car, and Mr. Magit drove us to Narraguta. It's not a long drive, maybe 20 minutes. Some of the highlights along the way were:
- petrol queues and closed-down filling stations
- men pushing wheelbarrows full of sugarcane
- outdoor concrete floors about 8'x8' used as local prayer rooms
- a sign reading, "Say no to CULTISM. It ruins."
- a herd of Fulani cows roaming around a car wash
Mr. Magit unloaded the pots when we got home, and put them by the kitchen door for me to fill with dirt later...
But I didn't get around to it.
Gardening I - Seeds
I'm not a gardener. I grew up in apartments in Los Angeles, so you can imagine how much land we had in which to grow green things (i.e., none at all). Our yard was concrete at most of our apartments. Yeah, not great for gardening.
When I was in seventh grade at Hillcrest, we returned from the States in January, and my classmates were growing gardens for science class. Well, January is the middle of the dry season, and I hadn't been around in the fall to plant anything, so I had to start from scratch. Needless to say, I didn't get an A on my garden.
But I'm an adult now, so I thought I'd give it a go. My sister was successful in growing basil in her condo in Illinois, and it's so yummy to eat. We can't always get it in the market here, so when I noticed that our fruit-seller had a bunch of seed packets hanging from a clothesline in his fruit stall, I asked him if he had seeds for dill or basil. He said he didn't, but that he'd get some for me. I didn't really believe him, but two weeks later, he handed me two little sachets of seeds--dill and basil. Yay!
When I was in seventh grade at Hillcrest, we returned from the States in January, and my classmates were growing gardens for science class. Well, January is the middle of the dry season, and I hadn't been around in the fall to plant anything, so I had to start from scratch. Needless to say, I didn't get an A on my garden.
But I'm an adult now, so I thought I'd give it a go. My sister was successful in growing basil in her condo in Illinois, and it's so yummy to eat. We can't always get it in the market here, so when I noticed that our fruit-seller had a bunch of seed packets hanging from a clothesline in his fruit stall, I asked him if he had seeds for dill or basil. He said he didn't, but that he'd get some for me. I didn't really believe him, but two weeks later, he handed me two little sachets of seeds--dill and basil. Yay!
A brown Christmas
When I think about it, I've hardly had any white Christmases. My first one, I guess, was in 2000 in Delaware, and that was just a small dusting of snow Christmas morning as a fluke. (Apparently, they don't often get snow for Christmas.) Most of my Christmases have been brown and dry, even in the States. I'm not complaining or anything. That's how I grew up, so that's "normal" to me.
This year was no different. We're in the midst of the dry, dusty season, harmattan, here in northern Nigeria. In fact, the few days before Christmas, I was wearing long sleeves because it was chilly!! Not cold, mind you, but lower than 70F. (The dust in the air keeps out direct sunlight, so the temps drop.) On Christmas Eve we attended the annual Christmas Eve Service at Hillcrest Chapel, this year conducted by a pastor in my parents' mission. It was a lovely mixture of readings and music, including an outstanding piano-trumpet duet of "The Coventry Carol" with a spoken introduction. I'd never before heard the carol explained, and the music was so poignant as we all remembered Herod slaughtering the children fo Bethleham. Wow! After the service, we got to connect with a few old friends, including my sister's first boyfriend and one of my classmates, whom I hadn't seen since our high school graduation in June 2000.
Christmas morning dawned bright and cheery. I woke up before the boys and baked my mom's famous cinnamon rolls. Then we drank [precious] earl grey tea and opened presents. (Well, Luke opened presents. We mostly just watched.) Luke was especially enthralled by a book about boats and ships from Mom and Dad. It's a pretty nifty book! Then we watched It's a Wonderful Life and afterward took a nap. I got up to make a bean salad and rolls for dinner... Well, the rolls flopped. I'm a baker, sure, but yeast has never been my strong suit. So I had to make some baking powder biscuits instead. (The rolls did eventually rise, and we baked them and ate them, but it was more than a day later!) Our friends Sara and Sunday came over around five to do video Skype with her family in the States, and at six, we went off to our neighbours' for Christmas dinner. We were joined by other neighbours, the Johnstons from Northern Ireland. They brought traditional Irish potatoes (here, just called "Irish" without "potatoes" at all, as in, "Would you like to buy some Irish?"), pavlova, and Christmas [fruit]cake. Yum! When we got home, we tried to call my family on Skype, but we kept getting disconnected. I guess too many people had the same idea!
But that's not the traditional Nigerian Christmas at all! Here's how it should have been:
We get up early and eat breakfast. We all put on our new outfits. (Everyone who can afford it buys a new outfit for Christmas Day.) We walk to church, where we stay for anywhere from two to five hours. Then we go visiting all our friends and family. OR we entertain guests at our house and feed them jallof rice, meat, and cin-cin. We have rice and chicken for dinner.
So our Christmas wasn't quite Nigerian, but not quite American either. I totally forgot about filling our shoes (the Scandinavian version of stockings). Oh well! Christmas remains the same--a celebration of Christ's birth and a reunion of family and friends. That's what matters, right?
This year was no different. We're in the midst of the dry, dusty season, harmattan, here in northern Nigeria. In fact, the few days before Christmas, I was wearing long sleeves because it was chilly!! Not cold, mind you, but lower than 70F. (The dust in the air keeps out direct sunlight, so the temps drop.) On Christmas Eve we attended the annual Christmas Eve Service at Hillcrest Chapel, this year conducted by a pastor in my parents' mission. It was a lovely mixture of readings and music, including an outstanding piano-trumpet duet of "The Coventry Carol" with a spoken introduction. I'd never before heard the carol explained, and the music was so poignant as we all remembered Herod slaughtering the children fo Bethleham. Wow! After the service, we got to connect with a few old friends, including my sister's first boyfriend and one of my classmates, whom I hadn't seen since our high school graduation in June 2000.
Christmas morning dawned bright and cheery. I woke up before the boys and baked my mom's famous cinnamon rolls. Then we drank [precious] earl grey tea and opened presents. (Well, Luke opened presents. We mostly just watched.) Luke was especially enthralled by a book about boats and ships from Mom and Dad. It's a pretty nifty book! Then we watched It's a Wonderful Life and afterward took a nap. I got up to make a bean salad and rolls for dinner... Well, the rolls flopped. I'm a baker, sure, but yeast has never been my strong suit. So I had to make some baking powder biscuits instead. (The rolls did eventually rise, and we baked them and ate them, but it was more than a day later!) Our friends Sara and Sunday came over around five to do video Skype with her family in the States, and at six, we went off to our neighbours' for Christmas dinner. We were joined by other neighbours, the Johnstons from Northern Ireland. They brought traditional Irish potatoes (here, just called "Irish" without "potatoes" at all, as in, "Would you like to buy some Irish?"), pavlova, and Christmas [fruit]cake. Yum! When we got home, we tried to call my family on Skype, but we kept getting disconnected. I guess too many people had the same idea!
But that's not the traditional Nigerian Christmas at all! Here's how it should have been:
We get up early and eat breakfast. We all put on our new outfits. (Everyone who can afford it buys a new outfit for Christmas Day.) We walk to church, where we stay for anywhere from two to five hours. Then we go visiting all our friends and family. OR we entertain guests at our house and feed them jallof rice, meat, and cin-cin. We have rice and chicken for dinner.
So our Christmas wasn't quite Nigerian, but not quite American either. I totally forgot about filling our shoes (the Scandinavian version of stockings). Oh well! Christmas remains the same--a celebration of Christ's birth and a reunion of family and friends. That's what matters, right?
December 24, 2007
(Music 10) The Gift – A Colours Christmas
It's hard to say whether I like this more or December more, but they are my two favourite Christmas albums. The Gift is an instrumental celebration of Christmas and the perfect music for Christmas morning while eating breakfast or opening presents.
(Recipe 10) Blushing Apple Crescents
¾ c sugar
½ c red hots (cinnamon candies)
1 t whole allspice
½ c white vinegar
Mom got this recipe from her friend Wanda Farrell back in 1980, before I was even born! We adore it. It's a perfect blend of sweet and sour--with vinegar--and makes a beautiful and tasty side dish to the main meal. You can use fresh apples if you'd prefer; Mom usually does, I think. We can't get red hots here, though, so this is a special treat for us!
½ c red hots (cinnamon candies)
1 t whole allspice
½ c white vinegar
Drain liquid from apples into saucepan; stir in sugar, candies, allspice, and vinegar. Heat to boiling and simmer 5 minutes. Add apples; heat to boiling again. Pour into bowl, cool, and refrigerate 24 hours. Makes 4 cups.
Mom got this recipe from her friend Wanda Farrell back in 1980, before I was even born! We adore it. It's a perfect blend of sweet and sour--with vinegar--and makes a beautiful and tasty side dish to the main meal. You can use fresh apples if you'd prefer; Mom usually does, I think. We can't get red hots here, though, so this is a special treat for us!
(Music 9) Celtic Christmas – Eden’s Bridge
Enjoy the lilt of Christmas carols and original music Celtic style! Both mellow and upbeat, you'll love the bagpipes and tin whistle. If you like Celtic music at all, this is a must-listen-to!
(Recipe 9) Spritz
1 c butter, softened
½ c sugar
2¼ c flour
¼ t salt
1 egg
1 t almond or vanilla extract
Heat oven to 400°F. Cream butter and sugar. Blend in remaining ingredients. Fill cookie press with ¼ of dough at a time. Form desired shapes on ungreased baking sheets. Baket 6 to 9 minutes or until set but not brown. Makes about 5 dozen.
If you know anything about Spritz, you know it's a dough that works with a cookie press. I'm sure there are all sorts of shapes and flavours you could make, but my mom always made green Christmas wreaths and put red hots on for bolly berries. Very festive! I haven't made these as an adult, not having a press, but they're lots of fun! And yummy, too. :)
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