Falling down, getting up...doing it over and over again...

Bob Marley sung “Everyman thinks that his burden is the heaviest”.  How true is this?  From what I’ve seen we all think this from time to time.  People as a general rule have a very “woe is me” attitude.  Like when nothing is going your way and you feel like you are as far down as you can possibly handle.  I know I did today.  I even bought a gluten free chocolate brownie mix so I could go home and throw myself a little pity party.

But then I remembered something that made me feel like a massive sook.  When they were interviewing people affected by the floods in Queensland there were a lot of people saying, “there are other people who are worse off, we’ll be right”.  No matter how hard the journalist looking for his or her next sob story tried, they could not be broken.  They had strength and pride and the knowledge that they can get up, brush themselves off and start again.

With that in mind I didn’t sit around eating brownie, I took my new skateboard across the road to the park and rode up and down the path falling off at least twenty times.  I skinned my knuckles, I got caught in a massive downpour, I felt stronger, braver, happier, because no matter how bad I felt, I got back up.  I persevered.

I suppose life is like that.  No matter how much embarrassment and hurt we endure falling over again and again in private and in public.  No matter how heavy the rain is, no matter how soggy we feel.  We have to just get up, stand like a goofy mother-trucker and hope for a tailwind to help us along.  And if one doesn’t come, push.

Whangamomona...a little country in a little country in the country

Phew!  There is 20 minutes of my life I will never get back.

Along a long dirt back road called the Forgotten Highway which runs down the centre of the North Island of New Zealand is a country within a country.  Strange but true.  I never knew.  As I was driving this annoyingly long road, filled with landslides, stunning country hillsides and beautiful native forestry with my Aunt, who thought it would be fun to take the super-duper long way to Taranaki we came across Whangamomona.  The Republic that is.  Now, there is not a lot there to make up a whole country but you know they have a pub and a post office so what more do you need?  Think about it, you can farm all day, drink all night and post the odd letter to friends in New Zealand or if feeling a bit adventurous...Australia.

Stamped!

So I do not know exactly how there came to be a little country in a little country but according to the barmaid at the pub (name forgotten, all apologies) it goes something like this... Taranaki decided that Whangamomona was not good enough to be a part of the Taranaki District, then Whanganui said, alright lads we can have you as part of ours.  But the good folk of Whangamomona thought they were too good for those lot and decided to become a Republic.  They can stamp your passport and all that jazz, but I do wonder how seriously they take the whole thing of country-dom.  You see they have had a goat, a dog and a turtle as their Presidents, which, makes me think they might be having a bit of a laugh.
According to our lovely barmaid it is all dead serious and not to be laughed at.  I say pah!  I shall laugh at your Presidents!  Lookout, I may have gained myself a lifetime ban from the Republic of Whangamomona!

A little lost...a lot gained

I'm not talking about my weight either!  Although it is Christmas, I am in New Zealand and yet to get to grandma's place where I am envisaging copious amounts of food piled in front of me until I can fit nothing more in and I'm rolling around on the floor in a fit of agony from overeating.  Much different to my very sad and lonely Christmas last year stuck in the Ugandan bush taking care of a malaria ridden Roger, who by the way made the soggiest, most painful patient ever.  Sorry Roger but it's true and I will spongebath you next time.

The massive laksa...in a salad bowl?

So my mission to find good African food in Auckland is failing.  I searched.  I did not find.  There is one place on Albert Street but it's reviews are saying that it's Moroccan food but it's not really Moroccan food.  I did however find possibly the largest bowl of laksa in the world.  Who eats that much?  Really?  I felt like I'd ordered a dish meant to be shared between 2 or 3 people.  Thankfully they let me take the leftovers home and laksa made a great dinner and next day lunch.  The Malaysian place on Khyber Pass Road in Auckland has the yummiest food but next time I'll order a regular person sized meal...for one.

On the gain side of the scale, I gained a new little family.  And no I haven't been adopted again.  I met my big sister Chris for the first time, her lovely husband and their 3 kids.  Being called aunty Laurel felt great and one of the girls has the exact same hair as me and they all chat away so obviously we're all related.  I felt so blessed to be meeting such kind and funny people and the thought that I have more people I can call my kin leaves me feeling all happy and squishy in my tummy.  That and I obviously need to go to the gym, get back my rock hard abs! (HAHAHAAA.....abs...)  This whole being an aunty business now is interesting, I'm just thinking of all the things I can do to be the cool aunt, I'm so gonna rock at this aunt stuff!  I also got to meet allllll of the girls' teddy bears!  Very cute, although I'm not sure about Burlesque bear here...she's a bit of a worry.

Yes, thats right...burlesque bear

Ethiopia in Uganda

One of the huge things I miss about living in Uganda is the cultural variety.  Uganda is a virtual melting pot of African nationalities all living and sharing their various cultures.  As I'm sitting here in Auckland googling like crazy to find somewhere African to eat I found myself drifting back to memories of Kabalagala.
My favourite little dive is on the main road down a little dirty alley, up some rustic colonial-period stairs and through a little Arabic door, one of those places where Muzungu would fear to tread.  Molober in Kabalagala was my favourite haunt, I was there almost every day when I lived in Kampala and when I missed a few days it was noticed.  My return was always heralded as though I had been lost at sea for many months, kissed three times on the cheek by the staff and some of the regular customers.  I long for the afternoons I would spend there with a friend or by myself or with a stranger I had just met.
There I spoke with exiled Ethiopian journalists, Sudanese refugees, Kenyan businessmen, an Egyptian drunkard and many North African men and women who came to Uganda looking to escape their Governments.  We were all there for the same thing, a little bit of peace and quiet tucked away neatly upstairs avoiding the busy roads filled with people and traffic and loud street vendors grilling chicken and matoke.
Not to mention the food Effe used to cook for us all.  Soft injeera, goat tibbs a little salata and boona.  I don't think a day passes where I don't think about eating at Molober or a coffee ceremony at mamma Fozi's house.  I hope my search of Auckland tomorrow provides me with something good to eat, although there are some experiences and feelings that I know will have to wait until I am back in East Africa.

Parental Madness

I've mentioned once before that my mum and her partner are nuts.  Here's one of the latest of many exchanges...this one on buying prawns.

M: We need prawns for Christmas
B: I'll buy raw ones
M: Why don't you buy cooked prawns
B: I'll cook them myself
M: You can't cook prawns
B: Yes I can
M: I've been with you 5 years and I've never seen you cook a prawn, there's been no prawn on the barbie here!
B: I'm a man!  Of course I can cook prawns
M: Just buy the cooked ones

Not so fly...like a white guy

Have you ever noticed that when you were a teenager everything you did and wore seemed totally awesome?  I never thought of myself as popular by mainstream standards but I thought I was pretty damn cool.  As I got older and looked back at myself in photos or memory I've realised that I was just outright ridiculous.  Like when I was 18 and I thought wearing baggy pant with my boxers out the top was the SHIT!  Especially when you put the chain from your front belt loop to your wallet.  Team that up with a wicked hip hop styled visor and pink knee high socks with skateshoes and you have instant vintage AWESOME!  (Don't try this look at home, it's really not awesome!)
Errrr...right.  At least I thought so.  So while I'm cleaning out my mum's garage full of my crap what do I find?  Photos!  I'd scan them in but really...really...no one needs to see that.  Ever.  Period.  I did come across one adorable photo of me and my best friend being gangsta with our Westside pose.  Should I point out we weren't being American just representing our Westside Auckland roots!
We used to fly between Auckland and Brisbane at least once a year to see each other and just hang out with skateboards and listen to punk music.  We were so damn cool.  He was my first real kiss.  Now many, many years have passed and we are still friends.
So anyhooooo, not going to give you the pleasure of seeing us as adorable punk-ass teenagers, him with his nose too big for his body and me with my eyebrow pierced but we did recreate the photo.
It's nice to know that even though we still don't dress like freaks, we both still enjoy our punk music and a good skate.  Here's to never growing up properly!

Westsiiiiiiiide!!!

Uganda wants YOU to stop smoking!

Just like every other country (well pretty much) Uganda is smacking those SMOKING KILLS labels on the front of every pack.  Like in Kenya you'll have your warning over 30% of the pack and in the future the manky pictures we have on ours in Australia.
I tell you one thing, the warning didn't stop me in Kenya it didn't stop me in Europe...but in Australia.  Yeah I stopped.  It's very sad.

Smokers don't need a warning, hell if we wake up feeling like we've swallowed an ashtray and then cough up part of a lung in the shower and still light up a cigarette we can overcome a warning.  Hell we can survive pretty much anything.  Look at it this way.  If we can overcome all the warnings our bodies give us you think that writing it down for us going to do anything?  Ha!

It's the money that made me quit, it's too expensive here.  Like insane costly!  Uganda is onto this and sorry Ug smokers your tax on that shit is going to be raised again!  In January Ug is doing the whole budget thing and the taxes are certain to rise and I think by a fair bit.  So here's some photos of me smoking...ahhh...better times.

With a little help from my friends...

"What would you do if I sang out of tune? 

Would you stand up and walk out on me? 

Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song 

I will try not to sing out of key, yeah"

There's nothing like a day with one of your favourite people to make you feel like the earth is at peace and the problems of the world just fade away.  True friends, the ones for life are those you can go without seeing for years on end and when you do it's like you just picked up from where you left off.  

They are the ones that know way too much about you and will take you to the pub for a counter meal and a game of pokies and it's most fun you've had in ages.  So if you haven't spent a day or even just a few hours doing a whole lot of not much with an old friend recently, take my advice and pick up the phone!