Thoughts From A Malagasy Christmas

OK, so yesterday was Christmas day and I have to say that mine turned out to be one of the nicest I have had. I woke early, but not too early, roughly 7:00 and the sun was up and the kids had all gone off to church (it's a 4am wake-up call for them and a 5am start at church). This means that I got to sleep past 6am because none was crying or fighting, laughing or singing outside my bedroom door. 

Following my awakening I jumped into the shower for a cold wash before putting on my Christmas outfit and heading to the kitchen where I prepared breakfast for the two other remaining volunteers (Emma and Aurore) and out volunteer co-ordinator (a Peace Corps volunteer called Binh). I made scrambled eggs with bacon smoked by another colleague Chad, who also lives on site in a neighbouring house and with whom we would be having dinner. I had also managed to get my hands on a sliced loaf of crusty bread (kind of like a hobza but not quite) and real butter and some mushrooms. All in all it was a marvellous breakfast that reminded me of home and it was all washed down with a glass of very cheap and nasty bucks fizz and a cup of tea. 

Me in my Christmas outfit (bear in mind it was like 30 degrees here)

Breakfast was just an appetiser however to the present opening bonanza that was about to begin! I got a whole pile including some from the other volunteers and two from home (a dear friend Barbara with whom I spent a few Christmases in Berlin and Brians family, or rather mum, who had packed presents for me to open before I left). Before we could start opening presents some of the older girls came to the door with cards and letters they had prepared for us for Christmas, it was touching and sweet and worthy of delaying present opening.

My pile of presents and a card from the girls

So in no particulate order I received from Aurore (who was my secret santa so bought the lions share of my gifts) a handmade raffia wallet in purple with gold thread and leather detailing (centre of the picture), a Christmas scarf in bright jolly holiday red, a pair of earrings I had admired in a market because I though Brian would like them (they are made from wire twisted into the shape of fish with bright blue gems trapped in the wire and are hanging off the top of the bad in the picture) and a beautiful raffia bag in purple with coloured flowers which I absolutely love and am keeping for special so it doesn't get ruined in the rain! From Emma I received a pair of great jelly shoes which look like pumps and are pink and glittery and PERFECT for walking around in the mud because they aren't sloppy like flip flops but they are waterproof and can be washed in case of mud. From Binh I received a honey scented candle, two mini candy canes, a bar of exquisite chocolate made at the factory where she works and not on the market yet and a sachet with which to make instant mulled cider. One of the boys who volunteered here, Joe (from Wimbledon actually, small world) left us all lego policemen on motorbikes which we had fun assembling after breakfast. From home I received a charm for my pandora bracelet from Barbara, who bought it for me in the first place, in the shape of a panda bear but it kind of looks like a lemur and that tickles me- it went straight on the bracelet which was the first time I have taken it off since she gave it to me 2 months ago. Last but most definitely not least I opened the present from Brian's mum, which had been tempting me for months- it contained 3 British themed tea towels, a set of oven gloves, a set of union jack mugs and a teapot. I was so delighted and I immediately made tea for me and the other English volunteer, Emma, and Mrs Christie will be delighted to know that all the other items were also used that day to make Christmas dinner. 

All my presents, unwrapped.

After breakfast and presents we headed down to the kitchen to help with cooking lunch for the kids. I say 'help with cooking' but in reality they only trust us with the chopping and peeling but I enjoyed being a part of it and it was nice to spend time with the other monitors and helpers and some of the older girls. I enjoyed the sunshine and we went to visit the tortoises and by the time it was over we had only half an hour before we had to sit down and eat!

Me chopping cucumbers

Now, we had been to the very expensive supermarket on Christmas eve to buy special cookies with smiley faces on them for santa when he came to visit and then we forgot to leave it out with his glass of milk and Rudolf's carrot. Since Santa had not, in turn, forgot to visit us we felt very very bad and when Binh assured us that Santa was still en-route to the USA and he would be back around on the way home we left it out at around 11:30am on the 25th and by 12:10 is was gone and we were assured that no grudges would be held till next year and our names would not be appearing on 2013's 'Naughty and Ungrateful' list.

Santa and Rudolf's leftovers

Back in the refectory at around 12:15 is was time for lunch with the kids. I was wearing my red and white dress, my santa hat and my new christmas scarf and the children found it very amusing. They were all decked out in their Sunday best and were excited to have a nice lunch (they received their presents on the 21st so no prezzies for them today). 

YUM YUM I'M HUNGRY. Where's my seat!

Lunch consisted of a kind of potato and veg salad with bread, a mixture of chicken and pork barbecue with rice and a lovely cold ice-cream. We got lollie and chocolate, sweets and fizzy drinks and by the end of lunch I felt thoroughly ill. We did a film for the kids after lunch (Look Who's Talking Now) and left them to it while we went to make preparations for our own, adult Christmas dinner.

My Christmas ice-cream

For dinner we were all in charge of a different thing and would all assemble in Chad's house later in the evening so we drifted off to our various abodes on site and got stuck in to the cooking. I was in charge of the mulled wine, which I had made the day before, as well as dessert. Dessert was supposed to be a traditional English trifle. This, however, did not quite go according to plan as a) I couldn't find any sherry and b) I couldn't find any berries. So it ended up being a very sloppy (jelly does NOT set in this country) rum soaked sponge base with a layer of wet jelly with mango, banana and pineapple topped by packet custard and vegetable fat based whipped cream. All this was lovingly topped off by hundreds and thousands, just like my grandpa used to make, and a promise from Emma that, as the only other Brit present, she would not tell people what is was supposed to look/taste like in order to salvage my dignity.

Me making trifle in a makeshift apron from Mrs Christie's tea towels, very fetching I think...

End product- Faux trifle

We all went over to Chad's at seven for a delicious, and absolutely group-effort-affair, of spicy pumpkin soup, followed by homemade smoked ham with plum sauce, carrots, green beans in cream with lardons and roast potatoes, all washed down with sangria and then ended with my trifle (actually tasted ok but looked super sloppy). We then settled down to an evening of UNO and mulled wine while Puce (the dog) took a nap in my hat.

The lovely Puce in my hat... hope I don't get fleas...

One of the best things about the day, apart from the fact that it was really lovely, everyone made an effort and that it was great to see Aurore and Emma (whose first christmases it was away from home) looking so merry, was that we got to borrow internet for the day. This means that I got to speak to my mother, father, boyfriend and grandmother throughout the day as well as being able to speak to dad before bed and show him all my presents on Skype because the connection was good enough for cameras. My family all appear to have had good Christmas days this year and that for me is the cherry on the top of a wonderfully exotic Malagasy Christmas that I am unlikely to forget for the rest of my life.

Sure I missed the people I loved, but more in a kind of "I wish they could be here" kind of way rather than a sad "I wish I was at home" kind of way. At the end of it all I have to say that all the effort to make this work was worth it and led to us all having a very traditional and homey christmas in the least traditional and most unlikely of circumstances. And if Christmas was this fun I am so excited to see what New Year and my birthday will bring next week.

I promise to keep you all posted and I hope everyone had as wonderful a christmas as I did, if only not quite as sunny.

Love always xxx

ME

Thoughts From a Christmas Philosophy

So for those of you who know me this goes without saying, but for those of you who are still getting the hang me here is something you need to know: I LOVE HOLIDAYS!

And by that I do not mean the kind of holidays where one lies on a beach sunning ones self for days, I mean holidays like holiday seasons- Birthdays, Easter, Halloween, Christmas; you name it I love it. Holidays, like animals (especially those I can touch), have the ability to turn me from a relatively mature, responsible and functioning 24 year old into a high-pitched, giggling, child-like mess. Never is this truer than during the Christmas season- and yes, to all you Grinches out there, although I admit lights should not appear in August, Christmas is not just a one day event. It is a festivity that can be realistically stretched out for at least 3 weeks before people are allowed to start complaining. As far as I am concerned if you have an advent calendar it’s Christmas!

Christmas spirit in the form of nail art 

 Sure, I started early with the help and encouragement of my parents and Christmas was done in my house with a serious nod to tradition and a dedication of time and effort. Nothing proves this more than my memories of my earliest advent calendars, no shop bought chocolate dispensers for me- my mother would painstakingly collect 24 small gifts for me throughout the year (mostly my favourite sweets or hair bobbles and cheap lip gloss but occasionally the promise of some fun activity or trip), wrap each one and hang them from the ceiling. My nativity had at least a hundred figures, including livestock, a lake, real dirt, a cave made from rocks, mood lighting, an elongated narrative and a fence to stop the cat peeing in it. My Christmas tree was ALWAYS real- no exceptions, even though the cat attacked it and the pine needles fell everywhere and the decorations didn’t match because they were all beloved and ancient and in some cases a little odd. And putting the wonky star on top was my job every year. Our tables and mangers (yes people we have real mangers in our house!) were decorated with homemade centrepieces made from pinecones, twigs and ribbon all lovingly collected, sprayed gold and assembled by my dedicated mother. Our Christmas cake was homemade (apart from that year the rats ate the creation that took months to prepare and days to decorate with edible poinsettias), our home smelled like cinnamon and Christmas music blared out constantly for a month.

Following all this careful preparation Christmas eve would follow a strict schedule of Chevy Chase’s Christmas Vacation, putting cookies and milk out for Santa and a carrot for Rudolf, me reading ‘The Night Before Christmas’ and the door being left open because I was distressed by our lack of a chimney. I always got a Christmas stocking full of tangerines and nuts, chocolate and trinkets which I would open on my parents bed before breakfast and Santa always brought me treats wrapped in shiny paper which appeared under the tree just before lunch.

Now I am aware that all this reminiscing is only serving to make me sound spoiled and precious and probably making people a little ill at the saccharin sweetness of it all and let me assure you I am well aware of, and often a little burdened by, the privilege and opportunities my childhood afforded me but let us not get caught up on that- it is not my point.

My point is that these experiences have made Christmas for me a time of magic and a time when I am allowed to indulge the child in me and take pleasure in repeating the traditions which bring back such fond memories of a sometimes not so peaceful childhood. This is why I feel it is my duty and obligation to foist my excitement and holiday joy on everyone around me at this time. And this approach has stuck through it all- Christmases adjusting to separated parents, Christmas in Cambodia with no family, or snow, or tradition to be seen, Christmases at my sick grandfathers bedside, Christmases alone in Berlin with dad and a dear friend (whose philosophy quite matched my own) and Christmases with my boyfriend’s family who took me in with open arms and introduced me to the traditions of a much larger family with equally matched enthusiasm. 

My friends at university might roll their eyes and moan a little when I force them to play Christmas quiz games with me or help me to make hundreds of mince pies, and my parents might secretly think I am too old to insist on a real tree if I am present and my friends overseas might think I am crazy to spend so much money on imported holiday tat and insist on “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas” on repeat even though its 40 degrees outside. However, I maintain that when we are all sitting round a lovingly decorated and usually squinty tree (or one year cactus), drinking mulled wine and looking at a pile of humble, yet carefully chosen gifts after a meal eaten in friendship they come around a little. And even if its not in their habit to be so, well, Christmassy I would like to think that at the very least it makes us all feel a little more lucky and a little less alone.

One Christmas at uni

Even Tom got his Christmas spirit on!

All that being said I was not going to let the fact that I was planning on spending this Christmas alone in a hotel room in Antananarivo change my headspace. So when I was standing in my bedroom in London staring at my empty suitcase and Brian asked me to choose five things that were absolutely essential and non-negotiable I chose these: one three foot plastic Christmas tree from the charity shop that saw me through university, a pack of three Christmas DVDs, one Santa hat, my packet of Christmas presents from home and a small bag of assorted decorations including a homemade star. He laughed I will admit, but he never questioned whether I was serious and he never tried to talk me out of it- this was because he knew how much it meant to me to be prepared to be cheery despite being alone in a hotel. This is why, when I arrived at Akany Avoko to volunteer while our paperwork is being done in the capital my tiny backpack was only half filled with useful things like clothes and toiletries- the rest of the space being given over to Christmas fare.

Me and my Brian one Christmas

Sure, Christmas will be different here: I am not with my family, I haven’t seen my boyfriend in months and it is so hot you could fry an egg on the pavement (if there was one). But different does not have to mean bad, or sad for that matter, and it is sheer force of will and more than a little hard work which forces you to roll up your sleeves and make Christmas Christmas. Those of you who have always spent Christmas at home or in someone else house will not understand what I mean because you will always just have woken up one morning to find the decorations out, the food cooked, the presents wrapped, the weather changing. Also in countries that have embraced the commercial aspects of Christmas you are dragged kicking and screaming into the holiday spirit with shops blaring Cliff Richards, streets decorated with lights and Christmas movies on every channel. But for those of you who have ever hung a wreath up on a mud hut door, had to explain to colleagues what snow is, said Merry Christmas over a bowl of rice or hung your star up on the top of a cactus you will know that Christmas is not only optional, but an effort. An effort, in my opinion, that reaps great rewards.

Christmas in Cambodia

This Christmas my little plastic tree that I bought from Oxfam for £3 is now adorning the volunteer house at Akany, and my forcing everyone to participate in Secret Santa means that no one will have nothing to open on Christmas morning. My spending a stupid amount of money on imported crackers means that I will get the obligatory photo of everyone eating together in paper hats and my endless supply of Christmas music and movies might mean that my colleagues… no… my friends and I might not be quite so homesick or quite so lonely this Christmas. Sure I might annoy people a little with my endless organising and compulsory inclusion and it might take some cajoling to get everyone to join in, but when I look at the people around me and they are happily telling their families on Skype about all the things we are doing to make their first Christmas away from home special I hope that everyone will understand.

Our Malagasy Christmas area

This time of year, with its false values, impossible ideals for family harmony and expectations of joy no day could ever hope to live up to can be, and often is, the hardest, loneliest, most depressing day of the year for some. It can highlight the worst things about your life- isolation and loneliness, poverty, homesickness or self-doubt. But only if you let it. I choose, this year like all the others, to indulge the child in me and let Christmas be about making the most of what you have got wherever you are and steamrolling those around you into doing the same. Christmas cheer doesn’t just happen; it is a state of mind, a marathon of psychological preparation. But if you get it just right you wake up on the morning of the 25^th feeling like the luckiest person alive- even if you are curled up on a living room chair alone, drinking a glass of wine and eating a frozen ready meal while watching another episode of the Vicar of Dibley. 

Christmas at the opera

 So please, for me, have a Merry Christmas. I promise to document my days leading up to Christmas, as well as the big event itself and I will give you all the juicy details on Boxing Day.

I love you all and will be thinking of you so far away this Christmas, but know that I fully intend to enjoy mine so don’t feel sorry for me AT ALL! In fact, a little birdie told me that of all my wonderful Christmases this could be the best one yet!

PS. Here is a list of things I have done so far to force us all into the Christmas spirit:

1. Graciously accepted a chocolate advent calendar from a friend as well as mounting my yearly Berlin picture version
2. Put up and decorated my humble Christmas tree
3. Worn my Santa hat incessantly
4. Organised Secret Santa
5. Made mulled wine
6. Showed a Christmas movie a night
7. Played Christmas music on my laptop (sometimes drowned out by the boys’ German rap)
8. Attended a Christmas party at a colleagues house
9. Helped the children make their own Christmas decorations and put them up all over the dining hall
10. Helped wrapping the children’s 147 Christmas presents
11. Watched a female, skinny, Malagasy Santa give out said presents
12. Watched the kids light up as they opened the presents even though they were second hand donations
13. Sat through a 3 hour Christmas show by the kids in the oppressive heat (too cute by the way even if I was about to pass out)
14.  Decorated our house
15. Orchestrated a make-shift Christmas dinner early in the week before volunteers started disappearing for holidays
16. Organised an adult treasure hunt to find a bottle of rum (met with by surprising enthusiasm by all actually)
17. Bought home-smoked bacon from a friend and a bottle of cheap prosecco for those of us here on Christmas morning
18. Made an intricate plan for the next few days, which you will hear about later.
19. Wrote this post which leaves me feeling determinedly cheery

Merry Christmas from all the kids here!

And from all the Akany volunteers!

Thoughts From My Journey- another boring self reflection

When did I choose this life? When was that single moment when this path was paved in my imaginings? This life far from home, surrounded by strangeness and strangers. I know it was a choice I made, a conscious one at that, but when did I set myself on the journey, and when did I declare it as the story for my life?

 Was it when I was 16 and, feeling the burning desire to step out on my own to prove to myself that I wasn’t trapped by my small island upbringing, I waved goodbye to my parents and stepped on that plane to England? I know that day changed all our lives beyond even our own conscious understanding but was it that day that led me to this? I am not convinced, plenty of my friends have left the island with that same feeling and have returned a few years later, fully qualified and with a renewed appreciation for life close to home.

So was it the day in sixth form when I decided to take a year out before university so that I would be able to attend as a citizen resident- a purely financial decision? Was this the unhappy circumstance, fraught with frustration and worry which saw me sitting here in the early morning staring at such an unfamiliar sunrise? Surely not because I could have spent my year working in some bar or restaurant in Wimbledon, saving money and going out with friends, waiting for my papers to come through. Surely that would have been easier- a more obvious choice…

Was it the then day I was so easily drawn in by the presentation of a PT representative who wove such wondrous tales of her gap year working overseas? And if not that was it the day I sent them in my application or attended training or accepted my placement in Cambodia? I doubt it somehow, for how many before and after me have gone on ‘gap years’ and tied the whole experience in a bubble with a pretty ribbon, always to be remembered, never to be replicated, something to be cherished during boring days at the office or to be drawn on for funny anecdotes over drinks with friends in the city.

Could it have been that year in Cambodia itself, our decision to change project, my journey of self-discovery and the development of my self worth in some small town hospital in the suburbs of Phnom Penh? Perhaps, and yet after that year was it not me who returned for university in the UK, doggedly pursuing a degree I knew would not lead into a career, while others I knew answered the call of their hearts and returned to that place which had breathed life into us all. They did this while I succeeded in swallowing that desire and completed four full years in a pretty city in England, long enough for the experience to threaten becoming a bubble wrapped in ribbon.

Did it come then with my first real taste of work in the field, my first glimpse of what life could be as I stood in the blistering sun registering refugees newly arrived into the quickly expanding camps from the human flood caused by the Arab Spring in early 2010? Surely not since this was work I did at home, less than ten minutes from the house I grew up in, working each day in an alien world superimposed on that most familiar of backdrops. And could I not have continued in this vein, working on projects that fulfilled my desires while still allowing me to fall into a familiar bed at night having shared a meal with a parent or friend?

So then was it my Masters? That expanse of knowledge that challenges all your preconceptions and pushes you to prove to yourself that you are worthy and hardy enough to do this for life. This surely was a turning point for me but it was not what lead me to this bed, in this room, in this orphanage, on this the fourth largest island in the world. I know this because when I look around at my classmates I see many of them furthering their careers, working in Development, fulfilling their destinies from offices in or based around their home countries. They are using their newly honed skills to benefit the societies of which they have always been apart. So what is it that separates these colleagues from those of us who have flung ourselves across the globe to the most foreign of working environments?

So my final option is this job. This wonderful crazy glorious job, offered to me by my stepfather, made a reality for me by the support of my family and friends. Was it the sudden appearance of this opportunity on my horizon which prompted me to begin my migration, carefully placing one foot in front of the other? However the job itself was a huge leap for me- into management, which I have little experience of, in a foreign language I have yet to master, in a country I had never visited to do a job I have never done before and to do so on my own. Many people if offered this opportunity would have politely declined, thinking it crazy, not thought through, irresponsible even and I can not count the number of people who have said as much to me.

So maybe it is exactly this which has driven me to this point- my propensity for the absurd, my determination to throw myself toward what scares me most, my drive to prove myself unconventional at all costs. People say that if you hear something about yourself enough times you begin to believe it, and even to respond to it like some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. So when I look at all the things that are said about me is it not words like ‘crazy’, ‘weird’, ‘naïve’, ‘shameless’ and ‘eccentric’ that I hear ringing in my ears. So is it this caricature of myself that nodded vigorously at the prospect of this very situation, some exaggerated version of myself that purposely propels me toward a destiny unknown, deaf to the muted whimpers of my own incredulity.

I think this is far more likely than all the rest. That somewhere inside me is a subconscious that strives to justify the alienation and disparity I have always felt between myself and others by creating a post hoc framework for my personality. Is the very reason I accepted this challenge that not doing so would have threatened my own self-image of unconventionality, nomadism and dissension. Is it therefor that my whole life path, in essence, is an exercise in putting my money where my mouth is, or in some cases other’s mouths are? Quite possibly, and for this then I have to thank every person or situation which has ever made me feel uncomfortable or unsettled for setting me on a path toward contentment and personal development.  They say you grow into yourself over time and perhaps for me that is just a far more conscious process than for most.

PS. I think I think too much.

PPS. And I think that very sentence proves it. 

Thoughts from My Own Head

Life in Akany is an endless barrage of contradictions in my brain. I have been here a week and it is an experience I am finding very difficult to put into words. Akany is at once so familiar to me and yet so alien, so comforting and yet so disconcerting, so inspiring and yet so intimidating, so full of life and yet so lonely.

I know this place, in my mind and in my heart the routine of orphanage life is something which will always take me back to a place of contentment and peace, and the familiar trill of the English language passing back an forth among my fellow volunteers is something I cling to in the most foreign of situations. And yet still this expanse of land, this ease of establishment and the relaxed engagement of the staff and volunteers is so far from the situation I find myself in that I feel my strangeness seeping from my pores to become a visible cloud which I fear people can see.

I am constantly grateful for the presence of the other volunteers with whom I live, those who share their daily routines with me and add a degree of normalcy to the challenges I face. I find the facility itself rises up in my mind as a protective mother who opens her arms at the front gate as I enter from the mayhem of the outside world, swallowing me up into a bubble that seems like home. So why then do I simultaneously feel as though the presence of my colleagues and the security of my surroundings, at once so comforting and burden-lifting, also provoke in me a feeling of unease and occasionally a blind panic. It is because I feel it is dangerous to give in so easily to this feeling of ease when Akany is not my final destination and the road ahead is yet so long and treacherous as to use my naïve stupor against me.

This place is truly an inspiration, an image of all the things our centre could one day be. It tempts me with its promises of all the things to come, of the importance of succeeding and the potential being fanned out before me. However this monolith of experience and establishment is at odds with the weak and trembling child that I tend at this time. I find myself looking up, neck craning at the giant we hope to create and I become overwhelmed and scared by the sheer magnitude of the task ahead. 

Among the bustle of children, the calls of the staff, the chatter of volunteers and the cacophony of sound emerging from the various animals on site one would be amazed to think you had any space left in your head to from thoughts. Yet somehow, as you move with the crowd, the vast sea of unfamiliar faces, accents, curious smiles make me feel like I am shrinking, yet no one moves into the space I have created by retreating into myself and in doing so I suddenly find I am creating a wide empty ring around my diminishing figure from where I watch the crowd around me within which I feel more alone than if I had always been by myself. Then, just as my eyes well up and my heart feels as though it might burst I am abruptly recalled to my senses by some banality of life, the shout of a child, the bark of a dog, the gentle touch of a concerned peer and then suddenly I am grown fat on the noise and am riding the wave of vitality, being carried along, laughing and singing, by the crowd that only moments ago was as terrifying as a beast of my own imaginings.

This life lived in an endless sea of juxtapositions has always been a feature of my existence, one I am aware of even as I long for home while revelling in the unfamiliar. It is a quirk of my personality that only those closes to me can have claimed to catch a glimpse of in my daily life. My hankering for solitude and constant search for company, my ability to take delight in the smallest things while feeling myself dragged down by the sadness of the world, my ceaseless ambition and crippling self-doubt, my shameless honesty and my embarrassed insecurities - all these things and more are part of the duality that is me. And here in this place, which seems born of and fed by such disparities I find my sense of self ceaselessly affirmed and then called into question.

I wonder if it is a blessing or a curse, this active drive to be so self-aware. I wonder if all persons analyse their moods and feelings for catalysts and explanations and scrape away at their own cognition until they find a satisfactory rationalization or until a part of the mind is reached, so black and deep that it is impossible to look at and so you are forced to look away. I wonder if other people happily keep secrets from themselves and accept their emotions or musings as an abstract phenomenon, a simple curiosity of the human condition.

I wonder too how much of myself I have found and lost through even this attempt to explain and understand the complexity of experience here in this place. I see myself standing of the edge of the cliff of self-discovery and I find myself tempted by the prospect of the fall. I read in a book once that vertigo is not a fear of being high but the constant struggle to resist the urge to fall (“The Unbearable Lightness of Being” Milan Kundera). So now, in the spirit of an affection for the vibrancy of life as it happens I must drag myself away from the introspective rhetoric of the morning and throw myself into the frenzied activity of the afternoon.

I wrote this post because I thought I should not leave my poor blog unattended for more than a week, but looking back on the result I see that engaging in reflection on impressions and not activities leads to the kind of musings not really fit for public consumption. But because I have written it and I have nothing else to post, post I shall and hope that no one judges me too harshly.

I promise the next blog will be about the practicalities of life at Akany and the preparation of the centre for Christmas in the Southern Hemisphere. In the meantime I miss you all lots and think of you often so if you have news please pass it along.

xxx