Introducing English cakes to Kenya

This morning as I was snaffling my treasured Weetabix I noticed that some of our bananas were over ripe. Too much so to eat. As a result I decided to make banana bread out of them to avoid wastage. This sounds very sensible until I tell you I've never made banana bread before and my house doesn't have an oven. These 2 things combined are a challenging combination. I've also never made a proper cake in a microwave.

However, there were most of the necessary ingredients in the house, including rather surprisingly, bicarbonate of soda which was owned for medicinal purposes (and I can't imagine what that would be!). My host mum couldn't believe it when I told her that this white powder, when mixed with lemon juice, could make cakes rise. And if I'm honest I wasn't totally sure I believed it would work either, I was quite prepared to make an embarrassing mess, or even a good cake that was considered not to local tastes (they don't eat cake as we know it here). However, what eventually happened was that I made a smashing banana cake that everyone but me liked (I had poured the salt in free hand and had overdone it terribly ).

There is only one type of cake here in njoro: it is very dry and plain. I have mistaken it for a bread roll on more than one occasion. Imagine everyone's surprise then when I pulled a moist banana cake with raisins in it from the microwave, I'm not sure that mama had ever had anything like it. Georgina and I had 2 slices before dinner and then another one after when no one was looking. Mama says that we can eat it for breakfast tomorrow too, because there's no such concept as dessert here, when else would you eat a cake?!

If you ever find yourself abroad, with limited cooking utensils and the need to ingratiate yourself with your host, I would highly recommend this recipe:

Clare's Kenyan Banana bread

1.5 cups wheat flour
3/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup blue band (plus some to grease)
1/3 cup milk (long life is ok)
2 eggs
2 medium sized bananas, roughly mashed
2 lemons (if making this in UK, 1 lemon will do as they're bigger)
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1/2 tsp salt (do not pour freehand!)
1/2 cup raisins or currants

1. Mix ingredients in order listed above except currents. Use a larger bowl than initially expected as the mixing aerates the mixture and makes it larger. When it comes to cracking eggs, note that Kenyan eggs have tough shells and plastic mixing bowls can be hard to crack them on. Maybe tap against a wall, or knife instead. If you're in the habit of tasting the raw mixture, do not be alarmed if it tastes strongly of bicarbonate, it fades with cooking.
2. Grease a microwave proof dish. Tupperware works well. Depending on what you have available you may need to divide your mixture and bake 2. Do not worry about using your hands to grease the containers - Kenyan households don't disapprove like a British onlooker would. Tip your mixture into the tubs. Sprinkle all your currents/nuts on top (they will distribute themselves while cooking).
3. Microwave on high for 7 minutes. Use a clean knife to check if it is done (no other senses! Sometimes it looks less ready than it is). If you insert a clean knife into centre and it comes out clean, then it's ready. If not give 2 mins more and repeat.
4. Allow to cool in container for 5 minutes, it makes it much easier to turn out.

The Child who followed me Home

One day I acquired a child. I didn’t mean to though. It was an accident.

When I walk down the street I stand out like a glowing white beacon. This is particularly exciting for the children who rush to greet me shouting “Howareyou!” and not necessarily understanding my reply. The parents watch on proudly as their young offspring get to shake the hand of a musungu (white person) and at times like this I often feel like my pasty skin’s value has been somewhat overestimated but I haven’t yet learnt enough Swahili to communicate this theory. Anyway, on this particular day I had greeted a large group of children and even given a hair tie away to a little girl with no hair and a fascination for my possessions. When everyone had been thoroughly howareyou-ed I turned off the dusty main road onto the quieter side track and realised I was being followed by a very little person with knobbly knees and a grubby grey cardigan. I assumed that this was someone who had missed out on a handshake and didn’t want to be overlooked. So, I extended my hand in a friendly way and the little person took it. They then weren’t very keen to let go and I wondered if they were actually just intending to accompany me as I we both walked to our respective homes. That would be fine by me and so we walked on hand in hand.

I felt a bit unsure as to the gender of my new friend as I couldn’t guess from their clothes. I wondered vaguely where they lived and how much of the journey we would spend together. I tried to start a conversation but this wasn’t very effective as they didn’t speak any English and I didn’t speak any Swahili (at least, none beyond a few key phrases). It didn’t seem to matter though as they seemed very happy just to be clutching on to my hand.

When we reached my road and the child seemed to be ready to follow me there I queried whether this was correct, surely this was too much coincidence. I let go of the child’s hand and said as much out load. It was totally useless though, and they simply gazed back at me with big brown eyes, not understanding a word. My fears were confirmed when we reached my gate and they simply trotted on through. Still, I thought, at least there will be someone inside at home that can speak Swahili and send the child on its way. I found the flaw in this plan when I reached the locked door and realised that no one was in. We have one too few house keys and I had drawn the short straw. So I sat on the door step, now in the deep darkness and proceeded to entertain the child with my phone. It was fascinated by the touch screen and very happy indeed to spend half an hour opening menus and then turning my wifi on and off again.

Eventually Mama returned. She’d had a long day and was probably not best pleased to find me with an abducted child on her doorstep. Still, she kindly let us both in and spoke to the child. Rather disappointingly I still didn’t get to find out its gender because mama is a bit confused by the English language and used ‘him’ and ‘her’ interchangeably. She asked it where it lived – it didn’t know, and why it had ended up on her doorstep – well, that was simple, the white woman had MADE it come!

Off to Kenya! Airport trouble...

So I'm finally on the plane. I'm not at all sure I'm ready to be.

When I was packing I did so safe in the knowledge that I couldn't possibly fit 30kg of luggage (that's the limit) into my suitcase. Actually a surprising amount could be fitted into the bag, so much surprise that I was 3kg over the weight limit at the airport. To put it another way, this is about $400 worth of excess baggage charge and I have now had a go at being one of those people in airports with their bag open and worldly possessions strewn over the floor very much regretting my mantra that underwear should always be packed last (because it's the easiest thing to fit into a tightly packed bag). My long-suffering mother was on hand and extremely patient throughout the whole affair - she's quite possibly relieved at the prospect of a break from my chaotic presence for a couple of months. It feels a bit disappointing when we're all meant to be striking out as mature adults - I would have wanted everything to run a lot smoother.

It was nice to meet up with everyone else in the group and be reassured that someone else had also brought 35kg of luggage; another lost (then found) their wallet; a water bottle was misplaced and then I realised I hat got the wrong visa documents with me and left my yellow fever vaccination certificate at home. I'm starting to fear there's no hope for me! It's quite possible that no matter how old I get I might never become a reliable adult. If I were the Kenyan immigration authorities I would think twice about letting me in!

The things I'm worried about most right now, in order of priority are:

1. My future roommate might snore
2. Kenya might not let me in without the appropriate paperwork
3. Rumour has it that a carb heavy African diet induces about a stone's weight gain per month
4. My house might not have a toilet

I've taken a moment to reflect on what real adults are worrying about right now and concluded that it was the EU referendum. On this basis it's probably just as well to count me out (of adulthood that is, not the EU, I'm absolving myself of the responsibility to have an opinion on that for now!)

Goodbye London!

So the time has come and I've moved from London home. If I had any more possessions at all it wouldn't have fitted in the car. It was dangerous enough as it was. The local children were quite excited at the sight of me with my jam packed vehicle and got involved, helping to post coat hangers into the crevices between the jumble. Just as I  was about to leave, one of my housemates reminded me that I also own a large vase, 2 casserole dishes, a cake tin and a saucepan. Disaster!

I drove with the uncomfortable feeling that I might kill myself off during the journey. I had just as many blind spots as I did clear ones, such was the amount of baggage in the car and so I did the whole journey without changing lane. As motorways merged and split off the M25 I found that the lane I was in changed and so when in the slow lane I settled behind drivers at 50mph and when I was in the middle lanes I enjoyed driving at 70mph. Basically, my driving style was more flexible than my choice of lane!

I felt sad as I travelled. It hit me for the first time that I'd given everything up. I'm in just the same position now as when I first graduated (not that I want to engage in a game of one-upmanship against my past self!). To make matters worse 'London calling' then came on the radio. I'm going to miss the city so much! However, when I walked in through the front door it was lovely to see mum and dad. Mum had cooked supper and being catered for felt like a real luxury. After eating we watched a film together, packed in 3 in a row in the sofa, all holding hands, such was our happiness at being reunited. I do very much appreciate these elements of being at home. I really ought to ask them about how they feel about my being here, giving up everything and leaving my job...I dread to think about the answer!