Exert from “Moon Over Mwamba”

A Chef’s Adventure in the African Bush 

 Africa seems like a dream to me now.

  Her colors, sounds, smells, people and wildlife,

fade in my memory like an ice cream cone,

 dripping slowly into oblivion.  

Many others have written about Africa before me, especially the dream part.

Maybe not about the ice cream, but certainly that Africa has become a faded dream to them as well.

Yes, it has been written many times over, by those whose bodies,

 minds and spirits were touched, the same as mine,

by a strange place known as “ the Dark Continent”:.  

Africa gets under your skin, no doubt about it.

 The spirit of a colorful people and an illuminated, bright place imbeds itself into the deepest recesses of your soul,

 permanently, and forever, while the actual memory of the adventure fades ever so slowly away.  

No day goes by without an “Afrika” antidote rolling off my tongue.  

Whether speaking of a particular event or when making a general comment,

the tales flow out of my mouth and become associated with whatever specifics are happening to me in real time.  

“Africa this”, and “Africa that” are common entrances into yet another fascinating diatribe,

one that usually corresponds to the situation at hand.

I am certain to drive many of my listeners crazy,

especially the ones who have heard my tales told so many times before.  

Still, some people remain fascinated by my stories, especially new acquaintances,

the ones that have not been bored to tears by another elaborate descriptive of the strange place

 I called home for six months.  

But where does one begin to tell the tale? How does one formulate into words the stories of such a mysterious place,

this colorful land of musical people, of incredibly wild animals, and of unfamiliar customs? 

 And what if I did tell my story, would anyone read it?

  Would anyone care how I, this destitute, white, female chef from the states went to live and work so far away from home?

Probably not, but many have said they would love to read my stories,

especially after having been enticed by six months worth of detailed emails, sent across the Atlantic,

during the loneliest and most homesick of times.  

So I make the attempt to write, to describe, and to categorize what should be written about my adventures. 

 This is my story and I am sticking with it!   Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent (and myself)!  

These tales have been formulated into life lessons, albeit, hard learned while living in the African bush.

  And believe me, there was always a life lesson to be learned and it was always hard earned!  

I recall that before heading to this far away country, I told friends, and anyone else who would listen,

that I expected, nay, anticipated learning many wonderful lessons while living with the natives and animals of Africa,

key word being “wonderful”!.   Yet, I was completely surprised when those lessons turned out to be so harsh and cold,

 nothing like I expected.   Looking deep into my psyche, and confronted by demons I didn’t know existed,

was a very humbling experience to the say least.  

It was time for me to experience my “dark night of the soul” and it was taking place, on the “dark continent”;

every hour of every day, ticking well into the blackness of night.    

Did I change as a person? Most definitely!   Was I humbled by the experience? Certainly, wouldn’t you be?

 Were lessons learned?  

Absolutely! 

 So this is my story of how a soul was transformed in a far away place,

 in the middle of nowhere, deep in the heart of Africa.

Coming Soon:

Culinary stories about the challenges of cooking in the bush.