Milk!

It's been nearly three weeks since we tried to pasteurize our own milk. (See this post.) The last two weeks we've gone back to the secret milk location and bought their pasteurized milk. And you know what? It's pretty tasty. And so far there haven't been any ill effects. (There's been illness and I'll get to that in a future post, but not from the milk.) Milk in my coffee and milk in my cereal. It seems like such a luxury! (Who would consider milk a luxury?)

The first day it tastes a little like cow, butI get used to it. Mike says it tastes just like the bottled milk his family would have delivered when he was a kid. It only stays tasty for a couple days, so we use it up Sunday through Wednesday (it's drinkable for Thursday morning coffee but by Friday it's useless). Since we go for a couple days without it, that's why I have to get used to the cow taste all over again.

For the commenters on my previous milk post: Yes, it should have been 15 seconds. My Belgian nurse co-worker doesn't have a great command of English and often mistranslates. And I took her word for it rather than looking it up online myself, since I have so few precious moments online in a day. What became of the curdled milk? Our cook said he could make yogurt. And one day a strawberry yogurt-like substance appeared. So it didn't totally go to waste (except I didn't finish the yogurt because it just didn't appeal to me, cow-flavored strawberries, and it was runnier than I'm accustomed to yogurt being). I appreciate the effort though.

Witches

I didn’t sleep very well last night. I haven’t been sleeping well since I got here, but usually it’s a few hours of solid sack time followed by an hour of being wide awake, then another hour of dozing before the alarm goes off. Last night though I was tossing and turning and the only reason I know I got any sleep at all is because I remember dreaming about witches. I usually don’t remember my dreams, and I can’t remember exactly what happened with these witches, but I remember dreaming about them.

I’m reading The Heretic’s Daughter, a historical fiction novel about the Salem witch trials. Certainly if were living back in that time, my dreams would signify that the witches have bewitched me or I’m a witch myself. Either way, it wouldn’t be good for me.

Another image that kept popping into my head last night is something that happened to Mike and me a couple weeks ago. We were driving down our road one afternoon and when we paused to turn, the driver of a car turning onto our road flashed his fingers at us. The first thing we both said was, “Did he just cast a spell on us?” That’s not out of the realm of possibility here, as sorcery (or belief in it anyway) is common upcountry, outside of the city. But then I realized that he had also flashed his headlights at us. He was letting us know our headlights were on! That’s a big deal around here, driving with your lights on during the day. Everyone warns you because headlamps and batteries are expensive to replace. But we are having trouble with the car battery. Maybe he did cast a spell on us! Or at least on our car.

Yay Democracy!

Even though I was a little homesick, it was thrilling to be here for the presidential election. I had the opportunity to watch the results early on Wednesday morning with some Burundian university students. They were so inspired. I think they think that if they can get to the United States somehow, then their children could be the president someday, too. They also think this democracy thing is pretty cool. One student told me he thinks it’s great that we can vote for someone based on ideas, not from coercion or who will give you a job or which party you belong to. And they like how we get to know a candidate through the media, all the information about both policy ideas and personal lives. Optimists yearn for Burundi elections to be the same way some day. (Unfortunately it doesn’t look like they’ll adopt the American style before the 2010 election here.)

Oh, and here’s a photo of us from Halloween:

Vote Early, Vote Often

That's what my dad always tells me.

It's strange being outside of the United States on election day. Instead of staying up late on Tuesday night to watch results roll in state by state, I'll be waking up early Wednesday morning. At 8 pm on the East Coast, it's 3 am here. I'll be groggily wondering if my absentee ballot made it into the right hands at the right time to be counted.

It's no secret that most of the continent is thrilled at the possibility of Obama being president. A few weeks ago my cab driver in Nairobi nearly drove off the road, he was so excited talking about him. (Well, he nearly drove off the road several times for various reasons.) I heard of a theater group in Nairobi producing "Obama! The Musical." We see Obama t-shirts here in Bujumbura. I think Wednesday is going to be an exciting day around here.

Some co-workers and I have been planning an election results viewing party for Burundian co-workers and aquaintances. How do you explain the American election process in French? (Oui, nous parlons francais ici! Or we try to, anyway.) With the handy website America.gov en francais, that's how. It's hard enough explaining the electoral college and the popular vote and conventions and primaries in English.

Happy Election Day Eve! Be sure to get out there and vote tomorrow while I'm here practicing how to say "I voted by absentee ballot" in French.

Don't Got Milk

I was so excited on Sunday about the prospect of telling everyone about drinking fresh milk here. Last week one of Mike's coworkers pointed out a place where he buys fresh, local milk every Sunday. Two liters for 2,000 bufers (Burundian francs; about $1.70) and you have to bring your own container. It's one of those secret kiosks that are all over the place here -- a blank facade with no sign indicating what could be on the other side of the door. If you're not in the know... you'd never know.

I asked a Belgian nurse that I work with about any possible health risks from drinking the local milk. I think she thought I was crazy to try it, but she gave me instructions for pasteurizing it at home. Mike and I were willing to give it a shot. We miss milk so much!

So on Sunday morning we found some containers, our nalgene waterbottles, three of which amounted to 2.25 liters. Mike found the secret location again and we walked up to a little window, like at a bank. The woman was very nice, and surprisingly asked us if we wanted pasteurized or unpasteurized. We weren't sure if we should trust the local pastuerization process and decided we'd stick with the original plan of doing it ourselves. She filled up our bottles and we were on our way. (We got the muzungu price, though, 2,500 bufers -- $2.09 -- for our 2.25 liters.)

The milk was so thick and heavy! And it smelled so good. Mmmm, cream. We poured it into a large pot and started warming it up. We slowly got it up to what we'd been told -- 80 Celcius -- and let it simmer at about that temperature for 15 minutes.

It started to smell less like milk and more like yogurt. We thought maybe once it cooled down it would be okay. So we waited and waited... and it still smelled and tasted like yogurt. We cannot put this in our coffee or enjoy it on our cereal. We have curded milk now.

We were pretty disappointed. We're going to go back next Sunday and try the pastuerized milk. We gave the curdled milk to our cook to try and salvage by making yogurt or paneer.

I hate the word curdled. And I keep thinking of Little Miss Muffett, sitting on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey. Bleck. I don't want curds. I want cream for my coffee!

At least I wore closed-toe shoes today

I don't have long pants, a rain coat, or an umbrella with me though. We had a wicked downpour last night followed by some serious thunder and lightning. This morning, though, the air was so hot and dry it seemed like it would never rain again. A few minutes ago I jumped out of my skin when a loud crack of thunder startled me. It was extra surprsing because the view outside my office window was puffy clouds in the background, but mostly blue sky. Nothing seemed threatening at all.

Now I think it's raining heavier than I've ever seen it rain before. I said that to Mike last night and I think today's is even heavier. Luckily I brought a lunch today so I can hunker down for a rainy afternoon and hope the sun is out by the time I go home. I'm sitting in my office, watching water blow in from under the door, hoping it doesn't blow in through the windows. I'm praying to the gods of Uninterrupted Power Supply, which will keep my computer running for about 20 minutes if the lights go out (and they are blinking on and off).

I love my job. Today I'm researching umuganuro, a Burundian planting festival. I'm looking for harvest-type festivals to write about in conjunction with Halloween / Samhain / Thanksgiving, what-have-you. But it's technically spring here, not fall, and since it's pretty much the same temperature year-round, I haven't quite figured out the growing and harvest seasons yet. I think umuganuro is later in the year, in December. Whenever it is, isn't it great that I get to do this sort of thing all day long?

Mmm, it smells like Rhode Island

The shipment of nonperishable food that we packed up and sent in the beginning of August arrived yesterday. Yay! We were getting low on some supplies and had been putting off ordering more knowing this huge shipment would be arriving soon. We received a big bag of Dunkin' Donuts coffee that I tore into this morning. I love Peets, but DD smells like home. We also have a gallon of coffee syrup.

I've been touring hospitals here this week. I hope I don't need serious medical attention any time soon. Doctors are optimistic that the ICU equipment will be arriving in a few weeks. There are no elevators or ramps. Stretchers get dragged up two or three flights of stairs if the patient can't walk. At one clinic, the doctor proudly pointed out the "fortress"-like construction of the building, a big square with all the windows facing a courtyard in the center rather than having windows facing the street. That way if there's a blast, glass won't go flying into the clinic. Things we don't really think about in the U.S.

I also visited the top three European schools in the city this week and if I had kids I'd send them to any of them in a heartbeat. I was pleasantly surprised with the facilities and quality of education. Of course, only the most well-to-do can afford to send their kids there, but there's still a huge mix of children there. They have over 20 nationalities represented at each school. The kids get a well-rounded education just from being exposed to so many different kinds of people. One school is all English with French as a second language; one is all French with English as a second language; and one is 50/50 French and English, but it currently only goes up to 2nd grade.

Yay long weekend and Mike's birthday!