The Best Fake Food

Since living in Congo I feel like I have become something of an expert in food substitutions. Of course, I use expert in a very casual way- similar to my approach to cooking. Because I abhor routine, can't make a straight line with a ruler and generally never measure anything completely correctly (though I am of the home-ec generation which taught me to pack the measuring cup full and level with the edge of a butter knife....) I have always considered myself something of a haphazard baker.

Living in Kinshasa has a tremendous way of boosting one's ego however. After years of cooking with my students and offering home baked sweets during our classroom author celebrations (always, always with a warning to eat at your own risk) my ego has been fluffed. It seems many of the kids come from no bake families and are therefore easily impressed by my lopsided brownies or whatever's-left-in-the-fridge fruit scones.

Baking has become a necessity in Kin as many of our favorites are just not available. It's also due to the fact that most store bought items are laughably expensive and food shopping is often the result of budgetary constraints rather than culinary delights.

But I have completely enjoyed learning how to make my own yogurt, tofu, bread from scratch, chocolate cake with coco powder and pie fillings from the real fruit or vegetable rather than the can. Cooking and baking are as satisfying as making art at times and most enjoyable when they can be done for pleasure rather than purpose (read Sunday afternoons are fun baking days, Monday nights after work and exercise class...not so much.) I haven't reached the level of preparation that has me pre-planning meals and cooking to freeze so my weeknights can filled with reheating ease. But I do enjoy the spontaneous tastiness of a scrumptious dinner or the sweetness of a surprise dessert.

Everything tastes better- either because we've made it together- Nabih tends to be the baker and cheese grater while Mohamed is the chef; it's a perfect combination, really- or because we haven't had a particular dish in so long it seems like a luxurious treat.

Kinshasa can't always be relied on have the ingredients you want and so I have developed my own list of substitutions and omissions. (I am sure the real experts and farm girls of the world have this down to a science but since it always seems like experimenting with unknown consequences, successes are pleasant and satisfying.)

Homemade calzone with spinach, eggplant, mushrooms, mozzarella cheese and a ricotta substitute

Salt is one ingredient I find myself without- not sure why this is- but I generally leave it out of all baked things. I've learned to manipulate the amount of yeast- not sure if it is the humidity here or something about my baking but rising breads have always been a little shaky. It's improving, most definitely, almost to the point of being dependable, as long as I add more than the recipe calls for. Eggs are another ingredient I am often lacking- mostly due to living with a house of hungry guys. A spoonful of mayonnaise has been my standard substitute, the alternate a little extra oil. (I've recently uncovered a plethora of websites about egg substitutes including applesauce, but haven't tried many of them.)  I now know the value of eggs however and in order to get those chocolate cakes fluffy and light- you need eggs. Lots of them. Other missing ingredients include shortening, ricotta cheese (cream cheese works well, cottage cheese and certain yogurts also work. Feta cheese is available here and that makes a tasty replacement.) Graham crackers aren't found so often but tons of other sweet cookies are and they all crush up nicely for an easy pie crust.

I'd really hoped it would make a good pumpkin substitute

Super hard to cut..kept feeling like I wanted a machete

 Last Sunday we picked up this monstrous thing from the squash family. It made a tasty fake pumpkin pie (so tasty in fact I splurged for a $7 can of whipped cream- no mixer or I could whip up my own surely...) Nabih admired it so much I let him have a slice for breakfast (squash for breakfast? Go right ahead, I thought with secret mom glee.) I roasted the seeds for some fake pumpkin seeds and used some to make gingery squash soup. There was plenty left to freeze for future Fake Pumpkin Pie (now an official family favorite.)

Traditional squash inside, nice orange color

Roasted squash seeds- taste just like pumpkin

These pies were gone in days! Kinshasa Autumn in February

We've made our own Oreo Cookies (so many tasty recipes from Smitten Kitchen,) key lime pie from real limes, sesame bagels, hot pretzels and so much more. It all seems healthier when I make it myself and I don't feel bad about eating it anytime (chocolate cake for breakfast! I love Bill!)

going local

It's a likely bet that wherever we go, we'll be going "local," meaning no more fancy contracts that provide a house, utilities and free dishes. The thought has me ever more conscious of how spoiled we are here. Whenever I feel the pleasant breeze from a ceiling fan, I am reminded that a time may soon come when we are drenched in sweat from African heat wishing for one cool breeze. (I am hoping to thwart this by finding something that offers ocean air, at least on occasion.)

Of course, it all became that much more real when a friend, offering to help find housing, remarked he would look around, search for something nice, you know, with an indoor toilet. Oh yeah. Not sure if I am ready to be that local but it's always helpful to get a good reality check. An adventure awaits (now just hoping the boys will see it that way....)

When words fail

It is simultaneously a time when so much is happening and yet nothing is happening. This confusing contradiction results in an assortment of words that are not yet ready to be born into the world. While Nabih is busy constructing a homemade lava lamp....I'm busy feeling like I just want to "go far..."

The countryside of Bas Congo

I watched man walk down this road and I fought the urge
 to follow, to find out where it goes...

Colorfully organized fruit and vegetable stand by the roadside

Small house with wood for sale

Country house by the road

For some reason I find these displays of patriotism kind of creepy in the country

Termite mound through the window

Clear skies and countryside...reminds me of NY mountains

Leaving Bas Congo and entering Kinshasa, officially

Saturday chores

Heading back into the capital

Makes me remember that I am actually a country girl...

Coming from Matadi these trucks are loaded with supplies

Back in Kin I spend a lot of time staring at this painting...the story behind it later

No Longer Mates

I've spent nearly every day of 2014 curled up on the couch, the bed or the floor calculating the hours it might take to digest whatever small food I ate last and trying to hold on. Apparently I have a phobic reaction to throwing up. Dry-heaving, no problem but actual vomiting results in all sorts of panic attack symptoms. I'm not sure when this developed, or why, but I can see it is deep rooted and borders on a psychosis.

I've also learned about myself that if I am one day old and ill I will most likely become the crotchety old woman who yells at everyone and ruins their good time. Being sick makes me short on patience and low on kindness. This revelation reminded me of one I'd had during my last observed Ramadan. Being hungry makes one tired. It was such a profound thought to me that tired took on a whole new meaning. Not the sleepy, weary tired of staying up all night and not the exhausted, can't walk another step tired that comes from physical exertion, but more of a deep in your bones, invading every cell and slowly shutting down the mind tired that comes from not having enough nutrition to make the body function.

Being sick makes one crabby. Not the cranky, I didn't get enough sleep crabby but the snap at someone before even thinking with a just plain mean response crabby. Which shouldn't surprise me....it's an awful lot like my mother and as we age it seems inevitable we become more like our parents- no matter how little time we spent together. But it is disappointing. I wanted to be a better person than that. I wanted to be the sweet old lady who says uplifting and slightly mysterious things full of bits of wisdom, emitting a fragile strength that carries me through to my last tranquil day.  

I'm not dying, though I may feel like it at times, and so there is still time to develop this person who won't become a bane to the young nursing home attendants. I'm sure much of the strain has to do with job stress and the impending life changes facing me. Returning to Kinshasa after this last small vacation was particularly hard. I've been feeling a lot like this except I've been in the Congo for twice as long as the author, which makes things all the more poignant.

Last September, last summer really, all the way up until about October, I had thought I was staying. Putting down roots and making my final peace with Kinshasa. I was prepared to call it home once and for all. Sometimes I try to get back to that state of mind, when riding the streets at night with a cool wind and lazy city sounds filling the air made me feel cozy, comfortable and filled with a sense of  belonging. We know each other, Kinshasa and I. And we understand how to get along.

Events have conspired in such a way, however, that it turns out Kinshasa and I are not soul mates. We won't be hunkering down together to get the boys through their middle and secondary years of school. We won't be launching them off to colleges and futures out in the world and we won't be waiting to welcome them home with arches of woven palm leaves and open arms.

In between bouts of nausea and amoeba attacks, I've been using all my couch time to imagine new beginnings. What do I want to do with my life? Of course, in imagining new starts it's impossible not revisit the past with a bit of nostalgia for what could have, should have, might have been.

In remaining true to my resolve to be a better person, I'm trying to stay focused on the present. What can I do now? I see lots of nature in my future, mountains or water. I'm really hoping for a place that will allow us to spend more time outdoors. I'm trying to open up my mind to locations I hadn't before considered. Every so often, I dream about the paths I really want to take, though it can be easy to get lost in the tangled web of contradictions that always seem to define my future plans.  The illness doesn't just take over my body, but it corrupts my mind as well, leaving just as many days curled up on the living room rug feeling hopeless and stormy gray.

Sunny skies or not, the facts remain. There are four months left in Kinshasa and then the boys and I will be off on a new kind of adventure