Creative Cooking

So I will admit…. I’m not the best at updating my blog. But for those of you who are still reading it, I promise I will try and do better. Let me know if there is anything you would like to see on here. I am working on getting more pictures online. I will be sure to let you know when that happens and how you can see them.

Here is an interesting meal that I thought I would share with you guys. I visited my good friend Eleanor one Sunday afternoon. Before I leave my house, I always try to eat something. Then… if I am offered some food, I can politely turn it down because I’ve already eaten. Well, since Africans are so hospitable, sometimes that excuse doesn’t work. On this particular Sunday, my friend insisted that I try some of her spaghetti. After a quick prayer, I accepted the offer.

The exciting part was watching her create this spaghetti. The students have very little in their dorm rooms, so there’s no room for a kitchen or anything to cook with. So she has created her own specialty of Flask Spaghetti. She starts by boiling some water. Then she puts some spaghetti noodles in a thermos, which she calls her flask. She pours in the hot water and closes the lid to let the noodles cook. I insisted that she let me take pictures to share her creative cooking!

We continued to visit while the noodles were cooking in the little green thermos. Then we headed out to a little café to get some drinks. She also wanted to make the meal extra special by adding some meat to the spaghetti. It’s not the kind of ground beef you would expect to see on spaghetti, but rather it was large chunks of meat. Interesting flavor to add to spaghetti, but as the guest, what can you do?

We returned to the room to find some nicely cooked noodles. After pouring out the noodles, she added a little salt and butter. Then she added the meat and squeezed a little tomato sauce (more like really thin ketchup) on the creation.

Then it was time for my first bite of flask spaghetti! Let’s just say it wasn’t like any spaghetti I’ve ever tasted before, but it actually wasn’t too bad.

I told her that I would have her over to my house and we could make pancakes. I think that cooking experience will be something a little more familiar.

Home Sweet Home

I will never truly belong here. The color of my skin will not allow it. I stand out. It is a truth that cannot be denied. When I walk down the streets, people stare. They say “mzungu” which means “white person.” They speak to me in Swahili and laugh when I respond. They watch me as if I am some strange creature from a foreign land. This can be difficult to accept. It is in our human nature to want a place to fit in. We want to belong. We want to be accepted. No matter how hard I try, I can never be a Tanzanian.

But that is not what God has called me to. He has not called me to make this my home. My home is in heaven. This is just a temporary place. As Christians, we are all aliens and strangers to this world. We do not belong here. We do not fit in here. Many times, we are not accepted here. So how do we respond? Do we follow God’s command to “be holy as He is holy?” Or do we find ourselves “conforming to the ways of this world?”

Many times, I try hard to blend in with the Tanzanians. But just as I cannot belong to this country, we cannot belong to this “world.” God has called me to be different. He has called me to be set apart. He has called me to serve Him on this earth until He calls me home. Until then, my heart will make its home with Jesus no matter where my physical body may live.

Where do you choose to call home?

“By faith Abraham, when he was called, obeyed by going out to a place which he was to receive for an inheritance; and he went out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he lived as an alien in the land of promise, as in a foreign land, dwelling in tents with Isaac and Jacob, fellow heirs of the same promise; for he was looking for the city which has foundations, whose architect and builder is God… All these died in faith, without receiving the promises, but having seen them and having welcomed them from a distance; and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For those who say such things make it clear that they are seeking a country of their own. And indeed if they had been thinking of that country from which they went out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; for He has prepared a city for them.” Hebrews 11:8-10, 13-16

Wild Wedding Adventures

This weekend I was invited to my first wedding sendoff. This is just one of the many parties involved in a wedding celebration. During this party, the groom’s family comes to beg the bride’s family for the bride. After following the detailed traditions, the bride’s family agrees to send off their daughter. In between the begging and the sendoff lies the party.

Marissa and I arrived at the party at 6:30pm. Our friend Martha (sister of the bride) escorted us to our table. We were then re-escorted to a reserved table. We don’t know how we classified as reserved guests but to guess that the color of our skin played a significant part. We sat near the high table which included all of the family of the bride. Our friend Martha said that over 100 relatives came together to plan this special send off. They had invited 500 guests. Of those 500, Marissa and I were the only wazungu (white people). She showed us the detailed schedule of the night that began before we even arrived. They had each activity planned down to the minute. At this point, we were waiting for the groom’s side of the party to arrive.

While we were waiting for the groom’s side to arrive, the aunties of the bride began to do some traditional Haya dancing. This is the tribe of the mother of the bride. Marissa and I were privileged to be the only white people attempting this dance. While they were all very encouraging and welcoming, I’m sure they got a good laugh out of the dancing wazungu.


An hour and a half later, the groom’s side finally arrived. They came in to the party dancing, chanting, and carrying gifts. They greeted the family and presented all of their gifts. The next section of the wedding included all of the many traditions involved in asking for the bride. While it all took place in Swahili, our friend tried to translate some of the happenings. For the next hour, they plead their case as to why the family should send off the bride. After much discussion, they finally consented.

At this point, the guest of honor, the bride, finally enters the party. She arrived with an entourage of dancing children and her maid of honor. She and her friend were escorted to the stage where they carried out many more traditions. They toasted with champagne and cut the cake. But all of the activity took place between the bride and friend (not the bride and groom).


At 10pm, they finally started serving the food. I’m not sure what all I ate, but I can say that it was good. During the dinner, a live band began to play. Since all of the evening was in Swahili, it was quite a surprise when we heard “Show me the meaning of being lonely….” The older lady sitting next to us who had not spoken to us the entire night said, “You like?” We just kind of chuckled. And she responded, “Backstreet?” She began to sing along. You never know what to expect when you’re in Africa. The next song was a Shania Twain song. They topped of the English portion of the night with Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing.” Marissa and I could barely contain our laughter.

After the live band, they began to present the gifts to the bride. Each group who had bought a gift would dance in towards the stage with their gift. Then they would all dance around stage for a while and greet the bride. After everyone danced, the bride would sit back down and the next group would enter with their gift. It was a very interesting way to present gifts. I’m thinking about trying it at my next birthday party.

During the gift giving, I excused myself from the table to use the restroom. My friend asked if I needed someone to accompany me. I said I would be alright. I think I might reconsider that answer. After doing my business, I attempted to open the door to the port-a-potty. Attempt being the key word. I turned and turned the lock, but nothing happened. I shook the door several times. Still no help. Panic started to set in when I realized I was locked in the bathroom in Africa where they don’t speak English. People began to bang on the door from the outside. I started banging from the inside. All I could do was say, “Hello!” I don’t know if I have ever prayed that hard before. I continued to fidget with the lock. Finally, after what felt like hours, but I’m sure was more like 10 minutes, the door unlocked. I opened it to find a crowd of Tanzanian ladies staring at me. All I could do was say “Asante” in their language and walk off. I am sure they will forever be talking about the night the white girl got locked in the bathroom. And I’m sure the first thing I will ask my Swahili teacher is how to say “Help! I’m locked in the bathroom.”

At 12:30am, we finally left the party. The dancing had just begun again and the bride had still yet to be sent off. But we managed to sneak out. The drive home proved eventful as well. As our car began to break down, we noticed we were heading the wrong way down a one way street. When we stopped to turn around, we were soon surrounded by policemen with guns. After much pleading and lots more praying, they finally let us go without any punishment. Our car safely made it home and we safely made it to our beds... exhausted.

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