Category: Other Page 52 of 180

The Whole Foods Movement and the Developing World

All it took was a trip to the farm to put me off of raw milk forever.

I was a chaperone for Lily’s kindergarten field trip.  We were visiting the farm of a good friend, who I know personally.  One of his farm hands was showing the kids how to milk a cow.

He washed his hands meticulously.  He washed the cow’s udders meticulously.  The kids all gathered around and watched in awe as the milk streamed into the bucket.

All was well and good and happy until the cow began to pee.  This wasn’t a little pleasant tinkle…it was a waterfall of pee.

The children shrieked.  I shrieked.  The farm hand, experienced in these things, instantaneously yanked the bucket of milk away.  Even still, when they poured the milk into a pot and boiled it, I found myself thanking God for Louis Pasteur.

Like many American moms, up until this point, I was enamored by the idea of raw milk.  I had read numerous articles expounding it’s merits.  Great for your teeth!  Great for your digestive system!  Practically a miracle food!

I knew, that if I wanted to, I could find raw milk in Tanzania.  People own cows everywhere.  But I was reluctant, not knowing how sanitary it would be.  My trip to the farm proved to me that even in cases where meticulous precautions were taken, it would be practically impossible to keep the milk totally clean.  Since I don’t know of any small-time farmer who uses a milking machine, there is now no way I will drink raw milk in Tanzania.  I don’t care how nutritious it is.

I love cooking.  I love learning.  I have jumped on the bandwagon with millions of American moms who are changing the way that we look at nutrition.   I purchased, and often consult, Nourishing Traditions.  When we were in the States, I shopped at Trader Joe’s and looked for organic products.  I make kefir everyday.  I ferment my own pickles.

And yet, I find myself unable to resolve the dichotomy between the two lives I live.

I remember when our gardener first told me that he wanted to grow tomatoes.  I gave him my full blessing.  He put in about 25 plants, and after a few weeks, pulled off buckets of gleaming fruit.  I was excited!  That is, until I cut into one.  Full of worms.  Next one?  Full of worms.

Every single tomato was full of worms.  The entire crop had to be thrown out.  He tried again.  This time, he came back with a sprayer full of pesticide.  The tomatoes turned out beautiful.

Up until that point, I had naively thought that food in Tanzania was grown organically.  I knew that most fruit and vegetables sold on the side of the road came from small, home-grown farms, so I figured that it was all natural.  After all, it has got to be only the Developed World that is ruining everything with their chemicals, right?

Now, I have a pretty good way to figure out if something in Tanzania is organic.  If its got bugs in it, it’s probably organic.  If it doesn’t, pesticides were probably involved.  When I bring home dried beans or rice, I automatically put them in the freezer for 24 hours.  If I don’t, within a week, things will be hatching.  If there’s a worm in my broccoli, there’s a good chance it’s organic.

So that’s my choice:  Pesticides?  Or bugs?

This is my struggle.

Since I belong to the Developed World, I like the idea of organic food, raw milk, and clean meat.  I can see why GMO food is not great for our society.  I get why small, local farms are healthier.

But I live in the Developing World.  Over here, pesticides keep people from starving.  Pasteurization saves lives.  And honestly, I wouldn’t be too sad if Tanzania had more mega-farms that could feed more people more cheaply.

Sometimes, I wonder if Americans forget that we used to be a Developing Country.  I wonder how many Americans realize that DDT is what eliminated malaria from the United States.  Yet then the Developed World banned its use, and now millions of Africans still die from malaria every year.  I think of the story in On the Banks of Plum Creek, when swarms of grasshoppers regularly decimated thousands of acres of American crops.  Yet that doesn’t happen any more.  Why?  Pesticides.

I can’t seem to resolve this tension.  I want to be into organic food, but I wonder if it’s realistic.  Can we really feed the world on organic food?  On grass-fed, free-range meat?  I read once that part of the reason organic food is so expensive is because so much of it has to be thrown away.  Should we be okay with that?

I am not asking these questions rhetorically.  I really want to know.  I have friends who know a whole lot more about this stuff than me.  I would love a sane, rational discussion, and I would invite you to weigh in.

Let’s assume, in this discussion, that organic, grass-fed, free-range, antibiotic-free, non-pasteurized, non-homogenized, non-GMO food really is healthier.  My question is:  Is it realistic?

In this fallen world where perfect health is an illusion, can we feed 7 billion people this way?  Or do we just have to admit that healthy food is only for the wealthy, elite, upper class of the world, and everybody else has to deal with GMO’s?

I want there to be a solution.  I want to be able to say that I am pro-organic, and not just for my own (wealthy) family, but for every family.

So tell me.  What do you think?

March 8:  Thanks for all the great responses!  Read my follow-up post here.

Nothing’s Inconceivable for HOPAC!

Sometimes we get to do the coolest things.

Yesterday morning, HOPAC hosted the one and only Jane Goodall, which was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  At 80 years old, she is utterly fascinating, and still full of so much passion and vigor.

In the afternoon, we watched HOPAC’s very own production of “The Princess Bride.”  It was just so much fun, and my kids now have a new obsession.



This is true love.  You think this happens every day?


Anybody got a peanut?

killing each other sportsmanlike

twue wuv

We sure had fun stormin’ the castle!

(Photo credits:  Rebecca Laarmen)

War on Thursday Mornings

The sun is still rising at 7:30, and it casts palm tree shadows on the soccer field.  The students have all jostled their way into their classrooms, a mess of lunch boxes and castle projects and blue polo shirts.

We sit on the picnic tables under the roof made of thatch, everyone in their classes or offices except a few lone gardeners sweeping, raking, watering.  And us.

The sun hasn’t yet reached its feverish intensity for the day.  The Indian Ocean blinks in the distance.  The light filters through the leaves.  It is indeed our Haven of Peace.

In a little while, all the elementary kids are on the basketball court, singing their hearts out.  They are our background music.  Oh happy day!  Happy day!  You washed my sins away!  

We are a lowly band.  It’s usually just Santosh, Melissa, Laura, Tracy, and me.  We spread the lists out in front of us–every student, every teacher, every gardener and cleaner; and each Thursday morning we sit and we do battle over the names.  Each week we tick more names off the lists, and by June we will have conquered them all.

And I can’t help but wonder, as we sit, relatively unnoticed, under the thatch, with our lists, what is going on in unseen places and hearts, as we battle for Peace in this Haven.

Sometimes Fairy Tales Come True

Once upon a time, many years ago, in a large city called Dar es Salaam, there were these foreigners living in the far northern part of the city called Mbezi Beach.

They felt left out.  They felt rejected.  All the people in the center of the city, and the southern part of the city, had all sorts of great restaurants and markets and shops.  Most importantly, they had a place called Shopper’s Plaza.  At Shopper’s Plaza, you could buy bacon and cheese and broccoli and all sorts of wonderful things that you couldn’t find anywhere else in the city.  And those things are pretty important to foreigners.

But those poor folks out in Mbezi Beach?  Well, they could buy things like flour, sugar, and beans out in their area, but if they wanted yogurt, tortilla chips, or Oreos, well, they had to drive to Shopper’s Plaza.  And that usually took about an hour each direction.

It was very sad.  As the years went on, Shopper’s Plaza got bigger and better, and another Shopper’s Plaza opened in Dar es Salaam….but it was still nowhere near Mbezi Beach.  All the Mbezi Beach folks had to drive that looong distance and no one seemed to notice or care.

Mbezi Beach friends would wistfully wish that one day there would be a Shopper’s Plaza in their area.  A couple of years ago, rumors started circulating that a Shopper’s Plaza was being built in Mbezi Beach!  But they were used to having their hopes dashed, so everyone just kept saying, I’ll believe it when I see it.  

And then, on February 21, 2015, a miracle happened.  A Shopper’s Plaza did indeed open in Mbezi Beach!  It was a dream come true!  No more empty dreams of bacon!  No more ice cream melting in the hour trip home!

It was wonderful and beautiful.  All the Mbezi Beach friends went to the brand new Shopper’s Plaza on February 21st, because it was only 10 minutes away, and everyone needed to see it for themselves.  All the friends jumped up and down and were positively giddy and spent way more money than they should have.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

24 Hours (A Day in My Life)

This was not an exciting day.  But I chose to write about it because it represents a fairly ordinary day of my life here.  



Friday, February 20th

6:15  Wake up.

6:30  Wake kids up.  Make peanut butter toast and kefir smoothies.  Begin making lunch for kids.  They come to the kitchen and beg to buy lunch from the snack bar today, and I relent.  So instead of making sandwiches, I hunt down exact change for three snack bar hamburgers.  Cut up apples for snacks.  As I’m working in the kitchen, I holler out reminders:  Grace, did you fill the water bottles?  Lily, did you find your library book?  Josiah, do you have your shoes on?  


7:15  Everyone piles in the car.  Drop off kids at school.  Gil and I head to the Reach Tanzania center, where he is finishing his class on Worldview this week.  Drop off Gil.  I take the car back home.  

7:45  Eat my breakfast.  Pile dishes in the sink for my house helper.  Strain kefir.  Get on computer and finish up some projects that need to be taken to the printer today.

8:45  Head to HOPAC to help in Grace’s class.  I love this; I get my teacher fix and get to know the kids in her class.  Today it’s all about using descriptive words.  

10:00  Off to the main task of the day:  Find a printer who will make business cards.  There’s a big company in town I’ve used for printing before, but I really don’t want to drive that far today.  I know there’s lots of little places that advertise business cards, so I decide to give one a shot.

I drive to a place not far from our house and find a little print shop.  It is approximately the same size as most American’s closets.  The shelves on the walls are crammed with paper, folders, and other office supplies.  There’s barely room to move, but I see a computer and a couple of large printers that look as if they are in working condition.

I ask a few questions.  Yes, they print business cards.  How do you cut them?  She pulls out a contraption that looks like a business-card hole punch.  All righty then.  Let’s do this.

I choose the paper I want.  She sits me down at the computer; I pull up my file.  I click print; I can hear the printer whirring and…….the power goes off.  

I sigh.  She laughs and shrugs her shoulders.  What to do?  We exchange phone numbers and I ask her to call me when the power comes back on.

10:30  I start off on my other errand of the day:  Find powdered sugar.  Yesterday, I had made a cake for Gil’s students, and a batch of cupcakes for Lily’s kindergarten aide’s birthday.  Then I realized I was out of powdered sugar for frosting.

So I head out to look for the sugar.  First shop:  No luck.  She points me to another shop.  Do you have powdered sugar?  I ask in Swahili.  Yes, he says, but it’s ngumu.  Hard.  I take it anyway. 

11:00  I get home and discover the power is out at home as well.  So I fuss around at home.  Read my Bible; do some chores, answer some emails, eat some lunch.  I fret about the fact that nothing I had planned is getting done today.

12:00  I really need to make the frosting now so that I can deliver the cakes on time.  But the shopkeeper wasn’t kidding when he said the sugar was ngumu.  I’m not going to be able to mix this up by hand, and the power is still not on.

I ask our gardener to turn on the generator so that I can use my electric mixer.  Even then, it’s like trying to turn chalk into frosting.  I pound away at it.  By the time I’m done, the kitchen and myself are covered with powdered sugar, and it still has lumps in it.  But it will have to do.  

The lumpy frosting gets stuck in the decorator, making the cupcakes look like they are covered with piles of…..yeah.  Oh well.  At least kindergarteners only care about sprinkles.  

1:00  I head over to the ministry center and deliver the cake.  I head back over to HOPAC to deliver the cupcakes and help Lily’s teacher with the party, since Friday afternoons, cake, and kindergarteners are not really a calm, quiet combination.  

2:20  School is over.  I visit the library; I visit the office.  I know that Gil will be getting home soon and will be exhausted, so I decide to let the kids play at school for a while.  

4:00  We head home.  I stop at my favorite fruit stand.  I buy 5 pounds of onions, 2 pineapples, 5 mangoes, 1 papaya, 6 apples, and a large bunch of bananas for about 10 dollars.  

The power is still off at home.  Gil is lying on the floor, trying to get cool.  I help Grace with some homework.  I start dinner by blanching 5 pounds of tomatoes to get the skins off.  I turn half into tomato soup for dinner, and the other half into spaghetti sauce for another day.  The power finally comes back on at 5:00.

6:00  Dinner, baths, kids to bed, and Gil and I watch The 100 Foot Journey.  

Saturday morning (now):  My task for the day?  Get business cards printed.  Hopefully today will be more successful than yesterday.  Except the power just went out.  Literally.  Just right now.  

Page 52 of 180

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