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Letters to a Sister :16

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So, we went to look at some missionaries. It was a little like going to view a puppy before we agreed to take one. Not quite sure how we managed to be given the job.

To explain, our church supports some missionaries who have now finished their term abroad, so we need new ones. We were given the names of some who seem suitable but they didn’t have time to visit our church, so it was decided that a deputation would go and hear them speak. We (me, husband and Barbie) somehow managed to be the deputation. Not a good choice.

The evening started well when the motorway to strange Baptist church we had never heard of before, was shut. Briefly, but it did mean we were then in a rush. We then found that the road that actually led to the church was also shut. Was not going well. Considered abandoning mission and going to pub instead.

Arrived late, church was small, neat, probably has not changed very much in the last 150 years. Nor I suspect have some members of the congregation. The chairs have though, they were nice and comfortable. And in shades of purple and lilac to match the mauve carpet and purple tulips. All very colour co-ordinated. I wondered who had ordered the six green chairs and whether they still attend the church.

The congregation (all 17 of them) were singing when we arrived. The words to the song were displayed on an overhead screen. I should perhaps have guessed the mood of the evening when I saw the white haired lady playing the guitar with the rainbow strap. To be fair, she played very well. In a sort of military style – I for one was not brave enough to NOT sing!

I did need to use the loo though. A very nice man told me where it was – through the door right at the front. When I asked if it was the only one, as the service had started and everyone would see me go through the door, he told me that actually, if I preferred, I could use the side door. I did prefer. He was unfortunately the man responsible for changing the words on the projector and while giving me toilet directions, the singing ground to a halt. When I returned I couldn’t work out why we kept repeating the same song. Husband helpfully informed me it was the chorus. Then got the giggles, very embarrassing in strange church. The more I tried to not giggle, the bigger the urge to collapse in uncontrollable heap. Recieved stern looks from husband.

Missionaries then stood up, wife first, to introduce their work. We began with her showing us some photos. She said we had to tell her where they were taken. I thought this was going to be examples of unusual places to hold a school or church or something. But no. They were just random photos of the country they work in and we had to guess where they were taken and who was in them. Bizarre. One was a cow in a street. What were we supposed to say? “Ah, that is a cow in a street.” Or a group of people. Was I really expected to know if they were her aunty Joan, her next door neighbours or a group from the church? Nearly lost control completely at this point, was bursting to call out “swimming pool” when shown boys playing football. (The correct answer was : “Boys playing football.” You get the idea.)

To be fair, this is not the worst thing that I have been asked by missionaries to do at a missionary evening. At least we didn’t have to sing something in a foreign language that no one speaks and which might as well be Humpty Dumpty as a christian song.

Missionary husband then gave a talk, which was quite good, but I was slightly beyond listening at this point. They seemed like a nice couple doing a good work in a difficult place. Why do churches and missionaries put themselves through these evenings? Why couldn’t we all just have a nice curry or go to the pub and chat about the work they are doing? I am glad God is so much bigger than the churches that follow him.

On drive home, we discussed the feedback we would give our own church. Husband offered the view that, “He wasn’t a pompous git like the last one we had”. Barbie and I agreed that she would be the spokesperson and husband should remain silent.

There is a truck that keeps parking outside our house. This is perfectly legal but for some unknown reason is a bit irritating. Boys and husband have been thinking of ways to encourage owner to park somewhere else. One suggestion was a sign on windscreen which says, “Harry the Hammer hates selfish parking.” The latest idea involves cat poo – of which we have plenty (joys of kittens and dirt boxes.) They feel a few nights where it will appear a local cat has taken to using the truck as a toilet will encourage the owner to move on. They are joking. I hope.

Take care,
Anne xx

 

Letters to a Sister : 15

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So, the week began with a visit from my friend who is from Iran and studying over here for a few years. We took her to an Indian restaurant. The waiter asked if she was Indian. I am guessing, from her reaction, that for an Iranian that is not a compliment.

The boys then thought it something of a challenge to encourage her to drink shots with them. Hmm, can always rely on them to not let me down when I’m trying to make a good impression.

We also had a “men’s social/bloke’s night” at our house. I do think to be male and attend church you need to be man enough to cope with some pretty naff names. They had a croquet tournament. For the uninitiated, this might seem like a nice polite game. It is not. I promised myself I would never have to play it again when I was dating my husband and we played with his family, who all thought it hilarious to send my ball spinning off into a garden several houses away while they all had a nice social time and finished together. It is a nasty, competitive mean game. My family are all very good at it. Enough said.

The winner of this particular event, which we host every year, gets a trophy to sit on their mantelpiece for the year. You might think this would be a small cup or a replica of croquet mallets, but no. It is a very large and ugly china hand which was originally used as a mould for rubber gloves. Husband found it in a junk shop when in New York. I am not sure if the men actually try to win it or not. I suspect that they cannot help being competitive. You will be surprised at how often the wife of the winner sidles up to me afterwards in church and confesses that they really do not have room for it in their house, would I mind looking after it for the rest of the year.

My husband then hides it. Otherwise a nasty accident might befall it when I am dusting. (Actually, I rarely dust, but I might make an exception in this case.)

I bought a hat for nephew’s wedding. I know you will be pleased, knowing just how much I hate shopping. Fifteen minutes, half price, John Lewis. AND it came with a box. A triumph. It is slightly big. If it slips down I will have to peer at bride and groom from under the rim. But was too good a bargain to miss.

Then shopped for boy clothes with boys. This was painful. I suggested to boy with large toe protruding from canvas shoe that perhaps shoes would be a good item for list.
We went to the same shop he went to last time and tried on exactly the same pair of shoes in exactly the same size. He informed me they were fine, just a little tight over one toe, but as they were the same shoe/size as last time, this was not a problem. I was almost fooled.
Then I realised that the toe it was ‘a bit tight over’ was the same toe that protruded from the old shoes.
Suggested a bigger size might be a good idea. Was told this would not work as other foot was a lot smaller.
I felt wearing one new shoe (in bigger size) and one old shoe (on small foot) was ideal solution. Son told me I was “hilarious” (in the kind of voice that told me I was far from funny in a good way.)
We bought the bigger shoes. (I was paying.)

Journey home uneventful. Boys sat in back and debated intensely all the way home. Sentences such as, “what if a man kills a dog and then just keeps killing dogs for fun” and, “well no, I think all animals are equal so perhaps murder is not so wrong. I could probably eat a human,” floated to the front. I was going to ask what they wanted for dinner. Decided not to.

Take care,
Anne

PS, We collected son’s duvet from Morrison’s washing service (the one with a hole in, remember?) All was good – we were not charged for any breakage due to feathers and he can still use the duvet. As a pillow perhaps.

Letters to a Sister: 14

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Letter 14

Do you ever have those weeks when everything seems to go wrong? I don’t mean in a funny, laugh about it afterwards way, but in a depressing, wondering why I bother way? I guess that’s just part of life, a ‘down’ that allows us to have ‘ups’. This week two friends have died. True, both were old, but that doesn’t make it any nicer really, just less shocking.

It brings back lots of memories of when Dad died. I’m not sure I’ve ever really talked to you about that time, everything was such a muddle, so much to organise, both of us worrying about Mum. We never really sat down and talked did we.

I was in such a bad place while Dad was alive, really angry with the world. I was having headaches all the time and not knowing why, felt stressed and was finding work/family a lot less fun than I had thought they would be when I was 12! I had sort of given up on God a bit, decided I would ‘go it alone’, see how I got on. I didn’t get on very well actually.

Then, when Dad was diagnosed with cancer, I somehow got this feeling that it was my fault, a sort of punishment for giving up on God. It sounds silly now, if it was someone else saying this I would have all sorts of sensible things to say to them, but at the time, that’s how I felt. And it was horrible.

Cancer is a horrid disease. It kind of ‘eats’ people. When the nurse told me that Dad wouldn’t recover, that it was just a matter of time, I set myself a challenge. I would watch him die. I figured that all my life, Dad had taught me about God, had claimed that He was always there, helping Dad through life. I decided that during life, you could fool yourself into believing something like that. But death has a horrible honesty about it. If God was real, He would be there at every step while Dad died. If He was just in Dad’s head, a fabrication to make life easier, then as he died this would be evident. You can’t pretend when you are dying. So I watched.

I saw the cancer destroy Dad’s body, saw him become weaker and more in pain, fed up with all the medical intervention, exhausted by what the disease was doing to him. And I saw him change.

At the beginning, as the disease began to take hold, Dad complained all the time. He told me about every ache, every loss of appetite, every sleepless night. To be honest, I got a bit fed up with him (as I said, I was not in a good place.) Then gradually, as his body got weaker, I saw him draw closer and closer to God. His conversation changed. Instead of talking continually about his health, the latest ache and pain, he talked about what he had read in his Bible, some new insight that he had found. He laughed again, was excited about what he was discovering about God. I felt that I was watching him become less physical and more ‘soul’. It was as if his spirit was taking over.

Dad never wanted to die, he fought it until the end. But I can honestly tell you, he died a good death and God was there, every step of the way. Dad taught me more about God in his dying than all the sermons during his life. His cancer was horrid, a particularly painful type. But he died the beginning of January and at the end of December, just days before he died, he told me he had just had the happiest Christmas of his life. Like I said, you can’t pretend when you’re dying.

When Dad did die, when we were burying his body, on a suitably grey wet day  (though not ‘Dad’, not his spirit, I had watched that getting stronger and stronger until he finally left his body) that was when I realised that I could not have caused his death. Death is too big, nothing about me would result in that.

Perhaps I needed to feel like that, to have that nasty patch in my life, to make me see clearly again. I don’t know. All I can tell you is that for me, it was all the ‘proof’ I needed. And of course, the good thing about coming back to God is that He makes it so easy, it’s just like turning around really. And I haven’t regretted it since. I’ve had some knocks in the last few years, life has sometimes been less nice than I hoped. But I can never again doubt that there is a God. Or that He cares.

Take care,
Anne xx

Letters to a Sister : 13

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This has been a fairly quiet week, the most eventful thing being Son’s graduation ceremony.

Before we went, we had to take younger son’s duvet to Morrisons to be washed. It has been sealed in a black bin bag since he got home from uni – trust me, it needed to be washed. When he removed it from the cover, a shower of feathers fell over the floor. We could not find an obvious hole, but it is clearly leaking. I cannot believe this will end well. Gave receipt to unsuspecting husband. When he collects his cleaning he can also collect empty duvet sack and a bill for having broken Morrisons washing machine with feathers.

But I digress. As I say, this week was Son’s graduation so we drove North. Stayed over night in a Premier Inn. I must say, I really like Premier Inns. They have nothing you don’t need, are reasonably priced and always seem clean and welcoming. The food is just ‘normal’, nothing special but not cheap rubbish – a few brand names go a long way with food. I like them.

The day of the graduation was sunny. A lot like the day, three years ago, when he first looked round the uni. He assures me that it has rained every single one of the days inbetween. I think he is lying.

The whole world was at the graduation, they are certainly a ‘multi cultural’ place. I eavesdropped a few Mandarin conversations but resisted the urge to join in (there is a level of ‘odd’ that my children will not accept from me. I have learnt this.)

Also a range of types of people. There were those in posh clothes, with posh voices, who walked around like they ruled the world and everyone was in their way. Then there was the man we sat behind, who had no suit, wore a baseball cap throughout but was clearly excited to be there, took copious photographs and was quite emotional when his child went forward. I know which people I prefer.

I was somewhat surprised, when needing the loo, to discover they have ‘male’, ‘female’ and ‘gender-neutral’ toilets at uni these days. Apparently gender is now a spectrum. I am completely comfortable that I am well within the ‘female’ end of the gender spectrum (I only have issues when deciding on gender for my cats, not humans.) However, I do think they are a good idea. Not as an extra option – anyone using them would get peered at I suspect, but why do we need gender separate toilets anyway? I am quite modest but I cannot think that peeing in a cubicle, completely hidden but next to a bloke in his own cubicle, would cause me any problems. It would also have made life a lot easier when my boys reached that age where they did not want to go into the ‘Ladies’ with me but I felt they were too young to go into the pervert ridden Gents on their own.

Son looked suitably handsome in his cap and gown. He got cross with how many photos I took and banned me. Had to take sneaky ones of his back after that.I have lots.

The ceremony began with a procession of dignitaries who walked to the front and then sat facing the audience. They all looked splendid in their colourful gowns and caps. Except for one. Who was the man who wore a checked shirt and no tie under his gown? He sat slumped in his chair, clearly unhappy to be there. Was he a stand in? Did they drag him from an afternoon in his garden when they had a no show? Not that he wasted the time, using it to give his ears a good clean out. Thankfully he left his nose alone – left the nose picking to the camera man at the back of the stage. Honestly, someone should tell people that IF they are on a stage facing 200 strangers, that is NOT the best time for face picking. Of any kind.

However, when the ceremony began, Professor Checked Shirt gave the most beautiful smile to the graduands, full of affection. All was forgiven in that instant and I decided I liked him after all.

I did not however, like the man who sat next to me. He did not clap for a single graduand and even, at one point during the ceremony, opened a bottle of water and had a drink. His wife had obviously tried though. She had matched her lipstick, eye-shadow and nails perfectly with her purple mobile phone. Not quite my thing but she had made an effort at least.

I was surprised by how young the graduands were. It was only yesterday that we were that age, all grown up, knowing everything and ready to conquer the world. The only real difference was that these graduands were requested to not take selfies when they accepted their certificates. Not a problem for us. Not sure mobile phones even existed.

Perhaps we are getting old after all. Though I feel exactly the same. Except I know less now than I did when I was in my twenties.

Take care,
Anne x

Letters to a Sister :12

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So, this week we met Mimi’s new boyfriend (well, new to us.) All very scary. Was keen to make a good impression so asked what he liked to eat. Was informed he “is a vegetarian but doesn’t like vegetables very much.” Not so easy then.
Decided on a broccoli quiche (am good at making quiche. Must be all those quiches we ate at midnight as children after putting up the tent in Cromer on Wintery August nights. Oh, happy days.) Anyway, made quiche. Forgot the broccoli but decided he wouldn’t notice. Which he wouldn’t have IF helpful husband hadn’t thought it a good conversation topic on way from station.

Helpful husband had in fact been helpful all morning. He knew I was stressed so offered to vacuum clean the kitchen (just in case new boyfriend didn’t understand about dogs and copious amounts of hair shed every summer.) He did clean, unfortunately he did not put vacuum cleaner away, so it was in middle of kitchen floor when boyfriend arrived. Not such a great first impression.

Boys also helped. They cleared all the mess/stray socks/empty beer cans/sweet wrappers from the upstairs lounge (it becomes their hovel during uni holidays. I try to avoid going up there.) Unfortunately they thought the kitchen table was the best place to dump all their debris. Not sure why.

The boys had also devised a series of nicknames for boyfriend. They found it funny to substitute the middle consonant with a different one. Some variations WERE funny. Until I made a mistake and used one of the variations without realising. Very embarrassing (they found it hilarious.)

We did try to plan for the visit. Husband was given a range of topics (mainly ex-boyfriends) that he was banned from mentioning. He managed to mention them all I think.

Boyfriend seemed very nice. Mimi glared us all from time to time but seemed to cope. Not sure if they will brave another visit.

I have finally got round to clipping the ‘ducklings’ (now young adults) wings. They are happily on the pond. Except for one, which is matt brown and beautiful, so I have kept her with the parents in the aviary because I don’t want to lose her to a fox (added freedom also involves added risk.)
Most of them are males. They usually are. I am rubbish at telling their gender when they first hatch (it is incredibly hard to see and not especially nice for the ducklings) so I tend to wait until they are young adults. Then with call ducks it’s easy because the females shout really loudly and the males quack like they have a sore throat! You can’t tell from feather pattern with call ducks – one of my males has almost identical feathers to a female mallard. When they get older and are fully feathered, the males will all have curly tail feathers. This is true of all ducks, not sure of other birds, do you know?

Chickens have started pecking each other. No idea why, they never have before. I thought it was re establishing the pecking order when this years chicks became adults, but they’re still doing it. I now let them roam around the garden during the day, am hoping that will solve it (though their cage is big.)

Kia helps me round them up at night and to put the ducks back on the pond. She has got really good at it – spends a lot of time watching me to see where I need her to stand. Can see why farmers use them to herd animals, are very responsive (not like boys. Or husbands.)

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I took Milly and Molly to be spayed. The kittens also had their first vaccines. One of the ‘boys’ is a girl (clearly am also rubbish at sexing kittens! It is not as obvious as you might think.)

Vet told me to keep M and M quiet. Not sure how he expected me to do that. They were dismantling the cat box before we even reached home. I tried putting them in the bathroom but they spent the whole time leaping for the door handle or jumping onto the window sill. They also rearranged everything in the bathroom – not sure if they are the cat equivalent of interior designers (bad ones) or demolition men.

I gave up after a day and put them back in the garage with the kittens. After a week they can go in the garden. I’ll bring them in at night, just so they don’t forget that kittens are theirs and fight when they all move outside.

Take care,
Anne xx

P1080806PS. I have published my diary about Rio. Haven’t sent it to you because I included one of the letters I already sent. However, if you fancy reading it (now it has photos added plus some new content) the link is : https://anneethompson.com/travel/rio-de-janeiro/

Letters to a Sister : 11

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Letter to a Sister 11

Returned home from Brazil on Wednesday. Was a night flight, so very confused time wise.

At the airport, I decided to change my Duolingo app from Portuguese (no longer needed) to Japanese. Unfortunately, the only Japanese that Duolingo does is for Japanese people who want to learn English. So the lessons taught me how to say “boy”, “milk”, etc. As my English is already fairly good, it wasn’t particularly helpful.
However, I had not realised this until I had actually downloaded that bit of the app. All the instructions were now in Japanese. I had no idea how to get back to the menu bit of the app. I spent ages pressing random things in the hope I would return to the menu page.
Finally gave up and went in search of a Japanese person. Found a Japanese man hiding behind a newspaper in the lounge. Explained my problem (which he seemed to find amusing.) He then had a look at the app, spent a long time exploring the lessons, said they were very good, but was also unable to find the menu bit. Am suspicious that he was just pretending to be Japanese, was probably a Korean spy or something. I still cannot use the app.

Was pleased to find house still standing when we returned. Two boys (who are really men, but they will always be boys to me) had cleared away all evidence of wild parties and all my animals were still alive. There is a suspicious smell in the utility room but I cannot find the corpse.

The kittens are thriving. They’re still all living in the garage. They are named after my childhood favourites: Milly Molly Mandy (favourite book when I was three) and Mary, Mungo and Midge (favourite programme when I was three.) We gave Mary away and she is now called Minerva, which kinda fits with the theme.

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Mandy was born first. She is Molly’s only kitten, is bigger than the others and clumsy. I think she may be special needs – has bit of a ‘vacant’ expression.

 

 

 

 

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Mungo will be the house cat. She is very friendly, has long soft fur and purrs really loudly.

 

 

 

 

 

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Midge is the boy. He has wiry fur, attacks everything (have big hopes for him as a mouser). He also has this annoying habit of pouncing on your calves as you are about to leave the room and running up your leg. Painful if you are wearing shorts.

 

 

 

 

They are all pretty much weaned. Milly and Molly are driving me bananas (they’re in season again and desperate to go out and find a man.) They will be taken to the vets and spayed on Monday.

One chicken had gone broody when we got home. The boys had removed the eggs but she had collected six (a days worth) and decided that was enough to make a nest with. I turfed her off and took away the eggs (otherwise all the other hens will go broody too. I really do not need more chicks.) She was very cross and swears at me now whenever I go up to see them but I am unrepentant.

The ducklings are all full grown and beautiful. A real mix of colours (so those ‘pure’ silver call ducks I bought at the country fair were clearly not especially ‘pure’! Not that it matters, they’ll all just live on the pond.)
They are all still living in the aviary, when I get time I’ll clip their flight feathers and then let them onto the pond. Once they have learnt the pond is their home, it doesn’t matter if the feathers regrow and they start to fly, they still stay around the pond and garden and Kia helps me round them up each evening and put them back on the pond.

The ducks on the pond seem okay, though some are getting old now. The two black ones have white feathers coming (the duck equivalent of going grey.) I’m not getting any duck eggs because the horrible rats are back in force. Really need to get those cats back outside.

Take care,
Anne xx

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Letters to a Sister 10

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On Friday, we had quite an adventurous day!
At 6am, we met Alecs in the hotel lobby. We had booked a tour via the hotel to Ilha Grande ( ‘Big Island’.) We were told we would drive from the hotel to a village, get a boat to the island, then hike for three hours through lush forest to beautiful beaches.
This was all true. However, they omitted to tell us a few things:
1) Friday is the WORST day for traffic in Rio. It took us two hours to leave the city and about three hours to get back in the evening.
Alecs did a coffee and washroom stop ( nice clean facilities!) so it was okay, but it wasted a lot of the day.

As we drove we saw police had stopped vehicles in various places. They carried machine guns. There’s a VERY strong police presence in Rio. On the boat another passenger had a hand gun. Turned out he too was a policeman.
Also saw more amazing wall art/ graffiti.
2) When we met Alecs, he advised us to go back to room and change into sturdy shoes, long sleeves etc, needed proper hiking stuff.

3) The hike was long and steep. We basically walked/ scrabbled/ climbed for over an hour UP a mountain track. When we remembered to look up, it was beautiful but it was hard going, narrow paths, slippery clay covering rocks, very steep. Needed to concentrate on not falling.
We then walked/ slid for an hour down the other side.

Finally reached the beach to find the track ended on a ten foot high rock, with a rope. No other way down. Had to abseil down to the beach. Lots of screaming from Barbie, which was helpful as allowed me time to gather my thoughts and watch how to do it.

4) Beach beautiful and had cafe with loo. Only permitted a quick rest, then trekked for another hour and a half to next beach. No abseiling this time ( its surprising what you come to appreciate!)

It was not such a steep walk, though did begin with climbing a 45 degree slope of granite. Not so easy with tired legs and sand slippery shoes.
Made it with no major injuries, though I did slip at one point and jar my wrist. Luckily didn’t slip into one of the trees coated with four inch long spikes ( which they used to use in blow guns as weapons.)

Arrived at second beach. Saw black vultures ( prob waiting for exhausted hikers.)

The third, most beautiful beach, was a further hike, then a return to second beach for boat out. We opted to stay at second beach. Barbie and Ken went to third beach, said was big, beautiful, and they saw monkeys. I can live without seeing it.

5) Getting on boat back to island village involved two floating piers connected by a narrow walkway at 50 degree angle. Bit of a challenge.

6) Boat to island village small, on big waves in open sea. Not wearing life jacket, aware would sink like a stone in heavy boots.

7) Speedboat to mainland fast but cold ( needed a coat.) I was not overly reassured by ‘lookout’ man who was checking for floating debris because if we hit any we would flip over.

Also somewhat bemused by other passenger, a disheveled elderly man who closely examined our bags and then very slowly extracted a bic razor from his back pack. I was too exhausted to do more than giggle ( slightly hysterical by this point.) – Old man then slowly shaved his face as we went. Unexpected.

On way back to Rio, car ran over an abandoned cone ( heavy traffic, safer than swerving to avoid it.) Was removed from under car by man with shovel at petrol station.

Satnav kept recommending we leave the traffic jam and take a side road. Alecs said the route would take us through two favelas and might not be safe. I’m glad he didn’t, felt I had had enough adventure for one day.

Take care,
Anne xxx

Letter to a Sister: Brazil

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Tuesday 23rd

Spent day in car, driving from Afogados to Recife. Six hours. Tried hard to not need washroom at the service stops, when finally relented it was the cleanest public washroom ever! Decided I need to start a ” World Wide Washroom” website, get people to grade toilets around the world. Will give it some thought.
Went to restaurant for lunch. Was a buffet. Unlike yesterday, this time I knew that I had to weigh the food BEFORE I started eating it, as it’s paid for by weight. ( Don’t ask about yesterday….)
Dropped some of the team at the airport. Rather sad the team is breaking up, it has been an intense few days but we all seemed to get along, no obvious tensions and lots of laughs.
Checked in at Cult hotel. Same room, duct tape still safely in place.
Walked along beach front. Despite the warnings everywhere, even behind every room door in the hotel, we did not see any sharks. There was even a man swimming and I waited for a few minutes, camera poised, but nothing, not even a fin.
Went to a market. Was either setting up or closing down. Bit naff. Didn’t buy a cushion cover. Ken didn’t buy a hammock. Walked back along front. It was getting dark but Luiz said in a lit area, a group would be fine. Started to rain, then poured. Very warm, so rather nice. Until we remembered were travelling the next day and had no way to dry clothing.
Ate pizza, then said goodbye to Luiz. Was sad saying goodbye, hope to see him again some day. He’s eighteen, has learnt English to a level whereby he can earn money translating. He lives in the favela with his family. When he left us, if the rain continued for more than a day, he would need to help move all their belongings onto tables to escape the flooding. His bit of the world is very different to ours, yet when he was joking with David, showing us round, discussing music, you realised that he was the same, was no different to our boys.
People like him are working hard to improve their lives, to live in communities that have a decent infra structure and less crime. The church is helping with the community – he told me that now, during daylight, there was no fear where he lives, they don’t have much stuff but they work together, growing up he has been surrounded by friends. Tearfund is helping with the infra structure, lobbying the government to improve flood control and provide amenities.

Wednesday 24th

Early flight to Rio. When we landed in Recife a few days ago, my bag was squashed and the zip damaged ( with tyre marks on it.) When we left, with the same airline, they made us sign a disclaimer, saying that said bag ( now secured with duct tape) would not be their responsibility if duct tape should fail. So wished my Portuguese was good enough to have explained that THEY caused the damage in the first place! Shall compose a letter when I am home. Cannot really recommend TAM airlines, not for customer service anyhow.
Bag arrived in one piece ( did not have to pick single items of clothing from conveyor belt. Taxi to Caesar Park Hotel. A few days holiday now.
Am really tired. I came up to room ahead of David. Pressed floor number in lift but we sailed past it to 23rd floor. Know that some lifts you need to wave room card above number, so did that but it still didn’t light my floor. Had visions of spending all day going up and down lift shaft. Thankfully another guest spotted what I was doing and showed me the slot where you have to put card before it will accept floor number. Will have a nap now I think.
Take care,
Anne xx

If you enjoyed this, you will love my new book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary.
I have always written a diary on holiday, so last Christmas, I decided to find all my old diaries and blogs, and make a book for my children. However, several other people also asked for a copy, so I have written a public version – it’s available on Amazon and has been described as “The Durrells meet Bill Bryson”!

Why not buy a copy today? I think it will make you laugh.

The US link is here:

https://www.amazon.com/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015525&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The India link is here:

https://www.amazon.in/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015429&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The UK link is here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1549014970&sr=8-2&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

 

Letter to a Sister: Brazil

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Monday 22nd June
Yesterday was a day off, which was good. Had hotel breakfast: melon, cake and something like a set egg custard. Not unpleasant.
Saw a capuchin monkey in a tree in hotel garden. Very cute. Then had lazy day. Drove around town, did very little. Didn’t go to a church as they were all a distance away and started at 7pm and Tearfund has a policy that you shouldn’t drive at night in developing countries for safety reasons. It gets dark really fast here. Dawn is 5am, dusk is about 5pm and it’s pitch black by 5:30. Same all year round. No seasons, except that June and July have more rain.
Today we drove to see three rural projects. The charity tends to work with women and teenagers. This is partly because there is a lot of domestic abuse and it helps to empower the women and girls if they have a trade, are not at home all day completely dependent. It helps them have a sense of self worth, have rights ( at the very least the right to not be abused.)
They have also found that when a woman earns money, she tends to use it to improve the whole family. If men earn money, they tend to get distracted and spend it on alcohol, gambling, etc.
The first project was a small farm. Originally it had provided food for just the family, sustenance farming. This left no safety net if crops failed, more money needed for improvements, etc. The charity provided knowledge and tools. The women now produce enough to provide for their families and also sell some. We saw a warehouse where they were preparing the food – fruits, bread, honey – for sale. Some goes to market, some is sold to the government for schools and hospitals and the proceeds then ploughed back into more charity work in the community.
We went to see Rosa ( so wish I could show you a photo of her house but cannot figure out this machine!) We sat on brightly coloured furniture in her little sitting room. The walls were bright red, strewn with pictures of Jesus and photos of her grandchildren. There was a large tele with a statue of Father Christmas on top ( wondered if her grandsons have the same sense of humour as my boys and they were ‘gifts’ or if she had chosen it.) The internal doorways had no doors, just curtains. There was no ceiling and you could see up to the roof tiles ( which had big gaps in them.) It wasn’t a bad house – as long as it didn’t rain. Not quite sure what happened to the tele when it did.
We went off round her garden. Saw lots of the normal crops ( onions, marrows) and also bananas, cashew nuts, medicinal herbs. Her kitchen had huge freezer where the produce could be crushed, bagged and frozen ( the charity had given her the crushing and bagging machines and helped sort out the irrigation system. It was a really dry area.)
Drove to next project. Saw big expanses of arid land with a few shrubs and tall spindly palm trees. Also saw lots of donkeys pulling carts of stuff and even two oxen pulling a cart of logs. Would be SUCH a cool photo. I have lots of blurry ones. Mainly of trees. Lots of animals as we drove: goats, hens, cats and dogs everywhere we go.
Went to San Jose do Egypt, which translates as ” Saint Joseph from Egypt”. They had never heard of the Technicolour Dream-coat musical and were somewhat bemused when Barbie started singing it to them (so were we.) Went to cafe for lunch. Everywhere much cleaner than I was expecting it to be. We were advised to not eat the salads, which was a shame as they looked fabulous.
Went to a bakery. Charity had again provided equipment and education. It was MILES. From anywhere. Was so glad they had a toilet ( very bumpy track to get there.)
We got out the van and the heat from the sun was boiling, so hurried into the bakery. Then we nearly melted. Was like entering a furnace. They keep the door shut so the flies stay out but opened them when we arrived ( so it immediately filled up with flies. Glad they don’t make currant bread.) Two girls and a teenaged boy worked there. They showed us how all the machines work, made some bread and cooked some rolls in the wood fuelled oven. We then ate warm loaves and coffee. The best coffee ever, even in a disposable plastic cup that burnt your fingers. Hot, black and sweet.
Luiz translated for us. We asked him to ask them what they had for lunch. Not bread. Bread is for dinner, pasta is for lunch ( was not the silly question we had all assumed.)
Drove to a bee farm. Luiz now censoring our questions. When David asked him to ask the Bruce Springsteen look alike farmer what instrument he played, he checked with me first if that was a serious question ( it wasn’t.)
Looked around the farm. Tearfund had provided funding for wells to be dug so production could increase ( it’s a semi arid area, lots of cacti) Saw the bees. Saw turkeys ( which really do ‘gobble’!)
Then had one of those horribly awkward moments when the granny on the farm called us all into her house and sat us down for drinks and snacks. She had prepared vats of juice for us, all prepared with local water which would have made us ill. Luiz had disappeared, she had gone to a lot of effort, we didn’t want to offend her nor be ill all night. I used my best Portuguese and apologised that we couldn’t drink it because….. had to mime last bit, my Duolingo app never taught me how to say that! Thankfully Luiz came back and explained a bit better. Felt bad. Difficult situation. Escaped to car.
We drove for miles on unmade tracks. Passed lots of small farms. They have no address, no street names. Also the area is about to be flooded as they are building a huge dam. All the farmers will have to be rehoused. (Our bee farmer and fruit juice granny will be okay, are out of range.)
Drove back to Ant Hotel.

Take care

Anne xx

Letter to a Sister : Brazil

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20th June

Showered, breakfast then left Cult Hotel in Recife. Was glad to survive shower, which has electrical wires coming out the top, was hard to relax when using it. Also left the room with some added duct tape, which David had used to seal the massive gap around the aircon unit. It worked – we got no mosquitoes ( which was important as they carry dengue fever here) but I’m not sure the bright red tape blended very well with the dingy brown decor.
Apparently all the electricity is slightly weird in Brazil. Was certainly a challenge to bring the correct power adaptors, as the plugs seem to change from region to region. ( If you plan to visit, bring a range!)
We also left the rather sexual art displays at the hotel. On the first evening the team leader led us in a time of prayer. It is the first time I have ever prayed next to a large statue of an erect phallus, while sitting below a painting of a naked woman ( who definitely had not had ‘a Brazilian’!) Tearfund trips are always unexpected.
Drove for a couple of hours to Coqueral. Interesting drive, passed lots of small communities, people driving horse and carts, big lorries. Rained hard a few times.
Coqueral is a small farming town (1,500 people.) The area did not really support that many farmers, the town was off a track beyond a track, most people were unemployed and on benefits. The pastor told us they were ” less poor in money” than the people we saw yesterday but ” more poor in the mind”. I don’t think he meant they all had ‘special educational needs’, more that a sense of hopelessness pervaded the town.

They had a lot of knife crime and alcohol addiction. We didn’t see any teenaged drug addicts though, which is good as I found it very difficult to just walk past them yesterday and leave them in their mess ( and I just know my family would be cross if I arrive home with a selection of drug addicted boys – never mind that I wouldn’t have the first idea how to help them.)
It is StJohn’s festival time ( seemed like our harvest festival but is cultural, not religious.) The children at the mission hall had decorated the hall with plaited banana leaves and dressed in costumes and make up. They danced for us, a bit like a barn dance. I certainly didn’t feel the display was too short. We then joined in, which they thought was hilarious, especially as most of us were wearing the ‘aid worker’ sensible outfit of long sleeved shirts, long trousers and massive walking boots ( look really ugly and no good for dancing in but when you’re wading through raw sewage in the slums, fashion doesn’t seem so important.)
We had lunch there, which was a bit unusual. They seem to eat a lot of carbs here ( I had spaggetti and rice for my lunch, as salad might be washed in local water and I didn’t feel like eating meat.) They also have a fizzy drink, which is everywhere and has a picture of something like cherries on it but isn’t cherry. Was comfortingly synthetic. Barbie stuck with coke.
Drove for about 5 more hours. Someone put a religious CD on. David ranted at length about the quality of the music ( for the length of the song in fact.)
Arrived in Afogados. Staying at Hotel Brotas, which is quite like a motel. Room full of mosquitoes and ants ( will use lots of deet while here.) D busy rigging up a mosquito net to sleep under. Am hoping it doesn’t involve anything too structural.
Take care,
Anne xxx