Saturday, August 27, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
LET US PRAY!
I JUST HAD TO SHARE THIS. THIS IS HOW, EACH BREAK TIME AT GULUGUFE NURSERY SCHOOL, THE CHILDREN WOULD PRAY BEFORE EATING. THIS WAS FILMED AT THEIR OUTING TO THE BEACH, ON THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL. THE FUNNIEST PART I DIDN'T MANAGE TO CATCH ON CAMERA. THE TEACHER BEGINS BY SAYING "LET US PRAY" AFTER WHICH THE CHILDREN CONTINUE. THE TEACHR BEGAN. BUT SOME OF THE CHILDREN WERE MESSING ABOUT A FEW METRES AWAY. WHEN THEY HEARD THE TEACHER BEGIN THEY DROPPED EVERYTHING AND TURNED AND RAN TOWARDS US, WITH THEIR EYES ALREADY SHUT TIGHT FOR GRACE, SHOUTING ALONG WITH THE REST OF THE CHILREN. I AM WRITING IN CAPLOCK BECAUSE IT IS APPROPRIATE FOR THE LOUD CHILDREN. ENJOY!
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Tazara Railway
This is the train that links Zambia (some place) to Dar es Salam, Tanzania.
This is the train that I took. I caught it in Mbeya, the border town of Tanzania.
This is the story about Lauren and the train.
Departure time: Wednesday at 2pm.
On Tuesday night I started getting sick. Nauseous. Achy. I was nervous. Two people in the last week, whom I had known, had come down with malaria. I slept early and awoke a bit nauseous but fine.
Matt, my travelling companion whom I met in Nkhata bay and whom had bought my ticket in advance, and I got on a dala dala (a minibus taxi/chappa) at about 12:24 and arrived at the t\station at about 1pm. We met another group of wazungu (white people/tourists/foreigners) and they told us they had been told that the train was delayed until 4pm. We settled down. I was feeling fragile. I dozed on the train bench.
Then a few more wazungu strolled by to tell us that they'd heard a little birdie say it was delayed until 5pm. Ah, we thought, that is okay.
A few minutes later an official chalk board was brought out with an apology (Pole) that the train was delayed until 7pm. Ah, officially we knew when we were going to leave.
7pm came and went.
At about 8pm the chalk board was put away.
We waited.
By this time I was feeling pretty horrible. I was nauseous and sore (pole). People started bedding down for the night. I unrolled my sleeping mat (thank you Aunty Pam), put on my seriously warm jacket and pillowed my head with my tent. I took a pain killer, pulled my handbag and backpack in close to me and thought, okay, this is okay, I can wait out the train for a few more hours.
I dosed off in a haze of nausea and music in my ears.
Suddenly there was excitement. Oh God, the train was coming. I flew up, rolled up, packed up. Then we were told it was a false alarm. Pole.
I was pretty low by then. The toilets were revolting by now. The train was 10 hours late.
I couldn't sleep. Eventually I tossed fitfully from 1.30 until 3. My lowest was 3-3.30. The train station was filled with people sprawled everywhere. We looked like refugees. The train station by now stank of toilet. Which did nothing for my stomach.
But then...
At about 3.45 I heard a.. sound. A sound that may very possibly have been a very far distant train hoot. But then I heard it again and I realised it was the toilet door. I watched a man sitting opposite me and he seemed to be... watching. I heard the sound again.
This time I sat up. I was trying not to hope.
And then we heard a man say and train and oh God we couldn't believe our ears. We packed and rolled and held onto each other so that we wouldn't loose the other (It was supposed to be Matt, an Irish couple and myself. The Irish couple did not turn up, as we later learnt they had been hit by severe viral bugs. So one of the tickets went to another singleton traveller whom we met at the station, Nemome).
Matt, then Nemone, then me. Hobbling out to the platform.
We were broken by then. A hard floor, a cold hard floor, noise and false hope. It was all I could do to hold myself up with my backpack and my handbag hanging off me. It was 4.15am.
Thank God for Matt. He made us laugh and generally kept our spirits up. I'd have left long before if it had not been for him. Nemone agrees.
At 4.25am the train lights shone on us for the first time. We shuffled to the first class compartments (R140) and Nemone and I had to be pulled up, so exhausted were we.
At 5am we lay down in out beds and the train shunted forward to begin our trip to Dar.
The end?
No.
At 7.30 (after waking 3 times at each stop) I woke up shivering so hard that I couldn't keep my teeth still. This is it, I thought, Malaria. I am going to die on this train. I roused Nemone and she put all my warn stuff on me. I fell asleep only to awake at about 10ish drenched in sweat. I peeled everything off again and slept until 11.30.
I awoke feeling fragile. But alive. This lasted briefly. Then began the proper meaty part of travellers diarrohea. I shall leave it at that. And the closest toilet was in the next carriage (the only in ours was for wee-wee only, said the dragon lady-in-charge of our cabin, who waved dirty mops at us and guarded the toilet).
Thank, thank thank the sweet God for giving me Matt and Nemone as my travel companions. They spoke to me, assured me that I would get passed this. And they made sure that I had a steady supply of Ginger Nut biscuits, the only thing that I could stomach for 36 hours.
On Friday morning at 6am we arrived in Dar es Salam. Staggering and still not really believing that this "adventure" had terminated in its proper place, we fell out the carriage and made out way to a taxi. Matt and Nemone helped me get to the place where we were staying. They bought me water.
It is now Saturday and the first day that I feel vaguely human again. I didn't get to experience the restaurant cart on the train, or see the views.
But thank God for travelling companions!
This is the train that I took. I caught it in Mbeya, the border town of Tanzania.
This is the story about Lauren and the train.
Departure time: Wednesday at 2pm.
On Tuesday night I started getting sick. Nauseous. Achy. I was nervous. Two people in the last week, whom I had known, had come down with malaria. I slept early and awoke a bit nauseous but fine.
Matt, my travelling companion whom I met in Nkhata bay and whom had bought my ticket in advance, and I got on a dala dala (a minibus taxi/chappa) at about 12:24 and arrived at the t\station at about 1pm. We met another group of wazungu (white people/tourists/foreigners) and they told us they had been told that the train was delayed until 4pm. We settled down. I was feeling fragile. I dozed on the train bench.
Then a few more wazungu strolled by to tell us that they'd heard a little birdie say it was delayed until 5pm. Ah, we thought, that is okay.
A few minutes later an official chalk board was brought out with an apology (Pole) that the train was delayed until 7pm. Ah, officially we knew when we were going to leave.
7pm came and went.
At about 8pm the chalk board was put away.
We waited.
By this time I was feeling pretty horrible. I was nauseous and sore (pole). People started bedding down for the night. I unrolled my sleeping mat (thank you Aunty Pam), put on my seriously warm jacket and pillowed my head with my tent. I took a pain killer, pulled my handbag and backpack in close to me and thought, okay, this is okay, I can wait out the train for a few more hours.
I dosed off in a haze of nausea and music in my ears.
Suddenly there was excitement. Oh God, the train was coming. I flew up, rolled up, packed up. Then we were told it was a false alarm. Pole.
I was pretty low by then. The toilets were revolting by now. The train was 10 hours late.
I couldn't sleep. Eventually I tossed fitfully from 1.30 until 3. My lowest was 3-3.30. The train station was filled with people sprawled everywhere. We looked like refugees. The train station by now stank of toilet. Which did nothing for my stomach.
But then...
At about 3.45 I heard a.. sound. A sound that may very possibly have been a very far distant train hoot. But then I heard it again and I realised it was the toilet door. I watched a man sitting opposite me and he seemed to be... watching. I heard the sound again.
This time I sat up. I was trying not to hope.
And then we heard a man say and train and oh God we couldn't believe our ears. We packed and rolled and held onto each other so that we wouldn't loose the other (It was supposed to be Matt, an Irish couple and myself. The Irish couple did not turn up, as we later learnt they had been hit by severe viral bugs. So one of the tickets went to another singleton traveller whom we met at the station, Nemome).
Matt, then Nemone, then me. Hobbling out to the platform.
We were broken by then. A hard floor, a cold hard floor, noise and false hope. It was all I could do to hold myself up with my backpack and my handbag hanging off me. It was 4.15am.
Thank God for Matt. He made us laugh and generally kept our spirits up. I'd have left long before if it had not been for him. Nemone agrees.
At 4.25am the train lights shone on us for the first time. We shuffled to the first class compartments (R140) and Nemone and I had to be pulled up, so exhausted were we.
At 5am we lay down in out beds and the train shunted forward to begin our trip to Dar.
The end?
No.
At 7.30 (after waking 3 times at each stop) I woke up shivering so hard that I couldn't keep my teeth still. This is it, I thought, Malaria. I am going to die on this train. I roused Nemone and she put all my warn stuff on me. I fell asleep only to awake at about 10ish drenched in sweat. I peeled everything off again and slept until 11.30.
I awoke feeling fragile. But alive. This lasted briefly. Then began the proper meaty part of travellers diarrohea. I shall leave it at that. And the closest toilet was in the next carriage (the only in ours was for wee-wee only, said the dragon lady-in-charge of our cabin, who waved dirty mops at us and guarded the toilet).
Thank, thank thank the sweet God for giving me Matt and Nemone as my travel companions. They spoke to me, assured me that I would get passed this. And they made sure that I had a steady supply of Ginger Nut biscuits, the only thing that I could stomach for 36 hours.
On Friday morning at 6am we arrived in Dar es Salam. Staggering and still not really believing that this "adventure" had terminated in its proper place, we fell out the carriage and made out way to a taxi. Matt and Nemone helped me get to the place where we were staying. They bought me water.
It is now Saturday and the first day that I feel vaguely human again. I didn't get to experience the restaurant cart on the train, or see the views.
But thank God for travelling companions!
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Manzi, madzi, maji
I thought that I might do a bit of a linguistic exploration...
...with the word water. In isiXhosa the word for water is amanzi. In chichewa the is word for water is amadzi (commonly said as madzi). In swahili, the word for water is maji.
I am sure you now see similarities. Xhosa is classified (along with several other languages such as Zulu, Sotho, Shona, Chichewa) as a Bantu language. Now for a bit of interesting info. Swahili is not the "original", "traditional" language of the Swahili coast (Northern Mozambique up until Southern Somalia). It is a mixture of the multitude of Bantu languages that used to exist in these areas, with Arabic. This is why I do not like the word traditional. What was traditional 50 years ago may not have been traditional 150 years ago.
In my third year when studying African Languages we discussed the issue of creating standardised languages that all people in a country can learn in. In South African we have 11 official languages but English still retains the highest prestige. The solution that we came up with (yes, us few people who want to change the world!) was that we needn't drop the status of English (it is after all the world wide language of... everything). We just ned to ensue that the other languages are elevated to the same level. So that if Sotho is you home language you do in fact have the option of learning in your mother tongue as well as English.
My lecturer then pointed out Tanzania and the University of Dar es Salam. One the the biggest obstacles in RSA tertiary education institutions is that students who have not gone fantastic English first language schools or indeed have but have received a substandard education is English terminology, struggle to grasp subject specific jargon at University. My lecturer pointed to the fact that if you want to study at the University of Dar, you need to be fluent in both English and Swahili. Which is great, elevating the local language as well as the international language. In South Africa we only have English Universities (with a few offering Afrikaans credits).
But then there is the fact that Swahili has in fact wiped out local dialects and languages. So is Swahili really local?
It is an interesting topic and one that can be argued round and round.
So back to the topic of similarities.
In Xhosa, when the speaker wants to refer to being in something, going to something/somewhere, or is already at the place, you need to add a "-ni" at the end. Therefore, to say "in/at/to the water" you would say e-manzi-ni (the 'e' replaces the 'a' so amanzi becomes emanzini).
This is the same in Sawhili. To say in/at/to the water, you say: "majini".
I am sure the same applies for Chichewa.
Madzi amphunga
- rice
- water
- salt
- sugar
1. in a pot put in the rice that you will be cooking for your meal. Add water, but add more than what you would usually use to cook the rice. We need excess water for Madzi amphunga. Add salt to taste
2. bring rice to boil and cook for about 5-7 minutes (not until the rice is fully cooked - it can be 10 minutes, but rice must still need to cook more)
3. at your chosen time, pour off most of the excess water into a container big enough to hold the water.
4. return rice to heat and finish cooking. We are finished with the rice. Now we turn to the Madzi (the water)
5. the water will be white and starchy. To this add sugar to taste. The water is not meant to be very sweet. The small amount of salt and sugar bring the taste out.
6. i prefer this drink warm to hot but some people drink it cold.
7. honey can be substituted for sugar
(Malawian recipes)
...with the word water. In isiXhosa the word for water is amanzi. In chichewa the is word for water is amadzi (commonly said as madzi). In swahili, the word for water is maji.
I am sure you now see similarities. Xhosa is classified (along with several other languages such as Zulu, Sotho, Shona, Chichewa) as a Bantu language. Now for a bit of interesting info. Swahili is not the "original", "traditional" language of the Swahili coast (Northern Mozambique up until Southern Somalia). It is a mixture of the multitude of Bantu languages that used to exist in these areas, with Arabic. This is why I do not like the word traditional. What was traditional 50 years ago may not have been traditional 150 years ago.
In my third year when studying African Languages we discussed the issue of creating standardised languages that all people in a country can learn in. In South African we have 11 official languages but English still retains the highest prestige. The solution that we came up with (yes, us few people who want to change the world!) was that we needn't drop the status of English (it is after all the world wide language of... everything). We just ned to ensue that the other languages are elevated to the same level. So that if Sotho is you home language you do in fact have the option of learning in your mother tongue as well as English.
My lecturer then pointed out Tanzania and the University of Dar es Salam. One the the biggest obstacles in RSA tertiary education institutions is that students who have not gone fantastic English first language schools or indeed have but have received a substandard education is English terminology, struggle to grasp subject specific jargon at University. My lecturer pointed to the fact that if you want to study at the University of Dar, you need to be fluent in both English and Swahili. Which is great, elevating the local language as well as the international language. In South Africa we only have English Universities (with a few offering Afrikaans credits).
But then there is the fact that Swahili has in fact wiped out local dialects and languages. So is Swahili really local?
It is an interesting topic and one that can be argued round and round.
So back to the topic of similarities.
In Xhosa, when the speaker wants to refer to being in something, going to something/somewhere, or is already at the place, you need to add a "-ni" at the end. Therefore, to say "in/at/to the water" you would say e-manzi-ni (the 'e' replaces the 'a' so amanzi becomes emanzini).
This is the same in Sawhili. To say in/at/to the water, you say: "majini".
I am sure the same applies for Chichewa.
Madzi amphunga
- rice
- water
- salt
- sugar
1. in a pot put in the rice that you will be cooking for your meal. Add water, but add more than what you would usually use to cook the rice. We need excess water for Madzi amphunga. Add salt to taste
2. bring rice to boil and cook for about 5-7 minutes (not until the rice is fully cooked - it can be 10 minutes, but rice must still need to cook more)
3. at your chosen time, pour off most of the excess water into a container big enough to hold the water.
4. return rice to heat and finish cooking. We are finished with the rice. Now we turn to the Madzi (the water)
5. the water will be white and starchy. To this add sugar to taste. The water is not meant to be very sweet. The small amount of salt and sugar bring the taste out.
6. i prefer this drink warm to hot but some people drink it cold.
7. honey can be substituted for sugar
(Malawian recipes)
Achimwene, achimwali, ciao for now
Yesterday, the 15th of August I migrated through the Northern most border post of Malawi (name forgotten, actually, name not known)and entered Tanzania.
Malawi has been a intense, growthful and fun almost-2 months. I learnt that I really do know what is good for me, and that I really (we all do) have a strong intuition. I also learnt that you should not have space cake on your 3rd or 4th try of weed ;)
I met some pretty extraordinary people.
Carol, in Lilongwe, who taught me how to cook, and be confident in meeting people.
The Pickering family in Lilongwe, who looked out for me (and the other people on Nature's gift farm) - who took me to the lake with them, who made me feel welcome always in their home, and being all of us South African, we just got each other.
Agu, in Nkhota kota who, on my second night there, when I had a stomach bug and there was a gale force wind blowing off the lake, told me that I was not going to sleep alone in my tent and took me to her house and I slept wonderfully.
Nick, from Joburg, who works at a backpackers in Nkhata Bay. Us South Africans, I have learnt, have each others backs. Remember Paul on the chappa to the border in Mozambique? Who carried my bag and helped me with some tricky Portuguese situations? Then the Pickerings, and then Nick. When I had my bad space cake trip, he totally sh** the guy out who gave me some, and hated on him with me. Ah, home away from home.
Sari, Emily, Amy, Mike, Cat, Dan, Diana, Jerome, Viola, the Irish people (Sarah and Liam) - the volunteer team at Butterfly space. They will always be a very special part of my life. My time in Butterfly was too beautiful and for now it is a secret story to reply in my mind and heart. People will hear my stories eventually. For now I am jealously guarding Butterfly as my own ;)
Kwame, my best Malawian friend. We hit it off, him and I. We like the same music and we like to dance and he is silly and everyone at Butterfly just loves him. He is also a do everything kinda 23 year old. He helps with the special needs children care group, he is a great Tonga- English or Tonga - chiTumbuka or chiTumbuka - English (I am sure you get my drift) translator. He sends news reports to a community radio station in Mzimba. And runs the bar at Butterfly. If we are not married in the next 12 years, Kwame and I are going to get married.
Fanny is one of the chefs at Butterfly. She is loud and cras and Cat thinks that we have a crush on each other. She swears at me in Tonga, I shout at her is isiXhosa. We laugh, carry on our days and repeat this again and again. It was so great to meet someone who is just as loud as me. Many people I have met so far are soft spoken and angelic. I sometimes feel as if I am deafening them. I definitely do not deafen Fanny. She ululates in my ear.
These are the people that JUMP to my mind, but there have been many more.
Malawi, I have decided (but plans change) will be revisited on my way home.
And by the way, I have dreads.
Mwende bwino
Malawi has been a intense, growthful and fun almost-2 months. I learnt that I really do know what is good for me, and that I really (we all do) have a strong intuition. I also learnt that you should not have space cake on your 3rd or 4th try of weed ;)
I met some pretty extraordinary people.
Carol, in Lilongwe, who taught me how to cook, and be confident in meeting people.
The Pickering family in Lilongwe, who looked out for me (and the other people on Nature's gift farm) - who took me to the lake with them, who made me feel welcome always in their home, and being all of us South African, we just got each other.
Agu, in Nkhota kota who, on my second night there, when I had a stomach bug and there was a gale force wind blowing off the lake, told me that I was not going to sleep alone in my tent and took me to her house and I slept wonderfully.
Nick, from Joburg, who works at a backpackers in Nkhata Bay. Us South Africans, I have learnt, have each others backs. Remember Paul on the chappa to the border in Mozambique? Who carried my bag and helped me with some tricky Portuguese situations? Then the Pickerings, and then Nick. When I had my bad space cake trip, he totally sh** the guy out who gave me some, and hated on him with me. Ah, home away from home.
Sari, Emily, Amy, Mike, Cat, Dan, Diana, Jerome, Viola, the Irish people (Sarah and Liam) - the volunteer team at Butterfly space. They will always be a very special part of my life. My time in Butterfly was too beautiful and for now it is a secret story to reply in my mind and heart. People will hear my stories eventually. For now I am jealously guarding Butterfly as my own ;)
Kwame, my best Malawian friend. We hit it off, him and I. We like the same music and we like to dance and he is silly and everyone at Butterfly just loves him. He is also a do everything kinda 23 year old. He helps with the special needs children care group, he is a great Tonga- English or Tonga - chiTumbuka or chiTumbuka - English (I am sure you get my drift) translator. He sends news reports to a community radio station in Mzimba. And runs the bar at Butterfly. If we are not married in the next 12 years, Kwame and I are going to get married.
Fanny is one of the chefs at Butterfly. She is loud and cras and Cat thinks that we have a crush on each other. She swears at me in Tonga, I shout at her is isiXhosa. We laugh, carry on our days and repeat this again and again. It was so great to meet someone who is just as loud as me. Many people I have met so far are soft spoken and angelic. I sometimes feel as if I am deafening them. I definitely do not deafen Fanny. She ululates in my ear.
These are the people that JUMP to my mind, but there have been many more.
Malawi, I have decided (but plans change) will be revisited on my way home.
And by the way, I have dreads.
Mwende bwino
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Dear Prof Chris de Wet
Dear Prof Chris de Wet
About two weeks ago I went to a Malawian climate change conference, in Senga Bay, near the south of Lake Malawi. I met the consultant (who was facilitating the workshop) while I was in the Lilongwe tourism offices. We got chatting about tourism and intangible heritage and he said I seemed very eager and that I might be interested in coming to the conference and networking. I jumped at the opportunity.
The conference stared in the morning and by lunch break I realised that this was not an action orientated conference. They were here discussing policy. And then all of our honours work came rushing back to me. We were talking about ethics, politics, human rights and everything else about policy creation. It was intense and I was thankful that I had done your module.
However, in my honours year I struggled to understand a lot of what happened in the classes. At the conference I also understood little of what went down that day. It was interesting, but when we went into discussion groups I spent my time like a spectator at a tennis match, as two people debated back and forth (ever so philosophically) about whether people refer to themselves as A or B...
None-the-less, many thanks for introducing me to this concept however vague the grasping of it is!
Much anthropological love
Lauren
About two weeks ago I went to a Malawian climate change conference, in Senga Bay, near the south of Lake Malawi. I met the consultant (who was facilitating the workshop) while I was in the Lilongwe tourism offices. We got chatting about tourism and intangible heritage and he said I seemed very eager and that I might be interested in coming to the conference and networking. I jumped at the opportunity.
The conference stared in the morning and by lunch break I realised that this was not an action orientated conference. They were here discussing policy. And then all of our honours work came rushing back to me. We were talking about ethics, politics, human rights and everything else about policy creation. It was intense and I was thankful that I had done your module.
However, in my honours year I struggled to understand a lot of what happened in the classes. At the conference I also understood little of what went down that day. It was interesting, but when we went into discussion groups I spent my time like a spectator at a tennis match, as two people debated back and forth (ever so philosophically) about whether people refer to themselves as A or B...
None-the-less, many thanks for introducing me to this concept however vague the grasping of it is!
Much anthropological love
Lauren
Why do dogs bark?
Let me start by asking, do you know why dogs bark?
No?
Well let me tell you.
There was once a time when there were three animals called The Big Three: dog, cow and goat. They lived in a placed ruled over by Lion. They would often visit the village where lion lived. It was far and they needed to catch a minibus that cost 25 kwacha each.
One day Lion called for a very important meeting that all the animals had to attend. So dog, goat and cow climbed onto the minibus. Goat was asked for his money but he said he would pay when he arrived. Dog paid 50 kwacha expecting change. Cow paid 25 kwacha. When they arrived, goat ran away, refusing to pay. When dog asked for his changed the conductor refused.
This is why when you see a dog he is barking at the passing cars, and when you see a cow he is walking freely. And the goat, well he always runs away from everything.
~with thanks to Bless, from Nkata Bay~
No?
Well let me tell you.
There was once a time when there were three animals called The Big Three: dog, cow and goat. They lived in a placed ruled over by Lion. They would often visit the village where lion lived. It was far and they needed to catch a minibus that cost 25 kwacha each.
One day Lion called for a very important meeting that all the animals had to attend. So dog, goat and cow climbed onto the minibus. Goat was asked for his money but he said he would pay when he arrived. Dog paid 50 kwacha expecting change. Cow paid 25 kwacha. When they arrived, goat ran away, refusing to pay. When dog asked for his changed the conductor refused.
This is why when you see a dog he is barking at the passing cars, and when you see a cow he is walking freely. And the goat, well he always runs away from everything.
~with thanks to Bless, from Nkata Bay~
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
A opportunity to publish online
This is a fellow writer, published online. Check it out!
http://www.africanwriter.com/articles/568/1/Thousand-Metre-Sea-Shell---A-Short-Story-by-Tristan-Jacobs/Page1.html
http://www.africanwriter.com/articles/568/1/Thousand-Metre-Sea-Shell---A-Short-Story-by-Tristan-Jacobs/Page1.html
Briquettes
How to make paper briquettes:
paper briquettes are a wonderful addition to regular charcoal and can be used for heating up wood/clay and brick ovens.
Need:
1 large tub
a bag of old paper (a wonderful paper recycling initiative)
a pile of dry leaves (optional)
water, to fill the tub
fill tub half with water
pull up a chair, put on some music and spend the next two hours or so (you neednt do it in one sitting, you can break it up, i can get a bit boring...) tearing the paper into little pieces and mixing it in with the water.
Regarding the leaves, these are optional. From my little experience, the leaves do not actually burn as well as just the paper... Maybe it was the type of leaf we used. If you want to get rid of some leaves, you can add a little and play around with the consistency until you get a briquette that burns well. Personally, I prefer just paper.
With the leaves you need to get something that can cruch the leaves to a fine powder. We used a big pestle and mortar, a good old fashined African pounder that you see painted in all the paintings of women busy pounding maize. Make sure the leaf powder is stick free (as much as you can).
Mix some powder, if using, into the paper and water mixture. Leave to stand for two or three days.
You now have a papery slush. Once again, pull up a chair, put on some music and start squeeing out the water and chaping them into balls (of any size).
Once finished leave to dry in the sun for a few days.
Use in conjunction with regular coal or wood. Privided good heat. (I had a picture of it, alas, many pictures have been lost for the time being, working on recovering them!)
These briquettes have been used in Malawi as a prevention means to deforestation in the country for wood to make coal (used for cooking and for firing the mud bricks used in building).
Zikomo!
paper briquettes are a wonderful addition to regular charcoal and can be used for heating up wood/clay and brick ovens.
Need:
1 large tub
a bag of old paper (a wonderful paper recycling initiative)
a pile of dry leaves (optional)
water, to fill the tub
fill tub half with water
pull up a chair, put on some music and spend the next two hours or so (you neednt do it in one sitting, you can break it up, i can get a bit boring...) tearing the paper into little pieces and mixing it in with the water.
Regarding the leaves, these are optional. From my little experience, the leaves do not actually burn as well as just the paper... Maybe it was the type of leaf we used. If you want to get rid of some leaves, you can add a little and play around with the consistency until you get a briquette that burns well. Personally, I prefer just paper.
With the leaves you need to get something that can cruch the leaves to a fine powder. We used a big pestle and mortar, a good old fashined African pounder that you see painted in all the paintings of women busy pounding maize. Make sure the leaf powder is stick free (as much as you can).
Mix some powder, if using, into the paper and water mixture. Leave to stand for two or three days.
You now have a papery slush. Once again, pull up a chair, put on some music and start squeeing out the water and chaping them into balls (of any size).
Once finished leave to dry in the sun for a few days.
Use in conjunction with regular coal or wood. Privided good heat. (I had a picture of it, alas, many pictures have been lost for the time being, working on recovering them!)
These briquettes have been used in Malawi as a prevention means to deforestation in the country for wood to make coal (used for cooking and for firing the mud bricks used in building).
Zikomo!
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