AfricanKelli

« Home

A friend at the bagel shop, who is sporting an impressive beard himself, would like to have one of these Billy Gibbons hats. I did a bit of research, and strangely enough this ZZ Top dude retired his Texas cowboy hat for an African Nudu cap. The African Nudu? They are Bamilike from Bamenda — just a 45 minute drive from my Peace Corps post in western Cameroon.
Bamenda is one of the most charming African cities I’ve ever visited. It was a special get away. When I got sick of French and needed the company and comforts of a larger city, I would hike out of my village, take a couple of buses and meet up with the other volunteers in Bamenda. Granted, I was only there for a few months, but in that time I grew rather fond of this city and its amenities.
Bamenda is the the western English (pidgin) speaking region of Cameroon, not terribly far from the Nigerian border. The city sits in a large tropical valley, and the people are kind and welcoming. This is one of Cameroon’s larger cities. In the outlying mountains, which are thick with fog most mornings, there is an excellent restaurant and shop called “Handicraft” just off of the ring road. They cook a mean chicken dish and sell amazing handmade items.
{Although one time I ventured off to the bathroom (latrine) behind the restaurant and found a baboon chained to a tree. That makes you think twice about ordering the chicken.}

Back to the hat — the only way I can think to create something like this is to knit a beanie and then add a bunch of icords off the top. Any ideas? I don’t know how to crochet, but I’m guessing that would be considerably easier to create these little Bamendian dreads.

I feel like I am supposed to make this hat. After all, how bizarre is it a man I know wants a hat worn by one of his favorite singers, a hat that comes from one of the few areas of the world I happen to know? Odd, don’t you think?

Knitters put on your thinking caps (ha!) and please let me know your ideas.
~K

I drive by this crane every day on my way home from work and laugh every single day thinking of one of my favorite movies.

“A gun rack… a gun rack. I don’t even own *a* gun, let alone many guns that would necessitate an entire rack. What am I gonna do… with a gun rack?”

~K

I spent a couple hours in the kitchen last night cooking this soup. While measuring out the spices, chopping the vegetables and sipping a rather nice glass of Shiraz, I spent a bit of time thinking about art, crafting and my creative process.

Have you heard of Zen cooking? Lynne Rosetto Casper, my Saturday cooking buddy, discussed this a bit recently. Essentially it means you get so into the recipe, the ingredients, the flavors, that you enjoy the process more than the food. You cook to cook, not to eat. I felt that way last night.

It’s kind of like being the “zone” with exercise. Every now and then, I pull on my running shoes, stretch my hamstrings and find myself smiling while making my way down the dusty canal. The wind whips by, the birds chirp and the stars align to create the sort of run that you won’t soon forget. You are fast and it seems effortless.
I’ve rarely found this in crafting. While the monotony of knitting is meditative, I’m never without worry that I have, or will, drop a stitch. Sewing is a bit stressful too. I’m terrible at patterns. I try and try and then try again, but ultimately, I have to see someone do something to master it myself. My seam ripper is getting dull.
I don’t think I’ll find the zen of art + craft until I slow down and remember what it is I love about being at my sewing machine. Is it the end product, or the process? Why create 15 wristlets with sloppy zippers when one perfect pouch incorporating a new technique would make my heart soar? Less is more.

Like I said, soup and pondering. And maybe a bit too much wine.
~K

I’m a bit late to the Bill Bryson fan club, but consider me an official member. A Walk in the Woods is my third Bryson book and by far my favorite. I’m nearly done, after having just started it two days ago. It is one of those books I only want to put down so I can sleep to get energy to read some more. It is that funny.

My favorite excerpt so far:

“I was especially riveted by an amateur photograph in Herrero’s book, taken late at night by a camper with a flash at a campground out West. The photograph caught four black bears as they puzzled over a suspended food bag. The bears were clearly startled but not remotely alarmed by the flash. It was not the size or demeanor of the bears that troubled me — they looked almost comically unaggressive, like four guys who had gotten a Frisbee caught up a tree — but their numbers. Up to that moment it had not occurred to me that bears might prowl in parties. What on earth would I do if four bears came into my camp? Why, I would die, of course. Literally shit myself lifeless. I would blow my sphincter out my backside like one of those unrolling paper streamers you get at children’s parties — I daresay it would even give a merry toot — and bleed to a messy death in my sleeping bag.”

I am going to be sad when I finish this gem.
~K

The weather forecast in Phoenix today is like something out of Mary Poppins — practically perfect in every way. I decided to seize the opportunity and went for a 2-hour ride through the giant suburban stucco cul-de-sac, also known as Ahwatukee. Sufjan Stevens and Jay Z alternated on my iPod — pushing me with contrasting styles, the sun was keeping me warm but not hot, my legs felt strong and I was really enjoying the ride. Before I knew it, I was 20 miles or so from home without much other than a good attitude and water bottle. By the time I made my way back, I was beyond hungry, rather shaky and desperate for a warm shower.
I trekked over to Rubio’s — one of my favorite weekend haunts — for a fish burrito and some much needed ice tea, but before I could sit down to eat, I managed to spill two ambitiously full containers of green salsa on my table, book, wallet and keys. Just as I finished cleaning up the mess and laughing at myself, I shook my Nalgene full of ice tea a bit too much and the ice came clattering down, sending freezing cold refreshment down my shirt and pants. Nice.
A family sitting a few tables away didn’t bother to stifle their laughter. Their kids had laughed after my jalapeno jolting salsa mess. Now dripping in ice tea, I’m pretty sure their parents wondered if I was on drugs or just possibly the least coordinated human being they’d ever seen.
As my friend Homer J. Simpson would say, “I’m so smart. S-M-R-T.”

~K