Category Archives: Might be funny

Hello Google

I think now that we are in a brand spanking new and fresh place it is time for a little revisit to the search engines. Who knows how you end up here?

i need a horse for my wedding in kampala

Do you now? Can I come? I would love to see a wedding in the middle of Kampala that featured a horse, skipping tidily over a pot hole or two. Will the horse wear ribbons on its tails and will you wear bells on your toes? I do hope your wedding fantasies come true and you find the horse you have been dreaming about.

lying on elbows

You know I find it a bit knobbly and painful. I prefer to lie on my arms, chin on hands, eyes on the movie. But if you are googling this I imagine you don’t know how to accomplish this tricky position. Are you lying on your own elbows? Perhaps those of a dear friend? You dog perhaps? I suggest you slather said elbows in cocoa butter, so as to have a smooth landing and a fragrant smell. Good luck, I hope the elbows give you all the comfort you need, and much more.

road tripping stories

I suggest you don’t trip over or down any roads. It might hurt. I do have a few stories of road trips and I can tell you that on more than one occasion it felt like tripping, in every sense of the word. Be careful, take plenty of apples, think about who you take, drive safe,  do not tip the car and watch out for people called Papu.

happy family in walk

Ahhh, Yes a family in walk is a good and happy family indeed. However there is nowhere to walk here in Bahrain, we walk to the car, out of the car, into the mall/school/supermarket, where we walk happily for a short while and then back into the car. When I am very lucky I walk in London, Montreal or some other city in the Great Shiny West, but rarely are we all together as a family in walk. The best happy family in walk is certainly on the beach.

mudfull

Be mindful of the mud, my friend. If you are here looking for mud, 3limes in Uganda was full of it. Now that we are in the desert, no longer are we full of mud. So sandfull might be more appropriate.

lying in bed reading.

I am charmed that this brought you to my humble home for lying in bed with books is one of my most favourite past times. We all subscribe to the activity and there are many Saturday afternoons when an inquisitive bee, bothering around the house would find four persons, reclining happily on beds with books. I suggest large pillows, a cup of tea and dig in. Presently I am reading three books: Pulse by Julian Barnes, The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton, and Brave new World by Huxely.

Puberty

Now you have come to the right place. We can offer you Puberty at Home 101, pre Puberty at Home 101, Puberty in the Workplace 201, Puberty and its impact on listening to the teacher 401. We also offer side workshops in the following areas: “ Take that Caterpillar off your upper lip” and “ The unexpected: dodging tears and flying objects.”

Red Dust under car dash

Now you have made me nostalgic. Whereas there were moments last year and the one before when I glared at the red dust and wished it gone, now I am looking for it and it is nowhere to be find. Not under my finger nails, not on my window sill and not any where near my car dash. Look how those things once pesky, when no longer here become poetic!

Cockroach room 101

You are not a nice man, yes you. And I am certain no girl would google that, she wouldn’t. Now I have written the post here and there that have mentioned the dreaded roach but how did you assume that they were my 101. Now I have to go and clean out my head, again. Thank you very much. And by the way how lucky am I for a lady with such a particular 101 to be living in hot countries, the ones they really love.

Giant African Snail in Trinidad

I am so proud. How many people can  show off that their blog gets this accolade? 3limes is the only one that internet searches for cockroaches, giant snails, killing chickens and Shoebill birds ( even in Russian китоглав) will all find. How did this happen? I belong to the species Maximus Wimpinus.

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The tale of my birthday cake

Funny story. Regular readers of 3limes might be familiar with the quintessential Uganda Cake story. It was a sober warning to many not to trust a cake that comes from the hands of a Ugandan Patisserie, no, far better to bake your own. Well as I mentioned just yesterday my sweet girls had made me a chocolate cheese cake, showed it to me at breakfast time and then we  spent most of the day in anticipation of the wonderful after school treat that was to come.

Princess carefully sliced three portions, placed them on plates and solemnly carried them to the dining room table. They looked at each other with shifty eyes, one of them shrugged; I think I heard a “shhh”.

Then we took a bite and the truth was out, the cat was out of the bag, the jig was up, the spell was broken.

“This tastes like onion.” I said, trying not to sound too surprised.

“The texture is lovely, the chocolate so smooth and yummy but after the first hit of cocoa on the tongue something is wrong.” I said, trying to sound intrigued.

Turns out there was quite a story behind the cake.

In order to make the cheese cake they had to ask Sarah our amazing beyond words house keeper to buy cream cheese for them while they were at school. Princess handed over her pocket money and off Sarah went, to four different shops (this is Kampala) on four different bodas and finally found some. Only the cream cheese she found was cream cheese with onions and chives. Sarah, not being familiar with chocolate cheesecake, let alone the hummingbird cafe Chocolate cheesecake, had no idea what cream cheese even was.

The girls immediately saw the problem but were too embarrassed to tell Sarah that she had erred in her choice of cream cheese, since she has gone to so much trouble. So they made it anyway. Two thirds regular cream cheese (that we already had in the fridge) and one third onion and chives.

And let me tell you: chocolate might go well with chilli, orange, or even rosemary, so I hear, but it does not marry well with the sharp sour taste of onion.

We need to wait until Sarah takes her day off on Saturday before we can toss it in the bin.

Handsome Husband laughed. “Looks like you got Ugandan Birthday Cake too!’

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Filed under Family Stuff, Might be funny

Welcome. How on earth did you end up here?

It’s time for another visit to the search engines. Don’t you think? Let’s see how people are finding themselves in the warm and cosy world of 3limes.

ugandan cakes and pastries

Well we all know my opinion of Ugandan cake. My advice to you is to make one yourself or go directly to the Serena and pay a small fortune for a chocolate gateau. That is unless you fancy a cake that might need to be detonated with a small hand grenade before you can vacuum the morsels into your mouth or sniff them through a rolled up 100,000 Shilling note.

road trip stories

Ahhh. I have a few of those. I assume that if you are looking for stories it is because you might be thinking of a trip? My advice to you is this: bring spare tires, choose your company carefully and purchase sling shots. And maybe a pillow for the numb bum that comes from 12 hour drives. Alternatively there are such things as airplanes.

dancing in the rain photography

I had no idea there was such a genre. I have been known to dance in the rain. The first and probably most memorable time was during a summer rain shower at boarding school. It was 1985 and we had just finished our O’ levels. I clearly remember the warm rain, the freedom we felt as we danced at the far end of the rugby pitch in a quiet corner of England. It was us, the pungent grass, our wet warm shoulders and our lives laid out like a quilt ahead. However, the photography you may be referring to might be the happy girls prancing in mud and rain at Trooper’s birthday party last year. Perhaps there should be such a genre, it would be a nostalgic moment for many.

kampala man living beneath

This worries me slightly. What would he be living beneath exactly? I dare to suggest it might be a dead dog? Perhaps a pile of rotting rubbish? Maybe he has actually taken up residence beneath a giant billboard advertising a refreshing beer? He is certainly not living beneath his means.

busiest kfc in the world

This is in Trinidad. Independence square to be exact. Those Trinis do love their fried chicken. Often the hallways of our school reeked of KFC and fries on a Friday lunch time. I have no idea how they stayed so slim and beautiful. Must have been all that dancing. Happy, fried chicken lovers they are.

joy of being a great grandparent

Lovely.  I am very happy for you. But if you feel so much joy why on earth are you resorting to the search engines? Perhaps you have a rascal for a great grandson and need to find the joy, somehow? My dear Grandmother simply loved being a Great Grandparent. She was known to throw fairy tea parties for her great granddaughters in a magical corner of the garden. There was always cake, fairy dust , roses and chocolate buttons. Tons of buttons. Go and find the joy.

thick big but black girlsvideos

Hello sir. Welcome to 3limes. You have come to the wrong place. We have seen lots of thick and big black buts but have no videos, sorry. No off you go. You saucy boy.

uganda a nice country?

Yes, it is. Are you coming here? Perhaps if you are contemplating a move you might consider a more specific question. Such as: Are the roads smooth? Is there a Starbucks?

i miss you rabbit

Ahhh. Sweet. Did you think that by typing that into the search engines he would hear you? This is not a direct line to Rabbit heaven.

little miss

Oh I know a few of those. What are you interested in? Little Miss Princess? Little Miss Trooper? Little Miss Bossy Boots?  There are certain times of the week when we offer special deals on all of the above. Please pop me an email and we can discuss.

little miss bossy

Oh here you are again. Little Miss Bossy was present at breakfast this morning and is currently out on loan to the Ugandan Armed Forces.

pedicure

Yes. We all need one. Are you enquiring whether we offer them here at 3limes? Or perhaps what one is? I can recommend a rather fine fellow here in Kampala. The current flavour of the week is OPI Strawberry Margarita.

macbeth facebook

Does he have a facebook page? Really? I am going to “friend” him right now.

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Moving house the Kampala way

What was I thinking?

We have moved A LOT so when I called a moving company to shift our things from Shoebox to The Villa I thought I was dealing with a professional situation.  It  started well, a well spoken gentleman in a dark car with tinted windows came to look around and give us an estimate. I thought we were going to be in good hands. That was on Thursday at 6pm. By Monday there was still no estimate in my inbox. Finally I received a text saying that his email was down and that the price would be 660,000 shillings ( $325.) I am not sure where he got that price from, probably somewhere in his head because when I texted a quick reply that I found his price outrageous he, without much hesitation, came down to 555,000 shillings. No, I replied, that was still too steep, particularly considering the fact that we would be doing most of the packing and it was a simply a small shoebox full of things. I said we would not consider paying a shilling over 400,000. Then silence. Nothing. I started to panic. We were moving in three days and we had no men, no truck and no boxes. This morning I learnt the lesson I should have learnt back when I was 14. Play hard to get.  He called and agreed to my price and promised to come over at 5.30 pm to deliver boxes and collect his 50% deposit.

I was excited. Hope filled our small home as we sat and waited and waited. By the time he rolled up at 7.45pm we were deep into a power cut and the idea of filling boxes was turning into a fantasy.

You know how boxes normally come flat, new and stiff? Well silly me for forgetting I was in Africa. These boxes are probably on their 7th trip around the block, a motley assortment of sizes, they are and bent out of shape too. Did I imagine maybe 20 or so boxes? Well we have 7. They did use tape to turn them back into the boxes they once and more than once were but they had no scissors. Luckily we did.

Over in the Great Shiny West we use brand new boxes to move and then we throw them onto the curb. Here nothing is wasted, nothing is thrown out. No wonder he was insisting on unpacking in the new house. He wants his boxes back!

I have no idea how Friday will go.

The charming thing is that both Princess and Trooper ran upstairs to pack their room by candlelight.

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Filed under Family Stuff, Might be funny, Uganda

“Did you hear what the teacher said?”

Well I am back at work and teenagers keep pouring into my classroom.  Funny how one new male student, with reasonable looks and a certain charm can throw all the girls into a tizzy. The whole class is like a mini hurricane and he is the eye of the storm. The girls don’t know where to look or put themselves so try teaching them grammar under such conditions. Meanwhile the boys are all aware of this new rooster in the flock so chests and puffed and struts are strutting. The hormones are a raging.

Now imagine this little scene. We have two text books with long and convoluted names; to make things easier I have decided to refer to them by the name of the author, one being Barr and one Cox. Today I directed them to the attractive steel prison grey cabinets to collect their supplies and once they were all seated, legs splayed and chests out I asked in my best cheery teacher voice:

“Ok everyone! Have you all got your Cox out?”

It’s only day two.

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Filed under Might be funny, Miss Teacher

Meet Irma

Photo not in the slightest bit relevant but it was taken in London by Princess, and I think it is gorgeous.

What kind of crazy person drinks strong expresso at 6.30pm?  Of course I only remembered drinking the coffee with a sort of “ohhhhh…” feeling when I still couldn’t sleep at 1am. So here I am downstairs typing in the dark in the middle of the night. I am safely back in Kampala and after a month away very content to be a family again. Handsome Husband stayed behind to work while we were all off playing in the Great Shiny West and it was a happy reunion at the airport, which is a strange sort of symmetry was also the exact 1 year anniversary of our first arrival in Uganda.  What a difference a year makes, and what a difference a month away makes too. I have been thinking about how different places make one feel like different people. I generally feel quite good about myself here, I even have days when I feel a tinge of glamour. In London, however I tended to feel like a country bumpkin, especially in the first weeks. After a while I started to recover my composure, or perhaps that was the shopping.

In any case this is something wrote early on in my month long sojurn. Welcome to Irma. ( with apologies to any seriously Glam Irma’s out there. It was the first name that seemed to fit the way I felt. Doesn’t everybody name their alter egos?)

After about a week in London I start to feel like Irma. She is the name I have given to a fictional character in my head. A slightly frumpy school librarian whose daughters are at camp for the summer so she has decided to come to London to visit her glamorous and sophisticated friends. Wearing too much linen, Birkinstocks and with the ubiquitous Coach bag slung over her chest she screams of a comfortable existence in the American backwater. Irma, lives in my mind, and an Irma day comes from spending too much time with my very thin and fashionable Mother and Sister.  When I wake up feeling like Irma my Handsome Husband always reassures me that I am no Irma and that I must take myself off, head high, to buy some shoes. He knows the therapy I need.

So Irma, did indeed head off for a day of retail therapy in Selfridges with said thin and glamourous mother and sister. By the end of the day Irma was beginning to shed and my inner city self, hidden for too long, began to emerge. Honestly there isn nothing like a Chanel red lipstick and a pair of heels to shake Irma away. Now what am I to do with heels and red lips in Kampala, I have no idea. There in a nutshell do we find, once again the in-between world of 3limes.

Irma hasn’t surfaced for awhile. She seems not to visit Kampala that often.

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Filed under Might be funny, personal

Weekend Escape to the Itchy Lemon


Kampala was getting me down and to avoid the smog, dust, noise and smell of rotting cow horns, I made an impulsive decision to head to Jinja for the night. We decided to stay at an island called The Hairy Lemon, a place I heard spoken of many times. It is a small island about 60km upstream from Jinja and is famous for being very quiet, a great place to Kayak and having an excellent campsite. Paying heed to my inner princess I decided to sleep in a Banda ( a small, basic, concrete house ) rather than camp in a tent. Despite the positive inroads I have made in my relationship with a tent, I have decided that I will only sleep in a tent if there is no alternative. The Hairy Lemon is well known for its vegetarian food and coupled with the fact that I was longing for some silence, I thought this Lemon, hairy or not, would be just the ticket.

The drive was a little over 2 hours. Imagine this distance on a wide and smooth highway in the Shiny West and it could have taken 45 minutes. Much of the drive was pot holed or involved hurtling over rough speed bumps placed at foot long intervals. I spent most of the drive thankful that I was wearing a bra and singing Grease songs at the top of my lungs. I arrived hungry and excited for my mini break.

A small dug out canoe takes visitors from the bank to the island, a ride that is only minutes long, but makes the arrival seems quite romantic. The kids, like wild dogs let off a leash took off at some speed to run and explore the island. The family we were with, who shall for ever after be known as the Super Campers, unloaded their tents and marched up the hill to set up camp. ( They are ALL Trooper with no Princess in sight, hidden or otherwise.) These are friends who always carry snacks, always have the right gear, always have chairs to fold out and sit on. They put me to shame.

Anyway…. The afternoon passed well, despite the barely edible lunch. The vegetarians amongst us, who had, I presumed, been expected, were served food where the meat had quite obviously been pulled out. Husbands napped, wives read, children frolicked in the rapids, it was all calm, quiet and restorative.

Dinner was quite simply inedible. We dined, instead on chocolate and either coke or wine, ( age appropriate, if nothing else) and worried about where we could brush our teeth with no running water around. The toilets were all long drops (exactly as it sounds, it drops a long way down) and strangely, whereas they hadn’t bothered me in the slightest in Bunyoni, here I was irritated. I had left Kampala for some peace and quiet and I was finding the gag inducing toilets and lack of warm showers very annoying. Still, at least I wasn’t in a tent, I thought, as I prepared for bed to the sound of rain pounding the tin roof.

Sometime during the night I began to feel it. The stinging sensation that comes from being bitten by something very very mean. It was not a mosquito as there was no buzzing accompaniment, and mosquitos tend to drift away and then return to munch on a different place. I was being bitten from the top of my thigh, all the way down. In the morning I discovered a dozen large, swollen welts. I am convinced there was a large, hungry Safari Ant in my bed.

Eager not to appear too much like a Princess in front of the Super Campers, I tried hard to smile and laugh about the toilets and joke about how we could always shower at home, but inside I was fuming and dying to return to my little house. The very same house, that I had called boxy and was so intent to escape just 24 hours before.

As we came home, and how sweet home felt, I made a decision. I will not go anywhere for the weekend unless there are flushing toilets and warm showers. I will indulge my inner princess and no longer push her away in shame. I am what I am and I have the itchy thighs to prove it.

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Filed under Might be funny, personal, When the rose tint fades