Lose of Sanity and Sanitation

When my wonderful family visited me last month they not only graced me with their presence (and much needed piece of home) but also stocked their suitcases with yummy, yummy treats. Per request, they flew with; maple syrup, mac n cheese, m&m's, tuna, cliff bars and pancake mix.

I love pancakes, more than any other food. In college my dad bought me a big skillet for my 21^st birthday, specifically for making pancakes.

Pancakes remind me of all my family coming back after church every Sunday and hanging in the kitchen while my dad made a huge batch; adding choc chips for me, apple for Christine and mom, and 6 servings of bacon for Sean. It reminds me of the nights in high school when Mom was distraught on what to cook us for dinner so every time we convinced her breakfast for dinner.

After my whole family left Namibia I grew slightly homesick. I am so far into my service (19 months, about to celebrate my second birthday!) and was just given a taste of all the love I left back home only to have it leave after a short 4,000 km trip. But at least I have the pancake mix, right?! My thoughts exactly. So this past week I, like a newbie to hut life, left it out uncovered in my kitchen hut after using it a few days before. Well...a sneaky mouse cleverly hopped in (without ever knocking it over) and left 4 'lil nuggets behind. I was in a serious dilemma. Do I throw out the whole package knowing the mouse was hopping around in the mixture? Or do I just scoop the poop and indulge in my coveted treat that symbolizes so much more than just pancakes?

After consulting my friend Tracy (and ignoring my friend Christina), I scooped the poop.

But that's not all!

I have really cute hangers for all my kitchen utensils (can opener, knife, spatula, strainer, vegetable peeler, etc) from bits of reeds that I cut short. So my spatula hangs off my reed wall and, due to lack of running water, sometimes does not get washed after every single use. Such was the case with the 'scoop the poop pancake mix'. I made my first pancake, and after I flipped my second I noticed ants scurrying all over my shirt. I look at my spatula and notice them everywhere. Food particles from the last use attracted the ants and I unknowingly fried a whole load of them into my precious pancakes. Still determined to eat them, I went ahead and picked out about 30 dead, fried ants out of them (and probably missed a good number more...)

When coated with Aunt Jemima they were as delicious as in America.