Beans & Rice for the Soul

teaching, learning and living around the world

Bits and pieces


Great advice from the Americanah blog.

The best language is simple, sincere, and should actually make sense. Be original. Be real.


Looked through some old photos this week. I never could have imagined that a path like this:

Outside of Minova, Democratic Republic of Congo.

Outside of Minova, Democratic Republic of Congo.

would lead me toward a place like this:

Chateau de Chambord, France

Chateau de Chambord, France

And that’s Anga Merlo for you. Pretty excited to marry that guy!


I recently finished Toni Morrison’s Beloved. Her words are thick and heavy. I could only read it in small doses and each time I earmarked a page to return to later, I’d do one of those quick, intense, exhales. Whoo.

I noticed a little blurb about another book of hers that I’d like to pick up soon.  The Bluest Eye.  The description immediately reminded me of Lupita Nyong’o’s speech on beauty.


You know how sometimes the perfect song comes on the radio? So in Brussels, after I told my school I wouldn’t return the next year… and before I was offered a job at Bridge… it was a roller coaster ride.  And one morning on the way to school this song came on and brought me so much peace! It recently resurfaced… Home by Phillip Phillips.

Hold on to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along

Just know you’re not alone
‘Cause I’m gonna make this place your home

Settle down, it’ll all be clear
Don’t pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble—it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found


Had some delicious nyama choma in the Ngong Hills, just outside Nairobi.  I don’t know if the hair here is tradition or poor form, but there’s the goat tail for you.

Mbuzi choma. Grilled goat.  Ngong Hills, Kenya.

Mbuzi choma. Grilled goat. Ngong Hills, Kenya.


One comment on “Bits and pieces

  1. mtsoumah
    February 18, 2015

    Bluest Eye- yes, read it. And then read it again, And don’t forget to breathe. Taught this to a group of “juvenile delinquents” (read- mostly students of mixed heritage from poverty stricken homes, definitely juvenile, not necessarily delinquent, or at least not of their own making.) As for the hair, maybe it was meant to be a cushy handle? Or a sign of prestige, lest you think you were eating some lowlier form of meat…? Goat meat, that’s how they roll in Ngong Hills (and on the streets of Kin, without the hair. Maybe its a preference of place.) Courage toujours. The path is long.

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This entry was posted on February 18, 2015 by in books, humanities, inspiration, life, travel.
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