a sampling of the ceramic masks hanging on my backyard fence. The masks are made by a local potter named Faye. I’m attempting to transfer the Voodoo Mask idea into knitting. And I’m working with shades of brown.
a sampling of the ceramic masks hanging on my backyard fence. The masks are made by a local potter named Faye. I’m attempting to transfer the Voodoo Mask idea into knitting. And I’m working with shades of brown.
A few years ago, 18 to be more precise, I wrote a memoir which I called 8 Countries, 62 years. Now at age 80 I plan to write the sequel and fill in a few gaps. Yesterday at church coffee hour I was asked the conversation starter question – how did you meet the man you married – or words to that effect.
It’s a long story – or a very short story.
Step 1 – we met in Kenya in August 1966.
Ian at the Nairobi Show, September 1966
After my post a few days ago about seeing the African masks at a woodworkers home, I started looking at our own collection of African carvings. They seemed to be everywhere – some of them I had completely forgotten about. More memories came flooding back.
from Ghana – bought in the open air market in Accra, 1988
I can’t remember where or when we acquired this carving
the black carving up on the high shelf in our kitchen is also from Ghana
purchased in Machakos Kenya in September 1966 this was the first of many expeditions with my new boy friend who is now my husband of 48 years. We sat on a hillside near a stream and watched the man carving these figures. We were young. Now many years later my husband now uses a cane like this Kenyan mzee. I never had to tote water like this woman but she was certainly representative of Kenya at that time.
My blog entry for today is from the Kenya side of my life. Namely the time now 20+ years ago when we were living in Nairobi and were very involved with activities at UNCHS and UNEP and the U.S. Library of Congress.
this photo is from the BBC. Wangari Maathai is receiving the Nobel Peace Prize in 2004. She was the first African woman to be honored in this way. Sadly she has now died, at the age of 71, undergoing treatment for cancer. A strong activist and a woman to be much admired.
Yes, Mud Cloth from Mali, that’s what the tag says on a little bag I bought today.
Simple, elegant.
To quote the tag: “The traditional cloth of Mali is called “bogolan,” known here as mud cloth. Historically, men weave the white cotton and women create the intricate designs, although the roles have become interchangeable today. It starts out as hand spun cotton, made on site. Then an elaborate process of dying (sic) with the mud and bark takes place. It is said that mud cloth was first dscovered when a hunter chased an antelope into a river in Northern Mali, getting mud on his tunic. When his wife tried to clean the tunic, she could not remove the mud stains. This same river provides the best mud for making cloth which is now used for everything from scarves to table runners to handbags.”
map of Mali from the Lonely Planet website