amaryllis and chocolate spring rolls 29 May

In the name of Allah most gracious most merciful, who sends down the rain from the heavens to nourish us all.

 

Alhamdulilaah the birthday braai went off well, thanks to abundance from the garden - lettuce, peppers, tomato, spring onions and chives, dill, fresh peas and spinach for warm veggies with cheese sauce; garlic for marinades. Now if I could make cheese I could have crumbled my own feta over salads. One day ...



rocket

Abubakr laughed when I said a braai can be wholesome too so I pulled out all the stops. Dipped the breads in garlic and olive oil. Dressings of balsamic vinegar and olive oil and a ban on fizzy drinks. Just joking but it was in moderation. Ustadhs also brought some  sweet potato wrapped in foil and lowered into the coals.After lunch, teachers and students frolicked and jumped over three sticks and built up a good appetite for mousse cake and warm tea.

But my best treat was spring rolls from Waseemah. I still offered the plate around once went to get the camera and it was polished off. Phyllo wrapped around banana and dark chocolate with a hint of cinnamon, hmmmm scrumptious. Everyone asks for the recipe kanala.

chameleon on red chaste tree

Today the birds are heady - skydiving and letting the wind carry them, the little ones come down so low I fear they will bump into me. WE FOUND THE CHAMELEON! How did it get so far over on the other side of the garden? It seems to love only the chaste trees, it is hiding and curled on the red chaste tree this time.

This week students are busy completing oral presentations of duahs and public speaking and taking their studying very seriously. It was heartwarming to hear the comments of students on the Enrichment Programme at IPSA. Their own realisations of their progress and self development, Subhaanallah.

On Sunday, in an attempt to replant something I dug up anamaryllis plant tucked in deep in the grass and injured the new growth, I just pushed a back in the soil making duah that it will grow new leaves inshAllah - and what do you know today I got a gift from someone with a few bulbs, thank you Allah.
 

Today we make duah for all those busy with exams: matriculants, college and university students and life long learners. Hit the books, but take out time to relax too!

plant food and duahs for those who are swatting

Yasmine


peas in a pod



teeny tiny chamomile seedlings

 

 

26 May 2014- Miraaj tonight, Ramadhan is coming

In the name of Allah most gracious most merciful

 

Tonight we will stand shoulder to shoulder and contemplate upon the night journey of our Beloved Rasululaahi salalaahu alayhi wasalam. We cleanse our hearts from any rancor and we declare our testimony to Allah, the One Ilaa.

Our weekend planting was briefly interrupted by the beautiful wedding of Abubakr’s niece Qudsiyya to Jehad on Saturday, so striking these two young people in both their adab and dedication. It was wonderful seeing three of our IPSA students at the wedding! Sunday morning early I was in the garden planting delphiniums, sowing Canterbury bells and lobelia and so impatient to plant the new beetroot and carrot seedlings in the wooden crate. But first things first, I was lekker tired of the day before so I made a high powered smoothie of fresh fruit from our local greengrocer ( support Nefies!) and everyone was lying in a bit. But I put on my boots, dressed warmly and walked briskly a few times around the property.

iris heads up

I am starting to be a real planting junkie – I allocate every nook and cranny and stuff it with newly made compost and soil and shove seeds into it. Methi (fenugreek) along the cracks in the path. Onions in the sides of the strawberries. Leeks all around the edges of the beets and carrot. Finally Abu joined me, I was having far too much fun and he started pushing in compost between the paving and we contemplated putting in spearmint (like in Madinah) in between. I found spaces to plant the black eye Susie. The efforts of Waseemah and Azrah pay off. I also bought some calendula for in between veggies and now I am content Alhamdulilaah.

Abubakr has started recycling the milk trays and planted at least 20 smallish fruit trees and packed them against the shadecloth and it looks awesome. We bought a few guava trees still young enough to try our hand at espaliering (training them to grow flat and in the shape of a fan). And then by the afternoon we heard about the janaazah of Faldela and went through to Salt River after Magrib. Verily, one finds solace in prayer. Was so good to see the family and some old District Six friends. I met Aunty Gawa Amos – the woman of the beautiful rambling roses that trailed all around her garden in Tilbury Street. Ma Sha Allah, at over eighty still so beautiful and full of life (the Aunt of Faldela). I also recognised another woman, Aunty Mureeda (hope I got her name right) who took care of us when our parents were on hajj in ’71.

Today I water the seedlings lightly after spending all of yesterday in the garden, tidying up after the winds and allocating new spaces for planting, shukran Allah. I am astounded every day at the barakah bestowed on the garden. Three huge mushrooms have popped up from the compost. How quickly everything grows and can be shared with others and used in the cooking every day.

 

 

 

The potato plants are really growing quick and strong and soon I will fill it to the brims of the necks of the plants with more soil and compost. After the rain large mushrooms make their appearance in the garden. All the corms and bulbs planted are out and the spaces between strawberries are now being utilized for lettuce and spinach and garlic and of course its best companion borage.

 

All the lavender seedlings have taken root, Abu is almost dancing a jig with happiness, the wind blew over one if his catering trays with seedlings and as he picked them up there were teeny weeny roots. Till tomorrow then, a lot to do before this evening, this holy night, when we got the gift of our five waqts of solaah, welcome Ramadhan!

Plant food and take long walks.
Yasmine

Ps. It’s my youngest birthday tomorrow – seventeen years old. Seventeen years ago he was in my womb as I stood at the Beitulaah and on Arafaat. I have to prepare surprises for tomorrow inshaAllah!

 

New look

 



recycling trays with fruit trees planted

 

 

 

 

Remember old friends and make duah - 19 May 2014

 

In the name of Allah Most Gracious Most Merciful

 

A few days ago I mentioned Faldela Williams’s beautiful Rhus Bukhari recipe and today a sibling mentions that she is in Intensive Care after a heart attack.  

Dearest friend, always a smile and a helping hand, never too busy to sit down with a cup of tea and a chat. Her book – Cape Malay Cooking has been appreciated by women and men all over the world. My relationship with Faldela goes back maybe some twenty years when I worked in Salt River and she had a cosy little café close by. I’d pop in for something wholesome or a juice and she ended up doing all of the catering for our organisation, for our families and weddings, and so on.

When I went for hajj, she said to me “when the muathin is done and you leave the house walk on, don’t look back, you are in Allah’s hands now. Don’t worry about your children – once you’re on the plane you’ll forget all about them and focus on the amazing Baitullaah.” Of course when I was on the plane I was sobbing all the way to Johannesburg, I was leaving behind five children the youngest only a year old.

When we returned she said – “OK I lied but it was the only way to get you to cheer up and on to that plane.”  She also told me Mabiet on Muzdalifaah – “throw your mat and look up into the dark velvet sky, the stars will be so bright you have to pinch yourself when you contemplate the majesty and splendour of Allah”. Well she was right and there I was lying on my back and the night sky was splendid, yet serene – shukran Faldela.

I also had some news that another friend of ours is really ill but at peace after a stroke. My brother Adli and Abu had a media business called Typeface Media. They were on their way to their office in Mowbray to have a meeting with him. When they arrived they found a man pruning their rose bushes and giving them advice about roses. I had the pleasure of spending time with him to take on one of the San youth as an intern at the radio station of which he was station master. A few months later I received a note from her in the United States – Chicago I think, where she was a part of an exchange programme. When my Mother passed, my brother was driving down from Johannesburg. Just before Fajr I opened the door to a soft knock and there he stood, he had come to fill in for Adli – so he opened the Qur’an and started reciting.

It is said that we are because of others. I do believe that Allah SWT puts people in our path and us in the paths of others for a reason. I am honoured to have been a part of both these peoples’ lives, tireless workers of the community and role models of their steadfastness.

Now it is our turn to make duah for them to ask Allah to grant them ease, shifa’a and sabr. To make duah for their dedicated partners and children and grandchildren and extended family. InshaAllah may Allah forgive your small trespasses and be pleased with the efforts of your lives.  You are always in our thoughts and duahs.

Yasmine

As I write this blog, I see Adli's post that Zane Ebrahim has passed on Inna lilaahi wa iena ielayhi rojioen, dera friend!

 

18 May - A place called the Dry Dock

In the name of Allah most gracious most merciful

Just as you doze off to sleep, you hear a sound, the sound of a glass bottle that has toppled over. You’re tired, after a full day of washing and cleaning out spaces that has escaped your attention for a while. You toss and you turn but alas sleep evades you. So you think about what to cook for lunch and a special visitor. I contemplate cutting up a chicken and seasoning it with garlic, ginger and a medley of freshly ground spices. I don’t know about you but I love playing around with recipes, so I think of Faldela Williams’ Rhus Bukhari recipe and decide to use chicken instead of mutton and remind myself to include the curry leaves I pruned earlier and to buy an orange. I also remind myself to make a fresh garden salad and some Dai (almost like tatziki). But then I decide against it because I will wake up the entire household.

So I get up pull on some socks and patter down the passage way to on the kettle. I look out and the starry sky is beautiful, the sky is light but I cannot see the moon. As I look over to the veg patch the rubbish is strewn all over the place, courtesy of our neighbour’s dog. And I grind my teeth! And in my mind I accuse the dog of sommer also sniffing out the chameleon.

I make some hot tea and raisin bread and as I come up the passage the light is on and Abu is awake too. So we have a midnight picnic and he grabs his book while I put my thoughts to paper. Surely I must feel sleepy after that. So here I am sharing and some of my thoughts.

Today I thought to share a bit of a book I plan to publish, one day InshaAllah, I’m not sure what it will be called yet but it’s about my memories of District Six and our travels.

THE DRY DOCK OF MY MAGICAL CHILDHOOD

Pic Ian Huntley

I was born on the slopes of Devil’s Peak, in a place called the Dry Dock. At the entrance to the area, the beginning of Maidstone Street, graffiti was sprayed on the wall: “You are now in Fairyland”. There where youngsters went to the old slate quarry (Vredehoek quarry) on Sunday afternoons to meet friends and smoke and tell jokes or simply just to get away from the adults. Where children drowned in the murky waters. Where we ran the gauntlet of the traffic over two double lanes of cars zooming round the sharp bends of De Waal drive, praying my Mom would never find out. Waiting for her to holler “Tammy, Yasmine en Adli.” The De Waal drive where thousands of protesters marched down to protest against the “dompas”. And where the white students of the University of Cape Town rolled down their floats on Rag Day to do their social responsibility and collect monies for Shawco.

Very few coloured people could attend that university you know. According to some, the Dry Dock got its name because the workers of the Dry Dock were the first people to live there. Some say it is because one could look out over the Dry Dock from where we lived. No matter, some called it the Draai and some called it the Dry Dock of District Six.

The first strands of grey appeared in my mother’s hair when the bulldozers came. Everything she knew as home would change forever.  Everything we knew would transform. Our home was a place filled with laughter and debates and singing and praying and smells of Cobra polish and Brasso on Thursdays.  On the eve of Eid, new paint and curtains and linoleum competed with onions braising and the sweet smell of fragrant rice. Those were the years when Muslims in the Cape celebrated Eid on the same day, when the moon was sighted with the naked eye from Greenpoint and Signal Hill. The humming of hairdryers and Columbus polishers filled the air and mustard seeds and cumin danced in hot oil. The banging of dominoes on a blanketed table while the radio blared Hey Jude in the background. Then the silence of the dominoes and the radio when the [1]mu’athin calls to prayer.

When I was 11 years old the area was declared “a white area” and the colourful people of the Dry were forcibly removed to The Cape Flats. To Hanover Park and Manenberg and Retreat and Steenberg; to Lansdowne and Primrose Park and Surrey Estate and Bonteheuwel and Heideveld. There where we walked with torches in rows like soldiers through the bushes to the bus top, to the train station, to the city, to work, to school, to everywhere and nowhere. Everyday back to the estranged city where we grew up.

The day the truck came to load our furniture and ourselves, I did not look back, much like the biblical stories of destruction. Later as an adult I would come back time and again to that barren, bulldozed graveyard. Driving past to the Zonnebloem where my kids attend the art school, George Golding another primary school that I attended, The Technikon and the Indian Plaza, the rows of new houses that are supposed to look like the old. The new built on memories. Only the mosques, churches and schools remained. The [2]Malaaieka  look after sacred places. And of course there was the Silver Tree clubhouse. Where my brothers played rugby and my sister and I went for ballet and piano lessons and swung on the swings and monkey bars.  The Silver Tree Clubhouse was the hub of the area; in fact it was the hub of our world. We would play there after coming home from slamseskool[3], during the school vacation and every weekend.  Rugby and cricket and athletic events were weekend specials.

There, was a palm tree in Boeta Jackie’s yard standing firm. Childrens’ voices chanting[4]Alif doewa dettis an, alif doewa bouwa in, alif doewa dappan oen – an, in, oen of our soerat (Quranic Arabic) lessons at the slamseskool at Boeta Moetjie. He taught us about Islam in the afternoon and in the morning he held an ordinary job. We wore a pants under our dresses and our scarves folded in the shape of a triangle. We walked up the path to De Waal drive and down to the double-storeyed house of Boeta Moetjie. Mondays to Wednesdays he would let us recite from the soerat and on Thursdays we had koples, where he made us fall in love with the Prophet Muhamad (PUH) and all the other prophets. He taught us about the seven kinds of pure waters we could use to bath or take ablution with. And it was with him that we learnt about the pillars of our Islam and our Emaan: Arkaanul Islami khamsatun and Arkaanul Emaani Sittatoen

Lydia Preparatory School, was where we went for our preparatory years. Lydia is actually the only school in District Six that is named after a slave who was living in bondage at Zonnebloem. It is said that when she was freed, she lived in a little cottage that became the school most children of the Dry Dock attended.

When I went to the George Golding Primary School the one ex pupil that our principal would mention at least once a week was the ballerina Johaar Mosavel who as a child had attended our school. He would always mention him as a role model to us, dancing at the time as principal dancer with the Royal Ballet School.

It inspired me so that I convinced my sister that we could be ballerinas and we joined the Silvertree Ballet Club where UCT students would teach us before going to slamseskool. We wore black leotards and pink Alice bands and soft kid leather ballet shoes that white kids donated to the poor,  learning to do our pliés and arabesques and learnt to curtsey. It all went well until we had to dance in the concert. My father vehemently forbade us, “Muslim girls to be dancing on the stage nogal!” “But I am a puppet with clothes on and Tammy is a soldier.” I think it was pantomime of the Tin soldier. “NO! and that’s that.”

When I think about it I can’t help but giggle. My kids giggle now when at any given time I stand with one hand lightly on the bar (back of a chair) with my feet in the third position and to music no one’s hears but me, I do my demi pliés and my Grand pliés. Then I do my arabesques and my Pas de chats and I break into a curtsey and the applause is maddening.

Anyway, that’s all folks, maybe some more writing later.

Plant food and have midnight picnics.

Yasmine

 

 

---

[1] The caller to prayer

[2] Angels

[3] Muslim school or madrassa

[4] Phonetic sounding of the Arabic alphabet

16 May - Drie hoekie, chicken koekie

In the name of Allah most gracious most merciful

First peas

Have had little time to blog or go on to Facebook. Too much work in the garden and in the house and modularising the IHYA teaching courses. Alhamdulilaah. So before I plonked myself in front of the PC, I popped a raisin bread into the oven.

So what has the garden been up to? I am searching high and low for the chameleon, I guess too many peeping toms or a tomcat or something scared it away. Everything that was planted has taken, thank you Allah. The catnip is popping up much to my daughter’s delight; the iris corms have emerged and the potato plants are growing sturdily in the bathtubs.

 

First beans

The flaxseeds are lush and green as are the poppy plants, albeit bit cluttered. In the veggie garden the radish and danya seeds have sprouted and the first peas and beans hang decoratively on its bushes. The lettuce and tomatoes drape our salad plate graciously and the celery and parsley made its way into a winter’s broth, alas the leeks, turnips and carrots are still too tiny, patience there Yasmine.

 

 

 

poppy plants

I have staggered the planting of danya so that there is full supply at all times, what with all the requests for chicken samoosas. I don’t have as much time now but there were many times that I made samoosas as a means of income. When my eldest son was about 3 years old I would make samoosas to supplement my income. I remember that clearly because between the other children he would patiently wait for my attention and sometimes that would be in the early hours when I was still folding. So I would put him on the counter and we would chat while I folded. At 6 my Dad would leave for work and take a box of fried samoosas to sell at work but before the truck stopped it would all be sold.

Ramadhan would not be the same without samoosas. Over the years I have experimented with different kinds of fillings. Corn, chives and cheese; spinach and feta; butternut, chicken. But the hot favourite of all family and customers are always the chicken, peppers and corn. When I was younger I would make the samoosas from scratch but now I buy the strips (some call it pir). I would spend half the day rolling and brushing disks of dough, stack 10 on top of each other and bake them in the oven until they fluffed up. Then I would pull the strips off one by one and stack them and cut them into strips. But nowadays I buy a stack of a hundred for R35. So I thought I would share the recipe.

If you have never folded samoosas in your life, don’t despair. Cut some paper about 4 cm wide and 30 cm long and practice folding them into triangles. Buy some strips and try folding, the trick is to keep the corners closed. It gets better as you go along. I learnt to fold from Aunty Fatim, the samoosa queen. In fact I would want to play with her daughters and so got roped in to fold and help finish their chores before the street beckoned. Quickly we learnt to race each other and try to reach the target of sometimes 500 or 1000 for the day. Of course it was all inspected and if they were sound each and every one of them we were good to go. I learnt many skills from Aunty Fatim from making the pir to making the filling of traditional mince samoosas and of course folding. A more patient teacher I could not want for. May Allah SWT reward her for all of her hard work and teaching and devotion to Him. Shukran Aunty Fatim!

 These are the ingredients for the chicken samoosas.

·         1 kg chicken fillets cut up into small cubes

·         About 75 sheets of samoosa strips

·         1 dessertspoon of cooking oil

·         A cup and a half fresh or frozen corn

·         3 large cloves of garlic

·         1 bunch of coriander leaves

·         Half a red, yellow and green pepper

·         7 medium sized chillis

·         Salt to taste

·         1 Level teaspoon of turmeric

·         2 TBSP tandoori chicken masala

 Rinse and pat dry chicken cubes and coat with tandoori masala, turmeric and grated garlic and stir fry until the chicken is just cooked and the pan has cooked dry. Remove from heat and add corn, peppers and salt and stir together well.

Transfer into dish lined with unwaxed paper to absorb moisture and to cool off completely.When the filling is cold add finely chopped danya and chillis.

In a small bowl make a thick paste of flour and water to seal the ends of the triangle. You can also fold them into spring rolls. Happy folding!

Anyway I have to wrap this up because I guess the raisin loaf is baked and waiting to be brushed with a clear sugar syrup. A warm slice, buttered and a hot cup of tea. Enjoy the rest of the evening.

Plant food and keep warm.

Yasmine



flax plants

 

Potato plants

Also 12 May 2014 – So what’s the buzz about Spelt?

 

I think if you knew the benefits of Spelt bread you’d be buzzing too. I love baking breads and rolls and pastries. From floor rolls to brioche; from raisin loaf to health loaves. A friend brought me a few slices once and it was great, soft yet not crumbly with a distinct nutty flavour.  We had the slices with soft butter and melon preserve. I tried my best to be the good hostess and not devour them all.

I make effort to produce and eat wholesome foods for the benefit of everyone. So today I thought to chat a bit about Spelt bread and then to bake some and see how my family likes it. We all eat far too much refined foods that fills the stomach but with very little nutrition. Most of the time with our busy schedules and tight budgets we don’t have much options. Making and baking oneself is a way of addressing it and it’s so enjoyable if that’s your thing.

So about Spelt - If you google it there are lots of information, here are some of things I find particularly interesting.  Spelt has been around for about 9000 years already. By the end of the 19^th century it fell out of favour because of the advances in farming technology. See, the grain is a member of the wheat grain but is an entirely different species.  It’s found to be tolerated easier by people with gluten sensitivities all over the world because it is a whole-food. The vital substances of Spelt are found in the inner kernel of the grain while wheat has all of its nutrients stripped during the milling process.

Spelt is absorbed into the body quickly and contains more protein and fibre and (I love this part) it has large quantities of Vitamin B17 which contains anti carcinogens. And that’s not all it assists the body with blood clotting function and stimulates our immune systems.

This is a list of benefits:

• Reducing joint inflammation
• Preventing hair, skin and nail disorders
• Lowering cholesterol
• Reducing liver fat
• Protecting kidneys
• Reducing bladder irritation
• Relaxation
• Stress and depression reduction
• Relieving migraine headaches
• Assisting the immune system
• Reducing the risk of artery and heart spasms
• Calcium absorption
• Collagen formation
• Antibody, hormone and enzyme production
• Transmission of signals between the nerve cells and the brain
• Maintaining alertness
• Memory improvement
• Digestive and intestinal tract functioning
• Muscle coordination
• Mental vigour

As Spelt is a low yielding crop, it does not strip the soil as much as current crops and it flourishes on deprived soils. Its thick husk makes it resilient to extreme climatic conditions as well as pollutants and insects even radio activity.  So it’s pure and original and not genetically modified and is stored with its shell, remaining fresher over longer periods than other grains. Got to get me some flour and can’t wait to bake with it. It’s not just used for baking breads but apparently also to make croissants. Picture it with a medley of jams, some brie a warm cup of tea or coffee and a book.

Sites I find interesting the Reestablishing the Food Connection and Stir the pots.

Chat later

Grow food and bake your own bread
Yasmine

12 May 2014. Die Toekamannie

In the name of Allah most gracious most merciful

 

I don’t subscribe to Mother’s Day. I feel that someone should not be telling me to honour my mother on a particular day. Personally a special day for my mother is my birthday, when she birthed me and was an instrument in my creation.

But hey whose going to complain about the the hugs and kisses at home and abroad and those special duahs that we will gather in Jannah one day inshaAllah. And who’s to complain when your daughter says I made you a special chocolate cake and used our oven for the first time. And a long distance call and the sound of a grandson stringing together an entire sentence. And friends and students who send me messages and beautiful pics.

I walk through the gardens and think how unbearable it must be for the mothers of the abducted young girls. And I make duah for their mothers who hearts are wrenched waking up in a nightmare, walking to their daughters places of sleep and beseeching Allah for their safety. And then I sommer cry and miss my children and I make duah for them. And I cry for all of the children that I have had the pleasure of teaching whose lives were so short, such as the San youth who passed of HIV/Aids and the ones in Langlaagte in Gauteng. Because a mother’s duahs are so special. And then I stumble upon a poem that I wrote as an assessment on an Experiential Learning module, I think, at campus:

To all of the women in my life, my maternal ancestors, my grandmothers, my mothers-in-law, my daughters, my sisters, my sisters-in law, my nieces, my dear students and friends. And most importantly for my mother who gave courage true meaning.

 

Last rites of the washer woman
Washing, ironing, scrubbing, starching, bleaching for the master.
Strong women, slave women
These were my maternal ancestors
Me,
I prefer my whirlpool and no man is my master.

My mother, a Toekamannie
The washer of the dead
They, who died
From natural causes and not so natural causes
Their bodies, her site learning

Her life was a cycle
Factory worker of District Six,
Sewing collars for Rex Trueform
Doing the triple shift
Volunteer worker on the Cape Flats

In my culture when someone dies
Last rites of the dead is a ‘community practice’
Incumbent on every muslim

You see,
my mother left school in standard five

But mastered the art of learning and teaching:
Informally, non-formally, experientially, incidently
In a community of practice, learning in action, learning by doing
Yet, always the mistress

Learning from the dying and not from their living,
The counselor, the comforter in bereavement
Re-membering, using her experience, using her mind and her body
And her senses

Now, my mother has stopped living with cancer
She is dying of death.

When she dies, she will be lovingly washed
Hair braided, her body embalmed
Re-presented

i wash her now.

March 2004
plant food and honour thy mothers

Yasmine

10 May - of fenugreek and radishes

In the name of Allah most gracious most merciful

 

10 May 2014

Alhamdulilaah the electricity is back on after cutting out at about 3.00 this morning at this rate it seems like we are in for a hectic winter. What a wonderful start to the day. At least 100 hafithaat, teachers of madrassah, teachers at schools and ulema attended an Orientation session for the start of their academic careers – a National Professional Diploma in Education. Heart-warming to see all the husband and wife participants. I know that many are already juggling a heavy schedule but with some good planning and self-management and scaffolding from our team, it’s going to be a walk in the park Insha’Allah.

The rain clouds have disappeared and I walk through the garden firstly checking up on the chameleon tightly wound around his chaste tree. The potato plants are sticking their heads through the soil in the baths and oh my goodness 4 days after planting the radish seeds they have sprouted! The good stuff in radishes are fiber, vitamin C, folate, and potassium, magnesium, copper, calcium, manganese and B vitamins. It is an excellent blood cleanser and of the many benefits here are a few: fights cancer, respiration, healthy heart, digestion & detoxification, kidney cleanse, lowers cholesterol, manages diabetes and regulates blood pressure and blood sugar levels. So what’s stopping you – get out there and go and plant some seeds – 14 days later red juicy radishes will sass up your salad dishes.

Methi seedlings

I am also planting some methi (fenugreek) and fennel seeds and trying out a new curry recipe soon inshaAllah. I learnt to plant methi seeds from Ma Aysa, the grandmother of my sister in law. She may have been in her 70s. She was bedridden, would call myself and Shanaaz into her room comb her sparse hair, or rub Ponds cream on her beautiful Egyptian like skin. And sometimes she would call Shanaaaaaz! Yasminaaaa! Kom batcha vir my! She particularly loved surah - Ad duha because it gave her peace. On her round table which was draped with a crocheted covering would be her coconut oil, pink lipstick, powder bowl and a copy of the Qur'an. And then she would instruct us to make a furrow in the soil, sprinkle the methi seeds and water it well. Everyday we had to go outside and to see if it had sprouted. May she be elevated to gardens of peace inshaAllah.

Anyway I usually throw a handful of chopped methi leaves in the curry so this is the first time I will make this curry with methi as its base. Because it has so many benefits, my brother swears by and has it as a tea. For me it’s much too acidic that way so I throw a handful in the rice as I cook it, it’s delicious.

As I have mentioned before, to succeed with the garden one needs to do at least a few chores everyday consistently. Alas, Abubakr is more consistent than I am. Every day, religiously he puts in cuttings, checks the compost and trims the strawberries. My hele lounge is vol trays met lavender cuttings! I did say a field of lavender would be so cool ne. I also said “imagine we have some bee hives and enough lavender plants for lavender tasting honey”. So maybe he is planning on some Lavender fields or maybe (nudge nudge wink wink) he is making enough stock for our FIRST ORGANIC MARKET in September, duahs for its success please. Tomorrow we hit the soil rolling to weed all of the patches after the rain.

Here’s the methi curry recipe. If you can find a few bunches before I do, try it out and let me know how it went!

Methi based chicken curry

Ingredients

·      1 kg chicken  pieces

·         2 tbsps cooking oil
·         2 large onions thinly sliced
·         1 large tomato diced or grated
·         3 cloves of garlic
·         A small finger measure of ginger
·         2 tsps coriander ground
·         2 tsp cumin ground
·         1 Tablespoon of kokni masala
·         2 tsps garam masala
·         1 tsp turmeric powder
·         Salt to taste
·         A sprig of curry leaves
·         500 gms fresh, green methi leaves, rinsed and chopped

Preparation:

Heat the cooking oil in medium sized saucepan or pot, on medium heat.

Add the onions and braise until pale golden brown in color.

Add tomatoes and grated ginger and garlic.
Now add ground spices, including the garam masala except the kokni masala and turmeric.
Allow to simmer for about 10 minutes.
In the meantime, rub the chicken pieces with the masala and turmeric and add to base with curry leaves.
Cook for 15 minutes and add chopped methi leaves.
Add 1/2 a cup of hot water to the saucepan, cover and allow to simmer. Cook till the chicken is tender.
Stir often to prevent burning adding little bits of water if it’s sticky. The dish should have a fairly thick sauce when done. Serve with fluffy cooked basmati or roti or whatever is your fancy. Hmmm wonder what it would taste like with coucous.

Later

Plant food and spend time in the garden - the mother of mothers,

Yasmine