I grew up Africa where my forebears went four hunderd years ago,they cultivated prospered and fed those around them.

As kids we spoke a different language,learn to make fire with sticks and understood which medicine came from bush, and to push hard on some points of the body while you look at the stars…….this will make you better when you’re sick and well when your sad.

Ocasionally we would have visitors from Europe, especially those who were related to us somehow centuries ago,linked by geneology and surname.

They loved the remoteness and the desert where the sanddunes would roar when it settled after the heat of the day,at night the stars were so close in the black sky that you could hook them with a stick,or so it seemed.

My great wealthy uncle from Europe asked my father so many questions that he seconded someone to accompany him to find the meaning of life or recipy as he called it.

Surely he thought these ancient people living on the fringe of the desert must know what we in Europe have long forgotten.

I had to go with them because I spoke a little English so was able converse with my uncle in English and Joshua the guide in the African venacular.

We set off to see the Sangoma,the medecine man who lives 12 K’s away on the apron of the roaring sands.

We reached the Sangoma by nightfall and set up a tent for my uncle much to the amazement of the old man,he having slept all his life on the hot sand next to a fire but apart from a slight smile spoke little.

The Sangoma settled for the night and let it be know that we will speak it the morning.

That night the stars were very low and the gently purring of the sands allowed me to sleep back to back with Joshua the guide,my uncle slept in the tent.

Morning came, after eating what my uncle brought,the Sangoma drew a circle in the sand,inviting the question from this strange man who had come apparently from accross a vast ocean bigger than any dam he had seen and lives a in place where people dress in strange clothes and know many thing.

The question my uncle wanted me to ask was.

“What is the recipe for life?

Pondering the sangoma sat for a while before speaking to Joshua and me he said.

In the desert many animals live yearning for an easier life,to have water nearer instead of walking for miles,and having food like the man broughbt in bag, and to learn about questions for a book where you can find answers.

My uncle was in patient waiting anxiously

But said the old man the the recipe for life is to want nothing,expect everything and………………………..yes yes said my uncle whats he say…………..is never forget to breathe.

This was sixty years ago,things have changed some what,sadly in my opnion for the worse.

lee du ploy ( hong kong)

Having said that, I tried to think of receipes for life to share, and came up with “measure three times before you cut”, which is how I deal with important decisions, and the phrase “insufficient data”, which gets stamped on a lot of puzzling situations, saving me from having to hold an opinion I can’t justify.

My childhood and early adulthood were difficult, except for 18 months spent with my lovely grandparents when I was between the ages of seven and nine. To them I attribute my awareness that members of one’s family should feel safe, accepted, cared for and happy. I could make a receipe out of my beliefs about family – respect for individuality, which includes individual tastes in food, dress and use of time, and attention to manners (really, thinking of other’s feelings) are vital. One important ingredient is emotional presence. My husband can provide that for our son, and occasionally, I can too.

Analogies are hard to get away from – I also think of family as the stake or support and the child as the tomato plant. I suppose the ties would be communication and acceptance. What do you think?

Thankyou! I very much enjoyed your article.