Tortoise Beats The Hare

Tony felt miserable and a little anxious and afraid. His name had not been announced in the top three students of his class at the annual School Prize-Giving night this year.

He had seen Tony’s shock and incredulity at the announcements turn into anger. His father had been silently seething as they drove back home.

“What happened?” was all he had asked Tony on the way.

“I don’t know”, was all Tony had been able to reply.

Tony fought internally to control his temper as the family gathered around at the dinner table. His knew Josh was intelligent.

But it was clear that he hadn’t worked hard, letting supposedly lesser talented kids in his class overtake him. “They aren’t in my league,” he had said at the beginning of the school year.

Dinner was eaten in silence. As the empty dishes were being removed from the dinner table, Tony began to speak, “Whether we like it or not, our education system has become a race."

"A race among all sorts of participants. Fast and slow, bright and dumb. And it’s not always the fast or bright who get to win this race. Like in the old Aesopian fable about a race between a hare and a tortoise.”

“You know that hares are among the fastest sprinters in the animal kingdom, while tortoises can only move slowly due to their genetic design. In this fable, Aesop tells of a hare who ridicules the slow-moving tortoise and gets challenged by the tortoise to a race.”

“Running circles around the tortoise, the hare soon leaves him far behind. Then confident of his certain win, he decides to take a nap midway through the course. Unfortunately for him though, he awakens too late – only to find that his competitor, crawling slowly but steadily, has finished the race before him.”

“Sometimes it's just luck Tony,” interjected Isha, sensing his anger.

“Yeah. A Biblical verse in Ecclesiastes 9.11 does say, ‘The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all.' Do you also believe that you lost by chance Josh?”

“I think I got over-confident Pa,” said Josh, slowly getting up from the dining table to walk away. Sam got up with him. As they walked out towards the garden together, he put his arm around him. The brothers were quiet for a long time, sitting very still on the step leading into the dark garden.

“But it will not always be so,” Josh continued suddenly, promising his brother, “We will have another race next year and I won’t be caught sleeping on that one. I am a hare after all and can’t be beaten by tortoises.”

“You didn’t study in the holidays Josh, and you didn’t focus during the year. Things were too easy for you, so you digressed. You had to keep up your momentum, but you didn't."

"There is a funny paradox about motion, Josh. The Greek philosopher Zeno of Elea tells of a race between Achilles and a tortoise, in which the hero – confident of his own ability - gives the tortoise a head start in a race.”

“If you give someone a head start, Zeno argues that technically you can never catch up to them, no matter how fast you run. This is because by the time Achilles reaches the point at which the Tortoise started, the Tortoise has already advanced ahead of that point."

"When Achilles will arrive at the point where the tortoise is now, the tortoise will also always have inched away, even if ever so slightly. Since Achilles will technically arrive at any point later than the tortoise, he will never be able to overtake the tortoise.”

“You might laugh away the conundrum, but leaders in a any race do have a psychological advantage that becomes quite hard for followers to overcome in most cases. That is why stories are made and told where they do overcome these odds."

"The trick is for leaders to keep their edge and not waste momentum by constantly looking back over their shoulder. Do the best you can, and that would be enough. But doing is important, for without doing, the best laid plans come to naught and talent withers away unused.”

Tony stayed at the dining table thinking, long after the boys had retired to bed. Isha pleaded with him for Josh. “He is too sensitive. If you push him too hard and he still can’t beat them after you keep reinforcing that he is a hare among tortoises, he might give up trying completely. The tortoises will win definitely if he doesn't run at all, isn’t it? They are not going to stop the race for drop outs.”

“Yeah, that they won’t," answered Tony, "Did you know a version of this fable was written about a hundred years ago by Lord Dunsany in his book called "The True History of the Tortoise and the Hare". What you fear is what happens in that version. The hare realizes the stupidity of this challenge and refuses to run."

"But the show must go on, so the tortoise starts alone and finishes his race eventually. He is crowned the victor. But things fall apart when animals decide to dispatch their fastest on a critical mission. They send the Tortoise, and their world is annihilated."

"You can't create speed where no potential exists. But the society wants its competitions. It must create winners and losers. And then it opens doors for winners and closes them for losers."

"You can create doctors by reserving seats for the children from historically oppressed sub-classes within society or by giving the non-meritorious Medical College admissions if they pay appropriate donations, but will you go to such doctors for treatment when you need care yourself?", Tony fumed.

"That's an issue for another day, my love” Isha sighed, "Isn't it possible that we could have over estimated our child's potential? We are definitely unaware of the potential in others."

"He may not be a hare after all. That will not make him less of a man, nor make you love him less. But if he is a hare as you foresee, we need to focus on ensuring he doesn't go to sleep again. Now come, let's sleep on it."

She took him by the hand and tucked him in his bed for the night.

Unwelcome Guests

Unwelcome guests can become useful citizens, given the chance.

Yet, International Governments desire normal migrants & detest illegal refugees.

Story on the refugee debate.

A heated debate was raging at the dinner table.

“Who in their right mind,” Josh was saying, “wants to leave a good, established, prosperous life, and go live in an unknown country, amongst unknown people, forever?”

“Who wants to re-start their life from scratch? With no money and no relationships. And rebuild it amongst strangers in a completely different land, with a completely different language and culture.”

“No one wants to do this. But refugees have to do all of this. They don’t go knocking on someone else’s door because they want to. They go because their circumstances forced them to.”

“No one wants to be refugee. But then, no one wants to feel unsafe and unhappy either. Refugees are people fleeing war or persecution.”

"They are people who are worried about the safety of their lives in their own country, and can no longer continue to live there safely.”

“But when these people flee to other countries in large numbers,” Isha retorted, “as can be during wars or civil unrests, host countries feel a drain on their economic resources.”

“How would you feel, when you are already struggling to make ends meet, and uninvited guests come in to live with you?”

“Pa told me a story once,” Josh argued passionately, “about a Sufi fakir who lived in a small one-room hut in the wilderness.”

“It was raining heavily one night, and many visitors came calling at his door, seeking shelter. They got shelter, but it was interesting to see how they behaved, when more refugees kept coming.”

“Be practical!” Isha cut him off. “International Governments are hardly likely to think like Sufi fakirs, let alone act as one.”

Rosh smiled at her comment, but let it pass. He felt strangely elated that his son had remembered one of his stories. He remembered that story well.

To be invoking it today, Josh would have needed not only to have listened to it carefully, but to have understood it. He felt like he had just been awarded a PhD by The School Of Life.

'Those early years with Josh had seemed such hard work,' he thought quietly. 'He had planted his seeds. But it seemed like they had all fallen on barren soil. Bearing no fruit. Producing no desired results.'

'The more he had tried to guide him, the more distant his son had become.' He looked at his son speaking now, and tuned in to their conversation again.

“I read a novel recently,” Josh was saying, “called The Rugmaker of Mazar-E-Sharif. It is based on a true story that begins in war-torn Afghanistan of the 1980s, and continues during the mayhem that followed when Taliban later tightened their grip on the country.”

“Watch Charlie Wilson’s War,” said Rosh, “the Tom Hanks movie. It is also based on a true story about that war. Millions of Afghan refugees fled into Pakistan during the 80s and 1990s. Although 4 million of these have gone back to Afghanistan since 2002, Pakistan still has over a million registered Afghan refugees - still the largest protracted refugee population globally.”

Josh nodded at his father and continued, “The book traces Najaf’s, the Afghani rugmaker-turned refugee's, extraordinary journey from his early life as a shepherd boy in the mountains of Northern Afghanistan, to his forced exile after being captured and tortured by the Taliban.”

“Like any other refugee, he has to leave behind his life and loved ones, and everything he had established through his hard work in life. He and his family pool their savings and take on debt, in the hope of giving him a chance to undertake a journey into the unknown. To Australia - a land he has never been to before. And where he knows not a single soul.”

“Kind of like us coming to New Zealand,” said Isha, “with neither friends, nor family here. Not knowing anyone. Having no job offers.”

“You didn’t come here as refugees,” said Josh, “but as normal migrants, on your merit. You weren’t fleeing your homeland because Taliban were trying to kill you, or bombs were dropping on your family home, killing your relatives. You didn’t end up incarcerated in a detention centre.”

“Unlike you, Najaf was an unwelcome guest, an illegal. For him, there were no guarantees. Only hope. Hope that he will be allowed to remain here. That he will survive, and be able to live in this foreign country, safe from the danger and death that hounded him at home.”

“So yeah, refugees have nothing. They can be hard work. They bring nothing. No money. No certificates. Have language barriers and sometimes they aren’t even healthy when they arrive.”

“They are dependent and desperate. To secure immigration and to survive, they can tell lies. But isn’t that what any desperate human being would normally do? Lying doesn’t make men evil or terrorists.”

“They must be housed,” Isha objected, “fed, treated, rehabilitated. Given lots of moral and financial support. Sometimes even educated and trained, before they can become useful citizens. After all this, sometimes they don’t even stay long enough to contribute back to the economy that sheltered them. They move on to greener pastures.”

“So do normal migrants,” replied Josh. “In allowing normal migration, a host country exercises its right to choose who and how many. Similarly, a normal immigrant is free to emigrate when they need to, or when they see better opportunities to prosper elsewhere?”

“Instead of putting roadblocks, wouldn't it be better if we concentrated on making our nation more desirable as a place to live and prosper?"

"Moving out is not made an issue even when normal citizens of a country move. The country has invested in them too. Why should moving to make their life better elsewhere, be an issue with refugees only? Have they become our bonded slaves just because we chose to help them when they needed our help.”

“A refugee is not, even remotely, as settled as a citizen or as a normal immigrant. Immigrants apply to migrate, refugees are forced to. Immigrants arrive due to symbiosis, refugees due to duress. International Governments desire normal migrants, they detest illegal refugees. Why?"

"Immigrants are accepted happily by host countries because they see in them, a mutually beneficial relationship. Their relationship with refugees is an unwanted one, forced upon both parties by circumstance. An unhappy start for both sides. Refugees didn’t want to come here by choice. Their unwilling hosts didn’t want them to come here either.”

How to Prepare Yam Sauce (Tomatoes)

About Nigeria yam sauce. There are different kinds of tomatoes sauce made in Nigeria,

we make sauce for yam, vegetable sauce for rice, and even fried yam/plantain sauce. Basically all tomato sauce follow the same preparation procedure, sometimes I decide to add vegetables.

The images below are different tomato sauce made in the "Nigeria Kitchen", In case you haven't learned about project 'Nigeria Kitchen';

well, it's my own kitchen where most of the images you see here are made

At the bottom of this page you get a form that allows you to subscribe to the 'Nigeria kitchen' members, i reserve the best for only members.

Here is a detailed guide on making yam sauce in Nigeria, yam sauce is a simple stew made for eating yam. It is very simple to make.

Ingredients includes

• tomatoes (chopped)
• crayfish (optional)
• maggi(seasoning) (1 cube)
• pepper
• salt to taste
• groundnut oil. (10cl)

Sometimes I chose to spice up with 1 or two eggs

Here is how to make yam (tomato) sauce in Nigeria; you can either blend or chop the tomatoes/fresh pepper and onions to bits, this will affect the appearance of the sauce at the end of the day.

Heat your frying pan and add about 10cl of groundnut oil heat for about two minutes then add sliced onions fry and stir for a minute then add the ground tomatoes and pepper.

Cook and stir till the tomato is boiling with oil without traces of water(about 15 minutes) you need to stir occasionally to avoid burning

Add other ingredients - maggi(seasoning) ground crayfish, salt, cook for 5 to 10 minutes and add vegetable(optional) Now that is how to cook Nigerian stew for yam or some people just call it yam sauce

Serve with cooked white yam and maybe a bottle of your favorite soft drink, I prefer "CHI" products

Nigeria Tomato Stew Recipes

Here is a complete guide on making Nigerian tomato stew and different other Nigeria stew recipes.

I decided to major on tomato stew on this page while you can learn more about other kinds of stew on their respective pages,

I needed to be more concise with my cooking guide so I also made the video on how to make different Nigeria stew if you are not seeing it at the bottom of this page then it is probably still going through editing process or perhaps it was reserved for only members of the Nigeria Kitchen

How to Cook Tomato Stew Recipe In Nigeria

The ingredients includes:

• tomatoes(about one blender full)
• 2 bulbs of onions
• 2 cubes of maggi or knorr (seasoning)
• spices(curry, thyme, nutmeg, chicken flavor)
• meat(chicken, beef, goat meat, turkey)
• pepper (to taste)
• about 10 to 15cl groundnut/vegetable oil
• salt to taste.

I like to make tomato stew with nutmeg and just few other spices, I just like the aroma of a deliciously made tomatoes stew .

Wash the meat and cook with the spices(about half table spoon full of each) and one bulb of onion. Blend the tomatoes to get a blender full of it or a little bit more.

There is this magic I perform with ground fresh tomatoes, most people that walk into my kitchen always wonder how I manage to pour the tomatoes into the sieve without losing the main thing

I do that to reduce the water and make easy for frying. my method is simple as you can find above, don't worry about the tomatoes leaking out. that wouldn't happen if you pour in gently.

Set your cooking pot on fire and allow to dry, add groundnut oil(about 10 to 15cl) you may use lots of oil while frying and pour out when you are done(with frying tomatoes) to quickly eliminate the accompanying sour taste.

Add Onions to the hot oil, stir and pour in the ground tomatoes, allow to boil until the tomato stew is boiling on oil with no trace of water, taste for sour taste, OK?

Pour in the cooked meat, add 1 or 2 cubes of maggi, (add spices - nutmeg, curry, delice etc, if you didn't add enough while parboiling the meat) add pepper and salt to taste, cook for about five minutes before adding the vegetable {fluted Pumpkin (Optional)}

You can serve with rice, beans or even yam as you would find in the tomato stew video

Smoked Italian Sausage Hoagie

Key info

• Difficulty 
  › Intermediate
• Prep time 
  › 25 min
• Cook time 
  › 1 hr 10 min
• Serves 
  › 8 sandwiches

Ingredients

About 2 cups applewood chips for smoking, soaked in water for at least 30 minutes
8 links sweet Italian sausage
1 yellow onion, peeled and quartered
4 red bell peppers
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 clove garlic
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
8 fresh sub rolls 
1 cup grated ricotta salata cheese
4 pepperoncini, sliced

Method

Special equipment: A smoker box and metal or wooden skewers

1. Heat a grill to medium-low heat. 
2. Use a 2-stage fire or indirect heat setup on your gas grill. 
3. Add the soaked applewood chips to a smoker box and place the box directly onto the heating element or coals. 
4. Once plumes of smoke appear, place the sausage links over the indirectly heated side of the grill and smoke for about 1 hour, flipping halfway through. 
5. The internal temperature of the sausages when tested with a meat thermometer should read 160 degrees F at this point. 
6. Move the sausages to the hot side of the grill and give them a char on the outside for 3 to 5 minutes per side.
7. Meanwhile, skewer the onion quarters on metal or wooden skewers. Place the bell peppers and onions on the hot side of the grill and cook until charred on all sides, 20 to 30 minutes. Set aside until cool enough to handle.
8. Remove the majority of the skin and all of the seeds and stems of the peppers and give them a rough chop along with the charred onions. 
9. Place both into a food processor along with the olive oil and garlic and blend until smooth. Season with salt and pepper.
10. Top a roll with a hot sausage followed by a nice smear of the smoked pepper spread, a sprinkle of ricotta salata and a couple of slices of pepperoncini. Serve immediately.

Chocolate Cheesecake Brownies

                                                                                                                       

                                                                        

Method

1. Line a brownie tin 22x29cm, 8 ½" x 11" with baking parchment. Heat your oven to 170°C.

2. Break 225g of chocolate into small chunks and place in a heatproof bowl with the butter. Place over a pan of simmering water and heat until melted. Leave to cool.

3. Beat the eggs and sugar together until pale and the mixture has thickened. Add the melted chocolate and butter mixture to the eggs and stir until thoroughly combined. Fold in the flour, salt, chocolate chunks and vanilla extract. Pour into the prepared in.

4. Using an electric whisk on a slow speed, beat the cream cheese with the custard powder, sugar, vanilla extract and cream. Mix until smooth and all the ingredients are combine.

5. Drop spoonfuls of cheesecake mix onto the brownie then using a spatula fold through the brownie to create swirls. Bake for 25-30minutes. Check after this time as ovens vary, it may need a little longer. A little mixture should still stick to a skewer when inserted in the middle of the brownie.

6. Leave to cool completely before cutting into squares.

                                                                             Key info

• Difficulty 
  › Easy
• Prep time 
  › N/A
• Cook time 
  › 1/2 hr
• Serves 
  › 12

Ingredients

• 225g plain chocolate, 45% cocoa solids
  225g unsalted butter
  3 large eggs
  225g caster sugar
  75g self-raising flour
  1/2 tsp salt
  175g plain chocolate, chopped into small chunks
  1 tsp vanilla extract
• For the cheesecake mix :
• 200g full fat cream cheese
  1½ tsp custard powder
  15g caster sugar
  1 medium egg
  ½ tsp vanilla extract
  60ml double cream

Initiation By Life

Is initiation by Life superior to parental guidance?

Insightful story of a painter who refused to ordain his own son in his ways.

Was the experiment successful?

“Sir,” said Suman. “Feel like hearing something from you!”

“What?” asked Rosh.

He was sitting on the lawn outside the Engineering College with some First Year Juniors, who had arrived from Bihar. These boys got along very well with him, ever since he had saved them from ragging.

“Narrate anything you wish,” Suman insisted.

“Wanna hear a story?” Rosh smiled and asked.

All the boys gathered around him immediately. He laughed at their eagerness. Intimacy swelled up in his heart, and began to choke his throat.

The sun was setting. An invisible painter was creating new pictures every moment, on the canvas of the sky. A thought transformed into words and came up to his lips. He felt like voicing it out.

“I haven’t got anything written up,” he said, “but a story emerges in me as I witness this colorful evening. Let me try and bind it in words.”

The boys were listening to him with rapt attention. He broke-off a grass shoot, bit it between his teeth, and started speaking:

Whenever the child entered his father’s room while playing around, he was awed at seeing his father paint. Forgetting his play, he would long gaze upon the pictures.

He was amazed how different brush strokes gradually transformed into shapes. Observing the child’s curiosity, the painter invited the creator within him one day.

As the little boy sat silent and surprised, admiring his father’s latest work of art, the painter got up and put a paintbrush, colors, palette and a blank page in his little hands.

The lad looked up at his father, a question rooted in his look.

The painter smiled. “Create!” he said.

Confidence and hope lit up the child’s eyes with joy. He was delighted and thrilled.

The painter smiled. “Begin!” he said.

The child looked fervently at those items. But suddenly, he sobered. Silently, with his father’s gifts clenched in both his hands, his quiet look queried his father again.

The painter smiled. “Yourself!” he said.

The child’s lips moved finally. His voice chimed, “Ordination?”

“Not mine!” the father replied seriously, “Life’s! My teaching is nothing compared to your initiation by Life. And, it will leave my mark on your work.”

The child bowed his head, respectfully touched the creative materials to his forehead, but did not move. The painter understood his hesitation. He pointed a finger at the horizon, and said, “Study!”

Holding everything with great care in his tiny palms, the child returned. Days passed. And weeks. Then months.

One day, the father saw his son trying to mix colors. The painter became a silent spectator.

The child was excited. It was his first effort. But inadvertently, the paint spread everywhere.

The child was shocked. Lifting his head, when he found his father observing him, helpless tears rolled off his eyes.

“Analyze!” the painter said. He gave the child a blank new sheet, and retired.

A while later, the little boy tried again. His brush gave birth to some scribbles on the page. With curiosity and enthusiasm, the child brought the sheet to his father.

The painter looked at the artwork. Unaffectedly, he returned it to the child, and said, “Decide!”

The kid looked at the picture for a long time, then let it drop. His entreating eyes petitioned silently again. Compassion swelled up in the father. He gave a new leaf to the potential artist.

The child returned again. He placed the new sheet carefully. After much contemplation, he set his brush free again one day. A different shape surfaced on the paper.

The child looked at his work with pride and affection. Satisfied, he went back to his father with the painting. The painter looked at the new creation. Returned it to the boy, he said, “Redo!”

The child was surprised, but he became an examiner. He checked and examined the image from different angles. Eventually, he slowly dropped it there. Eyes bowed in mute solicitation.

The father smiled, and gave a new sheet to the young painter.

Days passed. Seasons passed. Years passed. The painter grew old. The son became an eminent painter. Nature presented the new painter with a son.

The old painter used to wonder, how his grandson twittered and played like his son had done. Time held his grandson’s hand and guided him through childhood to puberty.

One day, as he did every day, the grandson was sitting alone, beholding nature.

‘It’s time for his education,’ thought the old man.

Bracing against the armrest of his chair, he stood up, and with the help of his walking stick, walked near his grandson. The youth was imploring the sky:

“O Life! Even if I am unable to color your pages the best, please give me a new leaf to try again.”

A spontaneous smile flashed on the elder’s face. Inspiration is but a sign. The eternal teacher Life had accepted his grandson as student.

Breathing a contented sigh, he returned and sank back into his chair again. The education had begun. Today had been the first lesson.