Not a lot to say here, for once… just a few scenes from our occasional Sunday walks around town. Some of these photos were taken yesterday, and others go back as far as 2012! This walk still gives me a little thrill, every time. Continue reading
Village Visit
Written Monday, January 19
Baby Djeni turned a year old this Saturday. Viviane was hoping she’d start walking sooner than her older brother did, which was a week before his first birthday, just to show how Girls Rule. She’s not walking yet, but she is beating him in another way. She’s talking earlier and much more than he did. (Kind of sums up the difference between girls and boys, doesn’t it?) She chants and sings whenever her mother asks her to, and in perfect pitch with her. I think she’s going to be a lovely little songstress.
Djeni at my house just days before turning one. Could she possibly be any cuter? I’m totally changing my name to match hers.
The Rains Down in Africa
The climate in our part of semi-tropical Congo often seems like paradise. The temperatures are temperate, and the sun shines every day. Visitors and newcomers are almost always pleasantly surprised by it. We all agree: Take away the deadly mosquitos, add a bit more development, and this place could be heaven on earth. Continue reading
The Real Desperate Housewives
“What do you do here all day?” is the number one question us expat wives get. It often comes from visitors or newcomers, surprised to hear that anyone actually lives here. The vast majority of our expats work on rotation, traveling home every six or eight weeks for a couple of weeks off before they return. They go home to their families, their friends, their favorite bars and restaurants, and return with rested eyes, tans, and suitcases full of provisions to get them through the next rotation.
Residential couples are the exception to the norm; there are exactly three of us here at the moment. Visitors hear rumors of our existence but don’t see us much. On a rare sighting they regard us with curiosity, or slight suspicion. I cannot blame them for wondering what kind of person would purposely choose to call this place home.
Cleaning Lessons, Take 2
I told Viviane about the story I wrote about her yesterday, and she seemed pleased. When I asked if she would mind me posting a photo for you all, she said, “Why yes, of course!” But in French, of course, not Kansan. (Is it just in Kansas that we start our sentences with the word Why?)
Also, I heard back from my friend Nancy who was my posture teacher in the story, and with her permission I updated the story to include her name. Also took the liberty to do some serious editing.
So please, come back and have a look at the photos and the updated story! Cleaning Lessons
Cleaning Lessons
For my stepmom on her birthday today. She also could’ve taught me a thing or two when I was sixteen and still living at home, if only I’d been willing to listen. Thank goodness teenagers eventually grow up. Happy birthday Carolyn!
“Do you bend at the waist or the hips?” a fellow expat wife named Nancy asked me one day. We were in Uganda on vacation together, getting ready to go white-water rafting on the Nile. Her question about proper posture came while we were bending over to change our footwear for the ride and grease our legs with sunscreen.
“What’s the difference?” I asked, laughing, thinking it was a trick question.
Introducing Baby Jenie
Our maid Viviane was a bachelorette when we moved here four years ago. I’ve never asked her how she managed to avoid marriage before age 26, in a country where early marriage is common and girls start having babies in their teens. I also don’t know the circumstances of her marriage, which came as a total surprise to me. One Monday she casually told me she was married over the weekend. I asked her why didn’t she tell me earlier; I would have liked to come to the wedding. She shrugged and said it happened quickly, and it was a small affair. The Viviane I’ve come to know is a very strong, proud woman. She’s not the type to ask her mzungu boss to come to her wedding just so she can score an expensive gift.
Continue reading
Giving Thanks
There are times when the pickings feel pretty slim around here. Us expat wives responsible for the weekly grocery shopping have gone through long dry spells when we can’t even find flour, sugar, or vegetable oil at our local mining-camp store. Stinky frozen fish, yes. Moldy cabbage, usually. But even then, don’t count on it. Nearly everything we’ve thought was a “regular” item on the shelves has run out at one time or another, and there’s no telling when it will be restocked.
One Person’s Trash Bag is Another’s Treasure
The garbage bin outside gets emptied once a week, almost as if we were living in a real city with real city services. I’m not sure what the trash guys do with all the bins after they load them onto a flat-bed truck and haul them away, and I don’t think I want to know. But a few hours later they return an empty, semi-clean bin to each house, and for that I’m grateful.
Holy Mole: The Results
Those beautiful chihualces chiles didn’t let me down. Last night’s mole sauce totally took me back to La Roca in Nogales. If only I’d recruited a local mariachi band and installed a few rock walls in our house, the teleportation to Mexico would have been complete.
Adventures in Congo 