Childhood Illness, Circa 1950.

Mid-year, LouLou and Charlotte were required to get "communication journals" so that Madame Sidonie could pass along Pré-Maternelle information in writing to well-meaning-but-linguistically-challenged parents such as myself.  My French is not horrible, but when processed through a bad phone line, I think I said, "Comment?" one too many times and Mme. Sidonie gave up on trying to talk to me in person.  So, we text or communicate via the journal (which has both a picture of a kitten and Barack Obama on the front).

Most days, there is a little note taped into the journal with information about sending fruit for fruit salad day or donating decorations for the classroom.  I admit that after the first week, I became a less attentive reader of these notes.  Bad mama.

So, yesterday, I decided to catch up and came across this message from Monday:

I felt baffled as I read this note.  I have been working as a nurse in the Congo for almost 2 years now.  I felt like I knew a lot of French health vocabulary.  Surely I should be aware of the name for the common, "very contagious" disease that was sweeping my daughter's school.

"Des oreillons."  Nope. Nope. No idea.

So, naturally, I asked Mama Vida and Mama YouYou, who began to clutch their ears and puff our their cheeks, moaning and miming what must be an awful disease.  They kept insisting that "des oreillons" happens all the time,"if one person in the house gets it, everyone does,"and "the cheeks get very swollen...you know!"  

They couldn't understand why I was being so dense.  I had no idea what they were talking about.  I could see their respect for my medical opinion sinking a couple of notches.

Finally, I conjured up a black-and-white image of a sick kid with a cloth tied around their ears.  Kind of like this:

Image from here.

Mumps.  A disease I have never had nor seen.  A childhood illness made rare in the United States by the MMR vaccine.  One of those nasty things that exists as part of normal life here in the Congo.

Hopefully, LouLou - having been fully vaccinated before we left for life in the third world - has a fairly low risk of getting this disease, even if it is rampant at her school.  But it's so strange for me to feel so uninformed about an illness that Mama YouYou described as "like a really bad flu with swollen cheeks - everybody gets it at some point."  

While I'm sure it appeared in my nursing textbooks, I think that my true knowledge base about mumps consists of having used the name to describe the MMR vaccine to parents right before I stuck a one-year-old in the thigh.  My "broad" medical knowledge is actually so specific.  So tailored to one, first-world, reality.  Sure, I now know how to pop out a Mango fly larvae and I can recognize, test, and treat malaria, but those are the flashy tropical diseases.  What about the mundane, everyday muck that Kinshasa Mamas must watch for in their babies.  I don't know much about those.

This is a whole new ballgame.  Better brush up on my childhood illnesses, circa 1950 America.  I'll start here:

Vintage book cover image from here.

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Bonjour Mes Amis

All week, LouLou has been belting "Bonjour Mes Amis!!!!!" at the top of her little lungs.

That's cute.  Why?

Well, because of the guy with the guitar at preschool, of course.
Doesn't your school come with this perk?

On Monday, LouLou and Charlotte went for their very first day of Pré-Maternelle.  The decision to start French preschool was one of opportunity: we live in a place where we can actually afford French immersion preschool.  Done. Easy. Decision made.

So, along with a veritable entourage of mamas, drivers, cars, mothers, and fathers, we set off for their first day.  Charlotte went with a très classique blue-dress-plus-white-ankle-socks combo.  LouLou was in one of her own fashion-forward designs: a skirt with a dress over top.  Nice.

Photo by Jill.

While they were adorable, I couldn't stop semi-wishing that they were wearing the little pré-scolaire pinafores that most Congolese two-year-olds don for school days.  Sarah thinks I'm nuts.

After making our way through a classic Kinshasa emboutiage in front of the school, we unloaded and went to find the classroom.  Easily, the most impressive thing - to kids and adults alike - was the guy playing "Bonjour Mes Amis" on the guitar in the hallway.  Subway busker-style.

Sarah said something to him like, "Oh, hey, that's nice that you're here for the first day of school."  He said, "First day of school?  I'm here everyday!"

Photo by Sarah.  Don't you wish your preschool teachers dressed this well?

Student names were posted outside of each door and we looked to find our girls.  Pointing to my daughter's four names, the teacher, Madame Sidonie, asked me,"Are all of those names for her?  What do you call her at home?"  She seemed visibly relieved when I said, "Oh, just call her "LouLou.'" and made me carefully write it on the list.

Mme. Sidonie and her assistant, Mme. Bibi,  bustled around the room.  They tried to distract the sad ones with dolls and blocks (this strategy proved useful for Charlotte and Lou as well).

Photo by Jill. or Johan...

They answered questions.  They tried to encourage the clingy parents to just leave already.  They asked everyone to copy down the supply list...

The supply list.

I have no idea where to find these 5,000 items in Kinshasa.  Wish me luck.

On day two, the girls were eager to "aller à l'école."  Upon pick-up, Adam (who went to photograph them paparazzi-style and collect information as to their true feelings about pre-school), said they didn't want to come home.  Operation Pré-Maternelle success.

I'm thinking of hiring that guitar player for bedtime.

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