Friday List!

Jill's List: 

Found this great travel blog.  Which then led me to this little tool.  Which might prevent me from tearing out all of my hair in the process of trying to understand Frequent Flyer Miles programs.  Arrrggghh!

Everyone at my house is a little nutty.  Don't they say that it takes as many days as hours of travel to get over jet lag?  Maybe we should have tried this?

Happy that I bit the bullet and just bought this instead of a bulky new lens for my Canon. You'll see why in future posts...

Elias refuses to talk about school.  Well - that's not totally true.  But he has ALWAYS hated answering questions that I love to ask.  Like, "What did you read today?  Did you write in your journal at school?  Did you sing any songs?"  He says things like, "Mama, when you ask those questions you are disturbing my peace."  Should we try this?

Part of my job includes teaching sex ed to Middle Schoolers. Now you're all really jealous of me, right?  It's actually super interesting and even...dare I say it...fun.  This article is an interesting discourse on how parents could/should/do/don't approach teenage sexuality.

These pictures are so freaky.  Space pictures have always induced vertigo for me.  (But they are amazing.)

I'm so embarrassed (so, I thought I'd share on the blog).  I downloaded this.  And am using it.  It involves a lot of inspirational British pop.  And in this Dry Season, my ankles are completely black with dirt by the time I'm done.

Wowzers of an Op Ed, Tom. Now I'm really curious. Which Rage Against the Machine song is Paul Ryan's favorite?

Wondering what the heck is going on in Eastern Congo?  You should be.  It's horrible.  Read more here.

Sarah's List:

When your whole country is a closet. My rule of thumb is to avoid this topic like the plague while living on this continent.

  by  torbakhopper 

People always ask if it's possible to drive across Congo. I always say no. Turns out I'm wrong. You can follow the US Embassy's not-so-easy trek from Kinshasa to Lubumbashi on Facebook. Just friend them here.

I've always been fascinated by this guy, so I'm finally reading his book Chief of Station, Congo: Fighting the Cold War in a Hot Zone. It's been added to my recommended Congo reading list and I'm only on chapter 3.

It's back to school week here in Kinshasa. All the kids rolled in Monday morning with their shiny new school supplies. These multicultural pencils have started popping up in backpacks. They're perfect for TASOK students. Which made me think of the Pantone skin color project.

What's your Pantone color?

  by  Rocco Lucia 

Remember these guys? My first impression was totally right. Some have "mysteriously disappeared" after the Olympics in London.

Though he's barely even heard of Mama Congo, this one's for Adam.

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Stories People Tell Us: The Tshimpoyi or that Colonial Chair Thing

People tell us stories all the time. Sometimes funny. Sometimes sad. Sometimes a little too entertaining to be true. But always interesting. I think we should start sharing them with you.

We won't always include the storytellers' names. Mostly because I rarely say, "Hey can I share your story with hundreds of my closest friends? Well, we have this blog-thing. You know the internet? There are these things called...hmmm...blogs??"

Anyway, last year I got on this kick asking Congolese friends to tell me the oldest story they knew. Something their grandparents or great-grandparents had told them. There are many stories. Here's a sample:

A friend told me his family was famous for making and carrying those chairs on four poles that are synonymous with colonialism. Like this one:
I'm so removed from this concept, I don't even know the word in English for them. Turns out they can be called sedan chairs (oh yeah, that sounds familiar) or litters or palanquins. Once I started asking around for the French word, no one knew. But this did stir up some controversy about what they're called in Congo. Since there are over 200 languages, I heard several variations. "They're called Tshimpoyi." Or, "No! We call them Kimponya." And so on. Funny how every dialect has their own word for these chairs and I couldn't readily think of our English term.

Anyway, his family would get orders before the arrival of the Belgian administrator to make these things and then carry their guests wherever they wanted to go. In fact, they became quite skilled at negotiating the terrain with a white guy on their shoulders. "The administrator would point down the steep hill, and down my family would take him. Carefully, carefully."

This reminded me of the photo of Belgian king (above), Roi Baudouin when he visited Congo not all that long ago. And an embarrassing amount of time after independence. Kind of shocking.

One of the nicest streets in Kinshasa is named Avenue du Roi Baudoin. It's lined with beautiful trees and important embassies and hot shot (white) people's houses. Roi Baudoin gets his nice and tidy street amidst the chaos of the rest of the city. Fitting. I'm pretty sure there's a word for this concept in every language too...

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Play Food Assumptions

So, LouLou went to her little table yesterday and, while vigorously stirring a tiny pot, announced, "Je fait le FUFU!"

She was actually stirring some play mushrooms from Ikea - but in Kinshasa, those fungi are now fufu.  Way more practical.

So, I asked her to name some of the other things on her table.  Here is what she told me:

Okay.  She didn't actually say, "Les haricots."   She said, "Yum.  Mama Vida cook yummy."  Which I interpreted as "beans."  Obviously.

My two year old translated lettuce into cabbage.  Coffee into tea.  And mushrooms into fufu. Her casual responses were surprisingly astounding to me.

I really love fake food.  Always have.  But I assume that play food is obviously representative.  Of the foods I grew up with in Virginia*.

Lou's play food experience, on the other hand, is heavily shaped by the worldview of Mama Vida, Mama YouYou, and Mama NouNou.  No lettuce - it's cabbage.  Beans are protein.  Tea is shared every morning on the porch.  Big sips to the babies, of course.  And mushrooms?  No way.  But fufu is a way of life.

*I know, I know.  We have cabbage and tea in Virginia.  But, that's not what I would assume my kid would assume these items were.  Get it?

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Ladies & Gentlemen...

...we apologize for the interruption in your regularly scheduled programming.

Friday List, Cooking with the Mamas, and too many posts about hair will be back on a regular schedule very soon.

For the time being, we are fighting jet-lag, remembering how awesome pineapple season is,  eagerly preparing for First Grade, keeping an eye on the situation in the East, painting classrooms, and shivering in the Kinshasa Dry Season chill.

Elias & LouLou playing at N'djili Airport upon arrival.

From Mama Vida & Mama NouNou.

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How was your summer? Are you still nursing?

Tonight Jill and I were lamenting about how the first week back in Congo has been the hardest week ever to blog. Here was our conversation:

Jill: You should write about nursing a toddler.
Me: What?
Jill: Nursing a toddler.
Me: Nursing a what?
Jill: A toddler!
Me: Oh god. Is that what this is?
Jill: Yep.

Then I had the realization that we've been back less than 48 hours and at least 5 times I've been asked, "Are you still nursing?" And this does not include Mama Youyou's "Etes-vous allaite encore?!" Definitely punctuated with a question mark and exclamation point. Whatever happened to the standard, "How was your summer?"

(Let me clarify, friends of mine, I was never offended by this question. I sorted it in the same benign question category as "How was your summer?" In fact, it's quite nice when your friends are so intimately involved in your life they can casually ask this question. And this proves my complete obliviousness to the "issue" of nursing.)

So at what point do we cross from "Are you nursing?" to "Are you still nursing?"

I think there's a secret that many of us moms who don't nurse as a political statement keep, and that's that nursing can be incredibly convenient. And I'm pretty lazy.

For example, when you fly back to Congo from the States with a one year-old and a two year-old they introduce you to a new kind of jet lag. It's more than losing time zones. It's losing days upon days of sleep.

Exhibit B:  Toddler (LouLou) on a transatlantic flight.

There was more than one occasion during which Adam and I looked around the plane at all the happily sleeping people and wanted to plop either of our very awake children in their laps. (These also happen to be the same people who complain about how tired they are the minute they get off the plane. You slept the whole time! I watched you!)

Turns out it's physically impossible for two babies in the same family to fall asleep at the same time while on a plane. And they continue on the same tag team one-always-being-awake-sleep-pattern for a few days after the flight.

So then, -and here's my point about the convenience of nursing- when you want to catch up with friends and avoid a screaming baby (okay, okay, toddler) you nurse and nurse and nurse until she has no choice but to be quiet while you chit chat. And then you nurse again when she's wide awake all night so you can sleep. And again when you need a break in the middle of the day because you haven't slept more than a few hours in a row.

So yes, I'm still nursing. But not as a statement. It's a matter of what's working right now. I also figure Annaïs will let me know when she's ready to stop. Hopefully she won't actually use words to tell me. Or, more realistically, Mama Youyou will tell me when she's ready to stop.

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A Funny Thing Happens...

A funny things happens when you're about to cross the Atlantic. When we get ready to return to the States, we have all kinds of fears. Remember this? And now that we're about to cross the ocean the other way, we find ourselves having completely opposing thoughts about everything. Here are the multiple personalities that develop after one short summer.

On Car Seats

Thought in Congo: Do I really have to put my kids in car seats in the States? They will hate it and scream the entire car ride.

Thought in the US: Do we really go everywhere without car seats in Congo? Eeek! How irresponsible! How do we manage the kids bouncing all over the car.


On Stuff

Get lots and lots of stuff!

  by  Steve Snodgrass 

In Congo: Maybe this year we don't need to buy as much stuff to bring back with us to Congo. We do have a real grocery store now. Paying $5 for a toothbrush isn't that bad. And hey, I kinda like these Turkish diapers.

In the US: 50 cent toothbrushes?! Get 20! And 15 tubes of toothpaste. And enough deodorant for 5 years! And I've never used hair gel, but let's get 5 tubes just in case. How much space is left in the suitcase? Can we pack a few more rolls of toilet paper in there? And I'm not using those damn Turkish diapers!

On Illness

  by  I woz ere 

In Congo: Boy it's going to be nice to be in the States where we don't have to worry about the kids getting sick.

In the US: I can't wait to get back to Congo after the kids have recovered from all their vaccinations. They've both been miserable for weeks. Charlotte is covered in measles or mumps or something, and Ani has developed an allergy to anything that touches her skin. She's constantly covered in hives.

On Safety

In Congo: Things are so safe in the States. Won't it be nice to not have to worry about political instability.

In the US: We're gathered in a public area and no one has gone though any kind of metal detector or security screening. Is this safe? Also, I have a mild heart attack every time I ride in a car. Everyone drives so fast when there are no potholes to dodge.

And finally I know it's time to go back when my thoughts have changed on the cleanliness of public restrooms. Fresh off the plane from Congo I can visit the filthiest bathroom in the States and be impressed there's running water. Now I find myself judging an establishment if the trashcan is too full and the water doesn't get hot fast enough. Don't even get me started on no changing tables. I guess it's time to get reacquainted with changing diapers mid-air.

So, so clean.

  by  loop_oh 

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How the Congolese Military Almost Ruined My Sister's Wedding

I wrote this a few weeks before we returned to the States for the summer. Now that these dresses are officially done and we can all exhale, here's the tale...

Mama Youyou's been making all the bridesmaid's dresses for my sister's wedding. I have to confess I've lost more than a little sleep counting the weekends -or as I think of them "sewing days"- left until we leave for the States with, presumably, dresses in hand. I casually remind Mama Youyou of the countdown when it "naturally" comes up in conversation. And it "naturally" does not often, so I think Mama Youyou is on to my pagne driven anxiety.

She is ever so reassuring in what has come to be a familiar "settle down white girl" tone of voice. I try not to count the dresses vs. days in my head (6 bridesmaids + 2 baby dresses divided by how many more days?...ugh). Oh and did I mention that just as she was finishing my dress I decided I wanted a totally different dress. Twice. Yep. I'm that person. So a large part of this nervousness is thanks to no one but me.

In this, the final week, she's been pretty quiet. "How are the dresses, Mama Youyou?" I nervously ask as if they're her sick children. She keeps saying she's finished with all but one. But she won't show them to me. She wants to bring them to present to me all together. I guess for the drama of it. I'm not really sure. But I'm getting suspicious.

So then this afternoon things got serious. She said we needed to talk. And she started talking so fast I had no idea what was going on. Remember we're working in French here. Second languages for both of us. I kept hearing the words "military" and "raid" and "sorry it's gone."

After a few deep breaths she told the whole story. She had been working in a little shop that belonged to her friend because it had reliable electricity. She was down to the last dress when overnight the military came and raided all the neighborhood shops. They took the dress and her sewing machine and other much more important things, I'm sure.

This wouldn't be such a problem, but remember bridesmaidzilla (me) and the changing of the dress design two times? We're down to very little pagne here. Not enough to make another dress. So Mama Youyou said she took the scraps that were leftover and trudged up and down Ave. de Commerce (which combines every African street I've ever been on into one special piece of hell) asking shopkeepers if they had this style of pagne. They did not. So she panicked. And then got down to work.

The sewing room at Jill's house.

She then presented me with the last and final replacement dress. She used those leftover scraps and added them to black satin and made what I think is a very beautiful dress. Kaitlyn, I hope you agree. Oh. And some Congolese military wife is off enjoying your J.Crew inspired dress. Just so the dress doesn't look too different from the others, Mama Youyou will use her last hours before we leave making other black satin accents for the rest of the bridesmaids.

So take that military men. The Congo-inspired, rural Virginia wedding must go on. And Mama Youyou proves once again the gumption of a Congolese woman up against the man.

Mama YouYou

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Friday (or whatever day) List

Sarah's List:

On the way back from the beach, we stopped at Chick-fil-A. This was my first time. (I know, I know, I'm about 2 decades behind.) The only thing I know about Chick-fil-A is they're closed on Sundays. I was not expecting 4-star service complete with self-adhesive children's place mats, clean booster seats and high chairs and about 4,000 different sauces. And to top it off, they double-checked to make sure it was okay if there was cinnamon in the kids' applesauce. Too good to be true? Probably so. Who thought they could get themselves so embroiled in scandal.

From the "I still think 1990 was 10 years ago" department, Adam and I just discovered the 90s Alternative Rock and Grunge station on XM Radio. Here you can see what's currently playing. I dare you not to feel nostalgic. Pretty sure Adam teared up mid-Greenday/Stone Temple Pilots/Radiohead playlist.

This article combines two wonderful things about Harrisonburg: The Farmer's Market and the Daily News-Record. A cover story this week investigated the Farmer's Market's decision to ban dogs. Climax of the story: dog steals pretzel. An excerpt below:

"On July 17, a dog snatched a pretzel from a woman's hand after she had just bought it from a vendor. Although neither the woman nor the vendor was upset and the dog owner bought the woman another pretzel, the situation could've been worse, Showalter said. It's the potential for it to be a finger and not a pretzel, even if the dog was just going for the pretzel," she said. Did I mention this was the cover story?

At Mama Congo, we love all things nanny. I can totally understand how this woman would want to keep the nanny after she slept with her husband. Sometimes a good nanny is harder to replace than a husband.

"Olympics! Everyone is so excited they wore weird pants."

Good luck to the DRC Olympic team. These guys look like a fun bunch:

Jill's List:

Frantically adding, "Download as much Mr. Bean as possible" to list of last-minute To Dos.  My kid laughed hysterically and requested to watch this about 50 times last night:

I bought two packs of Muppets Band-Aids today.  Kind of because we can always use imported Target Band-Aids in Kinshasa where they cost $15/pack at City Market.  But, mainly because of this.  Steven Colbert would make fun of me.

Man, DRCongo is all up in the news.  Sigh.

I'm going to rock the pagne pants at Katie's wedding today.  I know photographers are supposed to be somewhat subdued in their attire, but, my mother-in-law (watch her on WHSV Monday morning, by the way) made me some seriously hot, super-tailored, stovepipe pants out of some of the most fabulous pagne print ever.  Oh man, maybe I'm just excited about the Olympics.

Elias was psyched about watching the four athletes from the Congo walk during the Opening Ceremonies.  Medals, anyone?

Okay - off to a beautiful wedding.  Can't wait to show the photos to Mama YouYou and Mama Vida.  They are going to be so thrilled.  Maybe as much as the lovely bride.

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Short List.

A short list to make up for last Friday's no-list:

This girl.  Check out what she has to say about getting braids in NY vs. Lagos, Nigeria.  Quality & Craft.  And, she praises the magic of Moroccan Oil!

Cape Town represents with this neat-o project.

What do you think?  Is it harder to make friends when you're in your 30's?  

Um, yes.  Will go perfectly with this.  Both fit my toy requirements, which are: lightweight and packs flat(ish).

And this - this trash toy geodesic dome is sweet.

Nobody needs a hundred-round drum magazine.  Nobody.

An incredible article about Kenyan marathoner, Sammy Wanjiru.  Sorry you can't read the whole thing online unless you subscribe (argh....), but here's more writing about this tragic & amazing runner.

Sammy Wanjiru image from WikiCommons; http://cc.nphoto.net/view/2008/12259.shtml

Track & Field, baby.  I recently realized a new passion for reading and watching running related stuff.  Not actually running, however.  Hmmm.

Made in China?

Did you know that both Johan and I are only children?  If only we had read this first...
More here.

Sarah is at the beach.  Johan's at a whiskey tasting.  Elias is bouncing off the walls.  Lou's stomping around in the fabulous vintage french red heels I scored at this little place in Brooklyn.  And, yeah, I cut my hair.

Less than two more weeks Stateside.  Eeep.  

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