Like Mama Congo!
26 August 2012
24 August 2012
Friday List!
Sarah's List:
I love in-flight magazines! Remember this? Here's an article about how in-flight magazines trick their captive audiences into visiting war-torn countries. It's so true. We flew a lot this summer within the US and one of these magazines totally had me convinced that I must, MUST! visit Arkansas. I feel so deceived.
Thinking about umbrellas and really, really wishing the rainy season would just start already. This dust is killer. How did we live in Egypt for two years?
My favorite corner of the world, in watercolor. Find your favorite corner in watercolor too...
From Time Magazine this week: "Documenting the Democratic Republic of Congo with an iPhone". Or as I'd like to call it "Taking photos of Coltan miners so they can make your phone so you can take pictures of Coltan miners. Repeat."
I'm sorry, a recipe for ice cubes? Totally ridiculous. But check out the ratings and reviews.
Update: I know, I know you've seen the ice cube recipe a million times already. But with Jill as my witness, I had the recipe on the draft of this list 48 hours before it went viral. And Jill had already found such a beautiful ice cube picture...
A taste of the reviews: "This recipe is horrible! Maybe I should have left them in longer than two minutes (the recipe doesn't say how long to leave them in the freezer so I just kind of guessed) but mine came out all watery. I won't be making these again."
Got a few bored minutes? Check this out.
Jill's List:
Trying to find potting soil in Kinshasa. Shoprite? Brought back some herbs to try this. Mupwa doesn't think it will work...
It can't be that hard to start an NGO... Does Congo even need another NGO? Are NGOs a good thing?
Neil the maintenance guy (among other titles) tells me that I might be able to get my hands on some extra shipping pallets left over from the summer work on campus. New porch furniture!
Because we love to write about hair. For all of you who did not chop off all of your hair this summer:
At the Jack Bell gallery in London. Kinshasa's own, Bandoma.
I love in-flight magazines! Remember this? Here's an article about how in-flight magazines trick their captive audiences into visiting war-torn countries. It's so true. We flew a lot this summer within the US and one of these magazines totally had me convinced that I must, MUST! visit Arkansas. I feel so deceived.
 |
| Compliments of Egypt Air. |
Thinking about umbrellas and really, really wishing the rainy season would just start already. This dust is killer. How did we live in Egypt for two years?
My favorite corner of the world, in watercolor. Find your favorite corner in watercolor too...
 |
| Can you guess where this is? |
From Time Magazine this week: "Documenting the Democratic Republic of Congo with an iPhone". Or as I'd like to call it "Taking photos of Coltan miners so they can make your phone so you can take pictures of Coltan miners. Repeat."
I'm sorry, a recipe for ice cubes? Totally ridiculous. But check out the ratings and reviews.
Update: I know, I know you've seen the ice cube recipe a million times already. But with Jill as my witness, I had the recipe on the draft of this list 48 hours before it went viral. And Jill had already found such a beautiful ice cube picture...
A taste of the reviews: "This recipe is horrible! Maybe I should have left them in longer than two minutes (the recipe doesn't say how long to leave them in the freezer so I just kind of guessed) but mine came out all watery. I won't be making these again."
Got a few bored minutes? Check this out.
Jill's List:
Trying to find potting soil in Kinshasa. Shoprite? Brought back some herbs to try this. Mupwa doesn't think it will work...
It can't be that hard to start an NGO... Does Congo even need another NGO? Are NGOs a good thing?
Neil the maintenance guy (among other titles) tells me that I might be able to get my hands on some extra shipping pallets left over from the summer work on campus. New porch furniture!
My kind of sewing. And Mama Vida & Mama NouNou. They never use patterns. Here's my favorite top/tunic/dress.
Because we love to write about hair. For all of you who did not chop off all of your hair this summer:
At the Jack Bell gallery in London. Kinshasa's own, Bandoma.
23 August 2012
Running the Wall
All summer, I read about running.
It started with a New Yorker article about Sammy Wanjiru, the troubled-yet-brilliant Kenyan distance runner. I had a huge stack of back issues to catch up on but May 21, 2012 edition was my favorite. The descriptions of slow twitch muscles, VO2max, and lactate thresholds were strangely fascinating. Almost as riveting as the human story that was Wanjiru's.
In Virginia, I mentioned this new literary obsession to Mama Congo Guest Blogger and everyone's favorite ultramarathoner, Andrew Jenner. He said, "Here, read this" and handed me the thick 116th Boston Marathon program. He promised me hours of fun. It was.
Then, I came back to Kinshasa. I told another teacher (particularly adept at book suggestions as well as a runner) that I wanted to read about running. She threw this at me, saying, "The hipsters really like it, but he lost me at the point where he professed his love for the Walkman."
Before this book, I purposefully repeated the mantra that I was not a runner, I just liked reading about running. However, my hipster tendencies took over and somewhere between passages like:
I started to get curious about what it would be like to run.
I have run before, but not really. I've always been that person who says, "Well, I hate running," just like my middle schoolers on run-the-mile day. Plus, it felt hard to run with two little ones at home. There was a brief time where I would cheat-run by making Elias go with me. It usually started off strong and ended with me dragging and/or carrying him most of the way. Who goes running with a 5 year old?
So, I decided the NHS should get involved. And I downloaded a free podcast where an extraordinarily pleasant British woman tells me I am doing-a-good-job-and-now-it's-time-for-your-90-second-recovery-walk. Inspirational British pop fills in the spaces.
So, now I am running the wall three mornings a week thanks to Haruki Murakami and the NHS.
The wall?
This is the wall:
This concrete-barbed-wire-leafy-forest-path forms the periphery of our compound. Once around is a little over 1 mile. It's pretty great. I ignore Johan when he tells me how fast he ran around four times. And if I see Sarah also running the wall, I go the other direction, knowing we would both hate to have a running partner.
The wall at 5:45am is loud. People are up and shouting for transport, children are crying, and sometimes I hear a rooster. I can't see any of these things beyond the wall, but I hear them -even through my earbuds - and they remind me that I am thankfully not at a gym.
And it's true what Murakami says. I don't have to talk or listen to anyone. Except that awkward, breathless, "Bonjour!" - twice - as I run past the guard house.
I'm not yet brave enough to be a runner runner. But for those of you who are: Kinshasa actually has a lot of options. There are these crazy people - many of whom I know and love. And this club. And then, there's the many folks who go out every Sunday for an energetic, national-fitness kind of communal run:
When we had our Kima Mbangu (Run Fast) 5K last year (which I, randomly, organized), Mamas Vida, NouNou, and YouYou ALL came to run. And they actually ran it. It was seriously impressive.
Maybe this year, I'll be running with them.
**More running in Congo here.
It started with a New Yorker article about Sammy Wanjiru, the troubled-yet-brilliant Kenyan distance runner. I had a huge stack of back issues to catch up on but May 21, 2012 edition was my favorite. The descriptions of slow twitch muscles, VO2max, and lactate thresholds were strangely fascinating. Almost as riveting as the human story that was Wanjiru's.
 |
| Sammy Wanjiru. Image from WikiCommons. FaceMePLS from The Hague, The Netherlands |
In Virginia, I mentioned this new literary obsession to Mama Congo Guest Blogger and everyone's favorite ultramarathoner, Andrew Jenner. He said, "Here, read this" and handed me the thick 116th Boston Marathon program. He promised me hours of fun. It was.
Then, I came back to Kinshasa. I told another teacher (particularly adept at book suggestions as well as a runner) that I wanted to read about running. She threw this at me, saying, "The hipsters really like it, but he lost me at the point where he professed his love for the Walkman."
Before this book, I purposefully repeated the mantra that I was not a runner, I just liked reading about running. However, my hipster tendencies took over and somewhere between passages like:
When I'm running I don't have to talk to anybody and don't have to listen to anybody. This is a part of my day I can't do without.and
You end up exhausted and spent, but later, in retrospect, you realize what it all was for. The parts fall into place, and you can see the whole picture and finally understand the role each individual part plays. The dawn comes, the sky grows light, and the colors and shapes of the roofs of houses, which you could only glimpse vaguely before, come into focus.
I started to get curious about what it would be like to run.
I have run before, but not really. I've always been that person who says, "Well, I hate running," just like my middle schoolers on run-the-mile day. Plus, it felt hard to run with two little ones at home. There was a brief time where I would cheat-run by making Elias go with me. It usually started off strong and ended with me dragging and/or carrying him most of the way. Who goes running with a 5 year old?
So, I decided the NHS should get involved. And I downloaded a free podcast where an extraordinarily pleasant British woman tells me I am doing-a-good-job-and-now-it's-time-for-your-90-second-recovery-walk. Inspirational British pop fills in the spaces.
So, now I am running the wall three mornings a week thanks to Haruki Murakami and the NHS.
This is the wall:
This concrete-barbed-wire-leafy-forest-path forms the periphery of our compound. Once around is a little over 1 mile. It's pretty great. I ignore Johan when he tells me how fast he ran around four times. And if I see Sarah also running the wall, I go the other direction, knowing we would both hate to have a running partner.
The wall at 5:45am is loud. People are up and shouting for transport, children are crying, and sometimes I hear a rooster. I can't see any of these things beyond the wall, but I hear them -even through my earbuds - and they remind me that I am thankfully not at a gym.
And it's true what Murakami says. I don't have to talk or listen to anyone. Except that awkward, breathless, "Bonjour!" - twice - as I run past the guard house.
I'm not yet brave enough to be a runner runner. But for those of you who are: Kinshasa actually has a lot of options. There are these crazy people - many of whom I know and love. And this club. And then, there's the many folks who go out every Sunday for an energetic, national-fitness kind of communal run:
When we had our Kima Mbangu (Run Fast) 5K last year (which I, randomly, organized), Mamas Vida, NouNou, and YouYou ALL came to run. And they actually ran it. It was seriously impressive.
Maybe this year, I'll be running with them.
**More running in Congo here.
21 August 2012
Okay, when do I go for my laser boob treatments?
Last week Jill sent me this article Sorry -- You Can't Guilt Trip Me About Bottle Feeding My Kids and it sparked quite the conversation. One thing this mom goes on and on about is how miserable those first few days of nursing are. And it's true. It can be quite painful...okay very painful. This reminded me of a very foggy memory I have of the first few days after Charlotte was born.
Charlotte's birth in Cape Town taught me that South Africans believe in the healing powers of water and light. The doctor who delivered her had one recommendation after her birth, "If you want to heal, go swim in the sea and lie in the sun." This may work for hardened South Africans, but that water was so cold I would have needed a wet suit. And there was no way I was wearing a wet suit 2 days post partpartum. Oh, and a man had just been eaten by a "dinosaur-sized" shark at the beach in front of our rental house. (Read about it here if you never want to swim again.) I didn't want to heal that bad.
Charlotte turned 50 shades of yellow after she was born.
The type of yellow that sends babies back to the hospital for the biliblanket in the States. I know this because Annaïs, born in the US, was not nearly as yellow as her older sister, but the American doctors pulled out all the stops to combat her jaundice.
But for Charlotte in South Africa, "Just put her in the sun!" But she's REALLY REALLY yellow and I've been Googling. I need medical intervention, I thought. "Just put her in the sun!" All the doctors said. And it worked.
So when it comes to preparing you to breastfeed your child, South Africans really depend on light. Infrared light. The day after Charlotte was born I started my infrared laser light nipple treatments. That's right, folks. I know, I know, so weird. Actually, in retrospect it's so bizarre there's a 1% chance I dreamed it.
Instead of visits from a lactation consultant to teach me how to breastfeed my baby, I was taken to a light clinic for infrared laser treatments. The theory is that light toughens up your nipples and makes nursing less painful. They told me I especially needed the lights because of how "incredibly pale" I am.
I had no idea what was standard post-birth hospital practice, so I was game. In fact, I was never asked if I wanted to do it, that's just what you do after you have a baby.
So a couple times a day a cute, teenage South African boy showed up at my room to wheel me to the light clinic. I swear they were paid per woman wheeled to the other side of the hospital, because we flew like the wind! Proof that teenage boys have no idea the fragility of a woman after giving birth.
And there a person with a laser gun type-thing shone lights on me. They wore funny goggles. I wore funny goggles. It was truly weird. Maybe it was actually a dream. I just remember thinking, "There is no way my American insurance is going to pay for something this ridiculous."
After I was discharged my doctor gave me firm instructions to sit topless in the sun everyday. Fine. But I'm not going to the beach to do it.
At the time, I had no idea if any of this light therapy worked, but nursing wasn't that painful. After baby #2, I'm fairly certain it did work. I was not properly toughened up and I missed my laser lights. Or maybe I just missed sitting topless wearing goggles while a stranger pointed a laser gun at my boobs.
When I told Jill about all this after Ani was born, she laughed at the thought of me asking her co-nurses on the labor and delivery floor, "Okay, when do I go for my laser boob treatments?"
Maybe we should introduce this in the States. It really was wonderful to be toughened up a bit before nursing. And it was also quite nice to feel like the medical establishment understood breastfeeding could be killer, so they do everything they can to get your body ready.
Often people forget to mention how horribly painful nursing can be those first few days. Women think they're doing something wrong. You're not. It can definitely suck (pun intended). And I am very pro-anything that can make it better. Including laser boob treatments.
P.S. My insurance did pay. Suckers.
Charlotte's birth in Cape Town taught me that South Africans believe in the healing powers of water and light. The doctor who delivered her had one recommendation after her birth, "If you want to heal, go swim in the sea and lie in the sun." This may work for hardened South Africans, but that water was so cold I would have needed a wet suit. And there was no way I was wearing a wet suit 2 days post partpartum. Oh, and a man had just been eaten by a "dinosaur-sized" shark at the beach in front of our rental house. (Read about it here if you never want to swim again.) I didn't want to heal that bad.
Charlotte turned 50 shades of yellow after she was born.
The type of yellow that sends babies back to the hospital for the biliblanket in the States. I know this because Annaïs, born in the US, was not nearly as yellow as her older sister, but the American doctors pulled out all the stops to combat her jaundice.
But for Charlotte in South Africa, "Just put her in the sun!" But she's REALLY REALLY yellow and I've been Googling. I need medical intervention, I thought. "Just put her in the sun!" All the doctors said. And it worked.
 |
Instead of visits from a lactation consultant to teach me how to breastfeed my baby, I was taken to a light clinic for infrared laser treatments. The theory is that light toughens up your nipples and makes nursing less painful. They told me I especially needed the lights because of how "incredibly pale" I am.
I had no idea what was standard post-birth hospital practice, so I was game. In fact, I was never asked if I wanted to do it, that's just what you do after you have a baby.
So a couple times a day a cute, teenage South African boy showed up at my room to wheel me to the light clinic. I swear they were paid per woman wheeled to the other side of the hospital, because we flew like the wind! Proof that teenage boys have no idea the fragility of a woman after giving birth.
And there a person with a laser gun type-thing shone lights on me. They wore funny goggles. I wore funny goggles. It was truly weird. Maybe it was actually a dream. I just remember thinking, "There is no way my American insurance is going to pay for something this ridiculous."
After I was discharged my doctor gave me firm instructions to sit topless in the sun everyday. Fine. But I'm not going to the beach to do it.
At the time, I had no idea if any of this light therapy worked, but nursing wasn't that painful. After baby #2, I'm fairly certain it did work. I was not properly toughened up and I missed my laser lights. Or maybe I just missed sitting topless wearing goggles while a stranger pointed a laser gun at my boobs.
When I told Jill about all this after Ani was born, she laughed at the thought of me asking her co-nurses on the labor and delivery floor, "Okay, when do I go for my laser boob treatments?"
Maybe we should introduce this in the States. It really was wonderful to be toughened up a bit before nursing. And it was also quite nice to feel like the medical establishment understood breastfeeding could be killer, so they do everything they can to get your body ready.
Often people forget to mention how horribly painful nursing can be those first few days. Women think they're doing something wrong. You're not. It can definitely suck (pun intended). And I am very pro-anything that can make it better. Including laser boob treatments.
P.S. My insurance did pay. Suckers.
18 August 2012
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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. 15 August 2012
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...
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...
13 August 2012
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?
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?
11 August 2012
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.
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.
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| Elias & LouLou playing at N'djili Airport upon arrival. |
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| From Mama Vida & Mama NouNou. |
8 August 2012
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.
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.
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.
2 August 2012
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
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
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.
On Car Seats
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
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
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 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.
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