'Merica to the 'Roon

Wow, I have not posted on here in a LONG time. I have lots to say about life here in Cameroon and my trip HOME to the States! Since most of you know how awesome the U.S. Of A. is I'll stick to life in Cameroon.

It was so wonderful to see my loved ones and enjoy the luxurious life of 'Merica, but it made coming home to Cameroon very difficult. It took me a couple weeks to stop whining and actually want to leave my house and participate in life here. I needed a real attitude adjustment. I'm less whiny now, and enjoying life here, for the most part. My new positive outlook can be partially attributed to Stephen Covey's "7 Habits" book. I guess my dad was right about everyone needing to read that book in their life. It's a good one, check it out! (I'm running for favorite daughter right now!)

Anyways, after some private pity parties, I put my super hero pants on and decided I can, and want, to finish my service here. Definitely still struggling to feel like I'm making any sort of impact here in Tourningal, but my counterpart and I are writing a grant to get the maternity ward opened and functioning (keep your eyes open for your chance to help out!!). So, hopefully that will make a small positive impact on life here.

It was Bilingualism Day here this past week. I got to see both the high school students and elementary kids sing and do skits in English. I taught the kids "Old McDonald" but they seemed to struggle with some of the words, so, we will see if they use it for the upcoming Youth Day. These kids are impressive. They grow up speaking Fulfulde (their local language); then, around 5-6 years old they learn to speak, read, and write Arabic. When they enter school at about age 6-7 they learn to read, write, and speak French. In high school, they learn English and study one other language (Arabic, German, Spanish). I can't imagine how awesome and difficult it is to learn so many different languages. Especially because the first language many of them learn (Arabic) to read and write is opposite of the other languages they learn (French/English). I've seen kids who write French words/phrases perfectly backwards, probably because they've been taught Arabic. It has to be confusing growing up in such a multilingual area. But I also think it is admirable and impressive and we should push kids to learn at least one other language before getting into high school.

It is dry season right now and I have to say I never knew the meaning of dry season until this year. It is DRY! Dust forever and always, with no talk of rain and rarely any clouds in the sky. It is so sunny, hot, and dusty here. I walk around with my scarf covering my head and face, which they think is pretty funny. I love nights because I'm not sweating. It is hot by 8 and, then, around 4 it starts to get shady. I felt better today when I went to visit my neighbor and she was just lying on her couch, sweating. When I walked in she said it was too hot. Suddenly I didn't feel so bad for taking a break almost every afternoon when it's too hot for me to function. And the more northern areas of Cameroon get even HOTTER! I couldn't survive. It was apparently 90 degrees today and I was wishing for ice, air conditioning, anything cool, or anything to get some air moving. I truly have a renewed appreciation of winter and Montana fresh air. Not to mention, electricity, refrigeration, and climate control.

One Year Anniversary

Well, it has been difficult to keep my blog going while living in village with no electricity, but I am currently in the city and enjoying electricity, internet, hot showers, and sleeping in. I just picked up 6 packages from the post office and had one little package waiting for me already at the PC house. Wow, I have some great family and friends. Just enjoyed some M&M’s and Top Ramen soup; my fellow PCV’s appreciate the M&M’s as well. They are going fast!

Life is good here. I have been homesick and missing all you great people back home, but I do enjoy village and the people there, as well. I am continuing to “work” at the Health Center in village and going out on Polio Vaccinations every so often. I do a lot of observing and stepping out of rooms as to keep from puking or passing out at the Health Center. I am learning a lot about health care in the village, and just how strong people are. There were two births the other day, and the only screaming and crying was from the newborn baby. Women are crazy strong here. The same week, I showed up to the Health Center around 9 am and there was a woman who had given birth that morning before I got there. She was packing up her things and getting on a moto with her newborn child wrapped up in her arms to go back to her nearby village. I often tell my coworkers at the Health Center how amazing women are here.

There was a some recent cases of Polio found among the Central African Republic refugee’s here in Cameroon. Since we, in the Adamawa, are one of the regions that border CAR, we are one of two regions who have to do three rounds of vaccinations within a month, for all kiddos aged 0-10 years (it used to be 0-5 years). It has been a little tiring, but I always enjoy getting to see the houses, people, and different villages “en brousse” (in the bush). It is rainy season, so it can be a little scary and slippery when we take the moto out to the small bush villages. But I wear my helmet, jeans, keens, and long sleeve flannel despite being told I look like a man when I go en brousse. And, they think it is hilarious when “nasara” falls in the mud, on the moto, which can get annoying, but no burns or injuries, so I try to laugh it off when we do fall.

While out on vaccinations this past week, Ebola was the hot topic. It has been concerning with it creeping closer. People out in the middle of the bush know about it, were worried, and were asking for the vaccine. My Cameroonian friend/counterpart/neighbor explained there is none and we are only giving the vaccine against Polio right now. From what I could understand in Fulfulde, she explained there is no treatment and no vaccine and it is not in Cameroon, yet. I’ve been doing my fair share of reading and research on the virus and have been pushing for a short little session on how to protect oneself, but it hasn’t been accepted or put on anyone’s priority list as of now. There is a one new small poster in the health clinic about symptoms, who to call if you suspect Ebola, and how to protect yourself. But, it is small, it is only one, and it is in French. For a village of people who speak Fulfulde and has an estimated literacy rate of 40%, that is not sufficient.

Reading the news and the problems with Ebola in nearby countries, I can imagine how impossible it is to control. Seeing how people deal with illness here in village, in the bush, and at the health center is extremely disheartening to imagine the ability to control something like Ebola. Traditional remedies are almost always tried before going to the health center, if they have the money to go to the health center. I try to share the information I have, but it is limited and we can talk all we want but it’s going to require some serious dedicated behaviors to deal with it. People are told to protect themselves from any loved ones who have symptoms, but when you sleep in the same bed, eat from the same plate, how realistic is that? Can you imagine not having the protective equipment needed to take care of your sick loved ones and therefore not touching them, helping clean them up, prepare their bodies for burial? I can only imagine the suffering of those in these other W. African countries affected by Ebola.

It is easy to forget about things when we live in the good ol’ USA. It is easy to distance ourselves from things going on around the world when we live in a developed country. Sometimes I look at the world news here and I wonder is the news always like this? Does it affect me more now, here in Cameroon, because I can empathize with these stories on these struggling developing countries? Or, is this what growing up feels like?

It is humbling to live here. It is not always easy. Sometimes I think about coming home. But, also, it’s not always difficult and I wonder what it would be like to live here forever, not to have a year left until I go back to my country. Yes, if Ebola becomes a concern here in Cameroon, I can go home to Montana. But, what about my friends and my Cameroonian “family”? Those in Tourningal and Mayo-Darle can’t pack up their things and leave the country. They will be fighting for their lives as those in multiple West African countries are struggling to do.

Peace Corps has definitely showed me that you truly cannot take anything for granted. We should appreciate the development in our country, the access to health care, the support from the government in disasters, and just the basic security we have in our country. Of course, we have our fair share of problems in the States, and people even asked before I left for Cameroon, “why not stay here and work on our own problems?” It is a fair question and I don’t have a good response. I just know this is truly a life changing experience and makes me realize how much I have taken for granted all my life.

There are people here who don’t understand why an American would leave the US to come suffer in Africa (their words). It is also difficult to explain and sometimes I think, “yeah, what am I doing?!?” But there are amazing things here amongst the suffering. People are genuine here. They are welcoming. And they love to laugh.

It has been a wild ride, but I’ve made it one year here in Cameroon. I can’t believe it has already been one year. Looking back, it has gone fast, but I don’t have much to show for my time here. I am half way done; I have one year left to work. And, about three months until I will spend Christmas with my loved ones. On the hard days, that is what keeps me going.

Here’s to another year of more “firsts”, learning new things everyday, and realizing the more I learn, the less sure I am of what I know.

"You have an African accent when you speak French"

Well, I did it. I spent a month in village, without leaving, without electricity. My fellow villagers seemed to appreciate it since I kept hearing, "you're not traveling?” "you haven't traveled lately, that's good", and "you have been in village for more than a week!"

When we are first posted in our villages, we are supposed to spend three months in village, without leaving, except going to our banking city for a night or two. I understand that better now. I was traveling a lot in my first few weeks at my new post and it made it difficult to integrate and enjoy my new home. After spending a month solid in village, I appreciate my friends, neighbors, and my house. Even though the kids drive me crazy and make my house dirty, I do miss them, and I do love them. They are so dirty but so cute. I get mad and annoyed but then I hear them calling my name and asking me where I'm going and what I'm doing, and with a deep breath, I can smile and laugh with them again.

It has been a while since I’ve written a blog, and there is a lot to catch up on. June was a busy and exciting month. I got to see three out of four sisters, my dad, and meet my new nephew. Meaghan and my dad came to Cameroon for a week. It was wonderful. It was a lot of traveling, but they were troopers. We spent a night in Yaoundé (the capital) at the Hilton Hotel. It was a vacation from reality for me. We took the train overnight up north to Ngaoundere and then went out to my village. After waiting for the car for hours, we left in the rain, but made it to village a couple hours later. When we arrived, all my neighbors came and greeted us. Dad was called “grandpere nasara” or “white grandpa.” I think he liked it. Meaghan was my “adda” (big sister in Fulfulde) and many people told me how beautiful she was. People are still asking about them.

We spent two nights in village, exploring the area and meeting many neighbors and friends. I did my best at translating between French, English, and Fulfulde, but there were some conversations, which were definitely lost in the wind. Dad was worried about breaking the cultural gender norms, and even stressed himself out about it! You can ask him for the story! Let’s just say, between Dad and Meaghan, I didn’t sleep through a night outside of the Hilton. Guess that just shows how nervous they were about coming, but they came anyways. I appreciate they came on an adventure with me.

We spent one night in Ngaoundere, my banking city and the regional capital. It is a very calm and nice city, with some good food. Meaghan and Dad ate some grilled fish and baton, and really loved it. After a good day in the city, we took the train back down to Yaoundé and went back to Hilton Paradise. We all had a solid night of sleep. We explored Yaoundé, a little, but I’m a small town girl and I am far from comfortable in Yaoundé. After swimming in the pool, blended coffee drinks, yummy pizza and a relaxing day, we took off for FRANCE!

I was watching movies, drinking free red wine, and actually enjoying most of the airplane food they gave us. Funny how your perspective changes after a few months of cous cous and sauce. Our flight arrived early in the morning and we anxiously waited for more sisters and my new nephew. They all looked exhausted after an overnight flight with a baby. We found our bags and headed to our hotel for the night. After a little relaxation, we set out to see a little bit of Paris. I was shocked at how expensive everything was. I would say everything was three times, or more, than Cameroonian prices. But, it was also so beautiful and clean. We ate some yummy French food and drank mojitos and red wine.

Even though we were all exhausted, I think we were all happy to be together and we wound up walking around Paris the entire afternoon. At dusk, Dad, Ann and I went up the Eiffel Tower; sad Mom was not there to see it with us. We made our way back to the hotel and found some to-go pizza next door. We found some red wine and M&M’s and had a feast with the World Cup playing in the background.

The next day, despite French Traffic Strikes, we found our train to Bordeaux. It was amazingly fast, smooth, and fancy.

I have a lot more to say about France, and my recent time in country, but I my neighbor and friend from village is waiting for me to go back to village and prepare for the Grande Fete de Ramadan! It has been so long since I posted on here, I felt the need to give something to my dedicated fans out there, aka my loved ones in MT. Miss and love you and I will add more when I come back to the city. All you need to know is I am here, alive, and happy. Village life gets better with time, and I am seeing potential for projects and work in the area.

For now, au revoir! Or, if you prefer Fulfulde, bahaouji (no clue how to spell it)! Or, as the kids are learning in village, see you later!

Pictures from Tourningal

Different Village, Different Life

I am in Tourningal, my new post, and it is beautiful. My neighbors are very nice and have fed me nearly every meal since I’ve arrived. I got here May 1st; today is the 5th. I have already taken a break and gone back to Ngaoundere (my new banking city) for two nights. I basically spent two nights in my new home, unpacked a little bit, and then left for Ngaoundere. I bought 15 rolls of toilet paper, some drapes, a gas lamp (or what we would call a kerosene camping lamp), and some cheap plastic shelves to try and organize this mess. I took running water (one hot) showers, again, and drank cold drinks. Not to mention, I charged nearly all my electronics.

After 6 weeks or more of living out of a suitcase and staying in crowded, dirty Peace Corps houses, I am happy to have my own place again. It is so difficult to restart, though. My house is full of cockroaches and not "Maureen" clean. Thank goodness for very kind neighbors and random village people. They helped me move all my stuff and set up my bed and unpack a little. It was very much appreciated. When I finally told the kids and adults I wanted to take a little break, they told me they would come get me for dinner later. I shut my door and let the tears of total exhaustion and fear fall quietly (don’t worry, just for a few minutes). Then I tried to push that feeling of being completely overwhelmed and called some of my friends from Mayo-Darle. After a couple of calls about how Mayo-Darle is definitely not "en brousse" I heard a soft knock on the door. It was a young boy bringing me water from the well. The people here are so helpful and welcoming (here and in Mayo-Darle). My neighbor lady came over to ask if I'd found my lamp yet. I couldn't remember for the life of me where I packed it in that hurried and blurry three-day evacuation. I found some candles and she seemed to be able to accept that as my form of light this evening.

I don’t know how to live without electricity. Imagine there is no way to turn a light on when it gets dark at 6:30 pm. If you have to get up during the night to go the bathroom, you need to take a flashlight into that scary dark, cockroach-infested latrine. If your computer, cell phone, or camera is dead, there is no way to charge it, unless you have a solar charger or give it to someone with a generator. It is something we definitely take for granted in the States. It is an amazing amenity that I miss dearly. So, for those of you back home, enjoy it, but take a moment to imagine what it would be like to live without it. Back in Mayo-Darlé, we didn’t really have electricity but we had a big generator for the town and there was electricity for 4 hours in the evening, from 6:30 – 10:30 pm. It was perfect, and now I am realizing how much I relied on that precious time with electricity.

After all that, I should tell you, I am sitting in my house with a flickering light bulb on and my phone and camera are charging in my living room. When I first got here I noticed there was wiring and lights for electricity in my house and I thought to myself, “what a mean joke” because there is no electricity here. However, this evening my neighbor came over and said I can charge my phone in my house today. I thought he was joking. He came in and switched the light switch on; nothing happened. And I said, “ca va” because I thought he was still messing with me. He didn’t give up and soon I noticed the welcomed hum of a generator. I let him work for bit and right when it was getting too dark to see, the light in my living room came on. I was so happy! I could barely control myself. I said “merci, merci, merci” and they started laughing at me for how happy I was to have electricity, even if only for a couple hours, one day.

Miscarriages

This is something I don’t talk about often, or very openly. So it seems odd to write about this and post it on my blog. I guess I don’t really have a good reason to share this now. I imagine only my family and friends reading this, but maybe there are others out there, and I guess I’m okay with that. It is not something I am proud of, but it is my history, and it has helped shape me to be the person I am today.

I am a mom with no child.

It happens in every country and in every culture. The cause is blamed on a variety of things, ranging from sorcery to bad maternal health. It can happen to any woman at any time during her childbearing years. For me, it happened when I was 19. Even after an autopsy, there was no solid explanation for it. Which almost made things worse. I needed to know why. What did I do wrong? Did I not take care of my unborn child? Did I not take care of myself? Would I have been a bad mom? What was the reason that perfect little baby boy couldn’t breathe and live after being born? Why did I have to go through such a hell? Why give me a false belief of becoming a mom? Why let my milk come in if there was no baby to drink it? What would life have been like if the doctor’s would’ve saved him when I begged them to? Would I still be married if he survived? Would I be happy? Would he be healthy? Would I be a mean mom? So many unanswered questions. So many “what if” questions.

More women than you think have miscarriages. Once you ask, or once it comes up in conversations, you will be surprised how many women have suffered such a painful experience. I mean painful emotionally and physically. It is giving birth but there is no happiness afterwards. Instead, you have to leave your baby in the hospital. You have a child to bury. You have to get a headstone for his gravesite. You have to accept the unimaginable. You have to answer “no” to the question “do you have kids?” You have to hear your parents say they have four grandkids, not five. You have to accept that your sisters have nieces and one nephew, not two (all these numbers are old). You have to take flowers, toys, and balloons out to the cemetery when you want to talk to and “see” your child. You have to miss his birthday when you’re not near his grave. It is a terrible feeling to be such an empty and unattached mom.

Friday, April 25, 2014, will mark 8 years. Anthony would be 8-years-old. How can it feel like so long ago and, yet, I remember it so vividly? I still feel guilt. I still feel sadness. I still feel a sharp pain when people ask me why I don’t have kids. I still struggle to laugh at jokes about giving up your firstborn. I still perk up when I hear “Anthony.” I pity myself on Mother’s Day, when a few people awkwardly wish me a “Happy Mother’s Day.” I still want to go out to the cemetery and talk to you, sometimes cry, or just sit on the grass in silence next to you. I still get upset when I can’t take you flowers on your birthday. I’m sorry I can’t come clean off your headstone. I know no one thinks of you like I do; even your father has a child of his own now. There are many who love you and wanted to meet you, but there is no one who would have loved you like I do. You are on my mind often. You will always be my firstborn. I will never forget what you taught me. I will never forget the amazement of hearing and seeing you inside of me.

I don’t know how to move on. How will I ever become pregnant again without thinking of you? I don’t think it is possible. I will never again try to starve myself. I will never again only eat because I have someone growing inside me. I will never take for granted a child’s heartbeat. I will never be able to be pregnant and nurse without thinking of Anthony. Anthony, you are my baby boy. Perfect, tiny, strong. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to keep you alive. I would’ve done anything for you. I would’ve done anything to keep you breathing, to keep that tiny heart beating.

Many say, “it was for the better” or “it happened for a reason.” When I have no scientific reason on his autopsy report, what reason was that? Who decided? Why him? Why didn’t he deserve a chance? Why didn’t I deserve a chance to be a mom? Why let me hear that fast heartbeat if he was never going to walk or talk?

I know I may not be where I am today if I had an 8-year-old child. But, I would have an 8-year-old Anthony who I would love dearly. Maybe I never would’ve gone back to college. Maybe I never would have gotten my college degree. I may never have gone to graduate school. And, I certainly would not be in Peace Corps at 27 years old. Maybe it was a “blessing in disguise” like some tell me. But I can’t help but cringe at that saying. Why should I get to go on and better myself when this helpless little child never even got a chance? I’m sorry, Anthony. I wish I would’ve taken better care of myself, and of you. If I would’ve eaten better, would you be here with me now?

I do feel lucky to be where I am today, in my life. So, I can accept the sayings like, “it happened for a reason” or “it was meant to be” a little easier. I understand I would’ve struggled like hell to take care of that little guy and be a happy, healthy mom. It would’ve been hard to get a divorce with a child to think about. I am fortunate to have had the chance to finish university and graduate school and join Peace Corps. I know if I had a child, life would be stressful, difficult, and very different. It is just hard to accept losing him and embrace this part of my past. I still think of him when I see a pregnant lady or when I see a newborn.

While this is not about my experience here, in Cameroon, it is a constant battle for me, especially working with kids and women here. Cameroonians love to ask how old you are, if you are married, and if you have children. I hate comments about how I don’t know what it is like to be pregnant. I want to scream every time they ask me why I’m not married or why I don’t have kids. I WAS married; I HAVE a child. My husband and I chose very different paths. My child died the same minute he was born. He flinched in my arms before I asked the doctors to save him. I left my child on a counter in the hospital, wrapped in a blanket, motionless. What kind of mother does that? I just left him there. I don’t even know who took him off that counter after I left. I couldn’t take him home. I couldn’t feed him when my milk came in. I could only cry and sit in shock as the flowers and cards arrived from family and friends. I could only think of everything I did wrong as people told me they were sorry for my loss.

My loved ones were the reason I was able to continue my life after losing Anthony. I have caring sisters, understanding parents, amazing girlfriends, and very compassionate extended family. While the specifics are mine only, this experience is not unique to me, and I don’t write for pity or to make you sad. I write to get this out of my head. And, maybe if someone has experienced a similar pain, they can have some comfort in knowing they are not alone. It is difficult to talk about this when I don’t have my family and close friends here with me. Usually someone understands why I’m a little down on the 25th of April. Here, I can choose to stay quiet and say “I’m fine” or I can choose to share it with people and have to tell a long story.

It is difficult to see sick kids and hear about young children passing away. I guess I feel like the struggles we deal with in America are more in my face and more common here in Cameroon. There are strong women back home but the women here have a whole different kind of strength within them. In both countries, women go through things you can’t even imagine. While Anthony’s father lost a child too, he didn’t have the responsibility of being unable to keep the child healthy. Women suffer miscarriages; they live through the loss of their children or husbands. I don’t know how they do it. I barely survived the loss of a child I never even got to know. I would never wish such a terrible pain on anyone. A pain that lasts years. And, while it is true, time makes it easier, it definitely doesn’t make it go away. There is not a week goes by without thinking about my baby boy. I wish I were there this week to take care of your headstone and bring you flowers, balloons, or a toy. Happy 8th birthday Anthony, you are on my mind often. Your caring Grandma will come and check on you.

“I fought for you the hardest, it made me the strongest. So tell me your secrets, I just can’t stand to see you leaving, but heaven couldn’t wait for you.” ~ Beyoncé’s new song “Heaven” about her miscarriage (aka my new obsession)

Grandparents are the best

April 19, 2014

I just found out that tomorrow is Easter. Missed that one in the midst of traveling, moving, “vacationing,” and being overwhelmed. I just got to Ngaoundéré – the capital of the Adamaoua region – and my new banking city. There was a pile of mail waiting for me. I got a small care package from the Cole’s and many cards and letters from my friends and family. THANK YOU! Made my day, as always. And, I’m sorry I haven’t been writing any letters lately.


In two days I will move to my new house and new village, Tourningal. After a month or so of moving around, living out of a backpack, and living in “cases” (Peace Corps transit houses) and hotels, I am looking forward to getting settled back in. But, that’s about all I’m looking forward to. I have a small table, 2 chairs, and a bookshelf for furniture because there wasn’t enough space to bring everything. I need to at least buy a mattress before Monday. I don’t want to start over. I am not excited to have to integrate all over again. (Also, I don’t know how to integrate into a community without eating couscous at nearly every meal, which results in instant weight gain.) People who came to country at the same time are starting projects, doing real work, and here I am at square one, again. It is so frustrating and too overwhelming to think about. I know there are many positives or small silver linings to this situation, but I can’t see those right now. I need a serious attitude adjustment.


One thing that is keeping me going is my parents and Meggie are coming to see me in 7 weeks. Yep, I’ll have 7 weeks to integrate, make friends, and explain to my new village that my family is coming before they arrive. Let’s hope it goes by fast! After a week of Cameroon, we will go to France and I get to see two more sisters and meet my new nephew! This is what’s been driving me lately.


Also, I felt very rejuvenated after being on the beach for a week. Peace Corps put on a conference for young girls and women and I got to bring a young girl and young woman from my old village. It was their first time swimming in the ocean. When I floated on my back they screamed and said it was sorcery. As we stood on the beach and looked out on the ocean, they asked me where the water ends. They took salty water and black sand back to Mayo-Darlé and told me they were going to give it to someone to drink. I couldn’t help but think of bringing sand back to Montana from Hawaii as a teenager. Their per diem for food was 5,000 FCFA ($10) and they never spent more than 2,000 FCFA ($4) on a meal and that was when they told me the food was too expensive. They wanted me to keep the money for them because when I tried to give them the money for all three days, they refused to take it. Needless to say, I sent them home with a lot of leftover money they never used. They are very frugal and it is very humbling. It was a good few days with them. It was a very educational experience for them and for me. After they left, I stayed with my friends and we found a beautiful beach. I truly didn’t want to leave. If I had more money, I would’ve stayed longer. I didn’t have a house yet and I didn’t see the point in rushing back. Probably a good thing I was running out of money.


After the beach, I went to Yaoundé, the capital of Cameroon. Peace Corps has an amazing new office and “case” there. I took the longest running hot water shower in a long time. I froze my water bottle and chomped ice like crazy. I washed my clothes in a washing machine; I forgot how clean clothes feel.


After spoiling myself and running out of money, I took the train up here to Ngaoundéré. It is a night train and it is a long journey. It’s been an average of 15 hours the two times I’ve taken it. Another PCV said she took it the day before and it took them 20 plus hours because a second-class car caught on fire and everyone had to get off the train. I realized I shouldn’t complain about my relatively smooth 15-hour trip. And I decided I would never take second-class.


During the train ride, I made friends with a grandma and little girl sitting next to me. The grandma was so kind and caring to her granddaughter. The girl was maybe 3 or 4 years old; she was so chatty and not afraid of me at all. A few hours into the trip they started calling me “tantine” and “grande soeur”. The little girl had many questions for me. Some examples include: “where’s your dad?” “where’s your mom?” “who hurt you on your chest? (referring to my scar)”, and “where are your kids?” I told her my mom and dad are far away and she thought that was odd.


When I took the last swig of a juice I had with me, she said, “You drank all your juice and didn’t give me any.” All I could think was, “uh oh”. I offered her the basically empty bottle and she sucked out the last drop and was content with that. We shared our cookies while her grandma said she didn’t want any because they are for kids. Honestly, I would’ve done the same if I hadn’t already bought and eaten some cookies in front of her because she was giving me partially eaten pieces of cookie that were slobbered on and I wasn’t too interested in putting that in my mouth. I tried to refuse but she pushed it in my face. I finally took it and was planning on throwing it on the floor but she was watching me intently, telling me to eat it.


She was very curious about the picture of a baby on my phone, I explained it was the baby of my big sister. She, of course, asked where they were. I said they were far away, also, but that my family will visit me soon. She told me her mom was sick and in the hospital. I didn’t understand what her mom was going through in the hospital, she spoke better French than I did, but I could tell she wasn’t happy about it.


She and her grandma were sharing a seat and eventually Mimi (the young girl) came and joined me in my seat after she told me her butt hurt. Her grandma fell asleep for a bit and I told her she is making her grandma tired. When her grandma woke up, Mimi told her grandma, “grandma close your eyes, you are tired.” Her grandma laughed and followed the instructions of the very assertive young girl.


Mimi talked until the second she fell asleep. In the morning, I kept closing my eyes and Mimi would tell me, “ne ferme pas tes yeux” (don’t close your eyes!). I couldn’t help but laugh, and although I tried to keep those eyes open, she repeated that every time I tried to sleep. There was an old man across the aisle who commented, “Grandma is suffering with the child but it is good you have a nice white next to you.” (It is hard to translate but people here don’t like to see anyone suffering and often comment about suffering.)


Her grandma and I kept asking each other, “Do you know which village this is” when the train would stop and every time we would tell each other “I don’t know”. I couldn’t help but laugh when she told me she was just waiting until everyone else gets off to know when she should get off. I told her that was my plan too.


I enjoyed being Mimi’s big sister and aunty for the night. Kids always make life seem lighter and happier. Mimi helped me relax a bit and be a little more positive about life here. Her little smiling face and sarcastic remarks still make me laugh to myself. You can see the funny little girl, and the beach, below.


And to my patient and loving grandparents back home, I love you and miss you tons. Thanks for "suffering" with me throughout my life. I couldn't ask for better grandparents.