I am constantly battling with what or how I think things should be and then find it difficult to cope when the reality actually hits.
December 22nd, with a heavy luggage in hand, black boots that were made for walking (for five minutes) and a black beret on my head, I sat at Lyon airport. Everything had gone smoothly and I was more than excited to be flying home for Christmas, I had even managed to sneak some oversized perfume through security. Easyjet are known for their lateness so, at 9.50pm I wasn’t panicking that we hadn’t been called to board yet the 10.20 flight.
Humming along to John Legend, I heard some groans from other awaiting passengers, I took my earphones out and heard in plain English that our flight had been cancelled due to adverse weather conditions in the London. My worst fear realised, how could this be happening, I mean, I’m a good person, (most of the time) why me?
As I fought back the tears I thought of my dashed plans and all my excitement drained out of me. If my swearing vocabulary had expanded in French, I would have sworn like an English and French sailor. I bit my lip and text my sister, I was more than disappointed but not as disappointed as I was to learn that there were no flights going out the next day and I would have to wait until the 24th. I didn’t want to go back to the house, as everyone knows, I love the family, but I really wanted to be with my own family and friends.
As I lay my head down on the soft hotel sheets I felt irritated, next to me wasn’t the young tall dark and handsome guy of my dreams but a sweet Chinese girl who had decided like me, to fly from Grenoble to London in the morning. Easy jet had got us a free room, and get this breakfast too but they were unwilling to change my flight to fly from another city. I paid over 100eur for this ticket. By 12am 23rd I was nervous and stressed, was my flight going to take off later that day or would Easyjet cancel this flight too.
Funny thing is, I heard that the sun was shining in England………for once.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
I think we need some time apart.....
Ok so he's told me that he loves me, but that does not excuse his behaviour, anyway, he takes it back now and again so I don't know if I believe him, I think we need some time apart.
Frederic, Coralie, Louise and I definitely need some time apart, seeing them day in and day out is even becoming too much for their parents, I don't think anyone would think me rash if I called in supernanny. I'm sure there is an equivalent for the English word 'Discipline'in French oh yeah it's 'Discipline'and under the same Oxford Hatchette definition there appears a key word, which can work hand in hand if applied appropriately to help keep children in line, any guesses??? Here's a clue 'Punition'(punishment).
Coralie has a penpal in Burkina Faso, let me stress this now that this is a Francophone (French speaking) African country. I come from an old English colony.
J and Coralie were not sure the sex of the penpal and J wondered if I did. 'Do you know?' she asked me, to which I swiftly replied 'I don't think so' she proceeded to read out a name that sounded as foreign to my ears as hers. 'erm no', I repeated dryly (Just as you wouldn't know if Czeslaw was a boy or girl even though it is European I thought sarcastically).
People need to realise that even within my country languages vary greatly, I continued to explain that our languages are very different and that she would probably be closer to knowing the sex than me. I was offended and that couldn't be hidden.
I'm off to Geneva for the weekend and can't wait, it's the first of my travels that I have planned for myself. Off with two girls from Hungary. We celebrated one of their birthdays one night in Vieux Lyon. En route I was accosted by a drunk French boy, to whom I spoke not a word of French. He then proceeded to try to speak English ('You are very beautiful) Thanks I thought, I'll make sure that my parents and God know what you think of their creation but, I really don't think much of you in that state.
I think that France and I also need some time apart, I am fed up of the drunk men, dirty men, I would just say men.....but that's some way off. But at least it has been signed sealed and verified by the drunken male public of Lyon, I am beautiful.
Frederic, Coralie, Louise and I definitely need some time apart, seeing them day in and day out is even becoming too much for their parents, I don't think anyone would think me rash if I called in supernanny. I'm sure there is an equivalent for the English word 'Discipline'in French oh yeah it's 'Discipline'and under the same Oxford Hatchette definition there appears a key word, which can work hand in hand if applied appropriately to help keep children in line, any guesses??? Here's a clue 'Punition'(punishment).
Coralie has a penpal in Burkina Faso, let me stress this now that this is a Francophone (French speaking) African country. I come from an old English colony.
J and Coralie were not sure the sex of the penpal and J wondered if I did. 'Do you know?' she asked me, to which I swiftly replied 'I don't think so' she proceeded to read out a name that sounded as foreign to my ears as hers. 'erm no', I repeated dryly (Just as you wouldn't know if Czeslaw was a boy or girl even though it is European I thought sarcastically).
People need to realise that even within my country languages vary greatly, I continued to explain that our languages are very different and that she would probably be closer to knowing the sex than me. I was offended and that couldn't be hidden.
I'm off to Geneva for the weekend and can't wait, it's the first of my travels that I have planned for myself. Off with two girls from Hungary. We celebrated one of their birthdays one night in Vieux Lyon. En route I was accosted by a drunk French boy, to whom I spoke not a word of French. He then proceeded to try to speak English ('You are very beautiful) Thanks I thought, I'll make sure that my parents and God know what you think of their creation but, I really don't think much of you in that state.
I think that France and I also need some time apart, I am fed up of the drunk men, dirty men, I would just say men.....but that's some way off. But at least it has been signed sealed and verified by the drunken male public of Lyon, I am beautiful.
Lyon itself is beautiful, even more so during the Festival of Lights. Celebrated each year in December the Lyonais thank Mary (mother of Jesus) for saving them from some sort of plague or something (was only half listening when J explained to me) by alluminating the city. (I like to keep my blog very simple but for the purposes of illustrating the beauty of this please find below an appropriate picture)
I went out with my friend to a kebab shop before hitting the town. We treated ourselves to full fat coke (I only drink full fat, what's the point of diet?). She proceeded to drop the bomb 'You're my first black friend and this is the first time that I have been out with a black person', nothing shocks me anymore though, I gathered that they didn't have many 'Blacks' in Poland and was not in the least bit offended. It was nice to have someone so genuine and warm in my midst. She was fascinated by my hair and the different styles that I had on my facebook. She asked me my preference in men, which led me to think about the rubbish Man-o-Man show where ladies would get rid of the male contestants that they didn't want by pushing them into the swimming pool. I have recently pushed a few guys into the pool (figuratively speaking) and was wondering if I had a specific taste. My taste I would say is varied, I only want a few things, committment, respect, honesty, fun fun fun fun, aspirations and I love an intelligent man is that too much to ask...well all at once I guess. Numero uno is personality so yes my preference may not lie in looks but in a man knowing where he's been and where he wants to go. Ok he gotta be cute.
At one point in the last few weeks, I thought that I had become more forgiving, you can't really stay angry at a child for too long and I suppose my patience has grown, I am learning how to cook new foods and am trying things that I have never tried before. It's been a while but I have oh so much to say, christmas is here and I cannot wait to go home, the children are driving me up the wall and I am itching to see my friends and family again.
I went out with my friend to a kebab shop before hitting the town. We treated ourselves to full fat coke (I only drink full fat, what's the point of diet?). She proceeded to drop the bomb 'You're my first black friend and this is the first time that I have been out with a black person', nothing shocks me anymore though, I gathered that they didn't have many 'Blacks' in Poland and was not in the least bit offended. It was nice to have someone so genuine and warm in my midst. She was fascinated by my hair and the different styles that I had on my facebook. She asked me my preference in men, which led me to think about the rubbish Man-o-Man show where ladies would get rid of the male contestants that they didn't want by pushing them into the swimming pool. I have recently pushed a few guys into the pool (figuratively speaking) and was wondering if I had a specific taste. My taste I would say is varied, I only want a few things, committment, respect, honesty, fun fun fun fun, aspirations and I love an intelligent man is that too much to ask...well all at once I guess. Numero uno is personality so yes my preference may not lie in looks but in a man knowing where he's been and where he wants to go. Ok he gotta be cute.
At one point in the last few weeks, I thought that I had become more forgiving, you can't really stay angry at a child for too long and I suppose my patience has grown, I am learning how to cook new foods and am trying things that I have never tried before. It's been a while but I have oh so much to say, christmas is here and I cannot wait to go home, the children are driving me up the wall and I am itching to see my friends and family again.
Friday, December 4, 2009
The difference between me and you
It's the way you hold yourself, the way that you walk and it's your skin....
I wasn't surprised to hear this sentence come out of my brother's mouth, you see I had only been in Nigeria for a couple of days and I was getting accustomed to the curious stares. In my own country I was a freshy, my accent was different and so were my clothes, thank God, so was my smell.
So the driver had explained it all to my brother, we were clearly different from the rest of our countrymen in many ways but mostly externally.
This idea was reinforced by a visit to the dentist. We were seen within five minutes of entering the building and there was a long queue. My father's connections meant that we were in and out within 30 minutes.
"You don't look Nigerian and you definitely don't sound Nigerian" said the young dentist who's fingers had been delicately probing my mouth for the last five minutes.
He seemed excited yet slightly anxious as he informed me that this was his first time performing a cleaning. He tried to reassure me as he saw my facial expression become more strained. As I grabbed the chair he gabbled on about how important my father, brother and I must be to have been seen so quickly....he seemed nice enough but I have grown so skeptical of people that I half expected him to ask for my number and then a few weeks down the line a call for $500 dollars to be wired over for his sick mother. When did I grow so cynical?
I did feel sweet though having this attention, people stared as we left the building and said goodbye to the dentists. I always try to make sure that whereever I go I show my appreciation, I hate the idea of people seeing me as a snooty person but the fact is that many people here are, give them a little bit of money and they forget that we are all equals.
Nigeria, a country keen on respect obvious in the greetings of the young towards the old lacks major fundamental principals......
It is traditional to dance behind a loved ones coffin and as we paraded Big Mummy in the streets of Mokola, faces approached their windows and doors to watch the scene. The male grandchildren carried her down the street wearing matching waistcoats and shirts swaying to the sound of the talking drum beat. We followed the hearse, We watched her leave the home that she had created together with her husband for the very last time. She was to be buried on top of my grandfather, I couldn't help but think how poetic that was.
Even at the church they wouldn't stop harassing us, the paparazzi kept snapping, I don't know who told them but by the time we reached the open fields where the celebration of life was to continue, the paparazzi were there again, with all the pictures developed.....all of us, my father, mother, sister, brother and I.
The real fun began as they harrassed us to buy the photos, shooing them was out of the question, they were there to make some money from this and they had somehow figured out who had the deepest pockets.
While children are taught to respect their elders, elders don't really think to respect their children. We had servers helping with food but I still found myself attending to people. I had had enough when one man simple said 'excuse me...water' I looked at him in disbelief and probably swallowed a couple of mosquitos as my mouth laid wide open. No 'please', no, 'could you', just 'water' He was sitting at the table with my family so I could tell he was one of my parent's guest nevertheless I did look him up and down and ignored the fool. Dude didn't you know I'm English when it comes to manners. My brother had also heard and expressed his own surprise. Nigerians!! They say that you can't teach a dog new tricks, I'm a proud B even now as an au pair, and I don't allow anyone to look down at me even if it is an old dog.
That's the difference between me and you, I will respect the tramp on the street to the chief in the village if they are so deserving. So whoever thinks that they are a God amongst us............. please get rid of my scars from thos frikin mosquito bites. lol!
I wasn't surprised to hear this sentence come out of my brother's mouth, you see I had only been in Nigeria for a couple of days and I was getting accustomed to the curious stares. In my own country I was a freshy, my accent was different and so were my clothes, thank God, so was my smell.
So the driver had explained it all to my brother, we were clearly different from the rest of our countrymen in many ways but mostly externally.
This idea was reinforced by a visit to the dentist. We were seen within five minutes of entering the building and there was a long queue. My father's connections meant that we were in and out within 30 minutes.
"You don't look Nigerian and you definitely don't sound Nigerian" said the young dentist who's fingers had been delicately probing my mouth for the last five minutes.
He seemed excited yet slightly anxious as he informed me that this was his first time performing a cleaning. He tried to reassure me as he saw my facial expression become more strained. As I grabbed the chair he gabbled on about how important my father, brother and I must be to have been seen so quickly....he seemed nice enough but I have grown so skeptical of people that I half expected him to ask for my number and then a few weeks down the line a call for $500 dollars to be wired over for his sick mother. When did I grow so cynical?
I did feel sweet though having this attention, people stared as we left the building and said goodbye to the dentists. I always try to make sure that whereever I go I show my appreciation, I hate the idea of people seeing me as a snooty person but the fact is that many people here are, give them a little bit of money and they forget that we are all equals.
Nigeria, a country keen on respect obvious in the greetings of the young towards the old lacks major fundamental principals......
It is traditional to dance behind a loved ones coffin and as we paraded Big Mummy in the streets of Mokola, faces approached their windows and doors to watch the scene. The male grandchildren carried her down the street wearing matching waistcoats and shirts swaying to the sound of the talking drum beat. We followed the hearse, We watched her leave the home that she had created together with her husband for the very last time. She was to be buried on top of my grandfather, I couldn't help but think how poetic that was.
Even at the church they wouldn't stop harassing us, the paparazzi kept snapping, I don't know who told them but by the time we reached the open fields where the celebration of life was to continue, the paparazzi were there again, with all the pictures developed.....all of us, my father, mother, sister, brother and I.
The real fun began as they harrassed us to buy the photos, shooing them was out of the question, they were there to make some money from this and they had somehow figured out who had the deepest pockets.
While children are taught to respect their elders, elders don't really think to respect their children. We had servers helping with food but I still found myself attending to people. I had had enough when one man simple said 'excuse me...water' I looked at him in disbelief and probably swallowed a couple of mosquitos as my mouth laid wide open. No 'please', no, 'could you', just 'water' He was sitting at the table with my family so I could tell he was one of my parent's guest nevertheless I did look him up and down and ignored the fool. Dude didn't you know I'm English when it comes to manners. My brother had also heard and expressed his own surprise. Nigerians!! They say that you can't teach a dog new tricks, I'm a proud B even now as an au pair, and I don't allow anyone to look down at me even if it is an old dog.
That's the difference between me and you, I will respect the tramp on the street to the chief in the village if they are so deserving. So whoever thinks that they are a God amongst us............. please get rid of my scars from thos frikin mosquito bites. lol!
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