So, since most of you are…well, okay, both of you (hi mom, hi sis) know what has happened to my family in the last month, I won’t go into details. Suffice it to say D-man and I got to go on an unexpected trip to Paris. The above sketches show some of what we experienced. While the first half was scary, unsure, anxiety ridden, hospital overload…the second half of the week was the Pi not allowed to fly, and us stuck in Paris. What a place to be stuck. We made the best of it. We are planning on visiting Paris on our way home so Dunc and I just didn’t want to do all the things we would be doing with Daddy and J-Bear. Instead, we figured out the metro (easy!), ate lots of good food, fed lots of birds, and enjoyed the café scene.

Actually, the end of school has come upon us, and as we say farewell to all those wonderful friends we have made here, we get ready to embark on yet another adventure. A little time in Paris again, then another surgery for Pi’s arm. We will then be traveling onto the NW, while K gets ready to head off to Hawaii again. J and D are coming with me to Hawaii to meet Dad’s boat as he lands. Then, before we come back to Lagos for one last final year, we will stop off in Firenza for a week to recharge our batteries for that long hard Nigerian winter.

I am not sure how much I can post this summer, depends on family and their willingness to let me use their computer. If not…then a fond farewell till fall.

More Les Baux sketches. The top is the little pizza place we stopped and had some of the best pizza outside of Italy. The second was the view I did as I was waiting to find Ken, meanwhile, he was waiting to find me just down the hill and around a corner. We were both frustrated, but at least I had my pen and paper to keep myself busy!!

I had heard that the little hill town of Les Beaux in Provence was a "tourist nightmare". Crowded with ooglers, no real residents of the town, high priced trinkets littering the streets. "Best to avoid it" we were told. I am glad we ignored their advice. The fact that we went in April, before the real tourist season begins probably helped tremendously. There is a ruin of an old castle above the town which allowed the kids to run around, searching for hidden treasure, while Ken and I had the opportunity to take time to read the sign posts telling of the history and significance of the castle, or . . . do a little sketching. I chose the latter. The result is above. This is the view from the ruins, looking down on the little town. Red roofs huddled together against the cold drizzle as the smell of lavender and roasting meats drifted up to my perch. I was in heaven.

Here is another one from Arles. I don't really love it, but it shows the lighting...somewhat.

This is the way up to our hotel. Winding cobblestone streets. As I was drawing this, I thought to myself “how cool this little alley is, I can just imagine horses trotting up.” No sooner had I said this, I kid you not, a horse sauntered past with a young boy on the back, dresses in 17th century clothing. Had I imagined the whole thing?

Saturday is Market Day in Arles. We stumbled upon this market after our long journey to France. Got of the plane in Marseilles around 9am, drove for almost 3 hours, and bam, it was Market Day. Let’s park and see what is there! So off we go, down the aisle of the fresh food stands. What an experience. If you think going to a supermarket in American when you are hungry is bad, imagine, if you please, going to the food capital of the world from a third world country in West Africa! First stall, bam! The most amazing strawberries just screamed at us to pick them up. So, we got a basket of raspberries for Jesse and a basket of strawberries for Duncan, then off to the cheese cart and the sausage cart for Mommy and Daddy. We were in heaven!! Tired and happy, this was our welcome into the good life of France!

So, where to start is the thing. I let this thing go (or for that matter anything else in my life, be it organizing that damn closet to notes to friends), and they go and go and go until time has completely gotten embarrassing. “Oh, gee, I was going to do that, but then by the time I finally got around to doing it, I thought everybody would just laugh at me since it had taken me soooo long to finally do it”. And so it goes for blog entries and updates from our travel times. Truth be told, I also think I was suffering from a mild bit of depression. I didn’t get the job, I wasn’t finding luck in the driver front, my husband was gone, okay, the excuses can go on and on.

But here I am. I am present, not letting this time thing slip away, and yes, I have scanned more images from my sketchbook. Let me tell you first a little of what has transpired. Short story is, Nigeria had a census, stranded us on the compound. Ken went to Greece. Tunde came back. And we got out of Africa.

We are back of course, and all is relatively well. I just have to start with a little from our trip, and I believe I will dribble it in here. Keep you coming back. And also keep the download time from our pathetic server shorter as well.

The pic is a drawing of the plane. Traveling with children is a bit like traveling handicapped. Sure, you get to get on the plane first, nice advantage, especially when the luggage compartment seems to be filled by the time anyone gets on anymore. There are in fact many advantages, showing your children the world, being able to afford to show your children the world, having your children know more than just their own backyard, all of these things are great. But there is the wait time. We leave the compound here at 4pm. Our flight takes off at ……11:00pm! We are in the airport at 5, checked through by 5:30, then…well then you realize how silly you are. You have spent all this time bathing your kids, making sure they are dressed in clean clothes and are ready to go. But, imagine if you will five and a half hours just waiting, waiting, waiting. Kids know other kids at the airport of course because everyone else is flying out of Lagos tonight as well. So, then the frenzy happens. Any available paper becomes an airplane. Any available round object becomes a ball. And all those slanty chairs become routs for the hotwheel cars we have packed. And those clean clothes? They become dust rags and mops dragged along the floors of the airport and the little bodies which occupy them moves along in search of a better route for his miniature Ferrari.

Finally on the plane, the entertainment turns to the mini television sets in each of the chairs. And, this being 11pm, of course they find several wonderful kids cartoons and movies the “just have to see”. Sure, go ahead, anything to just get you to stay still I think to myself. My 5 year old is sleeping before takeoff. My 8 year old has more stamina than his dad and his mom combined. Finally at 1:30am, I reach over and tell him to turn off the T.V. Time for sleep. The plane lands at 5:30am in Paris, and we are off on another adventure!

How can one little inanimate object be so special to a boy? Ella is a little grey elephant who has traveled the world now. She has traveled by train, plane, taxi, boat, ferry, across three continents. She is one of the most beloved of objects in Jesse’s life.

One time he left her in his older brother’s school. We couldn’t find her anywhere, and a very sad little boy went to bed without her. I promised I would find her for him. I called all the places I could remember we had gone that day, but nobody had seen a little soft grey elephant. Finally I remember I was at the school with Jesse for a PTA meeting and perhaps, she had gotten left there. Rushing to the school, late, in the dark, I peered through the windows and caught sight of Ella. There she sat, sad and alone.

I dutifully went home, set my alarm clock for 5:00am the next day. I knew the cafeteria workers would be there to open up the school for the day at that time. The next morning I sped to the school, 5am. Silently I crept into the darkened “Parent Room”, grabbed that little elephant and raced home. Putting her into Jesse’s arms while he slept was one of the most satisfying feelings I have ever felt. I knew she would be there for him when he woke, snuggling softly into his face…shnuffling we call it.

I am grateful for the love my kids place on their “lovies”. I had three… “chi-chi”, “blank-o” and “snakie”. Both my boys have soft toys they absolutely have to take with them…even though every trip we take I try to convince them to only take one. Secretly though, I think it adds something to a childhood to have a soft toy. . . which eventually turn real, just like the velveteen rabbit.

Homecoming. Not that this is the view I would necessarily associate with this word. Instead, this is the view I see “when I return to my flat” Why is that so different than homecoming? I guess for many different reasons. I nurture my children and my husband here. Those are the most important things to me by far. That being said, sometimes it seems I do not nurture much else here. There are no huge pots of geraniums waiting to greet me home (and beg for water). No cat rubbing my leg, wanting to be fed. No piles of junk mail to be gone through. No answering machine blinking, blinking, blinking with messages to be returned. No, this is just my flat. A place where I live . . . while in Nigeria. It is not so much that I don’t want to improve my flat beyond its shabby façade, but knowing it is so temporary really stunts my desire to better it. I remember fondly those glimpses of home magazines while standing in line to check out at the store. Not only are those types of stores rare here, the glimpses I have of those magazines are not in a store, but rather being held up to my window in a go-slow. Yet still this is home. Close friends just next door. Trials and tribulations we all go through seem to sometimes make this place feel like we are all part of a family, and my flat is just my room. So, in a way, it is a homecoming seeing these dimly lit stairwells, the flickering dirty florescent bulbs casting shadows on cobwebs and upturned cockroach bodies. The suffering we all endure and eventually laugh at as we sit together with our family in our home-away-from-home.

Bored with work…call a meeting! The news is that the powers that be have decided to build a Club Med here at AIS. Complete with two manmade lakes, horseback ridding, and sailboats. Yep. We cannot get pencils for the students, not to mention white construction paper (which my entire curriculum is based on for all those color cut and paste projects….give me a break!). But never fear, we will have a high school, starting with 10th grade in 2008. I guess there goes my flat improvements!

Peacocks, and peahens. This is just a little ditty to keep you guys coming back. It is actually a few weeks old, but I still like it. I have not added any color to it yet, I realize it might really be great, then again, might ruin it. Oh, well, it is only paper right?

Beautiful column at the temple of Hatchepstu.

For some reason this Monday I am in a funk. Could be lots of things. I would rather not dwell on it as if you keep dwelling on bad things...they just keep in the forefront of your mind right? I have my mother's voice in my head, chastising us (us, anyone in the family that is) for pointing out the garbage pit, the homeless man, the broken down crap on the side of the road. She would say, "stop pointing that out, and look at the bright side of life". Okay, so I am going to try. Yeah, gonna try and not look at the floors which seem to move with life, so many ants. Don’t notice the smell of burning garbage. Don’t notice that you spend your whole day with other peoples kids, so exhausting, so that you seem not to have any energy for your own precious children.

Instead notice how the palm trees blow with the changing weather. How those silly little lizards do push-ups in the hot sand. How lucky you are to be counting down the days till you experience Provence and the Cote d’Azur. Inspiration for so many artists, Cezanne, van Gogh. Yes, I am blessed. I know that I am blessed. I think I need to go find my paper and pens now and start drawing. Yet something else to be thankful for.

Here is a pic of Jesse and Tunde out at the Nature Conservatory.

Well, here goes. I might as well start this off with something …and since I really don’t want too, now is as good a time as ever.

“I have to include all the wonderful things I have experienced in Africa up till now in my first post” I keep telling myself. “I want to start off with some photos,” I say to myself. Well, bad news. Life is what happens to you . . . when you are planning on what you should do. Happened to us this week. We got some terribly sad news, for us anyway. Our beloved Tunde, safe keeper of us while out and about in the bowels of Lagos, fetcher of children out on play dates, fixer of bikes, . . .friend, is leaving us.

This is a very good thing for him. He has two small children and a wife and needs to support them. Lagos is a very expensive place, and for him to rely on teachers to provide for his salary is hard. He was at the top of the pay scale for any driver here at AIS. He has been here the longest of any driver. He has the most respect of anyone of those guys just hangin’ around in the garage, wondering where they will be dragging our spoiled behinds to next.

The hard part is he is leaving us. When my oldest son heard this, he broke down and sobbed. I am getting tears in my eyes just thinking about someone else taking his place. He was much more than just a driver to us. And to that end . . I wanted for him much more than Ken and I could ever give him. His personality and professionalism warrants much more. If he lived in the states, he would be one of those guys who goofed off during high school, then settled down, got an associates degree, maybe started his own business, and found major success with all the customer loyalty he would generate.

The other hard part is he is going to work for an oil company. Their compound is just around the corner. My family frequents there often. We have some of our closest friends there. My children have play dates over there on a weekly basis. And I teach their children. Thoughts of theft, rich oil companies stealing beloved employees away from poor teachers invade my thoughts. Damn them! The fact that he will be doing the same job for them as he was doing for us poisons my mind. I wanted for him to be much more. Mechanic, electrical technician, head mechanic! Anything but just driving!

But then I think of his beautiful children. His wife; small, amazing, quiet and loving. His talented hands and his understanding of all things human and humane. I can’t help but wish him the best. They will be paying him more, probably much more. They probably have funds for the kids’ education. They probably have a much better medical than we could offer. They probably have jobs which he could work into, such as head mechanic!

Tunde. I will miss him so much, my kids will miss him. Our family will have a hole in the everyday operations of it.

There are probably a hundred different ways Africa can break your heart. I am experiencing the truth of that at this moment. That being said, I would not have missed having Tunde in our lives for the last year and a half for the world. I am richer for it. My children are richer for it, and as Tunde says, we are family now; it is not about the job. We will always have Tunde in our hearts.