Taking stock and readying myself for 'les vacances'

Funny how when everyone is winding down and readying themselves for their two months of vacation, I feel at my most inspired. I want to spend at least four hours - plan big! - writing everyday; to finish reading a book every two weeks; to go to an art exhibition every week; to try a new restaurant once a week; to write an opinion piece once a week; in between finding ways to keep my children entertained - whilst still letting them use their own imagination - and whilst all the while pondering the insanity of the northern hemisphere's two month long summer vacation.

I am setting no lofty goals of what I want to have achieved by 2016, or 2017, or...you get the picture. This time it is more measured steady steps on how I want to pace my writing; my undertaking to get fit again; a promise to myself to read more (of everything); but an even smaller though more significant goal: to be kinder to myself. It is often very easy to look at my life, evaluate, and for some reason since becoming a trailing/traveling/stay-at-home spouse and mom, come up short in my achievements. It does not help that in the mere definition of my role - no matter its importance to the people in my life - I have not 'leant in'. Sorry for having let the side down there Sheryl.

So I am leaning in in other ways: being present in my children's presence. iPhone, iPad, TV - I am going to have to share my time with you for a while; I think we should see other people; it's not you, it's me. I am holding myself even more accountable when it comes to my writing and to delivering on the goals I set myself. I am taking stock and planning and not overwhelming myself with the endless non-ticked off items on that list created more than twenty years ago on the things I should have achieved by this point in my life. I will get to it.

Wishing you all a restful vacation, and hoping to keep posting as and when that inspiration hits - which I am hoping will be more than it has been.

When a default is not quite a default

I have been watching the news and the reporting on Greece's situation - at the moment the highlight is on it now officially being in arrears with its debt payments to it creditors. It is amusing to see the euphemism being applied to what is effectively a 'failure to pay' its debts being referred to as 'in arrears'.  Of course it is a very neat euphemism for 'in default' for the very first developed country to default on its debt payments. So now we wait for Sunday's referendum when the Greek's will decide whether they proceed with more austerity and more money from the troika, or take a path less traveled in voting against the lenders' austerity measures to easing the Eurozone's financial woes.

On putting down roots as an expat

Source:www.snowflakesincalifornia.blogspot.com

It is Spring and in readying myself for a new season I have been tossing, restoring and organising. The closets, the book shelves, the digital storage. On the physical side, this has been a fairly quick and easy process - we live in an apartment, so the closets and bookshelves were done within days. On the bookshelves it has been about finally letting go of those books I have hung on to for years, but which I am now fairly certain I will never read.
The organisation of the digital storage is what had me thinking about what putting down roots as an expat means. Our memories of the past seven years are all carefully curated in digital form. If we leave tomorrow, our worldly possessions in France can fit into a few boxes.

Putting the words on a page

In the past week I have had numerous conversations with different people in my life about the challenges of 'getting the words on paper' or onto whatever medium. I have not been writing as often and as consistently as I would have liked. Last week my efforts were upended by a new computer and the ensuing setup issues - of course I could have always resorted to the old pen and paper but that would have been too easy.

A friend and fellow blogger Mama Loves Paris was unrestrained in her advice: "You can do it girl, just start and keep on writing!". I have slowly been putting the words down after spending an inordinate amount of time reading up on tips about writing from more sources than I dare to count. If only I spent my time more wisely.
Here are the tips I liked and which I have decided to apply to my writing habits going forward:

• Hold yourself accountable

• Have the courage to write badly

• Treat writing as a job. Be disciplined

• Be without fear. Too much fear and all you'll get is silence

• Have more than one idea on the go at any one time

• Finish the day's writing when you still want to continue

• The way to write is to actually just write

• Don't just plan to write - write!

That entire list pretty much sums up what I have not been doing for the last couple of months.

But change is in the air. So here's to holding myself accountable and to just putting the words on a page!

On learning a new language

I had lofty ambitions of regaling you with weekly tales of my Sorbonne stories. But between daily grammar classes,  7:30am classes on writing and oral reinforcement,  lunch periods spent in the phonetics lab, mornings spent reviewing previous days' notes,  nights spent studying for weekly tests - all those ambitious plans fell by the wayside very early into my semester. It is now over, and yesterday as I sat through the 'graduation' ceremony (all pomp and ceremony for a semester course, absolutely loved it!) with past luminaries of L'Académie française looking down on us from their hallowed vantage points in the cornices, it felt good to have risen to the challenge. We were in good company - Founding father of La Sorbonne, Robert de Sorbonne,  Richelieu, Pascal, Descartes, Lavoisier, Rollin ....
Would I repeat it again? Maybe, a very non-committal 'maybe'. It was a grueling four months - mind you not my first semester, but one which took a lot more of out of me than previous ones. I may not be too keen to resort to the classroom learning again for the moment, but I am living the learning everyday.

On the fractures left by the Charlie Hebdo attacks

It has been more than two weeks since the heinous attacks at the offices of the satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo, but their aftermath still dominates our lives. Now local and international papers are running editorials on the renewed threat of  'international jihadism' - further emphasising the insecurity the world faces.

On January 7 and in the days that followed, I watched in horror as all the local and international television channels covered the Paris attacks. Then the world took on the Spartacus call of #Je suis Charlie; quickly followed by the debates on the need for responsible journalism. My fourteen year old daughter came home after a debate in her Global Issues class on The right to freedom of speech versus The right for respect of  individual beliefs  - a debate which left her uncertain of where she stood. There was the insecurity felt by an eight year old when all he saw was the gratuitous violence of the attacks which left him fearful of a larger scale attack on France, and in the  days that followed all he wanted to know was whether we would be moving to a different country. Other parts of the world and other groups of the French population took up a call in protest declaring that  #They were not Charlie; then followed the heated debates which divided many depending on which side of the Freedom of Speech spectrum they stood - all of which have left  France with the realization of the need for some real introspection on their liberté, égalité and fraternité.

This week Courrier International and L'Obs are paying special attention to the threat of  'homegrown jihadism', to the 'cracks in French society' that the attacks have exposed, and to France's failure in  integrating its immigrant population. This following on the past week's speech by the Prime Minister on the "geographic, social and ethnic apartheid" that ails France.
The attacks have left a rupture in the facade of the 'well-functioning society' of just a few weeks ago. It has exposed old persecution fears and reignited new religious prejudices: the Jewish population now feels more threatened and the Muslim population once again stigmatized. From the  Left to the Right, politicians are all talking in carefully couched words on the need to look at the 'integration' problem.  The Front National in the meantime is capitalizing on that fracture- reiterating the need to address the 'Islamisation of Europe', deftly avoiding any anti-immigrant mention.

To say it has been a horrific start to 2015 for France is an understatement. It will certainly be one that forces a great deal of introspection on the French population. One only hopes that as with all issues brought to the fore by relentless media coverage, the impetus to delve below the surface of the superficial talk does not wane after a few months as politicians move on to the next more pressing problem and quietly park the 'social problems' which, as has been illustrated by events of the past weeks, can threaten the security of a country.

Wishing you a very belated New Year, and hoping it only gets better from here on.

Honouring the fallen on Armistice Day

This parade happens every year in my neighbourhood. Our apartment is directly opposite a historical monument, Place Winston Churchill. Along with the numerous other parades that take place in and around Paris on this day - most notably the one on the Champs Elysées - to honour the signing of the armistice between the Allies and Germany, a commemoration takes place in Neuilly-sur-Seine annually.
This year was no different. It is a brief, yet solemn event. These photos were taken last year, but the event was no different this year.

On identity: Am I still South African?

I always know when there's something bothering my children. The indicators are fairly simple really: like the flurry of questions or the rhetorical statements made the minute they walk through the door. My son's most recent bother was one that questioned his identity.
"Mommy, am I still South African?" was the first thing out of his mouth- before he had even put his school bag down.
"Of course you are! Why do you ask?" I cautiously ventured, hoping it was not going to be one of those answers that required a clinical psychology degree. Sometimes I simply do not know how to make his hurt going away, and worse still at times I just do not have the answers, and yet in my son's eyes I am the well of all knowledge - me and Wikipedia.
"Because the South African on the bus said I'm not." He references all the children on his school bus by nationality, even though he know their names. I don't know why and have never asked. He just does. Maybe it's the thrill he gets each time there's a new nationality that joins his bus route (I do know that this is a real thrill for him because he is always quick to excitedly update me if there are any changes in the country representation); or maybe he likes the idea that in any given school term, there are always at least 8 nationalities on his route (this is a 10 seater bus).

I still remember his excitement when he came back from school at the start of the school year: We have a new South African on the bus. Having another South African on the same bus route was like finding his kindred soul at long last, but now I could see that the glow of camaraderie  towards his compatriot was fading fast.
"He says that because I have not lived in South Africa for a long time, I am not a true South African.''
I will not even go into the emotions of anger evoked by that statement. But I held it together and remained reasonable in my assessment of this point of view. Okay, fair enough - we left South Africa when my son was two and a half years old. After three years in Ghana he was proudly claiming his dual South African - "Ghananaian" nationality . He identified that much with Ghana. He had a wider Twi vocabulary than a Sotho one, and mannerisms that spoke volumes about his partial West African upbringing. In France, after almost three and a half years, he declares his South African nationality without hesitation. So all things considered, it is having spent a good part of his life outside of South Africa that calls into question his nationality.

I think I have risen to the challenges of raising my children outside their country well enough. They know not to address adults by their first names; they know how to greet; they can understand their mother tongue  - although speaking it is still a problem (perhaps my biggest failure yet);  the flag colours; the national anthem (sort of); past and present presidents...let's just say the Encyclopedia Of All Things South African has been a real help. I order my Iwisa Maize Meal , biltong, and Mrs.Balls chutney from the South Africa online store every so often, and put together a real South African meal for the International Days at their respective schools - working with what I can find from the Monoprix. And with the help of gifts from my dear friends back home, they don their seshoeshoe shirts or beaded ndebele skirts and set off to show off how proudly South African they really are. Then the 'South African on the bus' turns around and questions all of this.

This had me thinking about whether when we return home, they will encounter this sort of narrow thinking on a regular basis, or if it was simply the misplaced view of a sixteen year old to an eight year old who didn't have the vocabulary to defend himself. It is difficult enough for third culture children to get on in the world, when they themselves question where they belong all of the time, without the added pressure of possibly being 'outed' by their fellow countrymen. I am still not changing tack though, proceeding as before. But now I am adding to their repertoire of life skills: 'How to defend yourself (verbally of course) if ever your identity is called into question'. I believe that  one will be an ongoing lesson.

NON! to school on Wednesdays

Photo: Lionel Bonaventure / AFP / Getty Images

French parents and teachers have been up-in-arms again about the government's  reforms to the education system. Not to a drastically changed school curriculum, but to the new system that means that the French scholarly weekly calendar will now be five days.

That age-old system that gave primary school French children Wednesdays off was done away with last year, causing quite a furore amongst teacher trade unions and the parents who felt that the longer school week would prove to be too disruptive to their little ones' lives.

# Bring Back Our Girls

The tweet that started the online campaign for Nigeria's government to take action, and bring home the more than 200 schoolgirls abducted by Boko Haram militants on April 14 finally has the World talking.
In praise of social media, the petition has now overshadowed reports on the wars in Central Africa and Syria, and the crisis in the Ukraine. Finally the World is paying attention.
Emboldened by the inaction of the Nigerian government, the militants have acted with impunity once again and abducted eight more girls.
This story is heartbreaking in more ways than one can imagine: not just in the families' frustration over the government's  lack of active response, but in the future that these girls face if they are not found. Adding my voice in one small way to a petition that needs the World's action.

French May Day Blues

My muguet and a single rose are on the dining room table in water, thanks to hubby. He was out early this morning and came back bearing gifts and bonheur - happiness. The selling of flowers, without a permit, is permitted to the general public only on this day. It is a tradition, along with the marches around the world on this International Worker's Day.

I was watching the France24 debate and once again astounded at the conflict the French go through each time one of their large national conglomerates fails - thus requiring being sold off to another (often foreign) conglomerate - and the debates that this raises each time.  Business reason and good economic sense fail and instead make room for a sentiment of nationalism based entirely on the nostalgia of an economic power of yesteryear, what one analyst called a form of "nostalgianomics".

Happy 20th Anniversary South Africa!

Today marks the 20th Anniversary of South Africa's first democratic election of April 27, 1994. South Africans will go to the polls once again on May 7 to cast their ballots in the fifth democratic election of the country. By all standards, the country is still a young democracy. In just two decades it has changed from being a country with a legally mandated national policy of racial oppression to one that is transitioning to being inclusive and representative of its diverse people.

I have been watching  BBC's South Africa Direct series and Working Lives shows which have been covering the country - presenters have been meeting and interviewing South African's from all walks of life, discussing the social and economic issues with captains of industry, average working and middle class South Africans, and my all time favourite population sub-group: the 'Born Frees'.
This is a term used to refer to the generation of young South Africans who were born after 1994. They are the ones who will be voting for the very first time this year. The are the ones who did not grow up under apartheid, and the ones who see a South Africa of possibilities, no matter the colour of their skin. That on its own is something to celebrate.

Despite progress made in the past twenty years, the challenges of high unemployment , rising inequality, stagnant economic growth rates, and persistent industrial action in the mining sector remain at the forefront of economic and political debate for this democracy that is still in its nascent stage. Disappointment in progress that has not happened fast enough; anger for slow service delivery to the poor; despondency in a government that has not changed the lives of many; and in equal measure  determination to be a part of the change will be all the emotions that will decide voter choices next month at the polls.

Today however,  for South Africans across the country and in the diaspora, marks the day South Africa truly became a nation free to all. Happy Freedom Day South Africa!

The economics of a foreign language

The Economist recently published an article on a study about the worth of a foreign language. To briefly summarize: the overwhelming negative listed against the better decision-making and cognitive development positives was an underwhelming 2% premium on earnings to Americans - with French, Spanish and English earning different premiums.

This had me thinking about my experience with speaking a foreign language in a foreign country.

These days the words flow easier. I no longer phrase, re-phrase and edit my sentences, silently trying them out in my head before I blurt them out. I am not yet dreaming in French, but I am at least thinking in it - there is less mangling of my articles and verbs, and an easier switching from English to French. On some days I do not have the energy to conjugate the conditionnel and on others the  plus-que-parfait just stumps me.  

Speaking a foreign language requires energy, significant alertness and constant levels of concentration. On the good days I am like the language Energizer bunny, on others, Franglais (a convenient mix of French and English words) flows easier off my tongue, and on the worst days I speak in perfectly enunciated English only.

Thirteen years ago, in the early days of the opening up of Europe when foreigners were still viewed with much suspicion, my English-accented French was grudgingly tolerated; these days speaking English earns me better service than it did back then. Sales people are more tolerant of my average French, and even quicker to make the switch to English. Sparing me further embarrassment or saving their language? I still haven’t figured out which one it is.

Government officers are not as easily won over though, but I have also learnt that when dealing with civil servants, start with your best French; maybe use a sprinkling of Franglais –and even then only if you’re truly stuck – but never, ever use English. They are still as quick to dismiss you if you flaunt your foreignness by not using their language.

The good service I get is all a matter of economics. I represent the expat, but not the immigrant. Fact is, no matter where you are in the world, that distinction earns you a certain kind of treatment. I am not here to steal jobs from the French, or burden the country’s social services. If anything I inadvertently wield potential spending power. That is what earns me better service, not my engaging personality. Knowing this, I am happily playing along to the script: I greet in and exchange niceties in French, make a few enquiries in some light Franglais, and then make my switch to English, all depending on how quickly and efficiently I want to be served. Speaking a foreign language carries quite the premium for me in France, and for now I am milking it for all it’s worth.

This article was initially published on African Writing blogs as "Why speaking English gets me better service in most places in France."

On local politics and cabinet reshuffles

Out with the old, in with the new.         Photo: www.dw.de

After his Socialist Party's crushing defeat at the polls this past weekend, The Hexagon's President, François Holande was quick to make like other past Presidents of the Republic: fire the right hand man. So Jean-Marc Ayrault is out, and Manuel Valls is in as the new Prime Minister.
Debates abound on whether Marine Le Pen's anti-Euro, anti-immigration National Front Party poses a real problem to a left-leaning France or whether the high abstention rates of French voters - at a new historic low of 53% -  is the real concern. There have been only two new appointments: Ségolène Royal  as Ecology Minister and Manuel Valls; and a number of reshufflings, all of which have made the evening news debates a lot more interesting.

France's new ecology minister.Photo source: AP/ Patrick Kovarik

The real people to watch though are Michel Sapin, who takes over the Finance portfolio, and Arnaud Montebourg who was named Economy Minister  - a portfolio that now includes industry and the digital economy. Manuel Valls may have been given the responsibility of 'managing' the country under the President, but it's the appointment of these two - the ones taking over the helm of France's economy that are under the most pressure.
They will have to steer an economy suffering through its highest unemployment rate at 11%, a slowing growth rate, an extended recession, and a leadership that is seen as either reluctant or unable to implement change. Bonne chance to them!

Switzerland's 'stand-alone' vote

Source: Picture-Alliance/DPA

The Swiss voted in a referendum on Sunday  to curb immigration from the EU. Granted it was a close vote, with 50.3% voting for this move, it is however an Anti-EU stance by this quaint country of chocolate and snow-capped picturesque mountains. For the average non-EU traveller - it means no real change  - perhaps a more arduous  visa application process. The impact of this vote though is a lot more hard-hitting for future employment trends and foreign investment flows.

Conversations: Anitra Michelle - Designer & Photographer

Photo Courtesy: Anitra Michelle

One of the many things I really enjoy about being an expat is the numerous encounters with people from the varied walks of life who have packed up their homes and families, moved across oceans, and settled in places foreign. It requires a great deal of resilience; an adventurous spirit; and an adaptability that does not often come naturally for some of us. So when I do meet people whose personalities marry all of those characteristics, I am intrigued.

Chasing dragons

The weather has been fairly mild in Paris for this time of the year, and an added bonus has been the sunshine we have had. The mild reference may just be a misnomer, as a friend in South Africa pointed out when I mentioned this. Today the sun was out and although it was fresh - read 9 degrees, we bundled up and headed for the Chinese New Year parade in the Marais.

Happy Chinese New Year!

I am officially acknowledging the start of my new year today, on the day of the official Chinese New Year, the year of the wooden horse. Paris info has listed all the parades that will be taking place in the various arrondissements over the 15-day celebrations.

This is not my year, but this article states that the year will still bring health and prosperity (I'm all for that). Travel comes highly recommended; mingling with the locals; savouring authentic cuisine and discovering places you have never been before. Even if you're not a believer in all things zodiac, there is definite appeal to all of that. My wanderlust is already thinking of the endless possiblities that 2014 holds.

Wishing you a Happy New Year!

Nelson Mandela: 1918 - 2013

Few inspired the kind of reverence and admiration that  he did. As tributes pour in from leaders from around the world, South Africans and the world at large mourn the death of a great man.

Robala ka Khotso, Madiba.

Bench shuffling...the great equalizer

The waiting rooms of immigration halls are the few places in the world that bridge that vast social divide. I was recently at the Nanterre Prefecture Immigration office renewing my Carte de Séjour, and it dawned me that: for as long as I am a guest in a country that is not my own, I will spend some fraction of my life doing the bench shuffle.

The bench shuffle is that tedious movement you make on a waiting room bench, often plastic, in the immigration hall of your host country while waiting to be legitimized in some way. Whether you’re seeking a temporary or permanent status; fleeing or touring; are financial secure or spiritually content; a captain of industry or of your own street corner  - the bench shuffle is for everyone. It does not discriminate.

I saw it with my last visit, clutching my mandatory official-looking manila envelope that held  everything about who I am: not my name and my profession, but my name and a very odd designation : étrangère (foreigner). The monitors, high up above our heads, counted down every one foreigner served at the numerous counters, indicating waiting times varying between 35 and 97minutes. Yes, they calculated down to the last minute the amount of time we would spend shuffling those 5 centimetres, every 5 minutes.

I am still unsure of whether those monitors are on real time or if they are just a form of cruel and unusual punishment meted out by some sadistic immigration official. Give them a really random range and let them mull over that while we have our coffee break. Either way, you are held hostage by that bench – move and you lose your place – nod off and you miss your number. So we grimace and bear it, along with the hordes of crying babies, bored teenagers, apprehensive mothers, and agitated fathers of British, African, Chinese, Algerian and Eastern European descent alike because in those immigration halls, we are all equal.