Fancy dance moves

 We are finally back, finally free of quarantine and venturing into the world that is. Our little corner of Kinshasa is already offering up tales. The girl is super impressed with all of the trees and the forest walks. It's hard not to be impressed. 

We've begun our nanny search and I was remembering how it took 3 tries for Nabih. I was also remembering how conversations go, how topics get approached and opinions traded. I had a feeling that nanny number one wouldn't work out. She couldn't get to campus on time because she lives a bit too far away and the traffic...always the traffic. 

We spent the first day talking about the essentials, and I told to her to take some time to think about whether it would fit her schedule or not. Oddly, we have a "match-maker" who is supposed to be vetting someone for the position. He asked me what I needed in terms of help- hours, days, duties- and called me saying he'd "found a match." I guess it is always a match. Except when it isn't. This whole thing sounds easy enough to fix- oooh, you need someone on Saturday? No, no I am not available on Saturday. You need someone early in the morning? No, no I can't come in early. Fine enough, thanks for your interest. 

Except the conversation could never really go that way in Congo. The conversation starts like this...

"I have been doing this job for many years. Twenty years, you could say. I have worked for many people. First the Germans, then the Americans. To care for a child requires sacrifice. A lot of sacrifice. You must make sure the child is happy and the family is happy....." And it went on in this way. About sacrifice and duty and experience.  A long speech full of grand concepts about motherhood and giving and working, and sacrifice. Lots of sacrifice. 

No, no I don't want to be part of that, I thought. I am just looking for someone to care for the girl, maybe play with her a bit, maybe clean a bit. She won't always be happy, so need to stress over that. But I do need someone to come on time. It took about 15 minutes and a digression about whether the school year started in August or September this year, before we got around to the point of time. And even then she never said I can't. Because in Congo, you always can. 

Rather she said, perhaps there is one of these mamas who live closer to campus. And they can come. She's completely right and I knew it would come to this the night before. I just forgot how it would come to this. Not simply or directly. But full of flowers and perfume and fancy dance moves. 

Happily, luckily, she said she had planned to come for the next few days until I can find someone else. Because the answer really is always yes in Congo, even when it isn't. 

Not wasting a wish

I lost the month of August in between the cushions of the couch. It nestled in among the lost hair ties and cracker crumbs. It took refuge in what-ifs and maybes and some-days. September is threatening to do the same. 

It's been over a month since we were first supposed to leave. Our original flight was scheduled back in July. The suitcases were packed and the apartment cleaned. Of course, over the course of August, things have gradually found a way out from behind the zippers and emerged into our daily life again. The clean apartment has reverted to it's lived in, cluttered appearance.

I keep remembering these articles about how and why time distorts when we are not making active new memories. Life in lockdown looks pretty much the same every day. I have been starting to get the sense that other people are having a lot more liveliness than we are, but after closer conversations I learn it is mostly not true. And after closer reflection, I remember all the events we have experienced, albeit through our computer screen. (Graduation in the palm of a hand, phd residency #4, Mexico through my daughter's eyes...) 

The anticipation of finally reaching our destination is tempered a bit by the realization that upon arrival we will be isolated again. No community welcome. No exploring the grounds or checking out the classroom. Just more staying home. It's not terrible most of the time. My studies keep me too busy to focus on much else anyway. But it's become downright awkward to still be on the campus of a school I no longer work at. 

We're still here. Still waiting. Trying to manage the complex unification of airline schedules, covid testing turn around time and figuring out how to pay for it all in a country that eschews cash. 

In the meantime, the girl has lost her first tooth. After reading Throw Your Tooth on the Roof: Tooth Traditions from Around the World, she has decided to go for the wish. We wanted to throw the tooth on a roof, but all the roofs are too high. I suggested we throw it off the 7th floor balcony, which has been the site of many long afternoons building, creating and storytelling. She vetoed that idea. 

In the end, we decided to bury the tooth by a coconut palm near the swings. What place could be more magical than the swings? 

                

First wish

I am sure she didn't waste her wish on getting out of Lagos. That would be a mom thing to do. We'll get out of here eventually. It just requires more patience. Lessons of 2020.