"Mon" bébé Linda

le 16 avril 2016.

Lorsque l’on nait, sans le savoir, le destin nous a preparé un chemin.

Si tu lis ce blog, il est fort probable que tu sois né(e) du côté droit, c’est-à-dire du bon côté, ou alors tu t’es battu pour passer du mauvais côté pour finalement arriver à vivre à droite.

Il y a quelques années, quand j’imaginais mon arrivée sur le continent Africain, je me voyais devenir volontaire pour des oeuvres caritatives. Peut-être à cause de cette culpabilité blanche inconsciente, ou du fantôme des dégats de la colonization, occasionnés par ”mes” compatriotes, je me suis toujours vue partir pour aider, pour reconstruire, pour soutenir les autres. Etre bienveillante et aider mon prochain est quelque chose qui me tient à coeur, et grandit au fil du temps.

Or, avec le temps et avec la façon dont la vie se déroule, je suis finalement arrivée en Afrique pour enseigner aux enfants privilégiés. Certains pourraient voir cela comme un échec, une tentative ratée, qui prétend à aider ceux qui en ont besoin; d’autres y croiront fermement, puisqu’en ayant accès à une partie de la vie de ces futurs chefs de grandes compagnies, l’éthique enseignée impactera des centaines de futurs salariés et leurs familles.

 Dessin pour les enfants de l'hopital.

Cependant, cela n’est plus suffisant. Grâce à une bonne amie, et un groupe de Chrétiens, j’ai eu l’opportunité d’accompagner six autres femmes, et de rendre visite à la section néo natale d’un hospital.

C’est là que j’ai rencontré Bébé Linda, et elle était à moi pour deux heures entières, ce matin.

Tu vois, Linda est née il y a quelques jours, du mauvais côté, du côté gauche.

Née d’une mère anonyme, qui a dû se briser le coeur à quitter Linda car elle n’était pas mariée et cela n’est pas acceptable ici. Peut-être qu’elle n’a simplement pas les moyens de s’occuper de son enfant, ou peut-être pour d’autres raisons…

Par contre, elle l’a nommée “Linda”, ou “Belle” en Espagnole et pour cela, elle a bien choisi.

En général, les bébés pleurent pour exprimer beaucoup de choses: la faim, la frustration, la contrariété ou juste pour se faire câliner. Quand je suis passée le long du côté gauche du couloir, regardant ces huit bébés orphelins, je l’ai entendu pleurer.

Aussitôt qu’elle a entendu la voix d’une personne et a senti des bras autour d’elle, elle s’est arrêtée.

L’air complètement surprise par cette voix, cette chaleur, ces bras et elle s’est calmée, en sentant la peau de mes bras.

Son instinct lui a même donné envie de se tourner vers mon bras et d’essayer de manger, comme l’ont fait mes deux enfants quand ils avaient son âge.

Quand on voit Linda, on pourrait penser qu’elle devrait être du bon côté, à droite, là où les bébés sont placés en attendant le retour de leurs parents.

Linda, c’est un poulet fabuleux, la tête couverte de cheveux, avec un petit corps de nouveau-né. Si l’on se perd dans le bleu nuit de ses yeux ronds, un prisme s’ouvre et fait penser à tellement de choses, dont ses propres enfants.

Donner le bain à Linda, caresser ses cheveux, la rassurer quand elle est allongée sur le dos car (comme tous les nouveaux nés qui viennent de voir le jour) elle a l’impression de tomber en arrière si on ne tient pas ses mains, tout cela m’a rappelé des moments précieux avec mes deux boubous.

Changer sa couche, lui mettre de la crème sur son siège pourpre, coiffer ses cheveux, l’embrasser alors qu’elle buvait son biberon, cela vous fait vous poser plusieurs questions: Qu’aurais-je fait, si j’avais grandi dans un environnement culturel et financier si terribles que je n’aurais pas pu garder mon enfant?!

Une des autres pensées concerne le temps. Que va-t-il se passer à 11 heures? Est-ce que je dois juste partir? Quitter Linda et ces orphelins car ils ont été abandonnés? Comment pourrais-je partir? Mais que pourrais-je faire d’autre?

Rien. Tu ne peux rien faire. Tu ne peux pas l’adopter ou la prendre chez toi car c’est illégal.

Tu ne peux pas y retourner le lendemain pour ramener plus d’ équipements du côté gauche. Ces bébés, à quelques jours de vies, ressentent déjà la dichotomie qu’on inflige à ceux qui n’ont pas eu la chance de naitre à droite!

Alors voilà, tu ne peux pas sauver le monde. Tu as eu la chance d’avoir deux heures, et maintenant tu rentres chez toi.

Linda, je le souhaite, va grandir ces prochains jours et se fortifier, et elle aura peut-être droit à une place dans un orphelinat. Peut-être que sa mère viendra la chercher demain. Peut-être que Linda va se battre et arriver à passer de l’autre côté, avec un peu d’aide…..

Pendant deux heures, Linda a été aimé comme si je l’avais mise au monde.

J’emporte son petit sourire en moi et chez moi. Linda ne mérite pas d’être là où elle est; je peux presque l’entendre pleurer ce soir, du bout de ce couloir en cul de sac, du côté gauche.

D’une certaine façon, j’espère la voir saine la prochaine fois, mais d’une autre, j’espère qu’elle trouvera un "chez elle" d’ici là.

Lorsque l’on nait, sans le savoir, le destin nous a préparé un chemin.

Si tu lis ce blog, il est fort probable que tu sois né(e) du côté droit, c’est-à-dire du bon côté, ou alors tu t’es battu pour passer du mauvais côté pour finalement arriver à vivre à droite.

My Baby "Linda"

April 16^th, 2016, Tunis.

Pour la traduction en Français, cliquez ici.

When you were born, without you knowing it, fate gave you a path.

If you read this blog, the chances are you were born in the right row or you fought your way from the other one, on the opposite side, the left row, also known as the wrong row.

A few years ago, when I was younger, I always dreamt of setting foot on the African continent as a volunteer. Perhaps because of the unconscious white guilt and the ghost of colonization from my countrymen, I envisioned myself as one of those people who go to Africa to rebuild, or to support others. Being helpful and supportive have always been traits that I meant to develop, meaningfully and over time.

Yet, as time passed and life got busy, I set foot onto the Continent to teach privileged students. One could see it as a failure, as a mere attempt to pretend that this is humanly meaningful; others might firmly believe that this may be the best attempt, as you have an opportunity to mold a part of the soul of future leaders, that will take main decisions and affect hundreds.

Drawing for the orphans.....

But it isn’t enough anymore. Thanks to a good friend here, and thanks to the good will of a Christian Church group, I was able to accompany six other ladies, to visit the neonatal section of a hospital.

This is where I met Baby Linda, and she was mine, for two full hours, this morning.

Linda, you see, was born a few days ago, on the wrong side, the left side.

Born from an anonymous mother, who may have had to wrench her heart and leave Linda behind, because she wasn’t married and the community would simply not accept her. Perhaps she simply does not have the means to support her, or many other reasons could explain it.

Yet, she did name her “Linda”, or “beautiful” in Spanish, and that she did well.

As we all know, babies cry for many reasons - hunger, frustration, problems, or simply for attention. When I walked past Linda, looking at the eight babies on the left row, I heard her cry.

As soon as she heard someone and felt arms around her, she stopped. She looked dumbfounded by this voice, this warmth, she calmed down and felt the skin of my arm. Her instinct made her start to try to eat from my arm, the same way my children did a few years ago…

When you first glance at her, you would think that she should be on the right side, the side of the newborn babies whose families will come and pick up within the next few hours.

Linda is a sweet “poulet”, with a lot of dark hair and a tiny little body. When you lose yourself in the prism of her dark blue, many thoughts come back to your mind, your children’s is the first one.

Bathing Linda, caressing her hair, reassuring her when she lays on her back and has the reflect of grabbing onto you, because she is still used to the womb and feels like she is falling backwards, all those reminded me of my own boubous.

Changing her nappy, creaming her bright rash, dressing her, combing her hair, kissing her as she drinks a bottle, all these bring you to think of your own children: What if you had had to make such a decision with your children? If you lived in such cultural or financial environments, that you couldn’t cherish this part of your heart?.

The next thought flutters, this time it is about TIME. What happens when 11AM comes? Are you just walking away? Leaving Baby Linda, alone again, and those other “abandonned” babies?

How can you do that? What else can you do?

Nothing, you can’t do anything. You cannot adopt her or take her home, because it is illegal.

You cannot come in tomorrow, and bring more equipment, destined to be used for the left sided baby. These babies already feel the dichotomy between being wanted and having care, and being rejected and simply lying there, in solitude.

So there, you cannot save everybody. You had two hours and now you will go home.

Linda will hopefully grow, and be strong, hopefully enough to go to an orphanage. Perhaps, her mother will come and pick her up this week. Perhaps, Linda will work her way to the right side, with some help.

For those two hours, Linda was loved as if I had birthed her.

I take her little smile to my house and heart. Baby Linda doesn’t deserve to be where she is; I can almost hear her cry right now, from that dead-end corridor, on the left side.

A part of me hopes to see her healthy next time, another hopes she will have found a home and comfort before I come back.

When you were born, without you knowing it, fate gave you a path.

If you read this blog, the chances are you were born in the right row or you fought your way from the other one, on the opposite side, the left row, also known as the wrong row.

The Bardo Museum

On March 23^rd, as some face personal tragedies and others paint their virtual walls with selected colours after new terror attacks, some decided to go to the Bardo Museum in Tunis.

“Bardo”, a name first heard almost one year ago in tragic circumstances, since the terrorist attack that took place inside the museum, targeting tourists. At the time, we had accepted our contract a few months earlier, and resonated to a natural dichotomy - Some, born up in the pondered North faced it with a pinch of salt, whilst others, spoiled by centuries of hysteria and emotional heritage, did not deal with it as well.

http://lucieandkhufu.blogspot.com/2015/03/attack-in-tunis-and-21-people-mostly.html

Instead of going on social networks, vehemently condemning the Belgian flag and questioning why other colours have been neglected by both news and people on the matrix, it felt as though it was an appropriate day for it, “Bardo” must be seen today, with most of the people I love most.

As you arrive, you will see the huge white rectangular building, heavily guarded. Once you step in, a metal detector will greet you inside and his rolling companion will carefully scan your bags. As you pay for a ticket for the mere price of 8 Tunisian Dinar if you are a local and 11 if you are a foreigner, the big grey stone slab welcomes you. Its heavy self carries the names of each victim of the attack that occurred in March, 2015. I purposely chose not to photograph any evidence of the attacks, as the visit was cultural and your ability to visualise is better than some gory and unnecessary detailed pixels.

As you dive in under the archway that was replicated, be prepared for a surprising maze, carefully designed, tasteful in its choices of light and space for the many treasures it shelters. From sculptures to various artifacts, but most importantly, through the art of mosaic. For a mere amateur, the Bardo is simply awe inspiring, since the quality and variety of its pieces are simply unfathomable.

The Tunisian culture and tradition is truly beautiful in terms of wall sculpting and tile decorating and the ambiance of the museum reflects on it.

Coincidently, this room is the one that surprised me the most, by the intricate details on both walls and ceiling, with an immaculate feeling. Yet, as you step inside one the side rooms attached to this cradle of Art, you will see the aftermath of our era’s plague -Deep through the glass, its shards of glass filled with hatred and senseless ideas.

It is the museum choice to keep the bullet holes there, as and where they happened; the width of these holes can only move you, as your mind, despite yourself, automatically starts to recreate the impossible.

Many criticise the museum for not replacing the glass windows that covered the bronze statues in the room. But “A quoi bon?”, why would you? Should we fool ourselves and provide another selfie spot, or should we leave them, also for the victims families, as a way to acknowledge that it happened?

One thing is sure: children are an endless well of surprises.

As you stroll by and before having time to make the decision of showing or hiding this room, two very curious and energetic children had already stepped in. Of course, one was even trying to put their fingers through the holes, trying to make sense of the damaged glass. It is frightening, to think that you willingly brought two souls to the world, seeing how it is starting to spin, until one of them suddenly says:

 “ Look Maman, some “imbeciles” broke the glass and almost broke the art!”.  

The Bardo is a beautiful museum, which is starting to feel the deserters; it is a huge building, that shelters much artistic wealth and is now in dire need for support.

Once again friends, we are in Tunis hoping to see you come and visit, because it is safe enough for us to have our Buls here, it surely is safe enough for you!

THE sanity plan

In her fantastic novel, A Mountain of Crumbs, Elena Gorokhova wrote: “Don’t sink into the quick sand of the ordinary”.

In the context of this entry, I would shorten it to: Don’t sink.

Some of us, as we grow older, we file our soul against the hands of Chronos.

In times, some people manage to polish their minds, regardless of the height of the bumps on the way. Thanks to this process, you end up with a personality that is serene, calm and simply delightful.

Others start off as very polished stones, shaped by the education of their families and the good values taught. Yet, as the ticking went by, and the road became tragically busy, we collect, gather bumps, and they clot to your surface as a rough edge, filled with anger, incomprehension and astonishment at how things changed. You now resemble a jagged stone, and have to decide whether you will keep growing, rolling down like a snowball sinking deeper every day, or whether you try to alleviate your weight, to stay on the surface.

The Turks have much wisdom in their saying, one being: “Kolay gelsin” – take it easy – Perhaps, this is one that could be considered.

In the past decade, much has been accumulated, but a new tendency sprung up: the one of becoming a paced person, capable of contemplating and more importantly, a better person to others.

The people I have met abroad have strongly helped this intention, and I am so thankful for them.

It seemed the only way to find a secure balance has been to create and consciously complete “THE SANITY PLAN”, with one main intention: to impact family and friends, and to soothe the mind – Kolay gelsin.

The intention is to be more mindful of the daily blessings and focus on each rough patch, whilst processing the scars as well as possible.

It all started with a great advice, from a dear friend, to keep a gratitude journal. A brilliant idea, as you start to see what truly matters.

After a few weeks, the implicit knowledge of what matters most becomes clearly redundant, as pages fill with the pattern of health, kinship, friendship, relationships and culture shines on.

In the past two years, when the cacophony of life became too loud to bear,

the desert and the Red Sea used to be the escape doors.

Having uprooted yet again, and being here, it is during a staff meeting that a possibility for brain salvation occurred.

Some of us are very prejudiced when certain words are pronounced, and “meditation” was one of them. After having had the chance to trial online, it appears that a daily 10 to 15 minutes is not such a chore, in order to become more aware of your thoughts and attempt to regulate them.

It provides you a chance to STOP for a few minutes and breathe, through a guided meditation, as you would hiking in the Sahara or breathing under water.

www.headspace.com

Once your mind is thankful and more focused, it felt that it was time to take care of the physical side.

Running.

Some run, others watch.

Watching is fun and much more enjoyable! Once you try, it is a strange cocktail of liking, from the chemicals released in your brain, and hating, because… running! Again, it takes training to remind the mind how fortunate one is, to be able to go out and run, or try to.

Running has become a routine, and challenges lie ahead, as a 10 km run looms ahead, in the gritty part of my future. Again, one must be thankful.

Finally, yoga.

Meet a wonderful lady, named Natasha.

In your spare time, despite the fact that none of us have any, time ought to be dedicated to meeting Natasha, the yoga instructor. As her soft British accent introduced her, she presents a clear and slow paced sequence to a “sun salutation”.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQK7O0QqgHQ

They say it takes 66 times to develop a new habit, and it is with pride that I can proudly say that she is now a habit in my life! It has even become a weekly training, thanks to the selfless kindness of a friend at work.

Yoga, despite the seemingly graceful videos, is a difficult activity, which requires much efforts and discipline but offers you the possibility on reflecting on your intentions and your connections with nature.

It appears that, through the sanity plan, one may find another way to dig in some roots.