Tag Archives: amazement

Yapendi

You will by now having read previous posts have seen me posing with a baby. And you have noticed when I talk about my children, I talk about the children I will hopefully have some day. So who is this baby? Well he is my Yapendi. My nephew, born to my only sister and he turned one a couple of months ago. I call him Yapendi because although there is a name for maternal aunt (Yapendo) in Fulani, there isn’t a corresponding name for niece or nephew. This I thought was unfortunate and when I lamented about it, his dad (whose Fulani is limited) suggested Yapendi and I think it is perfect. Anyone who knows anything about me also knows that I absolutely adore children and Yapendi being my only nephew, he comes top of the pile. However, he is particularly adorable so I am not entirely biased.

First he is the chunkiest baby ever. Well done to my sister who pushed out a 4.2kg baby naturally. His cheeks practically beg to be kissed and his eyes being the replica of my sisters are so direct that they make me want to be better. I call him chunky munch when it’s not Yapendi. From week 1 of life, he had a mind of his own. I would place him on my chest in a comfortable position and just as I got comfortable myself and my concentration lapsed, he would throw himself either to the side or backwards, prompting frantic scrabbling to make sure he didn’t fall off. He loved being in the bath, kicking his legs happily as soon as he learnt the joys of water and would cry when taken out of the bath. He became ill in that first month and had to be in hospital for weeks and was discharged on oral medications. He was brilliant about it and would happily guzzle all of his meds without a fuss.

At a couple of months old after he mastered the art of gurgling, he started to wake my sister up every morning by gurgling loudly and kicking his legs. When she told me, I was a little sceptical but I went to visit and true enough, every morning about 6am like a mini alarm clock, he would wake us up with the happy sounds coming from his bed. Now I am NOT a morning person so do you think I was happy to be woken up every morning at 6am during my precious few days off work? Actually, yes I was. It was a revelation for me that I could be up at that time every morning and actually I was happier for it. Now I know that it is not the waking up I hate, it is the way I am woken up (usually my husband slamming a door or talking loudly on the phone). Now he is older, he sleeps in for longer but still, as soon as his eyes open, his smile appears.

Another thing he loves is music. I know most babies love the nursery rhymes on their toys but this one loves all music. Every time a phone rings, he starts to bop to the beat and when I want to settle him, all I have to do is sing or hum or beat-box (amateur though I am, my Yapendi totally appreciates my skills) and he is off, shaking his butt, swaying from side to side, lifting a leg up and throwing his arms out, all with his head held to one side and a big grin on his face. When you stop singing, he will look straight into your eyes and dance some more so you get the hint he is not done dancing. I think that is absolutely adorable and when I have a baby, I pray she is exactly like her cousin.

One of the funniest things about having a nephew is trying to talk to my sister on the phone. In the old days, we would not talk for weeks then get on the phone and spend hours catching up (she lives in Nigeria now and we mostly communicating via social media). Nowadays, every time I call, Yapendi first looks on in amazement as my sister laughs hysterically then he demands to have the phone and although he can’t speak, starts to garble words down the line and when I am put on speaker phone he goes completely silent. My sister says he looks around the room in surprise, maybe expecting me in person. Then I sing to him and he realises I am coming from the phone and in his excitement he always always switches off the phone and she has to call back several times in one call.

So what can I say in conclusion about my adorable Yapendi? He is a joyful little boy who has got rhythm and is the spitting image of my beloved sister. He is chunky and deals well with sickness. He likes to cuddle like me and blossoms under positive attention. He loves to dance and thinks his Yapendo’s voice is good enough. Most importantly, he loves his Yapendo and brings her so much joy, it is unreal. My only sadness is that he lives so far away so I don’t get to hang out with him all that much. But never mind, there are planes and smartphones. Yapendo loving is flexible!

A Frenchie Couple of Days

Ebola is easy [to catch]. In the 1990s scientists in America put an [Ebola] infected monkey in a cage on one side of a room and a healthy monkey in a cage on the other. Two weeks later, the healthy monkey was dead. Following a spate of Hollywood films, most people believe the human race is at greatest risk of annihilation from a giant meteorite or some kind of religious nuclear war. But if Ebola ever gets on a plane, experts say that 90 per cent of us will be dead within six months. It is known in America, where they are good at names, as a ‘slate wiper.’

I am quoting directly from Jeremy Clarkson’s ‘The World According to Clarkson’. I have been trying not to lotl (laugh out too loud) as he brilliantly ridicules everything from the Lottery’s Heritage fund to the British Government’s then PM His royal Tonyness to the fact that Germans actually rule the world. Of course, the Ebola bit is not in the least bit funny. It is kinda scary in this period when Ebola has taken nearly 1000 lives in Africa. Having read half of Clarkson’s book so far and finding myself agreeing with him on things I never thought we would have in common, I came across this quote on Ebola and it prompted me to put the book down and write this blog. I am currently sitting in Charles De Gaulle Airport (Paris) and trying not to be suspicious of everyone that passes by me. I am especially trying not to be racist against my own race since majority of known infected patients are from West Africa like me. I am to my shame eating my first Mackey D’s meal in 5 years because it was a choice between a McDonald’s, something piggy or a dry bit of chicken for the price of venison in a Michelin-starred restaurant in England. In the end, it was an easy choice, if a little disappointing.

This is one of my main gripes with Paris. On British telly, all the chefs are always saying how all food French is simply amazing and many a guidebook or review will agree with that. Well, that’s a lot of kaka I tell you. The first time I went to Paris, I innocently believed in these chefs’ believes so imagine my horreur when I asked for a bit of authentic French fod (onion soup) and when it came it tasted like dirty boots with no salt and the texture was not much better. Now I am one of those people who once I make a choice to have a meal, I can usually eat a fair bit of it and remain positive even it is not the best meal I have tasted. With this soup, the crushing disappointment combined with the disgusting taste and I couldn’t manage more than a couple of spoon fulls. I had to resort to sharing my mama’s salad which thankfully was more palatable. Then on my 2nd trip this time with my mama and dear sister, we were on the Avenue de Champs Elysee when hunger struck and we decided to chance the overpriced restaurants there. What we got was edible this time but my good God! It really wasn’t worth paying an arm and a leg for. I mean my sister enjoyed her frogs’ legs but my badly done chips were not worth the plate they were served on. The best food I have had in Paris was either from a fast-food joint (mostly crepes) or from the home of a family friend who lives in the suburbs. Maybe the reviews should specify this salient fact. You can get good food in Paris if you like baguettes or crepes or if you happen to know any Parisians who would cook for you.

My 2nd gripe is related and is about how expensive everything is. A can of pop in England ranges anywhere from 50p to 80p. In Paris, and not in a posh area, I have just paid 1 euro. I walked past a plastics shop and a cheap tatty toilet brush would have set me back by 6.90 euros and a single croissant in the land of croissants was 90 cents or 1 euro. What a scam! My ‘cheap’ McD meal is 7.70 euros (compared to something like £4 in England). A single to the airport, their equivalent to Heathrow is just under a tenner. A simple phone charger was 25 euros and a £100 mobile phone costs 200 euros. Don’t even get me started on their ‘fashion’…the simplest vest top would buy me a lovely dress in H&M England. To be fair, my cousin dragged me into their H&M and I realised that H&M is amazing even in Paris and it has French fashion to boot so I know where I will be going for my ‘French fashion’ the next time I visit Paris.

My biggest gripe is the stench. Don’t get offended if you are Parisian and reading this but man alive! I stepped off the plane and 100m away from the first restrooms, I could smell the stale urine. I declined to use the ladies at this juncture because I thought this is because they are the first restrooms after getting off the plane so maybe that why they are so smelly. Not so! Just before immigration, I spotted a seemingly isolated Ladies and off I went. The stale urine smell was pervasive even though the floor looked clean and dry. As I really did need to go by then, I inhaled and ran in to do my business. I came out and joined the ‘queue’ for immigration. I use the term queue loosely because apparently people here do not know the term. After 2 families squeezed in front of me in the queue and I was forced to endure the body odour coming off them, I cottoned on to the technique and pushed and shoved with the best of them. By the time I got to immigration, I was sick to the gills with all the smelly people around me and hacked off by their disorderliness. I almost forgot I was there because my one supportive uncle had invited me to come and spend a bit of time with him and his family as they holiday in Europe for the summer. And over the past 48 hours, the only bathroom I went without the stench was in a mall at La Defense so if you have to use a public restroom in Paris, I suggest you hold it until you get to this oasis of true hygiene.

There are numerous other things I do not love about Paris but I shan’t go into them all for fear someone labels me an anti-Frenchie and tries to stab me to death. What I will point out is that there were not even cute babies and young children to soften the disappointment and lighten the heart. So where are all the pretty Parisian kids in their designer clothes, enjoying frogs’ legs and foie gras? Maybe they all go to the French Riviera in the summer and are not due to return until the school term is about to start. I did have a good laugh at some of the fashion though. Lots of uncool ‘edgy’ fashionistas on show but the one that made me pinch myself so I would not lotl was a middle-aged lady in knee high cream pop socks tied up using wisps of netty material worn with open sandals and a long flowing black coat of shiny pseudo-suede material. OMG! Give me our English goths and emos anytime. I did clock a cute white baby who might be Parisian in the airport but doesn’t matter, plenty of mixed race and African babies going through Charles De Gaulle to brighten up my day. So now I understand the comments of some of my friends who greeted the news that I was going to Paris with a look of bewilderment and quite a bit of amazement that I had been to Paris twice already and was willing to go for a third time. Je suis une ‘silly’ saucisson! Hehehe.