Two Little Girls - One Crazy World

The Guinea Diaries - Day 2 (Part II)

2009-06-26T00:05:00.011-04:00

Day 2 (Part II) - May 28, 2009

Everyone warned me about the challenges of Guinea - the lack of electricity and running water; the poverty and of course the heat. But I was also told of the beautiful spirit of the Guinean people that serves to balance the harsh realities of the country.

"Guinean people love family", Ben's sister told me before we left New York.

"Everyone will be so excited that you've come; they will be waiting on you hand and foot!"

While I wasn't exactly expecting the royal treatment, I was curious about this level of hospitality that was promised to be incomparable to anything I'd ever experienced.

Our first encounter with Ben's family was a perfect entree into this culture of hospitality. Ben's big brother Koto Ibrahim (Koto means big brother in Fulani) insisted on hosting us during our stay in Guinea. Koto Ibrahim appeared to be in his late forties. He is a gentle, soft-spoken man with an extremely warm smile. We arrived at his house at 4 a.m. after traveling for nearly twenty-four hours. Despite our early morning arrival, both Koto Ibrahim and his wife Khadiatou greeted us as if it was four o'clock in the afternoon. They showed us to our room - the one room with air conditioning, prepared especially for our arrival. Khadiatou eagerly prepared water for our baths, (which as I'll explain later is quite an undertaking and no small gesture), and when we had finishing cleaning the grime of travel off ourselves and the girls, they happily led us downstairs to a full course meal.

And there was simply no pretense to their excitement of our arrival. I don't know how to describe it other than that they seemed uniquely satisfied and genuinely honored by our visit. Koto Ibrahim gave me a warm hug that spoke volumes about what our visit meant to him.

"Welcome", he said.

"We are so glad you are here."

They were simple words, words you'd almost expect to hear upon arrival as a guest in someone's home. But there was something so sincere in the way he uttered them. Perhaps it was Koto Ibrahim’s welcome embrace that communicated so much. When he embraced me, there was a lingering that I wasn't quite expecting; and I am a hugger! It is rare for me to be the first to let go in an embrace. Yet as I released, I felt Koto Ibrahim’s embrace continue in a way that was genuine enough to not feel creepy. There was an authenticity to his words and his embrace that made me feel truly welcome. And not simply welcomed, as in tolerated, as Ben's "American" wife, but truly welcomed – appreciated, cherished and valued.

Koto Ibrahim’s eyes and touch suggested that he wasn’t sure that he would ever meet us. When Ben moved to America, there was always a fear that his connection to the place of his birth would be lost. Many feared that while he may call and dutifully send money home, that he would never return. This fear was understandably exacerbated when Ben married me – an American. They wondered if his life was simply in America now. Would he return? Would they know him as an adult as they had known him in childhood? Would they ever know his children?

Ben’s coming home – our homecoming, is something many prayed for. I don’t think I could truly grasp the significance of that until being here. Needless to say, Ben’s family is very happy that we’re here and despite the language barrier, they have no problem expressing their sheer joy of our arrival.

My communication with Ben’s family has also be challenged – as in, Ben’s family members often speak several languages, while I am limited to English and some rudimentary Spanish, which is of no benefit! (Boy, do I regret not choosing the French track in middle school!)

Despite the language barrier, or likely because of it, I subconsciously began using touch as a form of expression. I noticed this early in our marriage when Ben’s aunt “Tanti Mariam” came to visit. She was determined to “learn me Fulani”, but despite her best efforts and my sincerest desire, Fulani is an extremely rich language that is not suited to be taught in just a couple months. So, touch became our universal language.

I continued this survival method in Guinea. I would meet Ben’s family and once my Fulani phrasebook was exhausted, I resorted back to touch – a touch of the arm to let them know how happy I was to meet them, or even that if I had the words, I would say more. A grab of the hand to express connection, or a smile or a wink to express understanding despite the untranslated words that separated us. There were few truly substantive conversations, but yet so much was communicated. For now, this is our shared language.

Everyone was right about the family. They embraced me, literally and figuratively, in ways that I never imagined.

The Guinea Diaries - Day 2 (Part I)

2009-06-24T00:32:00.013-04:00

Day 2 - May 28, 2009

I am awakened by a rooster crowing - literally. I am quite certain that this is the first time I have ever heard a rooster crow. The sound is far different than "cock-a-doodle-do", but I can't quite find another way to describe the rooster's distinctive call.

I lie awake, yet still, for about five minutes as I try to process exactly where I am and how I got here. I am sticky with sweat and I feel Layla continue to toss and turn in an attempt to escape the sweltering heat, but she cannot, neither can I. I look over and see that Ben and Safiyah are still sleeping. I walk to the barred window and take my first glimpse of the city of Conakry, Guinea's capital.

There is literally so much to take in. I feel like I'm on sensory overload. I want to capture every bit of what I'm seeing, but it seems impossible to describe the a vision that is literally so foreign to me. I wish I could simply pour out the vivid picture that is in my head. (By the way, pictures do no justice.) So, in order to effectively tell this story, without continually getting lost in the details, I must attempt at least, to paint a picture of the backdrop of this experience.

Like much of the third world, I find there are two primary colors here - green and brown. Green is the surrounding nature. By nature, this is a beautiful place. There is so much green. I see so many different kinds of trees, but the only one I know by name is the palm tree. From where I am sitting now, I can also see the ocean in the distance. But it's not blue, or even green. It's more of a grayish white that blends with the sky. It is difficult to see where the water ends and the sky begins. This is the beauty of Guinea.

But then there's the brown, the man made part of this picture that is drenched in poverty. The buildings are an industrial kind of brown, specked with the dirt of age and time. It is the dusty kind of brown that looks as if it can never get clean, or perhaps was never clean to begin with. The airport is this kind of brown. There are also brown, thatched tin roofs that sit atop the square makeshift structures that litter the city. These tin roofs are also green, some rust colored, some white and some black, but mostly brown.

And then there are the sounds. My first sound of the morning, a rooster crowing, followed by the chirping of birds I'd never heard from before. The sounds were so vivid because there were no other sounds competing to be heard. But as the city continued to come alive, other sounds joined this orchestra and soon filled the darkness of the fleeing night. Next, a baby was crying, then a goat and before I knew it, the whole city had awakened.

I look over and see Safiyah beginning to wake. She's always a little unpredictable in the morning and today is no different. She looks over and sees me writing and shoots me an unexpected smile.

"Morning, sweetheart", I whisper.

She smiles. But, in true dramatic fashion, her smile quickly transforms into a look of great concern.

"Mommy, I think I'm scared."

"Why," I ask. I soooo didn't see this coming.

"I think I heard a monster."

"No, Safi; no monsters here."

Then I hear the distinctive 'cockle doodle' that started my morning.

"See Mommy, it's a monster," she exclaimed.

"No Safi - that's a rooster."

"No," she says, looking at me wide-eyed and certain. "I'm pretty sure that was a monster."

I begin to respond and then I catch myself and just accept it - this is going to be a long couple weeks.

The Guinea Diaries - Day 1

2009-06-22T18:37:00.007-04:00

It's long overdue, but I've been meaning to transfer my handwritten notes from the infamous Guinea trip over to the blog. So, I begin with Day 1 of the adventure to the country of Ben's birth.
___________
Day 1 - May 27, 2009

We arrived in Guinea around 2am Thursday morning. As we deboarded the plane, I was struck by how hot it was so early in the morning. It was a sticky, humid kind of hot that I'd more associate with midday. Ben kept instructing me to cover Layla, so the misquitos wouldn't get her. Unfortunately, all our medication and insect repellant was packed in our checked luggage; I didn't think we'd need it so immediately. Ben's cousin Bashir was standing at the bottom of the plane steps in a red Indianapolis Indians T-shirt waiting for us. The Indianapolis Indians T-shirt, a souvenier from his last trip visiting us just a few months prior, was a nice welcome, yet it was odd to see the handful of people waiting at the bottom of the steps as we exited the plane. Apparently, the security guidelines of a post 9-11 world haven't affected Guinea.

Bashir insisted on guiding us through the arrival process to prevent any unnecessary delays. As a travel agent with frequent dealings at the airport, Bashir's official looking badge was repeatedly flashed and apparently recognized by those who simply nodded and let us through. Bashir filled out the paperwork all new arrivals are required to fill out before claiming their bags. I saw others who weren't so graciously escorted stopped and questioned through what appeared to be a simple matter of arrival. There was no official customs line. It all seemed to be a matter of chance, whether you were stopped, asked any questions, or simply permitted to pass through. There was no order, or flow to the arrival process, just lines, several lines all seemingly leading to the same place. I heard both Fulani and French being spoken, but of course understood neither. But Ben, who speaks both languages fluently, seemed as in need of an escort as I was.

When we finally arrived at to the area to claim our bags, there was no question of which baggage carousel was ours - as.there.was.only.ONE!! Guinea's sole international aiport has only one baggage carousel!! We waited and waited and I began to see the number of bags beginning to dwindle. My fears started to mount. Soon, they were no longer fears, it was reality - NO BAGS! Ben and Bashir went to talk to a man behind a counter who carelessly advised that the next Air France flight would arrive in two days - maybe our bags would be on that flight, he said.

Unbelieveable!! I was LIVID! I could not believe that after everything we'd been through on this journey already, still more???!!! I wanted to scream, fight, yell and demand that something be done. But most of all, I was just tired; and so were the girls who were crying more and being soothed less. We had no choice but to just come back in two days.

Defeated, exausted and now bagless, we started back out into the thick night air. We were followed by at least five or six men pushing carts, who, despite our lack of bags, were still hoping to collect some sort of tip. I had Layla wrapped around me in a sling. I stayed close to Ben, who was holding Safiyah, and begged him to try and fill me in on the conversations to ease my fears of the new unknown world around me. He tried to assure me, but honestly, little could.

As we exited the airport parking lot, I saw countless number of sleeping bodies lying under the lights on the bare concrete. I was shocked by what I thought was my first up-close look at the poverty of Guinea. And while I knew it was here, I was still shocked by the image. "Oh my God" I whispered, "that's so sad." Bashir turned to see what my eyes had seen, and to my surprise, he laughed. I was dumbfounded. Does seeing poverty on a daily basis make everyone this callous, I wondered.

"How can you laugh at the homeless?" I asked.

"Noooooo," he said, "those are students."

In a country without consistent electricity, I didn't realize the sheer value of the light amidst the darkness. Then Bashir explained.

"They come here to study. The airport is one of the only places where the lights don't go off."

It was 3am on a hot, sticky, Thursday morning. It stunned me that people could be so thirsty for knowledge and that it could manifest so simply. If only American students could see how desparate others are for the education we take for granted.

I was speechless.

Even now - there are no words.

"Welcome to Guinea" he said.

Just Another Day at the Park

2009-04-28T23:29:00.007-04:00

After months of being stuck indoors, stuffed under layers of clothing, I jumped at the first glimpse of warm weather to take the girls to the park. Safiyah was more than excited when I mentioned the idea to her.
"The park - the park" she exclaimed. "I'm goin' to da park!"
She had already started her happy dance.

So, I packed up everything I could ever conceive of needing. I have learned the hard way that nothing is worse than being ready for a great day out, when it's ruined by something simple like forgetting the formula, or the wipes and being forced back home. I made a mental checklist of everything we would need.

Double stroller. Check.
Diaper bag. Check.
Water, snacks, neosporin spray. Check, check and check.

I even crazily packed a magazine, like I'd have time to casually peruse the pages while the girls peacefully played in the grass. Ok, so I'd started to over idealize the day. Needless to say, I felt prepared, which should have been my first warning.

When we arrived at the park, I was initially struck by how packed it was! Apparently I wasn't the only one who had been waiting for the first day of sunshine to bring her kids out - go figure. I pushed the stroller over to a nice spot to unpack, as Safiyah anxiously struggled to break free of the stroller. Safi immediately spotted a friend from daycare and I watched her run and embrace the girl as if they were reuniting after years of forced separation. I strapped Layla in the Baby Bjorn and watched Safiyah happily skip away with her friend toward the swings.

But no sooner than I started to feel like I may have actually gotten this motherhood thing down, I heard the most dreaded five words at a playground.

"Mommy, I hafta peeeeeeeee."

I have waited so long for the day that Safiyah would be potty trained; and I must admit that once she was ready, it happened rather quickly. But in the middle of the park of seemingly twenty thousand children and no indoor plumming, I suddenly wished that Safiyah was wearing a Pull Up instead of panties.

"Are you sure?" I asked, sounding a little too hopeful that this was a false alarm.
But Safiyah instantly started the jumping-up-and-down-holding-herself routine and that was my cue that we better make a bee line for the port-a-potties.

I packed up my nicely assembled stroller/day-at-the-park survival cart and escorted Safiyah to the potties. But as we opened the door, I saw Safiyah's eyes widen as a look of sheer horror crossed her face.

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!" she began to scream, as if I had secretly brought her there to kill her.
"I caaaan't go on that potty!!!!"

"I know, I know. It's gross" I said, trying to ease the hysteria.
"Don't worry, Safi, I'll hold you over the potty - you don't have to sit down on this potty."

But she was not convinced.
"NOOOOOOOO!!!!!" She wailed again!

I started to pick her up to show her how quickly we could get ithis over with, but in an instant, she stiffened her body like a board and refused to make any movement that remotely resembled a squatting position. It didn't take long to realize this was going nowhere fast.

Defeated, and still full of pee, we exited the death chamber. I watched another woman tackle the same resistence with her son who ran in the opposite direction as soon as the port-a-potty door opened. Call me naive, but I never realized how scary port-a-potties could be to children.

We returned to our park bench and I explained to Safiyah that since she couldn't go to the potty, I had to put a Pull Up on her. (Yes, I had packed those too). She refused.
"Mommy, I don't wear Pull Ups, I-wear-PANTIES!"

I opted out of battle of wills game with a toddler. Plus, I started to realize how strange I may look trying to convince a nearly three-year old to regress to Pull Ups. So, I let it go. And apparently so did Safiyah, who happily resumed play as if she'd never had to use the bathroom at all.

But about a half hour later, Safiyah returned in a panic.
"Mommy, I REALLY hafta peeeeeee."

"Safi, there's only that one bathroom you already went to."
"Do you think you can use it there?"

"NO" she quickly responded.

And then I saw a look in her eye as if a lightbulb had literally just been pulled on in her head.

"Mommy, I can just pee outside!!"
She seemed so pleased to have solved the riddle that had baffled us both. As I processed the idea in my head, she smiled, apparently quite proud her own resourcefulness.

My first instinct was, NO WAY!
And then I weighed my options.

Wet, pee-soaked child - leave the park.
A little pee on the ground - stay and play.

Let's just say, it was a good thing I brought the wipes!

and then there were two

2009-04-24T01:02:00.008-04:00

Where has the time gone? I feel like this is how I start every journal entry. I always feel like sooooo much time has passed since I've written last because usually - it has. So, I feel this huge need to fill in all the gaps and spill out all the various changes that have taken place in the days, weeks, months since my last entry.

Well, I'll just keep it simple here because there is literally no way I could catch up. Sufficie it to say, I've birthed another human being since my last entry!! A yummy little girl named LAYLA! Layla is a little over 7 months now (again reiterating how over due this post is). She is absolutely delightful, full of laughter, army crawling, and most of all, trying to keep up with her big sister Safiyah.

Al my worries that my "center-of-the-world" Safiyah would have a hard time adjusting to a world of being "one of two" were completely unnecessary. Safiyah LOVES being a big sister and ADORES her little Layla even more. I have to say that it is the most endearing thing to watch the bond being born between sisters.

As one of four girls myself, I couldn't imagine my world without sisters. Sisters are your built-in best friends, yet at other times your enemies. They are your anchors and in my case, my memory. I have very few childhood memories that are not shared by my sisters. And when I forget the who, what, when or why of a story, my sisters are there to fill in the details that I too often forget. My sisters are the fabric of my childhood and the framework of my life as an adult. I still don't feel like something has truly "happened" until I've shared it with my sisters.

I'm so excited for Safiyah and Layla to discover the beauty that is sisterhood. It is the best gift they'll ever give each other.

What's in a Name?

2008-05-20T22:42:00.006-04:00

I was a sociology major in college, so I've always been amazed by the power of culture. Culture has the power to shape your worldview, and color seemingly simple notions of right and wrong.

But I always saw culture as static, something that, once established was fixed. As in, I'm American, that's my culture; my husband Ben is Guinean and that's the culture that dictates his outlook on life. I never thought my cultural views would shift. Through marriage in particular; however, I have seen how bits of Ben's culture have infiltrated my thinking on norms that I never before questioned.

When we got married, Ben and I both understood that cultural differences would always be a "challenge" of our marriage. I first realized the gravity of our cultural differences when Safiyah was born. I quickly learned that nothing brings out cultural differences like the birth of a child.

Safiyah's birth opened the floodgates of unsolicited mothering advice. I quickly learned that to Ben's family, Safiyah was not my child or even Ben and my child; to them, she was their child. Sure, I had birthed her, but she was theirs for the raising. Well, hello - that's a newsflash!

Ben's many "aunties" and female cousins eagerly instructed me on the do's and don'ts of motherhood. It was so overwhelming at times I wondered if they didn't realize that I had a mother of my own that may be able to provide some insight into the rearing of my new baby!

"When are you going to cut her hair?" they'd ask. Shaving a baby's hair is a common among Muslims, but it's often more of a cultural practice than a religious one. Ben and I symbolically clipped a curl from Safiyah's beautiful headfull of baby hair, but we had no plans of shaving our newborn bald. "Well, I'll shave her then", his sister offered. Think again lady!
These people were beginning to test me!

"Don't hold her so much, you need to put her down" they instructed. Or my favorite, "has she had an African bath yet?" An African bath?? And how, might I ask, does that differ from an American bath? I wondered. Well, Tanti Mariam happily demonstrated that the primary difference involves a great deal of shea butter and a lot of splashing of water. Another cousin was extremely relieved to learn that Safiyah had undergone the African bath ritual. Had she not, she advised, "that baby would never truly get clean." Well, thank GOD we took care of THAT, right?!!!

Through it all, I never realized or imagined that some of this culture was "rubbing off". I smile to myself now as I sing Safiyah's favorite song, "Safiyah bo-bo" (which simply means "Safiyah baby" in Fulani). I also desparately asked Ben's cousin Aissatou to teach me the lyrics to the french song she sang to get Safiyah to eat.

And now, with the upcoming birth of our second baby girl, I've realize that many of the concepts that once seemed so foreign to me are now the only customs I have about bringing a baby into the world. My motherhood experience is limited to baby Safiyah, her doting Afridan daddy and his many, many, many helpful, hands-on cousins. And all the nuances that come with it.

In Guinean culture, it's taboo to reveal the baby's name before the baby is born. In keeping with this tradition, we officially named Safiyah at her naming ceremony, seven days after her birth. Although this tradition was completly new to me, I realize now that it has "rubbed off"! I realize that I am now strikingly discomforted by the notion of mentioning the baby's name before she is born!

When we learned that we were having a girl, my doctor asked if we had chosen a name. Now, I have had one picked out, in my head, since we first started thinking of having another baby! But, I was shocked that she'd expect me to utter it. "Uh....no" I quickly responded, hoping she wouldn't press the issue, forcing me to explain my inherited cultural belief.

I was equally disturbed when a pregnant girl at my beauty shop handed out sonogram pictures of her 5 month old fetus, proudly titled with her unborn's name! It seemed so - pardon the pun -premature!

I started to wonder, is this just me? Does calling your unborn child by name seem strange to anyone else? Did it seem weird to me before I had been introduced to this idea of delayed baby naming?

As is the beauty of lifelong friends, who can remind you who you are when you've seemingly forgotten yourself, I consulted with my girl KMH for a glimpse of my former self. She happily informed me THAT I WAS TRIPPIN'!! I never before would have thought anything of mentioning my unborn child's name!

Now, carting around a sonogram picture with her name at the top - that's a different story!

Welcome to Sisterhood Baby

2008-05-20T22:39:00.005-04:00

Safiyah is going to be a BIG SISTER!!!

My biggest dream for Safiyah is that she would know the beauty of sisterhood - and now she will!

Let the count down begin....about four more months to go!

Happy Mother's Day

2008-05-10T15:11:00.006-04:00

This is officially my third Mother's Day; my first being when I was pregnant with Safiyah. But I had no idea I'd be getting an actual Mother's Day gift from my baby girl! Safiyah, with undoubtedly great assistance from her childcare providers, made me a beautiful frame containing her precious handprint along with a poem. Check it out:

The poem reads:

Everyday I am exploring

Touching everything I've found

I leave behind my little marks

and handprints all around

You clean up those handprints

But someday when I'm grown

You'll wish you had just one

handprint to keep for your own

I made this handprint for you

So that one day when I am tall

You'll remember what my hand looked like

Long ago when I was small.

Awwwwwhhhhhhh!!!! I'm sure just three years ago, this would be another lame Mother's Day poem that I'd read and forget two seconds later. But with my little girl's precious handprint alongside it, it's priceless to me!

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO ALL!!!

Ode to NYC

2008-04-25T10:05:00.004-04:00

i've been soooo proud that i've made it nearly 5 months, without a single look back.
people would ask, "don't you miss New York"?
I was proud to announce that i didn't...NOT A BIT!
but today it hit me -- like a brick through a plate glass window.
today... i miss NY.
i realize that i miss NY in the springtime...
i miss lunch in bryant park w/ KMH, NJRC, EKK, DEC and RBM
i miss the subway (especially reading on the subway)
i miss being able to pick up my breakfast on the walk from the subway to my office
i miss BREAKFAST being DELIVERED to my office!!! (who knew that was such a luxury?)
i miss meeting my sissy jasmin, (between her job at bloomie's and mine at 40th & park) on the madison avenue busline heading uptown to harlem
i miss watching safiyah roll around in the grass at central park
i miss the bodegas where i could still buy penny candy (ok, 25 cents candy) and feel like a kid
i miss meeting ben at les ambassades for a schwerma
i miss jeff, leon, african food, luis&maria, jj's chicken&pizza, jimbos, 63East and even 2West

perhaps it was the ad i saw for the new sex&the city movie, or the trees in blossom, or the simply the fact that time has passed, a chapter has ended and new one has begun.
but for whatever reason, i miss my old home today.

so for those of you still there, enjoy it a little more today -- for ME!

Safiyah Goes to School

2008-03-15T05:47:00.007-04:00

A lot has happened since I re-entered the working world. First, I’ve been insanely busy and have totally missed blogging. But more importantly, Safi started daycare, or “school”, as I like to call it.

I must start by saying, it is a WONDERFUL daycare! Run by a mother-daughter team who has an amazing gift with children, I am certain that I have lucked upon the best kept secret in Indianapolis. There are six children, one of which is Safi’s cousin Salimah. Despite the age range of nearly 2 and 3 years-old, Safiyah comes home with an art project daily. They learn, sing and play throughout the day. I have no doubt that she is receiving extraordinary care. But that doesn’t make it easy.

It’s probably a terrible analogy, but for me, the thought of daycare was like putting your aging, and possibly ill parent in a nursing home. You know they’re getting great care, but you still hate to do it. Despite the level of care, I’ve always reasoned that I’m the best suited to care for my child, right?

It was a difficult transition – again, largely for me. Of course she cried. That was to be expected, right? She cried when I dropped her off and again when I’d pick her up. Her “teachers” assured me that she’d had a great day; played with the other children; was fine shortly after I left, but it still ached me to the core that my child was experiencing the insecurity of transition.

I eagerly comforted her each evening when I picked her up. I excitedly asked about her day. For the first week, or so, she ignored me. She’d hold on tight as I gathered her and her things, yet she refused to make eye contact. She was punishing me. And I felt every tinge of her punishment.

I felt terrible! I questioned whether I was doing the right thing. Logically, I reasoned that MILLIONS of children go to daycare! It is NOT a bad thing. But I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the right thing for my child. Had I waited too long to introduce daycare? Should I have tried a more gradual transition? Did she feel like she was being abandoned? (Note to reader – I have a LOT of unexplained abandonment issues, so I’m a bit over-sensitive to the idea.) As is my constant battle of motherhood, I questioned my decision.

Safiyah’s drop-off and pick-up tears continued for about two weeks. And just when I thought it was never going to end, I saw a break through. As we drove up one Tuesday morning, I braced myself for the tears and the mommy-pleas that I had come to expect. Yet as we walked in the door, Safiyah started to unzip her jacket. No tears. Shocked, I watched in awe as another toddler greeted Safi with a big hug as she shouted, “Daa-feeee-yaaah”! I watched my child fall into her friend’s embrace with a wide smile on her face of feeling loved.

That moment spoke volumes to me.

Mommy, I’m ok.
I’m with friends.
I know you’re coming back for me.
Until you do - I’ll be fine.

I quietly slipped out the door not wanting to ruin our first tear-free good-bye. As I walked back to my car, I felt that mixed pang of intense joy and sudden loss.

I am raising an independent toddler and losing my baby all at the same time. But at the end of the day, her triumph is mine as well.

I heard a child psychologist say that it is unrealistic to expect any toddler to welcome transition. It is our job as parents to help them navigate the transition and provide the security they need to get through it. Just like all our previous battles before this, Safiyah eventually transitioned. And I’m happy to say that she is becoming a more well-rounded child because of it.

Where I've Been

2008-03-15T05:38:00.005-04:00

So I’m not dead…yet and I didn’t fall off the planet. But I have been missing in action lately largely because I took a job – of sorts.

About two months ago, I got involved in a Congressional campaign. The former “candidate”, I am proud to say, is now a member of the United States Congress! Congressman André Carson proudly represents the 7th Congressional District of Indiana. Check him out here: http://www.andrecarson.com/. Other than strongly believing in his candidacy, I initially got involved because Congressman Carson also happens to be my brother-in-law. For you loyal blog readers, he also happens to be Salimah’s dad!

Needless to say, the campaign trail was extremely time consuming. First off, it was a Special Election, which meant we had essentially six weeks to do what is usually done in one year! It was thrilling, overwhelming and all together exhausting! But it was all worth it when we secured a decisive victory on March 11th.

My sister proudly traveled to Washington to see her husband sworn in as a member of Congress. I watched on C-SPAN as she beamed with pride. I was happy to be watching in my PJ’s, in bed, after having enjoyed my first truly restful sleep in two months.

So, I have essentially been out of commission, and out of the blog world. But boy have I missed it!! I didn’t realize how much blogging helps me clear my head and process what is going on in my life at the moment. That said, I’m happy to be back and I have a LOT to write about!

Blog Withdrawal

2008-01-25T00:40:00.002-05:00

I'm officially experiencing blog withdrawal!! I've been wanting to write for days now, but have been so busy, I haven't been able to find a quiet moment to clear my head and let my thoughts ease onto paper (or keybroad). I'm hooked! I now NEED the blog experience for a bit of a release these days.

As I'm sure my lack of time reflects, I've officially re-entered the work world and all the time-sucking that comes with it. And guess what...I do miss her. A lot...

More on that later, and more importantly, more on Safi's first day of daycare, or "school" as I encouragingly call it!

The Angel-faced Aggressor

2008-01-16T04:24:00.000-05:00

Does this look like the face of a bully?

Believe it, or not, this angelic face does not stop Safiyah from straight bum-rushing other children. Despite appearances, it has become abundantly clear that Safiyah is a bit of a bully

I have to admit, that I was quite surprised the first time I saw Safiyah snatch a toy from Salimah. Safi’s cousin Salimah, who is a mere four months her junior, is often the victim of her bullying. My sister, Salimah’s mother, joked that Salimah gets in a defense stance anytime Safiyah’s name is mentioned. Yikes!

With the most innocent of looks, Safiyah takes other children’s toys; snatches, and quickly throws their pacifiers; and gives “hugs” to the point of suffocation. On one occasion, I saw her literally mount another child, squealing in sheer delight, as she attempted to ride the little girl like a donkey! Quickly rushing to release the child from Safi’s grasp, I embarrassingly wore a shocked look on my face, to suggest that I was surprised by her behavior. Unfortunately, I’d seen it all before.

Like any parent, I have to wonder, where is this coming from? Is this truly aggression? Is she just overly excited to interact with other kids? Does she not know her own strength? Unfortunately, I haven’t figured out the answer. But what’s most amazing about Safi’s brutish ways is the complete look of surprise on her face when she’s reprimanded.

I continue to remind her to “be gentle”, “no snatching”, “no touching”, but how realistic is that for a 1 ½ year old? Safi’s even been introduced to the world of Time Out, which was surprisingly working well, until I saw that she was putting herself in Time Out. I gave her a snack the other day and she nicely walked over to the time out corner and sat down to eat.

So much for that.

As offensive and embarrassing as Safi’s behavior may be, I have to accept that she is a growing toddler who is exploring, learning and testing limits. I remember how annoying it was when Safiyah was obsessed with dropping her cup from the table, just to hear the sound it made as it hit the floor. In this new annoying stage, Safi is learning how to interact with others. Unfortunately, in this battle, there are some minor casualties.

I hope this is one of the many phases that everyone promises me that Safiyah will outgrow. In the meantime, I know Salimah for one, is bracing herself for the impact.

Why I Blog

2008-01-16T03:19:00.000-05:00

I was ecstatic to receive my first non-family or friend comment on the blog the other day!! Thanks Gustav! It’s so nice to imagine that there is an actual audience on the other end of my laptop musings about life. I felt an extreme amount of gratification at the thought that “strangers” may read my blog. Which made me ask myself just "Why do I Blog?"

I recently had this discussion with my mother. She couldn’t understand why anyone would be interested in the life of someone they don’t know. I, on the other hand, religiously read the blogs of strangers, anxiously awaiting the next post. Why? Is it is the idea of being a voyeur into someone else’s life – looking in their window as their family eats at the dinner table? Or is it as basic as reading for enjoyment, just as you would read a non-fiction book?

Why I blog it actually pretty simple – I love writing. My mother, pointed out that I actually write for a living as a lawyer. But practicing law has shown me that I’d much rather write about life than legal arguments and motions. Blogging allows me to fulfill my desire to write, along with the fantasy of actually having an audience. So, here are the three main reasons why I blog:

1. To keep family and friends up to date on what’s new in Safiyah’s world.
When I was in New York and my family was here in Indianapolis, I struggled with different ways to include them in Safiyah’s growth, which seemed to be happening so fast. Then, I did it with pictures. Now, I’m doing it with words. . . and occasionally a few pictures. For all my amazing friends on the east coast, who became Safiyah’s aunties, I don’t want them to miss a thing.

2. To improve my writing.
I have always loved writing. Should I ever have the opportunity to pursue it as a career, rather than just a hobby, I’d like to have put in some good practice.

3. And yes, I’d LOVE to have a fan following…who wouldn’t?

Perhaps one day this will be someone’s favorite blog that they just have to check in on everyday!! But for now, I’m content with the blog serving as a family and friend update center - and of course I welcome the friends out there that I haven't yet met, but who remind me that this world is a lot smaller than it may seem.

The Mommy Wars Within

2008-01-07T20:30:00.000-05:00

Women have been debating the choice to work inside, or outside the home, since Women’s Lib. I never sat squarely on either side of the debate. There’s clearly no one-size-fits-all solution for how to mother your children. For some women, staying home and raising their children is an essential element of being a mother. For other women, the thought of staying home and foregoing their career life is unthinkable.

Although I spent a good deal of time and money pursuing my legal education and three years practicing law, I have to admit that I’ve never been exceptionally career driven. So where do I fall in the great debate of baby vs. career? I don’t feel like my life would be any less valuable if I took a hiatus from lawyer-life. On the other hand, I don’t know if I quite have what it takes to successfully tackle the most challenging job of being a stay-at-home-mom.

When we moved to Indianapolis, I welcomed the opportunity to be at home with Safiyah, while taking the time to find the right career fit for me. After all, I felt like I missed so much time with Safiyah in New York. Practicing law at a defense firm with the dreaded billable hour ever stalking me, I felt that I saw Safi wake up in the morning and go to bed in the evening, but missed all the valuable time in between. I was so excited to catch up on all the time I felt that I was missing with my baby. I looked forward to taking her to the library, park and museum -- all during the daytime! Of course, I fantasized what my newfound freedom would allow.

And what a time we’ve had!!! We’ve had many play dates with cousin Salimah, as my sister has been on vacation. We’ve been to the new Indianapolis Library, which is amazing! Check it out here: http://www.imcpl.org/central/index.html. There is a fabulous baby-zone, called the learning curve, where babies are free to explore the books, play theatre and participate in story time.

We also explored the world-renowned Indianapolis Children’s Museum (www.childrensmuseum.org/)!!! Seeing Safiyah’s eyes light up at each new play station reminded me of the infinite joy I experienced going to that same museum throughout my own childhood. I love being a mom who is completely available to her child. I love seeing the new things Safi does with each new day.

But after a month at home with Safiyah, reality has set in. I love being with her, but I realize that I also want to miss her too. Working allowed me to miss her. Working also allowed me to fulfill a part of myself that is independent of being Safiyah’s mother.

So for me, it’s not baby versus career, it’s baby versus me – my independent self. My work life represents my identity separate and apart from motherhood. And I think I am ready to return to work to balance these two identities.

Like every mother in the world, I am hoping to find that ever elusive sense of balance, somewhere between the sea of motherhood and the simplicity of just being me.

Little Miss Manners

2008-01-02T12:00:00.000-05:00

Guess who’s now saying PUH-LEEEEZEEE!

Safiyah is starting 2008 right by showcasing her use of manners. And I have to admit I’m quite proud. I don’t think there’s anything cuter than a little person with good manners.

I was so excited when one of the first words Safiyah said in context was “tank uuu”.

I’ve been working on please ever since, but without much success – until yesterday at bath time.

Safiyah LOVES WATER. Drinking it. . .playing in it. . .and combining the two by drinking water in the bath. It’s a disgusting habit that I strongly discourage of course, but Safi spends the entire bath time sneaking the ducky cup to her little lips.

After repeatedly reminding Safi of how GROSS it is to drink the very water she’s bathing in, I finally had to take the ducky cup away from her. And that’s when she said it.

PUH-LEEEEEZEEE!! Well, then I just had to give it to her, right?

I’m willing to sacrifice a few germs for the sake of good manners.

The Long Goodbye

2007-12-27T01:49:00.000-05:00

Someone wisely informed me, when I was pregnant, that motherhood is one big, long exercise in letting go. I am currently in the midst of that painful reality, as we’re attempting to get Safiyah out of our bed and into her crib – for good this time.

Yes, we’ve been down this road before. About six months ago, Ben and I successfully weaned Safiyah from our bed and had her sleeping in her crib. But then life happened, she relapsed, and I’ve been putting off re-training her until we moved to Indianapolis.

So, now we’re here and I’m all out of excuses of why tonight, just isn’t the night to quite let go.

As I prepared myself for the screams, the tears and the painful agony of forcing my child to cry-it-out, I realized and accepted that this is going to be much harder on me than it is on her.

I love cuddling with Safiyah’s warm little body at night. Safiyah, who loves to cuddle as much as her mommy, tucks herself tightly inside the arc of my body, reminding me of the days that I carried her within me – when her body was housed inside my own.

I try to remind myself that she, and I, will survive this. Soon, I tell myself, I will be SO happy to have my space, my bed and alone time with my husband back, that I will wonder what took me so long to kick her out!

But just when I thought that I had psyched myself up to withstand the inevitable, the screams began and my heart ached for her.

Why? I’m sure she wonders.
Why now?
We’ve had a good thing going for nearly a year and a half.
Why can’t I stay another year and a half?
Why do I have to be in here ALL ALONE, her cries seemed to ask.

She went back and forth like that throughout the night. She’d wake up, then cry herself back to sleep. Around 5:30 a.m., she woke up for a bottle. I was relieved to run in and give it to her. Unfortunately, however, this gave her false hope that it was time to return to that big familiar bed that she’s used to. So, she was understandably pissed when I returned her to her crib for the remainder of her night’s rest. She cried an exhausted whimper that revealed she was, in fact, still quite sleepy. But this time she even tried to “talk” her way out of the crib.

“Maaaa-maaaa”, she cried.
“Duber bahtigo!”

In Safiyah speak, 'duber' is diaper, so I knew where this was headed. Then, I distinctly heard the familiar sound of Velcro tabs being released.

No, I told myself. She’s baiting me – wants to lure me in with the threat of our famous diaper war. I decided not to bite. Moments later, she was asleep again.

A few hours later, I was awakened again by her cry. I looked at the clock - 8:30 a.m. She had made it through the night! When I finally allowed myself to answer her cry, my eyes confirmed what I thought my ears had heard.

In an act of sheer rebellion, she was waiting there in her crib – butt naked.
No footed sleeper, no diaper, butt naked.

Letting go is hard, but at least Safiyah is keeping it comical.

Hugs for Sale

2007-12-23T14:51:00.001-05:00

Safiyah gives great hugs. And I told her this as I was lotionin’ her up after bath time the other day.

As soon as I said it, she leaned in close and draped her arms around my neck. She smiled. I melted. She really has been a kid on command lately. (If you don’t count her knowledge of body parts, that is.)

Ever since I praised Safiyah on her ability to squeeze tight and make mommy melt, it seems she has been negotiating the value of these oh-so-sweet hugs.

“Safi, that’s not nice.” Hug.
“Safi, put that down.” Hug.
“Safi, time for a nap.” Hug.
I noticed a pattern.

Hugs have become Safiyah’s way of asking for forgiveness, or at least, a means to escape punishment, or scolding. Today, she tested out the value of her hugs in the endless diaper battle we have going.

Safiyah has an obsession with taking off her diaper. I know this is one of many signs that she is, in fact, ready to be potty-trained, but that’s another story. Needless to say, I had been repeating “LEAVE YOUR DIAPER ON” all morning. After finding yet another diaper carelessly discarded on her bedroom floor with no Safi in sight, I had had enough.

Safiyah, I yelled!

The child emerged from the bathroom with lightening speed, rounding the doorway corner like Carl Lewis. It must be said that Safiyah is easily startled. A natural by product of always getting into things she’s not supposed to get into, anytime I call her name, she comes RUNNING – eyes wide and crazed; startled, as if she’s just heard gun shots.

“Safiyah, no more taking your diaper off. You must keep it on”, I advised my naked bottom child.

Eyes wide and blinking, a smile emerged. She opened her arms wide and negotiated her price. . . one juicy hug coming up!

It seems Safiyah has learned early that everybody has a price - even mommy. Her diaper is locked in place for now, but no telling how long this one’s going to last.

So...my kid's a genius

2007-12-18T01:24:00.000-05:00

Ok, now I realize that every parent says this, or at least thinks it, at some point about their child, but I'm convinced that Safiyah has an extremely high I.Q. for a 16-month-old.

The child has figured out how to turn on my iPhone. And no, it's not just pushing a talk button and waiting for the dial tone. It's actually quite childproof. There's a little "slide to unlock" feature that you put your finger on and drag the arrow across to unlock the phone.

Safi has figured out how to slide her little finger across the screen to unlock the treasure! She watches in delight as the screen transforms, rewarding her efforts. You've gotta see it to believe it.

My suspicions were further validated by the “conversation” we had the other day. Although Safiyah only says about 5 true words (admittedly average, (gasp) or possibly below-average for her age), I realized a couple days ago that she can distinguish between yes/no and open-ended questions. It went a little something like this:

Me: Safi are you hungry?
Safi: aahh (said in a grunt style that quite possibly means both yes and no)
Me: what do you want to eat?
Safi: blub-blub-blub-yahda-yahda
Me: really? You like that?
Safi: aahh

Me: When's the last time you ate that?

Safi: blah-blub-yahgo-fiya-do

Me: Really?

Safi: aahh
Believe me, this was much more convincing in person

Seeing that we were on a roll, I decided to test out her knowlege of body parts we've been working on. "Nose", I quizzed. "Safi, where's your nose"? "Eye"! she exclaimed, as she dutifuly pointed. . . to. her. ear.

Well, maybe I won't call 20/20 just yet.

Who am I?

2007-12-17T22:21:00.000-05:00

mother to Safiyah
wife to Ben/Fadilou/Mamadou…my baby daddy with many names and I love him all the same
daughter to David and Brenda
sister to Marcus, Nneka, Mariama and Jasmin
auntie to Kayla, Shayla, Jaylen, Tariq, Amiyah, Salimah (and Marco and Courtney who are too old to admit that I’ve never met) :(
a muslimah
a lawyer
a closet writer
a 23-year journal writer (I have 17 journals to date)
a friend
a romantic
an organizer
a blogger

Now...who are you?

Everything & Nothing

2007-12-17T22:19:00.000-05:00

so, i've been wanting to start a blog for quite a while, but each time i start, i reach the same block – “what am i going to write about?”
but today i realized, i don’t need a topic, a reason, a season, or a thesis statement. writing, particularly blog writing, doesn’t need to have a focus. isn’t that the whole purpose of a blogging?
so, here i begin!

i’m writing…about everything and nothing at all.
but i’ve joined the blog world and i’m writing!

Indianapolis by way of New York

2007-12-17T22:13:00.000-05:00

I recently made the journey home to Indianapolis after 3 ½ years of living in New York. Many couldn’t understand why I would ever want to leave the bright lights and big city of New York. The simple answer – I missed my family. The more complicated question – did I ever really want to live in New York?

Moving to New York was the first major wifely concession I made. Some would argue that leaving Indiana for New York wasn’t quite a concession. And that’s what I told myself when I packed up my single-girl apartment in downtown Indianapolis and drove the 12-hour trek to New York with my new groom. I was excited, giddy even! I was a newlywed in love. I told myself that this was what all women do – get married and follow their husbands. So, that’s what I did.

I have wonderful memories of that first road trip together. We held hands – a lot! We entered each rest stop, fingers interwoven, savoring each moment before parting ways to use the restroom (sickening, right?) We listened to a lot of music. Ben introduced me to Binta Lahly, a famous Guinean folk singer, whose songs I knew by heart after the 12-hour journey. We ceremoniously “high-fived” as we crossed into each new state (a tradition we repeated on the journey back to Indiana.) :)

But I also have another memory of that trip – one not so full of rainbows and fairytales. As we drove across the George Washington Bridge into Manhattan, Ben looked in awe at the skyline that he has always adored. “New York City”, he said with such amusement that he may as well have been singing. But, at that moment of his intense satisfaction, I felt the tears trickle down my cheeks. Moments later, I was bawling. The romantic movie scene had ended and I began to realize the gravity of checking the box marked, “will move for love”. I had left everything I knew, for a world of unknowns with my new husband.

And it was scary.

I was officially a grown-up. Moving to New York was my first real grown-up decision, aside from getting married, that is. And now, this was my life.

Scary as it was, New York turned out to be a great equalizer for our new marriage. Leaving the comfortable bosom of my intensely close family, New York was a fresh canvas for Ben and me to become an “us”. It was an uncharted road that we blazed together. While I desperately missed my family, the distance allowed me to accept that Ben was my family. We grew together in ways that I don’t know we would have been able to starting our marriage in Indiana. We made incredible memories that involved just the two of us.

New York also allowed me to form and unbelievable bond with my little sister Jasmin, who moved to New York after graduating college. Unlike me; however, Jasmin LOVED New York! Jasmin, my fashionably-dramatic-side-splitting- hilarity-of-a-sister, with stories so out-of-this-world that they would NEVER happen to anyone BUT her, was made for New York! Jasmin relishes in the energy of New York. Yet in the midst of her love affair with a city that was giving me the blues, Jasmin was my touchstone to home who eased my homesickness and left me feeling less alone.

While I had accepted that Ben had become my family, Jasmin’s presence in New York filled a void that only a sister could fill. Throughout my time in New York, knowing that Ben, Jasmin (and soon after, her husband Ahmed) were my island of family undoubtedly allowed me to weather the storm.

All in all, New York was good for us, but it never felt like home. And after nearly 4years of fast living, an insane cost-of-living and, a bouncing baby-girl, we agreed that it was time to go home.

Coming back home to Indianapolis has been like wrapping myself in the most comfortable blanket I’ve ever known! Jasmin says that I never really moved to New York, I just vacationed there for 3 ½ years. Perhaps because New York wasn’t my dream, I never allowed myself to really become rooted there. But now that I’m home, I can see New York with enough perspective to appreciate my journey. I can even bring myself to say…I (heart) NY.

I love New York, not for the exciting nightlife, the culture, the endless varieties of food that you can get at anytime of day or night, or the fact that the city never sleeps.

No - I love New York because it was Ben and my first home together.
I became a wife in New York.
I became a mother in New York, as well.
I made unbelievable friends.

I learned that I could make it outside the comfort-zone of my hometown, surrounded by family, but I’d rather not have to. I learned a lot about myself in New York.

I know now that New York was part of my journey. There were lessons I had to learn, that I could only learn there. In the end, what I thought was a “concession” for my husband, was the biggest gift I gave myself.

So, here’s to life journeys – and to finding my way home…