Hello world, following what happened on Friday, my sons dad said he is no more contributing to their education (that was all he was doing). I thought he was joking – like angry and jealous sort of. Yesterday David went there to collect their school bags and books, and was driven away like a pig. He came back home in tears. This was followed by a series of sms from his dad telling me all he could… I have done what I can so that David starts school today (He is starting secondary school – in the US that will be junior high), and will be in th same school as Alain. That is a walking distance from Home. Gaby will start tomorrow by Grace. I specialize since 2011 in making the best lemonade out lemon.
My life is a thrilling one indeed, and we find the FUN in the dysFUNction. I am so grateful for everything, I wouldn’t give their dad the pleasure of having me run after him nor drag him to court…no not yet…no not now…I made a strong statement that friday, stronger than court or social servce, that was his language and he got hit far harder than not irrespective of any saga which followed…
YES OH YES: Iam very proud of my scars, I wear them like a badge of honour…
Have a nice week all, dare to be proud of your scars and wear them like a badge of honour even if some think it is a badge of dishonour.
When l resumed lectures this year, I was what you will call an old student. I could easily identify fresh students and among them, Rebecca caught my attention.
She is from South Sudan
I felt the urge to reach out to her and become her friend. I knew how lonely I felt as a new student with no one to talk to on campus. She also made me feel there was a ‘deep story’ past her look.
When I first tried, Rebecca was cold. I didn’t give up. I tried again in the form of talking about life in school and studies in general. She is also taking the same course as I am and as fate will have it, we both took the same ‘FDR’ (research method) lectures.
Rebecca offered to drop me home one night as we left school and that was the ice breaker. She talked almost all the way. She told me she was from South Sudan and then she stopped talking.
Who doesn’t know of South Sudan?
I wondered not why she stopped talking after that, but why it still mattered so badly to her. Afterall, she had also told me she fled that country over twenty years ago when it was all still Sudan. She had equally survived her way through to France, learned french, completed her studies, gotten married, had two kids, and picked up a job with the liaison office in Paris.
But, we must not forget that the horror of a war leaves on long after it is over. And yet, although that civil war with Sudan is over and South Sudan gained its independence, Rebecca still has family there and they live through the current ‘carnage’ in their country. Some have died she says and some cousins are missing.
South Sudan is still making highlights, currently competing with Central Africa Republic, Congo Kinshasa and the others in their ‘bruteness’.
Rebecca’s Courage and survival is remarquable
In addition to all what I said about her fleeing to France and learning French, Rebecca survived an abusive marriage and soon found herself with two kids on the street. She decided to find a job in Brussels but for one whole year, she commuted from Lille to Brussels every day just to earn a living.
She met her current husband and they now have two kids. Well, it isn’t all fairy tale. Rebecca’s husband just relocated to Canada where he got a job. My friend Rebecca is raising four children, working, going to school, and trying to stay updated about her family back in South Sudan.
Rebecca says she is inspired by me
One day, Rebecca phoned me and invited me to lunch. What a pleasant surprise. We agreed to meet in the notorious Matonge area (a not so famous black neighbourhood in Brussels);
Rebecca who had earlier bought my book, told me I inspired her so much that she wanted to write her own story too. She says there is still so much to unwind from in there, but with a friend like me and her determination, she knows she will get there.
In the meantime, I am the one who finds her a strong and courageous woman. She is my heroine and I am glad I reached out to her back then.
Dear gentle readers and followers of mine, what says thou? Sharing is caring, we never know who may be touched!
I am so excited because by the time this post goes life, I should have met my dear friend June.
I mean who wouldn’t fall in love with someone with such a name? You can guess right that with her it is summer all year round huh?
And then, you can add much more when you read her motto:
‘Winners don’t quit and quitters don’t win.’
I fell in love with Jamaica as a kid when listening to the great Bob’s music and watching how some people still swore by him, wore his memorabilia and talked Babylon all day long.
When I got to Belgium last year, Usain Bolt was already making headlines and at least making Jamaica proud so much that when I met the Prime Minister Portia Simpson Miller at a conference she told me she was honoured to be PM of his country.
By then, I had discovered the blogging world out of curiosity and because a friend of mine told me I wrote well and should give it a try.
The very next day I put my blog up, I went to visit another blog and fell on June’s comment. I followed the link she provided and got to her blog and there I read this great post on “AM I A BLOGGER OR WHAT”?
I contacted her and she quickly responded giving me such advice that prevented me from drowning in the word press and blogger ocean.
It’s been so much love at first sight huh?
When I visited London in March, I couldn’t get to see June because our schedules where hectic. I wasn’t discouraged for I decided to go back again if only to finally get to meet JUNE!
She wrote the post on a powerful and strong woman which I sort of re-blogged last week, she talks with me every now and then and yes I am blessed to call June my friend, an inspiration and motivation.
I am hoping to try some real Jamaican cuisine at her place because I must admit that I was dubbed at a festival l attended here in Brussels by some hawkers claiming they served Jamaican cuisine. They had some real succulent banners but when we ordered, we got served a pale rice and beans.
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