After having published Bonanna nayo Mundele, I received the following e-mail from Patrick who I pushed in a stroller a little over 50 years ago while living in Léopoldville (Léo for short) now Kinshasa, in what used to be Belgian Congo
“I’ll admit I have to rely on my elders for anything related to lingala. My memories are limited to what would have attracted a 2-3 yr old boy in Leo – Rick bringing a croc in the back of his pick-up, the toys I got for Saint Nicolas, etc.”
Crocodiles!
Cristofano Allori, Judith with the Head of Holofernes (1613)
Over the ages, an interest developed about women who saved their city or country by cutting the head of a tyrant ruler while asleep or overcome with drink and passed out. Continue reading
Bonanna nayo Mundele in Lingala can be translated to “ I Wish You a Good Year White” (man or woman).
Life was usually safe in what used to be Belgian Congo, now République Démocratique du Congo. The garden gates were kept open unless the dogs were free to run in the yard. We did not watch who was coming into our yard, since it was common for Joseph, our servant, to have somebody to drop in for a short visit while passing by… and have a tea when we were not home. Continue reading
Clearing the Energy field.
My dear friend:
Thank you for sharing with me the story of Anita Moorjani, the lady who “crossed over” and came back to a healthy body, having made the decision to live and stay present. Continue reading
December 22, 2011
Late that afternoon the grocery store where we were shopping for many years was still very busy as I was putting all our purchases on the counter belt. As the familiar lady at the check out counter was scanning or weighting our groceries, I mentioned to her she looked particular happy to work at the store.
Ah, was her reply, she just had two days off. It had been very busy at home. Lots of noise and discussions... Continue reading
It is Christmas, and time to put up the Nativity. I have it for a very long time now. It came with us all the way from what used to be Belgian Congo.
I was in grade two when one day in December, Mom and Dad drove us to the vast and manicured compound of the Lycée du Sacré Cœur de Kalina, the school I was attending and dropped my little sister and me in front of a driveway on the side of the buildings holding the classrooms. Wearing the same little dresses, holding my little sister’s hand and the money in the other hand, we walked to the school office as proud as proud could be and came back with this Nativity in a nice little cardboard suitcase. The tallest figurines were 7 cm high (or 2″ 3/4). Being the oldest of four girls and the first to get married, I succeeded at inheriting that little Nativity. It came with us from Congo, following us in Canada from coast to coast to coast. Continue reading