Due to Week of Dutch nationalism in Dutch

Hoog bezoek uit Nederland op komst. Mijn lieve moeder en broer hebben hun zwemspullen, malaria pillen, zaterdagkrant voor mij en stukken kaas bijna ingepakt. Ik ben van plan ze een duizelingwekkende Afrika rush te bezorgen. Over 10 dagen kunnen ze met een enorme bak kalkoenen staarten op hun hoofd lopen om te verkopen langs de weg. Ze zullen weten wat de ‘mosquito clap’ is, ze eten alles met hun handen en spreken beetje pigion engels (I will sleep small small, but let’s chop something afterwards. Aka: I will sleep a bit but let’s go out for dinner afterwards). Ook zullen ze bedreven worden in het keuren van voedsel op uiterste datum. Nooit geweten dat een bounty echt kan bederven bijvoorbeeld. Wit uitslaan ok, dat is nog best te eten. Maar zuur?

We gaan het vast veel hebben over het nut van ontwikkelingssamenwerking. En over hoe erg je boft als je niet in sub-Sahara Afrika bent geboren als dochter van analfabete casave boeren. En uiteraard gaan we formeel uitgedost bitterballen en paling eten tussen de ambassadeurs op koninginnedag. Waarna we wellicht nog afzakken tot het gepeupel dat bier drinkt op het echte feest. Klik trouwens even op de link, hij is grappig.

Ik hoop maar dat ze echt komen. Want deze week wilde ik eigenlijk het liefst even naar huis om mijn oma een knuffel te geven. Alleen is er plotseling iets in haar hoofd gebeurd waardoor ze misschien dat vlak daarna zich al niet meer herinnert. Maar ik weet niet of dat wat uitmaakt eigenlijk.

My secret lists

I love making lists. Somewhat neurotic and I never use them in the end, but they clear my mind. To do lists, list of people I need to call, grocery shopping list, list of favorite baby names (no concrete plans). Lately I have started daydreaming about my list of potential new duty stations I want to opt for when my contract ends in 2011. All in consultation with my supportive love of my life by the way. Utrecht also features on this list, although I think that is the only one we don’t agree on and has no UNICEF office.

There is one more list I regularly add on that I will share with you in a minute. I am obsessed with all the things I once want to do in my life. But most of them I can’t do at the moment. Life is pretty straightforward and easy here. Options on what to do on the weekends are limited to beach, pool, watch movies, hang out with friends and stay in bed. Occasionally I’ll go search the town for good wine or yogurt, but that is it really.

Thanks to steady supply and a great rotation system, I read quite a few Dutch magazines and books though. And there my obsession starts. So many things I once want to do that I shouldn’t forget about! You guys do them first and let me know which ones to keep. Enjoy!

- See the northern light, perhaps go to my sister's boyfriends cottage in Lofoten, the remotest place on earth in the north of Norway
- take the Blote Voeten Wandeling (take a bare foot walk)
- learn to dance the tango, learn how to properly give a massage, figure out photoshop finally
- Go to Berlin for a long weekend
- Drive through Namibia with one of these jeeps with a tent on the roof
- Leave more surprises for Taco around the house like little notes or funny presents
- Call in sick more often and go roller-blading in the dunes with a picnic in my backpack
- Don’t go to Zara and H&M anymore but buy a proper ladylike wardrobe. I think I have to open up a special savings account for my Scandinavian clothes fetish.
- Make my new favorite salad with smoked trout, black lentils, walnuts, goat cheese, avocado, lettuce, dried cranberries, pickles, cherry tomatoes, shallots and vinaigrette.
- Go on a night safari with a forester in the Hoge Veluwe
- Learn to take pictures like these so they give me that job

To be continued and I'm happy to hear your suggestions of things-not-to-forget-to-once-do.

Why Nigerian soaps are the best

I can really understand why rockstars eventually always trash their hotel rooms and throw their guitars out of the window. Not that I’m suddenly a rockstar, or that I’m planning on trashing my room. I’m just saying I understand. Spent quite some time in hotels the past two months and I am about to throw the broken Chinese airconditioner (with only Chinese characters on the remote control) out of the window. Or the pillow that smells like the dirty armpit of the last guest before me. Or the tv with the 5 local channels (a priest, a Nigerian soap opera, old football match from the 70ties, advertisement and one more Nigerian soap opera).

The soaps are the only programmes I really enjoy here. Although I have no clue what they are saying (honestly, I still am not sure whether it’s English with a real heavy accent that the are speaking or Hausa or another local language), they are fun and no actual understanding of the language is needed. It always involves stealing, ghosts and miracles, some violence, long pauses with dramatic looks when she walks into the bedroom and the husband is sleeping with someone else and long chasing of the bad guy. The secret code for a bad, slutty woman is when she smokes. There is no secret code for a bad man as they all seem to be stealing, lying, cheating sexists. The women are usually quite fat in my western European opinion. Which might partly be the reason why I prefer these programmes over America’s Next Top Model whilst eating my chocolate and banana’s for dinner.

6 months anniversary in Ghana today! And my blog may not always reflect this as I seem to prefer to write about the weird or slightly annoying things that happen, but I'm really liking it here. Including the complete chicken leg with all the little toes and long nails still on it in my soup today.

Camembert bags

Alright, so after all the dreams coming true and all that, I landed again with a big big bang in Kotoka International Airport, Accra this morning. People gave the pilot a big hand of applause, praised the Lord for the safe flight and mumbled some prayers before switching on their phones and starting to fight to get off the plane. I caught myself saying “oh my God thank God” as well, as landing with big bangs is not my favorite.

Darling roommate Carole came to pick me up and took me out for coffee which was a much better welcome than hassling with a taxi driver. And now I’m back, just unpacked my extra suitcase stuffed with new clothes, camembert and parmesan cheese. Like me, from all over the world my fellow UNICEF JPO’s (Junior Professional Officers) had brought long lists of what food they wanted to bring back to Georgetown, Sudan, Timor etc. Some seem to live under pretty rough conditions, but others are based on the Fiji islands, which can not be too much of a hardship post. It was great to hear all of their stories and learn that even in Fiji people get frustrated with their job sometimes.

I developed some renewed appreciation for my own duty station, hearing about their safety restrictions, evacuations for medical reasons, regular car jacking and use of panic buttons in their houses (although I have one as well, which has only been used once when Taco thought he was switching on the light. In a few minutes half the Ghanaian army showed up at our door. We were quite impressed).

So, I’m back. Will pour myself a glass of red wine tonight and eat some cheese.

On another note; I have had a few complains about not writing this blog in Dutch anymore. Sorry about that guys, but according to statistics around 30 % of my readers now is from all over the world. I wonder who these people are and why they are interested in my futilities, but I like the idea :-)

Country girl in Manhattan

On the plane I had lots of time to think. I assumed there would be little televisions in all seats and I was all excited about the movies I was going to watch but no. No tv, and I didn't bring a book, so plenty of time for seated yoga and meditation practices and when I was done with that another 9 hours and a half for reflections.

Half way across the Atlantic I realized I have fulfilled my dreams. That might sound dramatic, but dramatic it is. After all, how often do you think about all you wished for before and how these dreams came true?

I remember the first time I came to New York and I was standing on the Empire State Building looking over the massive city, the tiny little yellow cabs and the pretty park. Different life, different love and long time ago. I remember pointing at the UN building, dreaming about working there and thinking it would be nearly impossible to get in and do so.

And here I am, little county girl, always scared that she is not smart enough. Now I'm eating my take away food while watching the little twinkling lights of Manhattan across the river. I know my way around on the subways and walk 30 blocks on sneakers with my heels in my bag and with a coffee to go like I live here. I enter a skyscraper office, take the elevator up to the 22 floor and feel like I really do and don't belong here at the same time.

But now that I think about it, I do still have something to wish for. I wish my soulmate was here with me instead of the fact that he just took off on a plane to Amsterdam. I wish he was still here to squeeze my arm and come up with new dreams. I even wish I was on that plane too at the moment. I think I might even enjoy reading the sky magazine 3 times, watching old mr Bean shows (I do really hate those though) or sit next to screaming kids. My new dream might involve a bike ride on the Dutch dikes on Eastern Monday, baking apple pies and telling everyone how great NYC was back in the days.