Shipwreck beach is just over 20 miles from the city but with Luanda’s infamously choked traffic, it took us over 2 hours each way. Snakes joked that if we were stationed in Brussels, we’d be arriving in Paris soon. This reminded me of when we were studying at FSI and one of our instructors always referred to Luanda as “the Paris of Africa”. Hmmm, granted I’ve only been to Paris once and I have always taken pride in my active and generous imagination but, honestly, I’m not seeing it.

We threw together a small picnic and set off around 8am. We didn’t bring the dogs, though we should have. There were only a handful of other people wandering the rusty barge boneyard. When boats in the Luanda harbor are no longer seaworthy, this is where they once retired. It was stunning in that depressing “ruin-porn” kind of post-apocalyptic way. Massive barges, freighters and fishing boats rusted out, capsized and drifting ashore.

We didn’t spend as much time as I’d have liked at this incredibly photogenic spot. It’d be great to return much earlier to avoid traffic and take advantage of the early morning light. The bushbaby enjoyed the fresh air, open vistas from her papa’s shoulders and her first toe-dip in the Atlantic.

That night, tucked safely into our clean and comfy beds, my mind was cycling through images from the day, trying to wrap my head around all I’d seen. Sometimes it’s just too much to process. It’s overwhelming and exhausting. I always feel guilty for not doing more, having been simply born into the privilege and responsibility of being an American, the dizzying advantage of a birthright which so many have forgotten or never realize to begin with.

The below “before” shot could have been taken at any number of foreign service homes around the world: standard issue Drexel Heritage sofa with brown lacquered side and coffee tables, brass lamps with dusty pleated white shades, and creamy white walls.  I began by having the warehouse guys haul away as much as possible. They have a tendency to pack these places to the gills.

First on the agenda was to address the sofas. The color combo wasn’t doing favors for anyone but the dirt it was clearly designed to camouflage. That strong pattern insisted that I wouldn’t be able to solve this problem by simply tossing on a couple of fresh throw pillows. I’d have preferred to make slipcovers myself to get exactly what I was looking for, but since fabrics here are limited to African prints, I decided that might be a bit much. Plus I’d already replaced the dark brown curtains (in this next photo which is on the opposite side of the living room) with some more airy and casual fabric I found here in Luanda.
After consulting the facebook “foreign service blogger” group, I was pointed in the direction of these slipcovers from IKEA. They come in many different colors, patterns and price points. Of course the ones I decided on were on the pricier end, but what a difference! The key is that they are multiple pieces, a separate cover for every cushion. I am amazed at how well they fit, pretty close to tailor made.The second order of business was greenery. I’ve always had a lush collection of houseplants, our home felt so sterile without them. I had found a lovely fern at the grocery store a while back, but I wasn’t willing to part with the $90 it was commanding to join us. In the end, I dug some spiky snake plants from our yard and transplanted them into containers we dragged along. I also nip branches from the scraggly front yard for other green little flourishes.

The photo wall was a project I’ve always wanted to tackle, even more so now that we’re far away. I found this frame set, which shipped hassle-free through the diplomatic pouch. Our walls are concrete so hanging things requires a work order and workmen with a masonry bit. Since the fish to fry in the Luanda housing pool are WAY bigger than my decorating issues, I opted to use these sticky 3m strips to hang everything in place. They’ve worked great so far. Nothing has come crashing down. Of course there are loads of other things I’d like to tweak, but for now this will do. I never really feel like I’m “done” decorating, do you? There will always be fresh temptations and treasures to add and edit. And God willing, plenty of safe and snuggly places to nap. 

The lost pouch came through on the last possible day before the holiday weekend, a minor Christmas miracle since it contained all of the packages from our families. I will have to encourage them to ship holiday goodies mid-October next year. Snakes spoiled me with gifts galore from the duty free airport shopping on his way back to Luanda. He also found a beautiful bracelet for me at an artists’ collective in Rio, a magnificent city indeed. If it is on our bid list, he insists we need to consider it very seriously as an option for our next post. I’m hoping we have the opportunity to return for another temporary assignment before our tour here is up.

One minor bummer (which in the grand scheme of things is no biggie) was that there’s no Santa in Luanda! As friends filled my facebook feed with smiling, scowling and sobbing pictures of their kids on Santa’s lap, I realized that we wouldn’t be getting one done for The Bushbaby. Like I said, not the end of the world, but it just made me a little sad. The season wasn’t punctuated with many festive events at all. Ever the problem solver, my guy leapt into action buying not only a Santa suit but a gorilla one as well. He reasoned that  it’s one thing to be without a Santa when you need one but sorry is the man who finds himself unable to deliver when the call goes out for a gorilla at the party. Extreme hijinx like this, my friends, are why I love that man.

We hosted a Christmas Day brunch at our place. Later in the afternoon we went for a family stroll through the neighborhood. (A friend was along and took the pictures.) There were crowds of kids clamoring to pet the mastiff. I’ve never seen such appreciation for the gentle breed as I’ve seen here on the streets of Luanda. Curiously the muddog wasn’t given the rockstar reception. I suppose he’s more of an acquired, refined taste.

On Monday we joined some friends for a trip to a beach here in the city. It was off the coast of the Ilha, which is a little peninsula with a few restaurants and clubs, one of the nicer places in the city. It was the Bushbaby’s first trip to the ocean. I elected not to dip her toes in after I eyed the sneakers, plastic bags and debris rolling in with each wave. We spent a little time cooling off at the embassy pool instead.

New Years Eve we celebrated our third anniversary by preparing a nice dinner for ourselves after The Bushbaby was asleep. A poached egg topped green salad with gorgonzola, drizzled with balsamic glaze, roasted duck a l’orange with Christmas limas sauteed with garlic and collards. For dessert I made a peach buckle with the (surprisingly) gorgeous fresh peaches from Samtrex (the South African grocer). My romantic(?) lover surprised me with “A Year of Beans” from Rancho Gordo. I’ve been ordering from these guys for a few years now and am always impressed by their selection and quality. If you’re a fan of the humble bean and her countless varieties, it’s a nice little treat that ships well through the pouch.

Thank you all so much for your words of encouragement and love this past year. Finding out I was pregnant, moving here, solo med-evac to Johannesburg, having a BABY…whew. Sounds crazy, but at times your comments and feedback are my lifeline. It makes me feel like maybe I’m not so alone and some days that makes all the difference in the world. I wish you all a New Year filled with the people and things that make your heart sing and the comforting knowledge that we are all in this together. Summed up nicely by a quote from one of my favorites in The Bushbaby’s library, All The World: “Peace and hope and love and trust, All the world is all of us.”

Much time has slipped by since the last post. My birthday was on the 13th. We went for an early brunch at one of the restaurants near the marina which was pleasantly surprising. I still haven’t gotten around to formulating this year’s resolutions. I’ll likely write them here again, if only to keep myself honest. We ended up hosting a Thanksgiving dinner here since a last minute housing emergency had the majority of our embassy’s staff temporarily displaced. Just a small group to feed, 5 adults and 4 munchkins. Snakes handled the turkey and gravy, a friend brought garlic mashed potatoes and 2 gorgeous pies and I took care of the rest. As our second major American holiday abroad, we certainly missed family (and Snakes’ mom’s cooking!), but I felt alright about it in the end.

I’m heading into the holiday season with a heavier heart than usual. Very few of our ornaments made it here. I was really looking forward to decorating the whole house, surrounding ourselves in all of that sparkling familiarity. I found one small box of older stuff (what a difference the Christmas pickle makes!) and a bag of things my mom and I scooped up in the post-holiday sales. Our ebay fake tree arrived last week, blessing counted.

Lately I feel like I’m operating with one foot dipped into a pool of depression while the rest of me clings to the thirsty towel promise of a better life elsewhere. For the record, the foreign service is not at all what I anticipated. (Have I become a broken record?) I am romantic to a fault with a wildly active imagination. I thought I’d feel like a part of something. I feel isolated. I miss my mom and sister. Let’s face it, no one but your mom and sister really care about trivial baby stories. No “mommy groups” here to unwind with and compare notes. No power-stroller walks to work off the baby flab. No mingling with the culture. If I didn’t before, I now fully understand the importance of family and envy those who have them close.  This feeling is nearly overwhelming as the holiday season heads into full swing. My tenuous composure is exhausting.

And just when I think I couldn’t possibly feel more sorry for myself, I look over and see this.

And everything dissolves as I realize that I am blessed beyond measure. This sweet little diaper rump needs me and I need her too. How can I set a good example moping around the house thinking about what I don’t have? She couldn’t care any less about the things I find so infuriating. Shouldn’t we be able to maintain a positive outlook despite our circumstances?

During nap times, I’m tip-toeing back into my studio with little projects here and there. (see Halloween flamingo) We finally pulled together our inaugural stitch-n-bitch ladies night last week with great success. Snakes watched the little one while I enjoyed myself immensely on my first night out solo. There are so few activities, destinations or social outlets here that it’s very easy to slip into a depressed isolation. As a new mama, it’s even easier.

I force myself to take daily walks, sometimes even 2 or 3. The greatest challenge is the environment in which I am walking. Whether it’s the drunks, street kids or the well-meaning fruit ladies, everyone wants to touch and rearrange the “branquinha” (little whitey?) who’s nestled neatly in my carrier. I know people mean well but I’m still so new to this, and pretty protective besides. It’s hard enough to be so far from family and friends. The cultural challenges add another layer. I wish just once I might be greeted with a smile and a genuine “Bom dia!” rather than expressionless stares that feel like glares. Do things get easier? Will we always be the outcasts?

Enough whining. Aside from the usual challenges we all face in the FS, I’ve been doing alright. I made this mobile for over Colette’s crib this past week. I twisted some wire together for the frame on top from which I suspended 13 long strands of fishing line. The mirrored discs down the middle were from a set of wall decals my MIL had sent before our HHE arrived and I was desperate for ANYthing to decorate with. They work perfectly here, catching and tossing bits of light throughout the room. I unearthed some brightly colored vellum while straightening my studio, cut it into rounds and glued it together along the line. I’d work on it while she napped, then prop her up to watch. She really enjoyed it. I was surprised by her attention span.

I hung it just this morning and already it has proven its mettle. During this afternoon’s nap, I heard her wake up, let out a couple of little cries, then nothing. I went up to check and she’d fallen peacefully back to sleep. Hooray!

Now the nursery is pretty much finished. There are bits and pieces from many different talented friends, old and new, and family. I’m happy with how it’s all come together, colorful but still pretty peaceful. I’d like to frame some pictures of our families for along the back wall. Until things outside these four walls feels more hospitable, the least I can do is try to make things within these walls as interesting and lovely as my mish-mash of art supplies allow.

Fortunately for the honey dumpling, mama had hung onto a few key pieces. I spent the bulk of my time digging through the studio untangling sewing machine power cords and unruly bobbins. Once some semblance of order was reached I got to work on construction, turning a pair of orange hot-pants into webbed feet and a pepto-pink mini into a poofy set of fringed wings. Next, I layered fishnets over a sparkly pair of tights (which were stuffed with fiber fill) and then stitched on the feet. I finished off the look with a pair of shades and a crocheted hat from Gram topped with my wedding day fascinator. And come on, a baby in sunglasses? Please. That would have been costume enough.

The most shocking part of this story is that The Bushbaby totally loved it. I couldn’t believe how cooperative she was. We wrangled her into her costume as she groggily laughed and cooed. Despite our little pink bird’s lack of actual feathers, others were able to figure out what she was. After about an hour of being paraded around, poked, prodded and squealed at she finally started to lose her cool. Luckily the costume judging took place within that magical hour and our flamingo kid snagged first prize! We forfeited the wax monster teeth and sack of candy that came with that distinguished honor but proudly accepted the laminated certificate.

We even managed to get our first “family photo”!

Happy Halloween to you all. I’d love to hear about your party costumes and ghoulish pranks!

The last few weeks have been action packed. My mom came for a 10 day visit during our last couple of weeks in Johannesburg. It was a blessing to have the extra help, but mostly I’m grateful for the memories of her swaying and singing soft lullabies to her newest grandbaby. Skype is great and all, but there’s nothing like the smell and the pure snuggliness of a new little love dumpling. I’m so glad they had the chance to meet each other before that phase is over. After Colette was lulled to sleep we’d sip wine and work on sewing projects, laughing and catching up in the way that phone calls never allow. We managed to hand-stitch a little dress in a few evening’s time. (pictured above and below)

Oddly, when we joined the foreign service it never dawned on me how difficult it might be to be so completely isolated from family. Especially at times like these. I think we get so caught up in the “glamor” (wait…what??) and excitement of it all. Wow. My husband is a diplomat. Excuse me while I go try on cocktail dresses and cluck around the house trying to figure out high heels and red lipstick. It never once crossed my mind that I’d miss my mommy. Or that I’d have a little one who would only get to know her extended family through one big blitzy visit (if that) each year. How well will she know her grandparents? Her cousins? Her adoring aunties? There’s only so much the pixelated and delayed skype conversations and the strange, pseudo “connection” of facebook are capable of. Among the thousands of things I’ve taken for granted before moving here is the ability to see my family at will. It didn’t happen nearly as much as it should have. Hindsight’s a bitch.

Beyond my postpartum introspection and ruminations on the nature of family, it’s been phenomenal being back home and all together. As you may recall our huge shipment of household stuff arrived a week before I left back in July. Although we managed to unpack and somewhat organize the bulk of it, I didn’t have time to really stare into the spaces and sort out the proper homes for everything until now. I rearranged the entire living room, incorporating my Johannesburg treasures as I went. I’ll have to do some “before-after” shots, as promised. Oh! and Snakes hired a housekeeper! With two big dogs and a dusty city on our doorstep it is a incredible blessing to have her here 3 days each week. With a buff of the floor and a pass of the iron, she’s wasted no time in reminding me that housekeeping is not my strongest suit. I may actually have time to get back into my studio sooner than I thought!

Today is the one month birthday of our little lady. The time is quickly approaching for us to pack it up and leave this city. (For any of you FS people out there who may be wondering, I would rank Johannesburg as a definite HIGH when bidding. I LOVE it here.) Though bummed to leave, my excitement to unite our family is greater. I’ve been watching a lot of the Dog Whisperer and will need to remember my “calm, assertive energy” lessons when I see the goons again. Cesar dictates that until the dogs are “calm and submissive” I must resist the urge to drop to my knees and schnuzzle those muzzles. Am I capable? I’m guessing not. Sorry, Cesar.

Snakes’ parents left last week. (Many blessings to you both. Thank you for making the journey and for making my life much easier!) My very own momma arrives tomorrow. I’ve had a little over a week to take care of business solo, which has been filled with as many challenges as rewards. It’s reassuring how our creativity and ingenuity step in during times like these. And how adept I’ve become at operating with one hand. (hunt, peck, hunt, peck) Nap times are as sacred as long hot showers. I think the bit of advice I heard most often is the most difficult to honor, “sleep when the baby sleeps.” When am I supposed to brush my teeth or eat or drink or bathe or….?..? When Bushbaby dozes, that’s when.

In twelve days, we return to Luanda. We will be one quarter of the way through our tour. Hard to believe I’ve spent as much time in Jo’burg as I have in Angola. It’s not easy preparing myself for the return to austerity and restriction while luxuriating in the blessed abundance of the local grocery store, “Woolies”.  (It is asparagus and snow pea season down here on the flip-side of the equator after all.) In Luanda, security directives have been redefined and tightened in my absence. At least this time I know what to expect and presumably my sense of smell has diminished since giving birth. As long as there is always something to look forward to, whether an amazon package, a TDY (temporary assignment) in Brazil, a dinner party distraction or a return visit to the BushBaby Monkey Sanctuary  to spend more quality time with Snakes’ dear friend, Sarah, the dignified spider monkey. Of course there is the obvious attraction of our very own Bushbaby and her antics to occupy our time.

 In the following weeks as I reacclimate to life behind walls with scummy barred, painted shut windows, I hope I’m able to keep the malaise and dread at bay.  I’m counting on my “baby-goggles” to help me see it all with a fresh perspective, a more positive one I hope. I’ll leave you with the following bit of wisdom from a friend’s recent facebook status update:  ”if you approach every journey like you’ve been there or somewhere better before, you miss the adventure. and isn’t the promise of adventure the reason you walked out your door?” Indeed, the promise of adventure. Thank you, egc, for the timely reminder.

Now he’s back in Luanda reacclimating and reassuring the dogs that we didn’t desert them. He said he’s never had such a warm and enthusiastic welcome in all of his life. Reggie won’t leave his side. I miss those guys and actually look forward to returning if only to scratch behind their ears and kiss those snouts. They were definitely loved up in our absence, roaming the embassy grounds on Sundays while our beloved dogsitter played volleyball. But I know they missed us. I hear Banjo is still a little withdrawn and depressed, my sweet boy misses me.

Before I forget, I want to document our experience bringing our sweet little (primarily nocturnal…) bushbaby into the world. If you’re flipped out by this sort of thing then this is your warning to leave now. If you’re into this kind of thing- which I was, obsessively, while “preparing myself”- pull up a chair and grab yourself a beverage, it’s going to be a little wordy. Already details are fading and the intensity of the experience has dulled. Thank God.

Two weeks ago today I woke up after a fitful night of what I perceived to be fairly regular crampy contractions and pretty substantial spotting. I phoned the midwives and gave them an update. They advised me to carry on with my day, get plenty of exercise and a nice big breakfast. Snakes’s cousin was in town and the three of us had organized a trip to Soweto for the afternoon. After my eventful night, I decided it was best to sit this one out.

Snakes and I opted for a late breakfast at a sweet little cafe in Parkhurst called “Nice”. We spent a good part of the afternoon wandering through the shops. As usual, it was a gorgeous, sunny day in Jo’burg. By this time all of the potential signs of labor had stopped. From what I’d heard, “false” labor is easily walked off. Harumph. I was eight days overdue. My midwives had informed me that we would need to induce at two weeks if she’d not come on her own by then. Not the biggest deal in the world, but we were racing against time here. Snakes return ticket to Luanda was for the 28th (though, thankfully, it was extended to the 2nd). That would’ve given him like half a day with our newborn.

We came home, took a nap and decided to go for a long vigorous walk. There’s a park near where we’re staying and whenever we walk through we spy people zip-lining across an open field. To extend our walk and mix up the regular route, we decided to go investigate. Seriously, what we found was amazing. Nestled into the trees was a network of rope walks, bamboo bridges, inclined nets, ziplines, etc. Glancing upward into the trees revealed groups of kids swinging and climbing and monkeying around through this maze of what must have been an 8 year-old’s idea of heaven. It was perfect. I sat down on a huge lumbering rope swing and took it all in. Shame I didn’t bring my camera…

Around 5pm, with shadows stretching out across the fields, I’d pretty much given up on having this baby today. We started the trek home and I found myself having to stop for some wicked (and regular? HEY! Are you timing these?) crampy episodes. Still not willing to call them contractions for fear of jinxing. Once home, “cramps” not abating, I decided to take a bath, per recommendation of the midwife, V,  who I’d called to update. Longer and stronger and closer. I was told to stay put until I was too uncomfortable to remain at home. This didn’t take long. They were about 3 minutes apart and close to knocking me off my feet. We decided to head over.

image from genesis website

We opted to use a birthing center instead of going to a hospital. I found The Genesis Clinic on line and coincidentally, one of Snakes’ colleagues at the consulate here in Jo’burg had given birth there just four months ago. She gave us a glowing report of her experience and the professionalism and competency of the staff. I had planned to take photos of the room and each other between contractions, but by the time we arrived I was close to cross-eyed. I had just enough time to have a contraction in the car, walk the 20m across the lot and have another in the lobby. Strong and fast.

Hooked up to the monitors told us that baby was happy enough, tolerating the squeezes. V said the contractions were incredibly powerful, close to end stage labor. Then she examined me… I hadn’t dilated AT ALL. Things were just getting started. While I was in the bathroom she told Snakes that I’d likely be in labor for the next 10-12 hours followed by another 2-3 of pushing. Thank the heavens no one shared this useless information with me. It was around 9pm at this point. Between contractions, I’d taken to vomiting profusely. No rest for the wicked. The pain was so intense, I had a nauseating suspicion that’d be my body’s response. I tried to keep hydrated but it was useless.

Yoga ball, kneeling, squatting, shower, “PRESS MY HIPS!”, “JESUS! DON’T TOUCH ME!”, “my sacrum…pant, pant, press my sacrum!! THAT’S NOT MY SACRUM!!!!!”, “use that washcloth on my back…GET AWAY FROM ME WITH THAT STINKING WASHCLOTH”, “turn off the shower…I….can’t…… brea..t..hhhh..e”, “TURN THE SHOWER BACK ON- NOT SO HOT!! NO WAIT!!!! I can’t brea…t..hhh…e”      Snakes was there. By my side. Trying so hard to decipher what the hell it was that might make me feel better. I could hardly communicate. My mouth was so dry, my voice like a raspy old drunk long since pickled on whiskey and camels, no longer making good sense. sooooo thirsty…….ice cubes… my kingdom for a cube…

This went on for 2 hours. Midwife returned. I crawled back to bed for another excruciating “check”. (BTW: NO ONE ever told me how insanely painful THIS would be. Maybe it’s different here in SA??? WTF people? Through the roof.) Dilated to a 2. Come on!!! She advised me to breathe “into” the pain. Come again?? Hooked back to monitors- baby’s hangin tough, contractions are still wicked intense. We decide I need an IV for fluids. Great. No problem. She suggests a mild muscle relaxer to help me relax into the contractions and visualize my cervix opening. I’m willing to try anything.

For the next two hours Snakes and I lie in bed, he’s petting my back, sort of snuggling in next to me. I feel so much better. Comparatively relaxed and now the vomiting has stopped. I think I even doze a little between contractions. I know there’s still so much to come. I wonder if I’ll make it through this alive. I kind of wish I’d just have scheduled a C-section.

Two hours later it’s around 1 am. The drug has worn off and LORD OF ALL THAT IS HOLY…. I NEED TO PUSH NOW. The midwife appears from nowhere. “Checks me” one last time- her eyes are wide- “oh my goodness, Eve, you’re ready to go- get the camera ready! this baby is coming now.” And then she did. 20 minutes and maybe 6-7 pushes later our little girl slipped into the light, face up & cord wrapped. A “stargazer” with a flair for drama.

V placed her on my chest and I tried to catch my breath. I couldn’t see her face, just the top of her little (well, huge actually) matted head. I wanted so badly to see her sweet baby face. It was all so dimly-lit and dreamy, overwhelming.

Snakes was right next to us taking it in. I remember him being sort of awestricken and amazed. I was so glad he was there with me. I can’t imagine any other way. We stayed in the king-sized bed, the three of us, together snoozing and snuggling until around 2-3 that afternoon.

He told me later he thought she only had one eye since that was all he could see from how she was smushed up against my chest. “Our little pirate baby”, he thought to himself, “I just love her so much no matter what.”

And we do and we do and we do.

Colette Maxine 8/21/11, 1:31am, 7#, 19 3/4″, no eye-patch necessary

Of course we are starry-eyed and smitten. I will write more when I can. Thank you all for the kindness and support and (kind of wacky but excellent) induction advice. (I hope I can find the time to dedicate a blog post to this topic alone- it’d be pretty great!) It kept me occupied and entertained as we awaited her arrival.

Gotta roll. Like her momma, this girl has an appetite.