About me
This is the part where I tell you where I grew up, the mischief I got into, etc...
I was born in Paris, France, most likely under a traveling star. My mother is Spanish, my father, French, and I grew up speaking both languages. As a child, I felt ambivalent about my double origin. I didn’t like to draw attention to myself, but my mother’s French was not good: she grew up very poor, never went to school (I don’t think it is an accident that my first book speaks of the importance of knowing how to read). When we went grocery shopping, I often had to trans-late for her. She had a strong accent, and people were not always kind to her. I felt ashamed, and hated myself for feeling that way. But then, I got angry when teachers refused to acknowledge my Spanish origins. All rather confusing.
Here I am with my sister, all dressed up for La Feria de Malaga, which is a wonderful fair with rides, and food, and Spanish music. Below is my mother; she was a Flamenco dancer before she came to France.
I always loved languages. In France, students can study Latin and Ancient Greek, which are dead languages. I also wanted to learn English, but something always prevented that from happening: we’d move and the English class in my new school was already full... And so, I learned German, Russian and Italian. It was good exercise, even though I’ve forgotten most of my German and Russian.
I also played the piano. Playing an instrument is not only good for the soul, it helps to develop a good ear, and a good ear is most helpful when learning languages.
I had traveled a lot, but Nigeria was different for me. We lived in Enugu, which was the capital of the short-lived Biafra Republic, in Igbo land. There wasn’t much to do, there. Only one really bad Chinese restaurant. No movie theaters. Lots of power cuts. The phone only worked sporadically, same for Internet. Supplies were scarce. Once, there was no flour for almost two months. Another time, the whole town was without electricity for weeks. But our Kora loved it. She ran after red-headed lizards just like Amadi in the story, and she was mad that she could never catch them
Finally, I read, read, and read. I came up with all sorts of tricks to be able to
read past bedtime or while I was supposed to do my homework. I’d open my desk
drawer, lay the book I was reading inside, and upon hearing my parents, quickly pushed the drawer, and
pretended to be learning my lessons. At night, I unscrewed the shade from my bedside lamp, and
hid the naked bulb beneath the sheets, creating a little reading tent. Of course, I once ended up
burning the sheets... Was I in trouble!
There were no books in my home, but when I turned 9, I discovered our local library, in Paris.
From then on,I checked 5 books (maximum allowed) each, and every Wednesday.
I loved Enyd Blyton, and Alexandre Dumas. I read The Three Musketeers dozens of times,
and always bawled when D’Artagnan’s girlfriend dies, poisoned by the nasty Cardinal’s people.
I also adored Nancy Drew, except that in French, her name is Alice Roy. It took me years to
figure out that the books I loved so much were the Nancy Drew novels.
Eventually, I went to London as an au-pair to learn English. The first family I worked for was not very nice to me,
and it turned out to be my luck. I was determined to leave them as soon as possible, and spent all my free time
locked up in my room, using a bilingual pocket dictionary to translate song lyrics or articles I clipped from newspapers. I listened to the radio. And while doing the housework, I turned the TV on. And one day, the miracle happened. I was ironing while watching some Jeopardy type program, and not only did I understand a question, but I blurted out the right answer. In English ! Two and a half months after I first landed, I found another job, this time as a nanny, in London. It was perfect : I spent lots of time with children, and learned along with them: the colors, the sounds, new words everyday. Two years later, I had enough money to travel to the USA.
I loved the US. To me, it was like being in a movie. Nowadays, we can order pizzas, and have them delivered to our doorstep pretty much anywhere (even in India.) At the time, though, it was still a very American concept. The first time I ordered pizza, I couldn’t stop laughing. I thought it was so cool. And getting McDonalds sitting in a car and talking to a machine? Wild. I went to Florida, Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, and back up to California. I visited the Grand Canyon, slept in a
teepee, and almost died of cold. I went to the Desert Valley and ran in the sandy dunes, my steps
echoing in the night filled with stars. I went to Hollywood, San Francisco, Las Vegas...
I loved it, loved it, loved it. I ended my trip in New York. One night, I was walking in Manhattan,
admiring all the lights, the sky scrapers, the yellow cabs. I felt the energy around me and thought:
“One day, I will return to this city and live here for a while.” But money was gone, and I had to
return to France. I now spoke English, and quickly got a job as a translator of novels. It was
perfect. I got to read. I got to write. And I got to use my English.
I did return to New York, four years later. I even met my husband there. He’s from Haiti, and
works for UNICEF. After the birth of our first daughter, his job took us to Nigeria. Kora turned 7 months
on the day we landed in Lagos. Our umbrella bed had been stolen at the airport in New York, and she spent
her first night in a drawer that we turned into a bed. See her waking up the following morning ? She’d started to
crawl, and until we were able to get her a new bed, a month later, we’d find her all over the room.
We spent over three years, in Enugu. I became pregnant with our second daughter, there, and when I left, my belly was huge. My husband’s new post took us to Hyderabad, South India. Our second daughter, Malaika, was 6 weeks, when we landed. She’s now attending kindergarten.
Magnificent flamboyant and mango trees grew everywhere in our compound, and we had a cashew nut tree right outside our door. During the mango season, we had so many that we gave them away by the dozens. And when the cashew nut tree gave its fruits, a very sweet, almost coy smell floated around and into the house. We had to be careful, because the fresh nut is poisonous. Once a week, I went to the market to buy fruits and vegetables, and it’s exactly like I describe it in the book. Lots of noise, lots of people, lots of colors... Lots of garbage, too, unfortunately.
And as this website is an on-going project, come back often, so you can see pictures of our travels, and also find out where we’ll be going next. I still don’t know it, myself, but as soon as I do, I’ll be sure to post it here.
