MOVING TO PAREEEE....

Moving to Paris was a massive shock to my system; at the time, my kids were 5 years, 4 years and 4 months old. I look back many times these days and ask 'how did you survive the experience?'.

First of all, I had been on several holidays to the lovely city of Paree..., it was full of lights, culture and romance. Strolling around the Seine, visiting the Louvre, eating meals at the bistros on the curb side, jostling other fashionistas for a pass into the Hermes or Louis Vuitton store shows. My memories of Paris were light, fun, adventurous and all lovely. Until I moved!

Before moving, I had studied the language for like 3 months. My Nigerian French-speaking teacher praised me endlessly. 'Madam, you were born to speak french. See how you have just taken to the language in 3 short months, tres bien!' So with language conquered and full of confidence, we set off. Only one friend called me by the side one day to say 'it is well, ID, God will help you.'

God? help? In Paris? The adventure of my life?

The first bubble buster was at the airport when we got in - April 16th 2007 6 am. All the signs at the international airport - Charles de Gaulle were in French - and definitely not the kind of french Monsieur Matthew Okoro had tutored me on in Port Harcourt City. Qu'est-ce qui passe? I rubbed my eyes, thinking it was fatigue, maybe sleep and that clear-eyed, I would be able to read directions and proceed to immigration. Efian! Didnt happen. The words were still the same. Undettered, I simply followed the human traffic - french i couldn't read, but body sabi im road! 

The second bubble buster was at the immigrations desk when the officer rattled off in rapid-fire french; I didn't understand a word! 'Vous parlez anglais s'il vous plait?' , I quickly asked. Monsieur Matthew had hastily advised one day that I resort to that question whenever I got confused. While it worked, he didn't tell me that the confusion would be akin to deafness. I thought it was just fatigue, but realised in no time that I really did not understand the language and my inability to communicate made me 'deaf and dumb' in the beautiful city of Paree.

Every day was a bubble buster after that. I had no nanny, no driver and no cleaner. I was meant to cope one way or another and with three children all under 5 years old, it was a nightmare. Yes, I did need God to help me adjust to life in this place. 

Where were all the glamorous night lights?

Where were those lovely bistros I used to stop at for sandwiches?

What happened to the Seine?

And the designer shopping malls?

Where was culture? adventure? romance?

Did they all move away when i got there?

Instead i grappled everyday with just getting very basic things done. Getting children, up bathe, fed and off to school, looking after the baby, walking around familiarising myself with the environment. I learnt to deal with hostile shop keepers who couldn't decipher a word of my Nigerian-French accent, mean bus drivers who took off when they saw me running at full speed to catch the bus, dog poo liberally spread on the  sidewalk, laid back french workforce that responded to emergency calls 48 hours after and endless strikes that literally shut the city down you had to call the police department to find a doctor!

And as our time there grew to a close, it all slowly began to come together. It just seemed like my ears popped, or my brains connected the dots successfully. Suddenly, I could easily read the signs, I could write in French, I could hear and be heard and best of all be understood. I could communicate; and that thought gave me so much confidence and the confidence, poise.

Just as I was leaving, I had been immersed

In Paris.