Expat Life: Kiwi Style
Jarret de boeuf avec tagliatelle
‘Eat, drink and be merry’
Since my life now revolves around my Petit-Bubba + food, I figured I may as well share posts about my foodie adventures… or misadventures.
Since I can’t quite be bothered going over stuff in retrospect, I’ll just post whatever pics I have managed to save for your viewing (read: salivating) pleasure.
Steamed pudding, marae styles (Maori village)
entree: huitres et vin doux / entree: oysters and sweet wine
Pavlova #1
cailles / quails
comte vieux et comte jeune / old & young comte
strawberry + blueberry trifle
Ambrosia Cheesecake
Gingerbread men
Confit de Canard (avant cuisson) / Duck Confit (before cooking)
Head of the chapon (castrated male chicken)
Essentials for a delish meal
Pav #3
Panfried calamari w/ butter, parsley and garlic on a bed of salad; side of zucchini fries w/ sweet and sour yoghurt dip
Ambrosia cheesecake
Cheers
Anxiety about the French medical system, as the witches walk outside.
I’m reblogging this mostly because i’m going through EXACTLY the same motions, at least with respect to how medicalised my birthing experience is likely to be, as compared to New Zealand.
I trust my body. I trust my body in a way that probably freaks out medical professionals. But on top of the fact that women have been giving birth for millenia, I have also been working hard to exercise and strengthen my body, more specifically, my pelvic muscles, to function as effectively as possible and help my baby through his birthing journey. Before yesterday, I was actually feeling quite confident and zen about giving birth. Now… I feel powerless about the whole thing, and its not a good feeling.
Yesterday I went for a tour of the obstetric ward and was told that, in spite of wanting a natural birth, I had no choice about:
– the birthing position (on back; legs in stirrups – not the most effective for easing discomfort, helping baby through the birth canal or avoiding perineal tears – and they’re supposed to be f’ng experts?!)
– being injected with syntocin to help the placenta detach (when i said this wasn’t advised by the NZ Midwives Council, the midwife rebutted with ‘yeah but whats the rate of post-natal haemorrhage?’ as if to prove a point which doesn’t stand because its more likely in underdeveloped countries; and AGAIN, they’re supposed to be the experts).
– skin-skin not immediate but AFTER the 15-20 observation period where baby is taken to another room (and this time, I ask: what the f*** do they learn during their training???).I feel really angry that in spite of going private, which i thought would allow me to a) build a rapport with the staff and b) have my birth choices respected, I feel like i have no choice over my birth experience.
With exactly 1 month to go to my due date (23 Sep in France, although 16 september in NZ), I’ve decided to meet with a liberal sage femme (independant midwife) to ask her what real choices I have in the delivery room. It seems sooo last minute to have found out I don’t have choices about one of the most important moments of my life but I hope she will be able to provide me with reassurances of some sort…
At the very least, reading this blogpost has validated my own experience (thus far) and for that, I’m greatful. To feel like I’m not the only one who feels ripped off.
Today is Halloween. I’ve been home alone as my husband and brother went to Paris for the day. Mostly it went well, but at a certain point I traveled down one of those horrible paths that googling “birthing experiences” can take you and got rather traumatized.
Not from a particular story (I’ve found them all to be very inspiring, and I’m really glad that I’m reading them) but of a comment I read, by accident, really, as I was heading towards the “next post” button.
“I lost my baby at 38 weeks,” it said.
My heart froze, my lungs stopped working, and I frantically tried to remember when the last time I felt the baby move was. Unfortunately this occurred during what was probably a sleep cycle and I realized that I hadn’t felt the baby move in awhile. I poked and prodded until I got a feeble kick.
And then spent…
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A Mauri Assault: A Kuia’s Lesson in Dealing With Haters
This is me to a T. Thanks for putting my feelings into words – I have teouble with this ALL the time here in France, but unfortunately the French as a whole, lack respect for intercultural diversity when it’s not framed within their paradigm.
Recently I read some belittling and demeaning comments with regards to where I had questioned another authors integrity. It caused a nerve with quite a few (non-Māori), who were then spurred on to write blogs, react and comment in a mostly relevant (although coming from a place of ignorance) debate. However, in an open online forum, an ‘Anonmyous’ commenter responded, failing to argue against my objections, but instead (they must of googled me) went to attack me personally.
It shot fire through me, my Nāti DNA kicked in, propelling me to leap in for a fight. Hell has no fury like a Nāti scorned! Traditionally, in Māori society, such insults would not have been taken lightly. Tapu (sacredness), mana (authority) and mākutu (powers) were used to regulate and limit bad behavior, but the digital world is under no such lore, unregulated it is a platform for the angry, the lonely, and…
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Why Americans See Racism Where The French See No Problem
Original article written by David Berreby and retrieved from Big Think, 15 June 2016, from http://bigthink.com/Mind-Matters/why-americans-see-racism-where-the-french-see-no-problem utm_campaign=Echobox&utm_medium=Social&utm_source=Facebook#link_time=1466004554.
“In some ways the United States and France are unusually similar nations—still enchanted with their 18th century revolutions, eager to export their ideals (via pamphlets, speeches, language schools, paratroopers, whatever it takes) so that others may live as they do. Maybe this similarity is why Franco-American incomprehension can seem so profound. Each side seems to think: How could they not get it? It should be obvious! In the Dominique Strauss-Kahn case, the French were appalled by the “perp walk” (that man wasn’t convicted of anything, why shame him?) while Americans couldn’t believe that French media casually named DSK’s accuser (she didn’t do anything wrong, why shame her?). And now, asThomas Sotinel explained recently in Le Monde, there’s a new example: Divergent reactions to the hit film Les Intouchables.
The movie is about a rich man who is paralyzed in an accident and hires an ex-con from the ‘hood as his all-purpose live-in assistant. The fish-out-water pair become friends and Mr. Rich Guy gets his mojo back thanks to the other man’s down-to-earth love of life. Poor guy learns to appreciate nice things and classical music. Rich guy learns to enjoy Earth Wind and Fire. The rich man is white, the poor guy is black.
French viewers loved it. American critics saw the servant part as a classicMagic Negro. David Denby, in The New Yorker, for example, complainedthat the movie is “disastrously condescending: the black man, who’s crude, sexy, and a great dancer, liberates the frozen white man. The film is an embarrassment.” Similarly Jay Weissberg in Variety wrote that Driss, the ex-con, “is treated as nothing but a performing monkey (with all the racist associations of such a term), teaching the stuck-up white folk how to get ‘down’ by replacing Vivaldi with ‘Boogie Wonderland’ and showing off his moves on the dance floor.”
The French reaction to this reaction, as described by Sotinel, must strike Americans as pretty funny. It amounts to this: Oh, yeah, that one guy isblack. Leave it to you race-obsessed Americans to pick that up; we hadn’t noticed. We didn’t really notice that. (Negative French reviews of the film complained that it was hokey, Sotinel writes, but none mentioned skin color.)
To Americans, this is a willful refusal to admit the obvious, something we consider a Gallic specialty (France cannot say precisely how many Muslims live within its borders because the government is barred by law from breaking down the population by race or religion in its statistics.) To the French, the Stateside reaction is American sanctimoniousness at its worst. We’re the nation that produced, oh, Beverly Hills Cop, after all. And we invented the Magic Negro. Who are we to talk?
What explains this mutual duh (or beauf)? In a word, I think, it’s immigration, and the cultures that have evolved in response.
Both countries are nations of immigrants, but their approaches to newcomers could not be more different. Come to France, and you’re welcomed to the table—if you’re willing to speak French, eat French food, and see the world as French people do. (In the last French presidential debate, both candidates fell over each other to assure their people that there would be no halal meat offered in French school cafeterias—a bizarre note to my ear here in New York, where parking rules are suspended for Succoth, Idul-Adha, Good Friday and Diwali, and no one frets.) Assimilation in France is hierarchical, in the sense proposed byHarvard’s Jim Sidanius: Success is measured by how close people come to the summit, which is perfect Frenchness.
In the United States, though, assimilation is what Sidanius would call authoritarian. It’s not about a standard of culture or conduct or speech. It’s just a contract. There are rules, and you’re welcome if you adhere to them. What language you speak, what God you worship, aren’t relevant. That approach makes for less community but more openness of mind. Put it this way: If someone is acting in a way that is far from a French person’s idea of what is French, then said person is most definitely not French. If someone is acting in a way that is far from my idea of what is American, well, hey, you never know. The guy could still be as American as I am, in the eyes of the law and my fellow citizens.
In both nations, then, millions of people feel that it is wrong to be racist, and they make an effort not to appear so (an exquisite sensitivity to the dangers of appearing racist appears to kick in at about age 8 or 9,according to this research). However, the American version of anti-racism includes an obligation to consider how things look to the Other. After all, his view could be just as American as yours. Beverly Hills Cop, after all, made fun of all its characters, not just Eddie Murphy’s.
So, you know a joke that makes fun of people of a certain race that isn’t yours? In the U.S. you show you are enlightened by not telling it, because you know what seems funny to you could offend someone of a different background. The French version of anti-racism goes the other way: You show you are enlightened by telling the joke, because we’re all equally French. We have the same background, so if I’m not offended, how could you be?
In our cautious urge to let all differences have room to breathe, American art and culture can strike the French as flighty and childlike (the way Californians look to the rest of us Americans). In their urge to erase difference, though, the French can look, to us, condescending and close-minded. Sometimes I think the French want to say to Americans, “just because it’s strange and new doesn’t mean it’s great.” And Americans want to say to the French, “Could you just appreciate that for what it is, instead of having to make it French?”
Hence our mutual incomprehension about this movie. The French think we’re obsessed with race; we Americans think we’re just being polite. The French think the film is a buddy comedy; we think it displays a condescension that they don’t see. So near, and yet so far.”
A challenge to Alan Duff’s damaging words
Alan Duff, I find it hard to know where to start. As a mother of two beautiful Māori girls – you have offended my whānau deeply. Our immediate kura and kōhanga community and my girls hapū and iwi. In fact many Māori will be upset now, because your latest opinion piece infers that child abuse is a part of Māori life . This is simply not true, and so I will challenge you on the broad, ad-hock and completely disconnected statements you have made. Also, I will not stomach your sexist attitude, that reinforces the gender power imbalances which are the undercurrents for almost all domestic violence cases.
There is enough Māori bashing, enough racism and enough misogyny around without you adding to it. It defies belief that a Māori man could misrepresent his own people so hurtfully, be so blatantly sexist and willingly lead people astray on an issue…
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Calling All “Pākehā Priority Learners”!
I really loved the full consciousness with which this post was written. Awesome!
Recently I’ve been marinating on the idea of “priority learners”. Over the last few years the term has been popping up in NZ education lingo.
From what I’ve read, priority learners are Māori, Pasifika, those from materially poor households/communities and ‘disabled’ young people (Education Review Office, 2012).
The aim of focussing on these young people is to ensure that they are not underserved by the education system. Moreover, that they can make a economic and social contribution when they’re adults (Prime Minister John Key, 2012).
I think the whole notion of a “priority learner” is kind of odd, and a little misguided. In NZ we seem to have a knack on focusing on “people with the problems”. This is commendable – we need to look at who isn’t doing well. But I reckon it misses a deeper, and more nuanced appreciation of the problem. I think we need to critically look at why…
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Walking between two worlds :-)
As always, its been some time since I’ve written a post… and I’m sure the intervals are going to become much, much longer as the hubby and I are having a baby in September this year 😀
I’ve just returned from a three week trip back home to surprise mum for her birthday. To say that I loved being home is an understatement. I can’t describe how much it means to me to have been able to spend some well needed quality time with my family and close friends. To me, thats what life is about. Quality time with loved ones, and nothing compares. It was especially awesome spending time with all the kids, seeing how they’ve grown and how their personalities have developed. And meeting all the new babies/toddlers was a real treat too… even though I already felt like I knew them, it was lovely to have cuddles and to see their characters up close and personal. So while my time there was very, very brief, it was really just so lovely to be home. To re-charge, re-connect and feel grounded. I also felt relieved at the ease with which I slipped back into the rythym of life, despite being gone for 2 years. I suppose thats the blessing of having grown up moving between different cultures and world views, adaptibility.
And I really, truly can’t emphasise enough just how friendly everyone was and how EASY everything is. Customer service was just amazing…. mind blowingly amazing. I went to the bank (without any documentation) to ask why my bank card wouldn’t work. In 10 minutes maximum the bank teller had asked a couple of question about me/my lifestyle, ascertained that there were more appropriate services for me, updated my accounts AND – get this – she even cleared an outstanding balance of $80NZD! All the while, providing excellent customer service.
And that was only the beginning. It really feels like people want to help you, and if they have any power/control, they use it to make your life easier rather than try to make things difficult for you. They actively seek solutions for you, according to your needs – and they do it all with a smile, because thats their job. Thats what they’re there for. It makes you feel…. human. It makes you feel valued. It’s one less obstacle you need to deal with in daily life, coz the staff are there to do all the hard work for you. It made me miss home.
But while I’ve decided that 3 weeks just isn’t enough time back home (it broke my heart to decline invitations from people), arriving back to my adopted homeland has been waaaaaay easier than last time. In less than 2 weeks I’ve already slipped back into the rythym of life in Albi, and this is a truly AWESOME feeling. Especially because last time I felt myself questioning so much and feeling stuck between two worlds. This time round, I dunno… it just feels like this is all so normal. I guess I’ve finally become accustomed to this lifestyle and feel quite proud to say that this is my life now. And I’ve truly come to appreciate how fortunate I am to call two countries on polar opposite sides of the world, home.
To jump on planes and traverse the world to spend time with loved ones – whether its from NZ to France, or from France to NZ – it’s all so normal now, and I love that it feels like this. I love that I can get off the plane at each end of the world and just walk and talk at the same pace as the locals. And most of all, I feel so lucky to have loved ones waiting for me at both ends.
After 3 whole years away from my home, I love that I can walk between two worlds with ease 🙂 And its amazing, almost mindblowing to think our baby will be lucky to grow up with all of this being second nature.
Je suis Kiwi
Wow, its been a while since i’ve written a blogpost – woopsy! Oh well, I’ll hopefully try to blog a bit more regularly in the near future.
Anyway, this post is just a little reflection i’ve had.
Six months ago I found myself feeling homesick and a bit mamae for home, or rather, for all of the ‘normal stuff’ that makes home what it is. I knew I’d get past it, and I’ve got to a place where I almost feel more stronger and confident then ever before. And it’s got to do with remembering my roots, my whanau, my turangawaewae. It grounds me. It makes me feel secure.
As long as I remain steadfast in what makes me who I am, and where I come from, I’ll be right no matter where I am in the world.
But it is frustrating that people misinterpret this strength of identity. Its true I’m forever going on about Maori culture, traditions as well as of my tribal history, just as we do back home, because we draw strength from sharing these things, building new relationships and solidifying old ones. In France, sharing these things provides me with a compass so that I can orientate myself in this foreign land. But rather than appreciate it, I get the sense that European people perceive this as a bad thing, as if I’m looking back, or holding on. They don’t seem to understand that its an obligation to keep my culture and history alive, and this is my way of doing it.
Which is rather ironic when you consider how proud and patriotic the French can be about, well, everything French. I wonder if its coz they’re blinded by the colour of my skin?
A few months back I had an uncomfortable experience where an older French man took me by the shoulders, exclaiming “you are not a minority. We are all the same”. I literally had to hold back the tears. He seemed completely oblivious to the inequalities that exist in this world, and to the privileges he has as not only a white man, but a European one. In fairness to him, when he saw that I was upset he did try to apologise, resassuring me that there’s no need to feel embarassed or bad about my identity. He didnt understand that when I say that I’m maori, I say it with pride. But in his European mindset, anyone who claims to be a minority must feel ashamed, embarassed and degraded. He simply couldn’t understand how it could ever be a positive thing. His aggressive reaction was supposed to knock the sense into me, help me feel better, to encourage me to shed this ‘minority’ label, to abandon my sense of self and start singing the Marseillaise with pride.
I didn’t quite know how to react. Except to state the fact: That Maori, the indigenous people of New Zealand, are a minority population making up less than 16% of the total NZ population. As I am Maori, from four iwi, I am a part of that minority population. I explained that he had gravely misinterpreted my tears as a sign of shame. I explained that I’m unbelievably proud of my heritage and that after all the destruction that Europeans have caused, economically and environmentally, they could learn a lot from Maori, as well as other indigenous people. You should’ve seen the look on his face. Priceless.
So anyhow, I’ve got to this weird point where being in France for 3 years has really cemented my Kiwi identity, more than ever before. I suppose it raises questions about my ability to adapt or integrate, but that doesn’t really bother me. Its more important to be true to myself and to stay rooted, than to go chasing waterfalls.
lapetitekiwi 