Sleepy lions.
Aaah, look. Paulo and Eva enjoying a lie-in at the week-end.
Now, where have I seen this before…? Oh yes:
That’s Joaquim at a similar age. And then there’s this:
And where are all the pictures of me enjoying a lie-in with my children? Oh, yeah, I don’t get lie-ins with my children. Or indeed at all. Grumble, grumble.*
But don’t they all look cute?
*To be fair, Paulo tried to give me a lie-in on Sunday, but Sebastian had other ideas. Specifically, another game of airports. We play airports quite a lot.Labels: Eva, Joaquim, Paulo, Sebastian, sleep
2s, 1d, welcome number three!
One or two people have mentioned to me that it's been a while since I last posted and so I have succumbed to the flattering impression that people want to read what I have to say. I can barely remember what I last wrote, but I think it was about my up-coming caesarian which is now - incredibly - 9 weeks past. As it happens, it was not particularly scary - although Paulo was so pale as we waited in theatre for me to be anaesthetised that I thought he was going to pass out ("Who's looking pale?" the obstetrician called out in alarm, and Paulo told me not to worry if he had to slip out for a minute, which I vigorously protested, but which didn't actually happen, I think the big blue screen helped him stay put and stay conscious, and he held my hand throughout, but I digress) - but it was pretty weird. I didn't like the pure medicated nature of the procedure, nor particularly the way the obstetrician had to tug and push and wrench to get the baby out. It was all distinctly unnatural, and I find it strange that women should choose to do it more than once. Give me a vaginal birth with an epidural any day.
That said, the recovery was not as bad as I expected, in fact it was easy, although not being able to drive for 6 weeks was an absolute pain in the *rse, and most importantly of all my gorgeous little baby girl arrived safe and well. As it happens she had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck three times which may be why she couldn't turn over and which could have made a delivery dangerous, so all in all the c-section was definitely a good thing.
How can I have got this far without posting a photo? Here she is, little Eva at 4 days, as sweet a little bundle of joy as anyone could wish for:
Of course, she looks just like her father, as did the boys when they were born. I am resigned to my role as rent-a-womb.
And then, just as we thought we could relax and enjoy her, the fun and games started. A paediatrician who saw her on day 2 thought she looked dysmorphic, with her widely-set eyes and large head. "Have you met my husband and my sons?" I asked in vain. We were dispatched to see a whole bunch of specialists, including a geneticist who took one look at the lot of us, measured everyone's heads and sent us home. When they all gave her a clean bill of health she went on to fail her hearing test, twice. Cue referral to the ear, nose and throat hospital, where it was revealed that all she had was a little fluid behind her ear-drum, due to a cold, that should clear up by itself. (In between we slipped off to sunny Portugal for a week - lovely - but there were 10 days during which we were contemplating full or partial deafness.) Phew. But what's this little lump that has popped up in her groin? A hernia, no less, that required surgery.
At this point the gods - or to be precise Vulcan - must have taken pity on me for they caused my flight home to be cancelled, giving us time for the op and a free re-scheduling. So for the rest of you inconvenienced by the Icelandic eruption, sorry, it was our fault.
Eva is now absolutely fine, or at least seems to be, and we leave for Moz tomorrow. I have missed both the boys' birthdays (they left with Paulo 4 weeks ago, and are both smitten with their little sister), but I come laden with presents which should make up for it. See you there!
Labels: birthdays, Eva, Joaquim, Paulo, Sebastian, sisters
Just and bit of an update
Hmm, not doing very well in keeping this blog up to date, am I? It's been a month since the last post, and what have the Phillips-Marques clan been up to? Much of the usual as it would turn out.
Joaquim's doing well at school; his report card for last term mentioned an exceptional ability in maths for his age. I think it's a bit early to be proclaiming him a maths genius, but it's certainly his favourite activity after drawing. His drawings are great: full of dinosaurs, boats, planes, aliens (not usually all together), very dynamic and detailed. Sebastian has also discovered that he can draw. It all started with planes - still an abiding obsession - which continue to be his favourite subject, but he's branched out into cars, dinosaurs and stick people. Our fridge is that stereotypical item of a young family's household: an exhibition of frequently changing, many-hued young people's artwork. I love it!
Paulo is as always busy on many fronts, but especially pouring lots of time and energy into the houses in Chuiba. They're really coming together, and we're hopeful that we may have two or three finished by the New Year. Many compliments have come our way, and we think they look pretty good. It occurs to me that I should post some photos...
I am fattening up nicely, a combination of slack tummy muscles and a desperate chocolate craving. Number three is a busy child, wriggling and kicking and generally making its presence felt on a regular basis. I'm in that happy window between the nausea and prodigious burping which characterised the first three months of this pregnancy (completely unlike either of the previous two), and the last three in which I will inevitably be huge, lumbering, and hot. Why do I always time my pregnancies so perfectly so as to coincide with the hottest time of the year here? Have I not learned my lesson? Oh well, bit late now.
Been spending time on Ibo. Last week I was there for a few days, discussing the community camp on neighbouring Matemo island with a possible investor. I hope it works out. The camp is in a beautiful spot, and has huge potential. As I flew back I saw breaching humpback whales from the air for the first time. They were tiny, little white tic-tacs leaping from the water and causing a huge splash. We've been lucky enough to see lots of whale activity from the shore this year, even Joaquim and Sebastian got a good view the other week-end and were suitably impressed. It's an astonishing sight, no matter how many times you see it: this huge creature rearing out of the water almost to its full 14 or 16 metres, 60 or so tons of whale flesh shooting up into the air then falling in apparent slow motion into a pure white explosion of foam. Definitely one of the highlights of the year.
Another of which is of course the season of the beloved mango, officially opened with the consumption of my first two yesterday.
Marvellous
Aromatic
Nectar-filled
Glorious
Orange-fleshed food of the gods. Sigh.
Labels: Ibo, Joaquim, mangoes, Paulo, Pemba life, Sebastian, waxing lyrical, working mum
Let them eat cake
I don't think either I, nor you - dear readers - nor indeed the computer have the stamina for a full run-down of the last two months or so. So let's ease ourselves in with some easy viewing pics of the birthdays of the men in my life, starting with that lovable rascal Sebastian, who turned three on 18th April. Here is Sebastian opening his presents at breakfast:
Nice of his big brother to help him out with all that tricky paper tearing don't you think?
And here's the birthday boy with his Cars cake:
Which was duly admired and then destroyed in post-Happy Birthday 15 lap race to the death:
After which much fun was had with new toys and old favourites (it was raining so we just brought everything inside):
And we moved swiftly on to big boy Joaquim, who turned five on the 26th of April, for whom a slightly more elaborate party was in order.
So we had lots of games and the now-traditional treasure hunt.
And of course cake, this time a Spiderman motif, wddaya mean you can't tell (and those chocolate ladybirds are doing quite a good job standing in for spiders, don't you think?), although to be fair I feel that this year's efforts do not quite reach the dizzying heights of last year's pirate ship, though they wipe the floor with Sebastian's rabbit/mouse (it had long ears I tell you!) from two years ago, so I must be making progress. (At this point I wish I could remember how to link to my old posts so you can judge for yourselves.)
So here he is blowing out his candles, and isn't nice of his little brother to help him out with that?
As if this weren't enough, Paulo turned 40 on the 4th of May, which we decided to celebrate not once but twice, first at the week-end at Russell's place (gloriously renovated and reopened to a collective sigh of relief), with a friend who was also celebrating.
The fantastic gold confection is - alas - not mine, but I think you can see a few crumbs of mine here if you look closely:
And then again, on the day itself, at home with some good friends.
After which I found it hard to look a mixing bowl in the eye for a while.
Next up...India.
Labels: birthdays, Joaquim, Paulo, Sebastian
Headless chicken
Or blue-arsed fly. Either way, that's been me over the last month or so. And on Monday I'm off to India for 10 days. So all my good intentions of posting photos of Sebastian and Joaquim and Paulo's birthdays and my latest birding trip with Malcolm have gone out the window.
So see you all in a couple of weeks when I shall endeavour to make good!
Labels: birds, birthdays, Joaquim, Paulo, Pemba life, Sebastian, working mum
Happy birthday!
Toblerone. Surely one of the finest chocolates in the world. What could be more satisfying than those chunks of top quality chocolate (intense dark or rich milk, as you prefer, and I prefer the former) peppered with perfect nuggets of almond and honey nougat? And the excellent presentation: triangles of bliss. And yet – and I’m sure I am not alone in this – I only ever buy Toblerone in Duty Free. Which is how I come to have not one but two (see options above) large bars nestling in my fridge. When and how did it become such an airport staple? In the course of our five-hour stop-over in Heathrow I had the chance to compare the special offers on this Matterhorn of chocolates, currently celebrating its centenary (and may there be many more). I plumped for 3 for 2 on the large bars, spurning the arriviste limited edition fruit and nut, and sticking with the classics. The third bar, pure white, has found a happy home next door.
So it would appear that we have survived the flights and had a smashing holiday. I will not bore you with the details of our return journey which took a whopping 30 hours from the moment we entered Lisbon airport to the moment we left Pemba airport, but I must give credit where it’s due and in this case it’s due to my boys who were exceptionally well-behaved, all things considered. It did help - a lot - that they are very keen on planes and as a result relatively easily entertained watching take-offs and landings at the various airports, and remaining remarkably enthusiastic about every flight, yes even the eighth. Bless ‘em. What could have been Hell was downgraded to Purgatory.
So, highlights of the holiday.
Joaquim’s: Mekyla, the theme park in Johannesburg and in particular the big wheel, dinosaurs at the Natural History Museum, running with the pack (of cousins) in France, discovering mini-golf, pony-riding, the big sunfish at the Lisbon Oceanarium.
Sebastian’s: the elephant doing a poo at Jo’burg zoo, the “robot pick up rubbish” (wall-e), riding a chairlift up the mountain, late bedtimes in Lisbon, so many enormous aeroplanes.
Mine: being with my parents, siblings and all their offspring for a week against the background of the beautiful Alps, the London Eye (at last!), spending a night and a day at the house we restored for our wedding, exactly 8 years earlier, with a bunch of my favourite in-laws, eating figs straight off the tree.
Paulo’s: dramatic walks in the Alps, bonding with the lads (my brother, brother-in-law and oldest nephew), having his phone on silent for 4 weeks, seeing his 3rd sister for the first time in 3 years, late-night sessions with old friends.
What more do I need to say?
Labels: holidays, Joaquim, Paulo, Sebastian
Pancake Day
Pancakes are probably Joaquim’s all-time favourite food. His record is six at breakfast. So imagine his delight when I informed him at the week-end that Tuesday was Pancake Day. We usually eat them on Sundays for breakfast, and consumption goes thus: first 2 for Joaquim, then 1 for dad, 1 for Joaquim, 1 for mum, 1 for Joaquim etc. (they come out one at a time). Sebastian hasn’t yet quite realised how great they are.
Yesterday morning Joaquim asked me if we were going to make pancakes. “At dinner,” I said, “because we have no flour” (I have not replenished our stocks since the great fairy-cake binge that was Christmas). Paulo picked the boys up from nursery at lunchtime. He called me: “You’d better get some flour for pancakes. The first thing Jaoquim said to me was “Are we going to make pancakes?” I told him it was your department.” I go out, buy flour and milk. We have eggs.
That evening when I get home from work, Joaquim asks me “Did you bring lots of flour for pancakes?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s make them!”
We wash our hands. (Thank you “Big cook, Little cook” for making this an obligatory pre-cooking act.)
We crack eggs and mix them with flour. Joaquim adds a pinch of salt.
I pour milk and Joaquim mixes. Joaquim pours milk and I mix. A little effort with the whisk and most of the lumps disappear. It’s looking good. We’re ready.
The electricity goes off. This is not uncommon. It’s also pouring with rain (please remember my kitchen is outdoors, although covered.) Also not uncommon for this time of year.
I no longer own a handy head torch, and our solar lighting system has been relocated, perhaps somewhat prematurely, to the new house. It is pitch black. I convince Joaquim to go indoors, where dad is lighting candles and the boys’ very handy night-lights (thank you super-maman), to wait. I clamp my mobile between my teeth and use its paltry torch to illuminate the frying pan and begin to fry pancakes. As is traditional, the first one is a bit dodgy, but Joaquim wolfs it down. The second goes down too. Dad is allowed the next. My jaw starts to ache. Fortunately, Joaquim has had dinner and is not very hungry. After the third he’s had enough. Dad wants another, but as I start it an exhausted Sebastian comes and wraps himself around my legs, crying. I flip the pancake, serve it up, call it a day and dash, with Sebastian, 5 metres through the downpour to the house. Joaquim has a bath, falls asleep in the bath, is carried to bed. The electricity comes back on! Dad has had his dinner and is sleepily watching TV. He doesn’t understand why I get cross when he asks me to go and check whether water is coming into the new house. Sebastian insists on being carried on my back until he falls asleep (he’s used to being carried in a sarong and loves it). I have my dinner. No pancakes for me. I am beyond caring.
However, all is not lost. We have plenty of left-over batter for breakfast today, hooray! (I know, I know, that’s not the point, it’s Lent, but we’re not a very religious lot). I have the first. Joaquim has four.
Labels: food, Joaquim, Paulo, Sebastian, working mum
Really exciting post
I really feel like I should be writing some great posts about dramatic floods, political unrest or some such typical African story. However, both these events are happening a long way from here, and there is really very little to report from Pemba. Let’s see: Sebastian has started going to nursery with Joaquim and seems to enjoy it greatly. His latest words include no, pasta (that was yesterday), juice, and ‘bong” (any kind of bump or bounce). Joaquim is fine, and is learning to swim without armbands – at his instigation – at the hotel pool. He’s very proud of being able to swim a width unassisted, and so am I! (No, I can already swim widths, and indeed lengths, unassisted, I am proud of him.) It’s a bit of a doggy paddle, but it’s a good start. Paulo is busy with a number of projects, including the very start of our beach development: Chuiba Palms Beach Villas. Watch this space. Speaking of building: no, we’re not in yet, you don’t need to know more than that do you? And as for me, I’m throwing myself at my new job – Tourism Officer for the whole park and not just community-based tourism officer – with some late-come New Year’s enthusiasm.
Edge-of-your-seat stuff, I’m sure you’ll agree. I’ll try to make something up for next time, it’s got to be better than this. Toodle-pip.
Labels: Joaquim, new house, Paulo, Sebastian
Home alone
I suppose it’s not all that surprising but after such a long break I seem to have got out of the habit of blogging regularly, and then I end up with too much to say and too little time to write it in, and also the worry that you’ll get bored and tune out before your each the…er, hello?
So before I launch into what I’ve been up to, I’ll just share a couple of pieces of news with you. My sister, no longer very struggling author Marie, has just sold her book ‘Gods Behaving Badly’ (as if you didn’t know) to Ben Stiller’s production company to be turned into a TV series. It will still have to get past the pilot stage, but nevertheless, exciting stuff! And my dear friend Lizzie, whose great blog Switzerlady has generated a cult following, has been reborn as Ganda Lady (she’s moved to Uganda) and I wish I could remember how to do links so I could send you all whizzing over to her new place. Anyway, you can always google it.
Meanwhile we’ve been having a fairly hectic time of it since I returned from SA. Paulo is involved in something called the Initiativa das Terras Comunitarias (Community Land Initiative), set up to help local communities register their land rights in order to be able to utilise them to better and more lucrative effect. At this stage, he’s implementing a series of meetings and film showings with community leaders, government bodies and the communities themselves. Not, as you may have guessed, in Pemba, and indeed not even close to Pemba. The furthest away he is working is on the border with Tanzania, quite literally as he’s been bathing in the waters of the great Rovuma river which is the border. That’s about 500km from here. So to cut a long story short, of the 17 working days since I’ve been back, he’s been away for 9, and this week he’ll be away all week. As for me, I’ve also been away on Ibo and Quirimba islands – it was my turn last week – for 4 days. So, we’ve had 4 working days and 3 week-ends together. This is quite emotionally stressful after a 6 week separation, then add in the fact that both being at home, i.e. working full time and caring for two under-4s, one of whom still needs special attention, and travelling for work are tiring and stressful in their own way (Paulo recently drove 1000km in 4 days) and you’ve got two rather worn-down adults looking forward to a week off at Christmas with no travelling and minimal stress. Enough whingeing. We’ll survive.
The week before last, when Paulo was only away for three days, I was able to make a flying visit to Meluco. The idea was to inspect the guesthouse that we’ve been putting some money into rehabilitating and consult with the owner on next steps. She wasn’t there, in fact she was in Pemba, but the house was looking much better, definitely meeting minimum standards for minimum-standard tourists. What saved the day (it’s a bit frustrating to drive 7 hours in order not to meet the person you wanted to meet) was the fact that Meluco was celebrating 35 years as a town. So, in typical fashion, everyone was drunk or on their way, and there was a lot of drumming and traditional dancing. The variety of drums is always astonishing: huge great bass drums made out of oil barrels cut in half with a tightly-stretched goat skin laid over the end, tiny little drums that have a wooden spike to fix them to the ground and which are vigorously beaten with thin sticks, round drums and hexagonal ones, deep, high, fast and slow. I’ve seen most of the dances before, but it’s always enjoyable and this time there was one where all the young men were dressed as women (“Why?” “Because they have to dress as women for this dance.”) and another where they were also playing little wooden flutes. But by far the highlight as far as I was concerned was a little group off to one side who appeared at first glance to be playing a tape of traditional music. Far from it! They were in fact playing home-made instruments through two clapped out old tape players that were serving as amplifiers, and a megaphone as a speaker. Three guitarists, including bass and lead, playing guitars made of shaped planks of wood with a few strings attached, accompanied a singer/rapper whose mic was made of an old torch with something rigged up inside, and kept time with the drummer, whose drum kit comprised of a bass drum (as above, but with pedal), two traditional drums, and two cymbals hammered out of sheet metal of some kind. It was FANTASTIC. I have lost the cable that downloads photos from my camera, but I’ll make a plan and post a photo here as soon as I can. Got to see it to believe it.
On to Ibo and Quirimba, last week, where I did lots of good work and spoke to lots of interesting people and also spent an hour reading in the shade of two huge, ancient mango trees. I believe I have mentioned my love of mangoes before, but I feel I should add that mango trees also give the best shade of any tree, and as such I was in a good place to enjoy my novel (a bizarre book called Wild Sheep Chase). My love of mangoes, however, pales into insignificance next to the enthusiasm of the local children. It’s an annual feast: free, bountiful, wonderfully sweet and juicy fruit literally falling from the heavens. A dozen or so dirty kids were hanging out under the trees where I was sitting. The rustle of leaves and thud of a dropping fruit triggered a scrambling flurry of bony elbows and knees culminating in a dusty dive into the sand to grab the prize. Then a triumphant grin and a sticky face. As the children are spread out under the tree and as the mangoes fall randomly, there is a pretty even distribution of fruit, although the bigger kids often get the better of the smaller in a one-on-one. Usually there is no squabble over the winner, although I did see one foul: a nasty tackle from the rear which drew a sharp reprimand from a watching adult. The fallen child lay in the dirt and wept rather over-dramatically, but she kept the mango. I also got lucky: a mango fell near me and the kids were too scared to come and claim it. It was delicious.
Labels: Ibo, mangoes, Paulo
Happy birthday Paulo!
Today is my lovely husband's birthday. (For the first time he seems a little phased by his age, so I won't mention it.) The boys celebrated by waking us up at 5.15. Sebastian poked Paulo in the face and said "Papa, Papa, Papa", Joaquim sang him happy birthday (I was not allowed to join in), then I generously left him in bed and got up to play. I cheated and put Cee Beebies on. Joaquim loves Balamory and convenienly it's the first thing on at 5.30. It's just about all I can manage at that time too. Sebastian is not interested in TV though - except in turning it off, which he loves to do, with a naughty grin - so I also had to help him push little plastic shapes into the shape-sorter bus. Also just about at the limit my capabilities at that time.
Breakfast featured an excellent present sent by my mum (who says mothers in law are horrible?) - a DVD of Casino Royale which I am very excited about, at last a chance to check out the much-rated new Bond. This afternoon I must bake a cake (don't think I'll turn it into an animal though, Paulo will just have to live with the disappointment), then in the evening I'm taking Paulo out to dinner at the Chinese, and tomorrow we're celebrating with friends on the beach. There are worse ways to turn 38.
Oops. Sorry Paulo.
Labels: birthdays, Paulo
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