What is France? Imagine spices, all the colors in the world, sunshine, seaside markets, and vineyards. Voici my friend’s parents who became my own for a few days, Nadia of Morocco and Etienne of Alsace (eastern France). With their help, I tasted my first “boeuf bourgignon,” discovered the history and art of their town, Mulhouse (yes, Christmas decorations are already up—in preparation for the much anticipated December markets) visited the castle of Haut Koenigsbourg and spoke lots and lots of French. Above all, they taught me what it is like to be a French daughter, not so different from being an American daughter in the end. J
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| Nadia et Etienne |
Nadia is certainly a mind of her own, possibly one of the most interesting people I have ever met. The quotidienne Nadia is best explained by anecdote: upon my arrival, she immediately began ravishing me with comments such as “ma petite puce,” “ma pauvre fille,” (my little flea, my pour daughter), pampering and practically cooing because I had had a few transportation problems that afternoon. Showing me to her daughter’s room, she gave me a bag of cookies and dark chocolate for “just in case I get hungry during the night,” and then she proceeded to make the largest omelette I had ever seen (along with a salad, cheese, and the staple—bread) to feed me, her, and her husband. Breakfast the next day? Cake and/or chocolate croissant, juice, and hot chocolate, followed by boeuf bourgignon for lunch, a gauffre for an afternoon snack, and any number of fruits or yogurts offered in between. She is seemingly determined that I have never eaten before in my life and that she will do everything in her power to remedy that. I must admit that it was nice being fussed over again momentarily. It is easy to see that all of this feeding comes from her maternal, loving, giving heart.
The first morning after my arrival, we stumbled upon an intriguing conversation. What does Nadia believe? God exists, He is good, we were all made to be the way we are…religions are just organizations that take people’s money for themselves instead of giving it to the poor. Wow. Momentarily taken aback, I knew that later this would incite my most fervent prayer at Taizé—that the world’s religions may change to honestly earn the trust of full, giving, believing hearts like Nadia’s, that in their strength as communities of believers, they may give more to the poor than any one person ever could.
Etienne, on the other hand, (who has quite the knack with clocks and toy trains) was more worried about the fact that I am going to Mali next semester. Quick to offer me an article about terrorist activity in northern Mali, he asked me again in a little café after our visit to the castle, “you are really going there next semester? But what attracts you to Mali?” Nadia may be partially right; her argument is that all I listen to is my heart. But I was quick to correct her in saying that I spend a lot of time reflecting on my decisions, even if it may not seem that way. Logically speaking, it does not make sense to leave the sick and poor of Mali alone because their government has not yet decided to help them, even if the risks might be larger and the exquisite sites/encounters with educated people rarer than in, say, Morocco, Tunisia, or Kenya. Although some of their reactions were surprising to me, I have nothing against this amazing couple that brings to the table as much knowledge of the world as they lack in technological common sense. Above all, they took me in and cared for me better than almost anyone else in France has to this day.
If anything else, they led me to reflect on my decisions to be 1) Christian 2) a study abroad student in Mali 3) a doctor in the developing world 4) a student of France—of which the definition is turning out to be increasingly complex. If this couple is France, as is my host family in Bretagne and the university students of Troyes, I am beginning to think that the only uniting principles are…bread…cheese...and…the language? We shall see…
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