Long ago I fell in love with tropical fruits: a heritage of growing up abroad

Well I have to confess that my third culture kid heart has been beating faster the last few weeks. I have been travelling! I had the privilege of spending some time in Indonesia. Even though I grew up in Africa and have only recently travelled to Asia a couple of times I have discovered that I feel at home in Asia too. 

I love the tropical fruit juices. There is just nothing like the taste of well ripened mango's. Every now and then I am tempted into buying a mango here in the Netherlands but it either rots or just does not taste good, it usually turns into a disappointment.

It was really warm here and this cool mango juice was such a delight. Apparently mango's were part of my basic diet when I grew up in Zambia. There are photo's of me in diapers when I was a couple of years old sucking on a mango pip.

Other juices I enjoyed were avocado, pineapple, banana, guava and papaya (pawpaw) juice. Seeing all these papaya's in the supermarket excited me. We used to have papaya trees in our backyard. I remember the days my dad used a long stick to get the fruits down. He made us stand on guard and catch the fruits as the fell down. It was so stressful. Low and behold if the papaya splat on the ground. Believe me papaya's make a real splat, it can make a real mess.   

Smells bring back memories but so can your taste buds bring back memories.
What did you fall in love with growing up abroad? What foods brings back your memories?





Related posts:

• My heritage of growing up overseas: Respect for malaria
• My heritage of growing up overseas: A Heart for the children of the World
• My heritage of growing up overseas: Close encounters of a tropical kind

Guest Post By My Sister: Where she's from!

Photo of Pleuntje by Keke Keukelaar  www.3hoog-achter.nl

In September I challenged you to let us know "Where you are from". Guest blogger Lucia Bodeman was the first to share about where she's from. Now it's my honour to introduce my sister Pleuntje. Here's her story:

I am from corncurls and freezies, from Marmite on cheese and Stoney Gingerbeer. 
I am from the cool verandahs, avocado trees and baked, red earth roads.
I am from snorkeling at Cape Maclear, from chlorine in garden pools, the streets of Toronto and bridges of Amsterdam.
I am from birthday breakfasts in bed and Sinterklaas, from Frisian heritage, southern hemispheres and Christmas dinners outside.
I am from the crossing of borders and packing of suitcases, cycling, swimming and frequent flyer logs.
From language lessons during the holidays and sports and music every day.
I am from more than a dozen churches, being welcomed, asked to come forward or stand and then we’d sing.
I'm from Blantyre, now from Belgium, from sadza, zuurkool stamppot and appeltaart.
From the times we would wear wintercoats made by my mother out of blankets, the Peugeot stuck in the snow and my brother stuck in sliding doors at an Austrian airport.
I am from Mutare and Bulawayo, Lelystad and Amsterdam, Hamilton and Ghent. From where? Yes, there. So be it. Amen.

Related posts:

• Cultural identity confusion and third culture kids
• My 10 Advantages of growing up in another culture
• A third culture kid speaking "I am not from anywhere"

I am just wondering: Where are you from? Care to share it with us? Here's the "Where I'm from template". 

I think it is great fun for third culture kids or cross culture kids to do this little exercise. So have fun. If you want to contribute your story send it in to: drieculturen@gmail.com.

I am from..........and where are you from?

Recently I read a lovely post on a Dutch blog Opgroeien in het Buitenland. The post inspired me to write about where I'm from. Here is the result.

I am from....

I am from Acacia trees, Tanganda tea and tasty Royco soup.
I am from lovely gardens with hoopoe birds, cold stone houses and the fresh smell after the first rains.
I am from avocado trees, red flame lilies, roasted peanuts and watching the sunrise on a Matopos kopje.
I am from singing grace, climbing mount Mulanje and finding mountain cristals, from growing up bilingual and letters from grandparents far away.
I am from making music and cycling, from climbing trees and camping holidays with open fires.
I am from public speaking contests, toastmasters club and swimming galas.
I am from praise songs and love meals. Potluck diners and youth group fun.
I am from Zambia, Malawi, Zimbabwe and the Netherlands. Moving is the name of the game.
I am from homemade lemon curd, muesli, chutney and oliebollen (oil dumplings). From hagelslag (chocolate sprinklers) and drop (liquorish). From milk and cheese.
I am from the warm heart of Africa, but not officially. I am from the land of the multiculti. The tribe of third culture kids.
A global nomad. A global citizen.
I am from neither here nor there.
I am from all the people and places that I love.

                                                            *********************************************************************

I wonder where you are from. I used the "Where I'm from template". You can use the template too. I hope you try it, because it is actually great fun. I'm really interested in hearing where you are from. Let me know if you would like to share your story here. I could publish it as a guest post.Just to let you know that Lucia Bodeman has accepted the challenge. Here's her "poem" telling us where she's from. Thanks Lucia! Who's next?

Related posts:

• Third culture kids speaking: I'm not from anywhere
• Third culture kids going to university 
• Are you raising messed up kids?

A Short video about Third Culture Kids

Today it will be a post with only a few words. Sometimes there are days when it is a little more difficult to write a post. Today is one of those days. I do want to share this short video about third culture kids made by Shari Plueddemann. She grew up in Africa, just like I did.

I hope you have 3 minutes to watch and listen to her story. It's just one story but there are many thousands of people that have a story like this. These global stories need to be told. The world will be a better place when the stories a told by the children that grow up between cultures. These stories add colour, diversity, and spice to this world.

Related posts:

• Dare to be a creative third culture kid
• Third culture kids learning to be themselves
• Interview with Heidi Sand-Hart, author of the book "Home Keeps Moving"

Twitter update week 19: all about kids growing up in other cultures

Photo thanks: Chilombiano Morgue File

A great article about trilingual family & benefits of living abroad  

http://bit.ly/KCfuoR

Having a Baby Abroad -Global Differences Series: BRAZIL http://is.gd/7Du0dI

Found this today "Africa stays with me" words by a third culture kid who grew up in Africa. Read about the experience http://bit.ly/J4njx0

Need some fun things to with your kids? 101 kids craft ideas http://bit.ly/bbFIlQ

Wow, look at these exotic pets in this multicultural third culture kids family in Angola ADVENTURE http://bit.ly/JfWCJk 

Book Review “Home Keeps Moving” by @HomekeepsMoving raisingTCKs http://awe.sm/5oQUJ

Ever been to Ghent? You should, here's why: 5 Reasons Why I Fell in Love with Ghent - http://j.mp/JAj8xn

New research about Facebook addiction http://bit.ly/Kggf4a

Here's an expat mum in China discovering that her kids are third culture kids, and wondering.. http://bit.ly/JZEiVt 

"Home to me is where I feel understood, accepted & comfortable with my life choices." Words by adult TCK http://bit.ly/KLrwa5

Want to know what the differences are between having a baby in GERMANY or BELGIUM? Check here http://is.gd/TzALb0 

Netherlands ranks in Top 10 Best Places to be a Mother. http://ow.ly/aLTPR

"Returning to Canada after 4 years in Peru was quite the challenge as an 18 yr old" words by a tck http://bit.ly/J325Cp

4 kids, 20 suitcases and a beagle: "Change the Tone". http://bit.ly/LqKx6g 

If you have an interesting blog or website you know of about third culture kids please add your link. Thanks. I hope you have a good week.

Related posts:

• Twitter update week 16: children growing up in other cultures
• Great third culture kid information on the web
• Twitter update March 2012: kids growing up in other cultures

My heritage of growing up overseas: Close encouters of a tropical kind

I actually have a very funny memory of a watermelon. I must have been about 13 years old. We had travelled all day from Beitbridge in the South of Matabeleland, Zimbabwe to our home at that time in Bulawayo. These were bumpy roads and we had bought a juicy, big, ripe watermelon along the way. We had probably bought it for a good price. It was a warm day and the idea of a succulent, juicy watermelon must have been very appealing at the time. Why we did not dig into it straight away remains an unanswered question in my mind.

Image by Fedegrafo Morgue File

When I talk about we, I mean my parents, my brothers and my little sister of 5 years old. We had travelled that day in a land cruiser owned by the NGO (non-governmental organisation) that my father worked for at the time. This land cruiser had taken us along nice, well maintained, tarmac roads but also along bumpy, unpredictable bush roads. Now the watermelon had made this journey along with us too.

On arrival at home all the kids had to join in carrying the luggage into the house, making sure the land cruiser was emptied of all our belongings and returned into its original state. Not sure if that was possible, but anyway. Seeing as we had been away for more than a week there was always a pile of letters awaiting our homecoming. These were put on the kitchen table together with our precious watermelon. Tired from the journey we left our friend the watermelon and the mail on the table for the night.

We were rudely awakened that night. There was the sound of a serious explosion. The stillness of the African night was abruptly interrupted by an enormous amount of noise. The noise was from an unknown source, it was unexpected, unpredicted, and maybe unwelcome. It ended in some kind of “splat!”

Arriving at the scene of the crime, we saw the devastation, we saw the mess. From the ceiling to the floor the ruins were visible. The mail was ruined, sploshed, sticky and gooey. The chairs, the walls, everything was marked by this extreme explosion: the UFO, unidentified flying object. After wiping the sleep out of our eyes, we recognized the remains of our juicy watermelon, glued all over the kitchen. Seeds and juice were everywhere. That what should have brought us pure joy, life, juice, excitement, ecstasy and refreshment, had now become another task, chore, a dirty sticky mess, a disappointment, a disgust and lots of sweat.

So that was the end of our fermented and well-travelled watermelon.

Have you had funny experiences abroad? I would love to hear them.

Related posts: 

• My heritage of growing up overseas: Respect for Malaria 
• My heritage of growing up overseas: a heart for the children of the world 
• The downside of growing up overseas as a third culture kid
• Third culture kids: learning their mother tongue

Guest blog by An African Gypsy: A story of an Adult Third culture kid

I was born in ex-Yugoslavia in the 1960’s. My divorced mother met a Sudanese student of Agriculture when I was five. Later, they got married and we moved: first to Iraq then Libya and traveled extensively by car through Turkey, Greece, and Egypt.

When I was twelve we settled in Khartoum, Sudan where I attended a Catholic school for girls and lived on a farm by the Nile. Sudan was a melting pot comprised of Coptics, Syrians, Greeks, Egyptians, Lebanese, numerous Sudanese tribes as well as the expat community. An entire generation of multiethnic and multifaith children.

There was something exhilarating and never monotonous about having all these customs, cultures and beliefs blend in one place, constantly something new to learn. Bewitched by the music, folklore and language of each country I have visited or lived in, I still love applying the intricate patterns of Henna and wearing the colourful Tobe. (A garment indigenous to Sudan that is draped around the body and worn loosely over the head) My favorite facet of such a lifestyle was accepting everyone equally. Colour, race or faith made no difference to me. Most people I grew up with were mixed race including my siblings who are also Muslim.

On the farm in Sudan

Even though I loved Africa I missed my grandparents, my father and my hometown. Also, I didn’t fit into any of the existing *categories* in the Sudan. I was not half Sudanese as many of my friends were and I was not an expat child whose parents worked for embassies and foreign companies. I grew up immersed in a Sudanese household, with a Sudanese stepfamily and half African siblings but my outer appearance didn’t fit my colloquial Arabic dialect or my unconsciously native mannerisms. Little children would run after me on the street giggling and shouting, “Halabiya” (Gypsy) due to my fair skin. (In Sudan, people from a gypsy origin are lighter skinned) Or they called me “Khawagiya”. Foreigner. It didn’t feel good.

As I get older, my birthplace, my hometown of Osijek by the Drava River tugs at my heart more urgently. I get emotional over Balkan songs and jokes. I miss the aroma of local bread, the delicate peaches, and chestnuts in the winter...the fields of sunflowers. On the other hand, the magnificent Nile, the scent of mangoes and jasmine and the rhythm of African drums call me just as powerfully.

Nowadays, I live in Dubai, interacting with people from 198 nationalities. Listening to the soothing echoes from a host of languages intrigues me in countless ways. Here, I blend in.

This interest in multiculture has led me to pen stories about individuals who are displaced, then thrown together in a culturally alien setting and how that changes them. My novel ‘Dubai Wives’ follows the lives of eight women from ethnically, culturally and religiously diverse backgrounds and their transformative journey in the glamorous metropolis of Dubai, a place as intricate and complex as the woven threads of a beautiful carpet.

Through all my writing and inner self searching I have realized that I will probably never be completely content in any one place, cursed and blessed by the countless forces that  have shaped me.

Good sites for third culture kids: http://www.tckworld.com/ and the Global Nomads Group. 

                                         ******************************************** 

Thank you Zvezdana Rashkovich for your guest blog! It's my honour. Zvezdana is author of the novel Dubai Wives. On her website www.zvezdanarashkovich.com you can find more information. We met on twitter @SleeplessinDubai in 2011. We have in common that we both grew up in Africa and are both (adult) third culture kids.

My heritage of growing up overseas. Part 1: Respect for malaria

Sometimes things happen in your life that leave a lasting impression on you. When I was a teenager in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe I attended a funeral of a mother of friends of mine. I was probably about 15 years old at the time. The mother of this Swedish family of four children died of malaria in Zimbabwe. It was such a sad occasion. There were tears everywhere. Maybe it remains imprinted in my memory because I come from a family of four kids too. Maybe I thought it could have happened to me too. The children did not only lose their mother, they returned back to Sweden and had to say goodbye to all their friends. They left their home, their school, their playmates and their memories in Africa. So tragic. The worst part of it all is that malaria is and was at that time a curable disease. Since then I have a deep respect for malaria. I did some research on malaria and my respect only increased. Recently Wordgeyser wrote a post preparing for the worst: the death of a spouse overseas. You know these things do happen. This is a real world we live in. So here comes more about my heritage: the deep respect for malaria.

Malaria is caused by a parasite of the genius plasmodium. It is spread from person to person by the bites of infected mosquitoes.

Here are 10 facts about malaria:

1. About 3.3 billion people - half of the world's population - are at risk of malaria.
2. It leads to approximately 1 million deaths every year.
3. 1 in every 5 childhood deaths in Africa is due to malaria.
4. Every 30 seconds a child dies from malaria in Africa. So while you were reading this list another child just died in Africa due to malaria.
5. Early diagnosis and prompt treatment are two basic elements of malaria control.
6. If not treated with effective medicines malaria can often be fatal.
7. Pregnant women are at high risk not only of dying from the complications of severe malaria, but also spontaneous abortion, premature delivery or stillbirth. 
8. Malaria is also a cause of severe maternal anaemia and is responsible for about one third of preventable low birth weight babies.  
9. Long-lasting insecticidal nets can be used to provide protection to risk groups, especially young children and pregnant women in high transmission areas.
10. Malaria is preventable and curable.

This is information from the World Health Organisation (WHO). There is a list available famous people who died of malaria. At the expat Info desk I discovered that they recently warned expats that malaria is on the rise. The advice is the same for all travelers - you must take anti-mosquito precautions and medication to keep safe. We in the west have everything so well organized and I think we forget the force of nature, and the suddenness of disease and death. Here are the malaria symptoms and more information about diagnosis. Recently two Dutch tourists died of malaria which they caught in Gambia. They did not take anti-malaria medication. Here is an article by the BBC Malaria: a major global killer.

Please join the "have respect for malaria club". What is your experience with malaria? Do you have advice for others on this subject. Please share your experience or your advice with us.

Waar kom je vandaan?

Daar loop ik dan tussen al die jongeren. Ik loop mee door de onbekende straten en door de onbekende stad. Ik zie allemaal onbekende gezichten. Om mij heen lijken de andere allemaal bekende tegen te komen, maar ik ken niemand, en niemand kent mij.

Ik lijk op de jongeren om mij heen, wij hebben voor een groot deel dezelfde huiskleur, wij nemen deel aan dezelfde ELCID introductie week van de Leidse universiteit, wij zijn ongeveer even oud, en toch zijn er heel veel verschillen.

Ik ben geboren in Zambia. Mijn lagere school was een internationale school in Blantyre, Malawi. De middelbare school ben ik in Lilongwe, Malawi begonnen en heb ik in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe afgemaakt. Recent heb ik afscheid genomen van vrienden, familie en het bekende in Zimbabwe om te gaan studeren en een nieuw leven op te bouwen in het geboorte land van mijn ouders. Mijn ouders wonen nog in Bulawayo, maar ik ben de oudste van het gezin en ik moet als eerste het nest uit vliegen.

Alles is zo nieuw en onbekend. Ik heb blond haar en blauwe ogen en spreek Nederlands. Toch kom ik er achter dat ik mijzelf meer “African” voel dan Nederlander. Ik heb ook immers mijn hele leven in Afrika gewoond. Ja, om de paar jaar kwamen wij “even” op verlof naar Nederland, maar ken ik Nederland?

Alles kost mij energie. Ik moet voortdurend mijn ogen goed open houden en om mij heen kijken hoe mensen dingen doen. Hoe koop ik een treinkaartje? Hoe werkt de OV chipkaart? Hoe moet ik de groente wegen in de supermarkt? Wat zijn de mensen achter de kassa onvriendelijk. Ik voel mij net een nummer.

Wat is er ook een keus. In Zimbabwe hadden wij maar één of twee merken chips en daar waren een paar verschillende smaken. Hier is de keus overweldigend. Soms koop ik geen chips, gewoon omdat de keus zo groot is. Kleren kopen doe ik al helemaal niet. Mijn kleren hebben toch geen gaten en voldoen toch prima? Ja dat het niet de nieuwste mode is dat weet ik ook wel. Wat moet ik met die mode, is het niet allemaal wat overdreven? Op school was ik een schooluniform gewend, dat was wel makkelijk.

gezien in Frans Hals museum, Haarlem

Ik voel mij zoveel ouder dan mijn medestudenten. In leeftijd zijn wij even oud maar naar mijn gevoel heb ik armoede en rijkdom al gezien, honger en ellende, ziekte en dood. Door het reizen heb ik meer levenservaring maar soms voelt het als een ballast.

Dan de steeds terugkerende vraag van medestudenten: “waar kom je vandaan?” Ik ben geboren in Afrika maar ik ben Nederlander en ik heb hier nooit echt gewoond. Ja waar kom ik vandaan?

Lees ook over Mijn ontdekking dat ik een third culture kid ben.