#black expat

When you hear the words South of France your first thought is probably dollar signs on dollar signs. From luxury yachts to wine vineyards, the French Riviera evokes a certain level of opulence with which your wallet is not familiar.

Trust me, I understand. I was discouraged from even trying at first but I had been dying to visit the beautiful Azure Coast and was NOT going to let my pitiful bank account stop me. Where there is a will, there is a financially feasible way. The three biggest expenses within any trip is transportation, housing, and leisure. Even if you have no plans to go to the South of France, this guide will help you budget on any trip. 

Transportation

1. Getting There & Back

There’s an app called Rome2Riothat gives you the full play by play on the cost of going from point A to B by plane, trains, and other automobiles. It’s a great starting point. Once you’ve narrowed down your cheapest options, you can buy your tickets right from the site.

At this stage of my life, I value price over convenience. While an hour plane ride sounds lovely, 200 euros does not. I ended up finding a 15 euro Megabus to Marseille. Yes it was a grueling 11 hours…BUT luckily we chose an overnight bus. We left at 10pm and arrived to the beautiful sunny port city at 9am the next day. Not a bad way to wake up.

For the way back, I knew my patience for another 11 hour bus ride would be thin so I decided to spend a little more money on a faster route. I found another online app called KelBillet, where people can sell and buy unused train and bus tickets. It’s a very reliable app where vendors must be verified before posting their tickets to avoid scams. I found a girl desperately trying to sell her originally 70 euro train ticket for half the price. Winning!After traveling all week, a cheap 3 hour high speed train was perfect.

2. Local Transport

So you’re in your travel destination, HOW do you get around without paying crazy expensive taxi fares? No matter what city I travel to, I make use of two very important modes of transportation: the bus and my own damn two feet.

Let’s talk about buses. It’s become increasingly popular to use those Hop On, Hop Off tourist vehicles and while I see the appeal, they are just totally unnecessary. Why spend 40 euros to sight see when you can catch a local bus for 2 euros. It may seem scary but you will see more of the authentic, less touristy parts of town and you will become incredibly familiar with the city.

But the absolute BEST way to travel cheap is to walk. Crazy idea right? Most European cities are very pedestrian friendly. You can spend a day strolling leisurely from one historical monument to the next. You never know what you might stumble upon. A gorgeous field of lavenders, a quaint restaurant that sells regional cuisine, or a hip bar for when happy hour strikes. Walking around a city is the best way to feel within the city. So if you’re physically able and the weather permits, I highly recommend making it your main mode of transportation.

Side tip: I didn’t do this, but bike renting is another very popular option.

3. Short Distance Travel

While our main destination was Marseille, there where other small sea towns we wanted to visit only within an hour distance. We went to Cassis to visit the amazing Calanques (seen below). From Marseille it was very easy. Our hostel told us about a 30-minute shuttle that would take us there for a whopping ONE EURO! If you are ever in the Southeast of France I highly suggest you take the time to see this beautiful treasure. 

We visited the ancient city of Arles by using BlaBlacar.This ridesharing app is basically AirBnB for cars. You find someone that is going the same direction as you and you pitch in for gas. Depending on how far you are going, you can pay as little as 5 euros. It’s not only a great, cheap option, but it gives you a chance to converse with locals!

Housing

For the most part, I love using AirBnB. It’s becoming increasingly popular over the past few years and understandably so. Hostels are crowded and hotels lack personality. I always check this website first but if the prices aren’t to my liking then to Hostelworld.com I go. Honestly, I don’t love hostels. Sharing a room with 8 other 20-something strangers makes me feel like I’m at some drunk summer camp for adults. But its crazy affordable. And who knows, you might even meet some buddies to explore the city with. In general, all you need is a place to lay your head comfortably at night. My only requirements are that it has free breakfast and WiFi (: 

For the first few days, we stayed in a hostel but as funds were getting low we decided to take a less conventional route: Couchsurfing. If you’re not familiar, couch-surfing is when you stay at another person’s house for free. Yes, you heard me: FREE! How is this possible? What’s the catch?? Well, there isn’t any. There are some people in this world that feed off of being hospitable to strangers for the sake of cultural exchange. And ask for nothing in return but respect, trust, and a positive attitude. (Although, its nice to bring them a little something-something as a token of gratitude). 

I’ll be honest, I was VERY skeptical of this option. But here is the personal criteria I follow to ensure a safe experience.

1. I prefer to stay with other women my age. 
2. I only look at verified hosts with fully filled out profiles with at least 20 positive reviews. 
3. Be skeptical of hosts that are NOT selective of their guests. You don’t want someone that just lets anyone in their home. 
   

Using my personal criteria, I had a very positive couchsurfing experience. Our host was absolutely awesome, overwhelmingly generous, and gave us great advice on how best to spend our time in the city. Of course you can create your own criteria, but only do what is comfortable for you. 

Leisure Activities

This could arguably become the most expensive part of your trip but it’s also the one you have the most financial control. For vacation, I always take out cash and refrain from using my debit or credit cards. This allows me to stay in my budget as well as physically keep track of my spending.

1. Food and Drinks

If you follow my advice from housing, breakfast is already taken care of. But for lunch and dinner you have to be careful not to spend 20 euros per meal. Many restaurants in France do lunchtime deals where you can get a lot for a low price. My friend and I took serious advantage of this. Therefore dinner always became grab something small and inexpensive.

For drinks, you can utilize happy hour to the best of your ability but honestly you don’t always need to buy from the bar! It may feel classier to drink un verre du vin at a restaurant overlooking the sea but try just buying a bottle from a supermarket and drink it on the beach with your toes in the sand, watching the sunset over clear blue waves. It’s more memorable that way. 

2. Activities

They say the best things in life are free. Depending on the city, this may be easier said than done. But before you travel always look up a list of inexpensive or practically free activities. For larger cities you can use Timeout. But for smaller cities its best to just ask the locals for advice. Locals know best after all. 

_______________________________________________________________________

So there you have it. In conclusion, traveling on a budget is more feasible than you realize. All it takes is serious financial control and proper planning. Because of our extreme budgeting, we were able to see this…

and this, 

and this,  

and this. 

Happy Traveling! 

We all have preconceived notions of certain countries and cultures. We might even understand that these are gross generalizations but that doesn’t keep us from believing them. The French have quite a few preconceived ideas on what it means to be American. I’m going to explore where these stereotypes might come from.  

*Disclaimer: This is all (slightly researched) speculation. *

1. Americans are stupid 

Americans have the unfortunate stereotype of being not so bright. Many Europeans would agree. Is there some truth to this? Well according to OECD (Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development), the U.S ranks 26th worldwide in scholastic test scores, below other world powers such as France, Germany, and China. But this is only proof if you believe that test scores accurately define intelligence. Also, the typical French person probably doesn’t know this statistic…so why do they think we’re “idiots”?

Probably because we are generally ignorant of the world around us. Who’s the Prime Minister of the UK? What political scandal is currently going on in Brazil? What is ISIS? The reality is many Europeans could answer these questions and many Americans could not. The other day I watched this American girl try to order at a french bakery. This first thing she said was “Hola” (*face palm*) and then she very loudly asked for a sandwhich in english, as if yelling would help the cashier understand her better. This is the American traveler in a nutshell - we go overseas without any regard for common practices, norms, or courtesies. This lack of cultural curiosity is what probably makes us seem uninformed, silly, and quite frankly, stupid. 

2. Americans are superficial

Outsiders believe that all we care about is our looks, status, and wealth. Materialistic is our name and consumerism is our game. But like, we can’t like, be bothered with things like “inner beauty”. I mean, duh, we have reps to protect! 

It’s not hard to understand why one would come to this conclusion of us. Watch American TV for 30 minutes and you will see how we eat up ideas of popularity and wealth. I mean we are the same country that has made famous-for-nothing Kardashians a household name. We’re also the same country that lets Channing Tatum “act” and lets Taylor Swift whine on every stage. I must admit (ashamedly) that I’ve thought to myself, “Wow, french actors and singers are not attractive”. But their celebrities are actually famous for being talented. Crazy concept, right? 

3. Americans are conservative 

One day when I was babysitting, I took the kids to the park. On the side of a building was a LARGE ad for a burlesque show with a topless woman gracing center stage. I remember feeling appalled. This is a park where children come to play! I looked around and none of the moms or their kids paid it any attention, almost as if this was normal. Am I a prude? No, I’m just American.

When it comes to nudity, cursing, or anything else considered taboo, we tend to censure it. These things are typically reserved for private spaces among adults. But in France, whether its in the media or in real life, they are much less likely to censor themselves. 

Theory time: Part of this may be because we are a much more religious country than France. Although we express freedom of religion within our Constitution, we cannot deny that our country was founded on Christian principles and those principles manifest themselves within our political, social, and cultural identity. Around 88% of American citizens are affiliated with a religion compared to almost 55% of French citizens. Why are LGBT and female reproductive rights hot button issues? Why is the drinking age still 21 years old? Because of persisting conservative sentiments. Perhaps we hold more modest values because of our country’s subconscious (or maybe not so subconscious) ties to religion. 

4. America is dangerous and racist 

To many outsiders, most of our major cities are synonymous with danger. New York. Miami. Chicago. I’ve been asked several times by wide-eyed Frenchies if I’ve ever visited these cities and if I’ve ever felt unsafe. What puzzles them most is why, oh why, can’t America solve its gun issue? Trust me, we’re asking ourselves the same thing. Mass shootings have become unnervingly commonplace and we are just as exhausted.  

As for the racism thing, French people have televisions. They see our public discourse on police brutality, the physical aggression at Trump rallies and that same presidential candidate’s stance on Mexican immigrants. They know well that our country was built on the backs of slaves and immigrants and has a 400 year history of racial oppression and discrimination. But don’t be fooled, France is not at all a racial utopia. They’ve had their fare share of discriminatory laws over the years. However, due to our track record, its the U.S that usually wins the prize of most racist world power. 

5. Americans are fat 

This is without doubt the number one stereotype about Americans and unfortunately there’s a lot of merit to it. We are one of the unhealthiest countries in the world. In 2015, 74 million Americans, almost 2/3 of the country, were considered overweight or obese. Researchers predict that these numbers will only increase and by 2020, 75% of the nation will be overweight. Compared to the 40% of overweight French citizens, these numbers are quite egregious.

But what’s ironic is that we are by far more obsessed with exercise and healthy eating. We have a strong “work out culture” in the states and for most Americans the question is not whether you’re dieting but which diet you’re on. As a whole, French people don’t actively work out. In fact in the 9 months I’ve been here, I have seen one gym. ONE. And it was extremely empty. They don’t have to work at being healthy because they just naturally are. It’s not in their culture to eat large fast food portions or eat out for that matter. Where as in the US, we love to dine outside the home. Not only is it a great way to connect with friends but its convenient. And from drive-thrus to 24/7 restaurants, you cant deny our love affair with conveniency.

6. Americans are self-involved workaholics

“You can be anything you put your mind to” “Reach for the stars” “You could be the next president of the United States!”

From an early age we are told that everyone is special. That hard work is the key to success and to dream as big as possible. I asked a couple of my students what they wanted to be when they grew up and none of them had an answer. From an American perspective this is very strange. Every American child knows exactly what they want to be by the age of 3. Even if the answer is a Princess, we raise children to have a very clear and confident vision of who they are and where they are going in life. 

Our society is characterized by individualism. What that means is that we emphasis personal achievements, we value independence, and much of what we do in life is self-enhancing. Many countries fall into this category and you can argue that there’s nothing wrong with it. But the inevitable result of individualism is that we lose sight in the importance of people around us. We are less family-oriented and instead place more value on our personal success, which typically translates to how we perform in our careers. 

Everyone is chasing the “American Dream”, hoping to make something of themselves. But instead of enjoying life, we’re too busy working hard for the money. We work 30% more than Europeans, have significantly less paid vacation time, and we’re one of the only countries that doesn’t guarantee parental leave for new mothers and fathers. We don’t value leisure time for ourselves or with our family. Maybe we are not personally “self-involved workaholics”, but the way our society is set up its almost impossible not to be. 

Feeling bitter? Well let’s glance at some positive stereotypes. 

7. Americans are very self-confident 

8. Americans are charitable

9. Americans are super friendly

10. Americans are good looking 

See, it’s not all bad. 

I, Anndi, am a serious foodie. About 99% of the reason I ever leave my house is to try new food. Since the city is jam packed with restaurants on every corner, it’s hard to know which ones are truly worth your hard-earned coins. Well I am here to help you! Below is a list of my Top 5 Favorite Places to Eat in Paris. 

1. Gumbo Yaya

Fried Chicken? Collard Greens? HUSH PUPPIES?! By far my favorite place to eat in Paris and it has nothing to do with french food. With a cool hip-hop ambiance and cookout style decor, Gumbo Yaya is a great relaxed place to dine with friends. In all honesty, it’s not incredibly authentic soul food (having a southern family I’m a harsh critic), but the fried chicken is BANGIN’ and it beats going to a french KFC any day. It’s fairly priced, with a good sized portion meal being between 11-15 euros. 

Pro Tip: Get the Big Homie or the Chicken&Waffle Burger. Thank me later. 

3 rue Charles Robin, Metro stop Colonel Fabien (line 2)

2. Ménélik

If you have never had Ethiopian cuisine before, just know it is entirely TOO LIT. Food full of overwhelmingly savory flavors that is meant to be shared among a large group and eaten with your hands (Take lots of napkins). From the authentic ethiopian artwork, multi-colorful tapestries, and mesmerizing east african music, this spot bathes in authenticity. The best part is easily the free mystery wine you get before your meal. It will have you feeling good in no time. But if you feel like paying for alcohol, I would try Tej which is a wine brewed with honey. 

Pro Tip:Ask for more sourdough bread. You’re going to need it. 

4 rue Sauffroy, Metro Stop Brochant (line 2)

3. HolyBelly

Oh, HolyBelly. Are we in old town Paris or gentrified Williamsburg, Brooklyn? It took two times of waiting in line for over an HOUR until I actually tried your savory goodness. But boy was it worth the wait! This French-American spot, located at the heart of the 10th, is a hipster haven and has perhaps the best brunch in town. With its impeccable attention to plate presentation, it has the most “Instagram-able” meals in the city. If you order the Savory Stack you will have dreams about it several weeks after. 

Pro Tip: Try to get in line before 11am. After that its all over champ. 

19 Rue Lucien Sampaix , Metro stop Jacques Bonsergent (line 8)

4. Churrasquiera Galo

This portuguese restaurant has a pretty underwhelming decor and even less impressive service. It’s small and has the community-style seating I loathe quite dearly. BUT the food is awesome!! The portion size is super generous by European standards and you can get a full, hearty meal for less than 13 euros! What’s best is that its located only a 8 min walk away from the Sacré-Coeur in Montmartre, the highest point in the city. It may not be phenomenal in all respects but the food makes it worth a lunch stop after sight-seeing.

Pro Trip:Only go if super hungry. Or wear stretchy pants. 

69 rue du Dunkerque, Anvers (line 2), Barbes-Rochechouart (line 4)

5. La Crêperie Bretonne

My absolute favorite french meal is crêpes and galettes. Sweet or savory. I will take them however I can get them. PLEASE resist the temptation to try your first crêpe from a cheap fast food hole-in-the-wall in Saint-Michel and instead opt for one of the many tasty sit-downs on Rue du Montparnasse. This long, narrow street is lined with nothing but restaurants that specialize in this french delicacy. The most popular of these is La Crêperie Bretonne. I personally like to top my crepes with ham, egg, cheese, mushroom, and spinach but you don’t have to start or stop there! You will be overwhelmed by the options. So go here! Your taste buds will thank you for it. 

Pro Trip: Cider is the best pairing with galettes (savory crepes). Highly recommend!

56 rue de Montparnasse, Metro Stop Edgar Quinet (line 6), Vanvin (line 4), or Gare Montparnasse (line 4, 6, 12, & 13)

“Ugh I didn’t like France. French people are racist”“Go to Italy! They’re so friendly and I hear they love black women”“Do Germans even have black people outside of the military?”

It’s something almost every black traveller fathoms before venturing abroad. How will my blackness be perceived in this predominantly non-black space? It’s a valid concern. At best, our otherness might put us on a flattering pedestal. At worst, we might get mistreated. Even traveling to remote areas of the U.S you will find people that stare at you and ask aggravating questions like “Can I touch your hair?”. I certainly wondered about how I’d fare as a black woman before moving to France. 

But this post is really not justabout me. Yes I am black. Yes I am in Europe. But that really doesn’t make me special. Because even though only a small percentage of African Americans travel to Europe yearly, there are tens of millions of black people that are already there: Afro-Europeans. 

Black people don’t just live in Africa and the United States. Thanks (but like, no thanks) to colonialism, the African diaspora truly reaches some of the most unlikely corners of the earth. Most African Americans make the mistake of assuming that we are the only group of african descendants living as the underrepresented, mistreated, systematically oppressed minorities in predominantly white spaces. Tell that to the 55 million Afro-Brazilians. Or the millions of black descendants in the UK, Italy, and France. 

But our egocentricism isn’t entirely our fault. I, too, had no idea exactly how many black and brown people lived in Europe until I came here. I assumed based on films, television, and images I had seen growing up that Europe is one homogenous white continent. Full of sameness with very little variation of color or culture (or at least not culture from an ethnic standpoint). It’s the invisible diversity of Europe. In the same way African-Americans lack representation in almost all facets of our society, Afro-Europeans lack it even more. 

I had met a lot of people my first couple of months in France but I still felt something was missing. I yearned to connect with people that were like-minded. People in which I had an inevitable bond with. In short, I needed to make black friends. It sounds silly to some but anyone a part of a minority group in some way (race, sexuality, etc) understands this desire. 

The problem was never the lack of black people, but how to organically make friends with them. Making friends as an adult is not an easy feat. When you’re a kid it’s so easy! All you have to do is say this: 

But how do you tell a random person you think they’re kinda cool and we should hang out in the most platonic way possible without being creepy? 

Several months later and I’ve met friends of friends, connected with random people through social media, and have even joined a Black Expats in Paris meet-up. By speaking with people I’ve gathered quite a few perspectives. 

African Americans are both admired and envied in France. Believe it or not, we have the type of global visibility not afforded to others of the African Diaspora. African Americans are the examples of cool, the creators of pop culture. Our celebrities are their celebrities, our favorite TV shows are their favorites too. African Americans are vocal in periods of inequality and reactionary during times of social injustice. Mike Brown & Trayvon Martin are not only names uttered on American soil. “I Have a Dream” is familiar to all European ears, the “Black Lives Matter” cry has been heard around world and the Civil Rights Movement is a part of their curriculum just as much as ours. In short, the Black American experience has left a definite mark in world history. 

For Black Europeans, however, their history tends to get shoved under the rug. I am not AT ALL an expert on this topic but here is a concise history of European colonization in Africa in my own words. 

**Anndi’s Quick and Over-simplified History on the Conquest of Africa**

In the late 1800s, several European countries such as the UK, France, and Portugal had set up port cities in Africa for trading goods and resources. Everything was cool until this dude named King Leopold II of Belgium was like, “you know what would be awesome? My own territory in the Congo”. So homeboy sliced out a chunk of the Congo for his own PERSONAL benefit, not even in the name of Belgium. The other European powers (UK, France, Italy, Portugal, and Germany) started to freak out and thought, “Damn my ego is super big, how can I make it bigger?”. So they had a meeting in Germany, found a map of Africa, and literally cut the continent apart like slices of pizza. It’s worth mentioning that none of the African countries in question were invited to said pizza party. So NINETY PERCENT of the continent was colonized without permission,MILLIONSof Africans were forced into labor, resources were exploited, men were killed, women were raped, children were maimed, feuding ethnic groups were mixed…all under the guise that they were “saving uncivilized savages from eternal damnation”.

Flash forward several decades and the European Powers finally started to leave. Whether they left on their own accord or were driven out by revolutionary groups, the heinous effects of imperialism are evident for several African countries by way of corrupt governments, tireless civil wars, and psychological trauma.

**The End** ….Except not the end because these heinous effects still linger. 

I’ve noticed a slight lack in community for Afro-French people. For African-Americans, there’s this idea of fictive kinship. I may not know you from Adam, but if we are the only two black people within a predominantly white space then we will acknowledge one another. But that’s only on a micro-level. On a macro-scale, we have become masters of creating spaces for ourselves. Hair salons & barbershops, Historically Black Colleges and Universities, BET Network, NAACP… we have a black national anthem!! All with the intent of uplifting and strengthening one another, for validating our place in a society not made for us. 

But our sense of community derives from our shared experiences. Many of our ancestors were slaves. Many of our living relatives grew up in segregation. For France, and many other European countries, the experiences of black europeans, while similar, are not identical nor are they shared. At any rate, its hard to have a sense of community when you don’t even know how many people of African descent live in your country. Apparently, taking an ethnic census is constitutionally banned in France. 

For Afro-french people, they’re not bound together by race as much as their family origins. If you’re a black woman from Guadeloupe, you might feel a bigger bond to people from the West Indies than to those from West Africa. Honestly, I envy greatly that Afro-Europeans know exactly where they come from and even have family that still live in those countries. I have never felt so shameful about not knowing my roots until moving here. Every time I meet an Afro-french person for the first time, the conversation goes as follows.

Them:So where are you from?

Me:I’m from the U.S!

Them:Yeah, I know. But like where are you really from?

Me: Washington, DC. 

Them:What’s your family origin I mean to say.

Me:Um…I don’t know? My ancestors were slaves so…

Them:…..

Me:…..Nice meeting you! 

In general, there’s this idea that black people are never really from whatever predominantly white country they reside in. Afro-french people can be born and raised in Paris and never feel or be seen as “french”. Even when I meet White Europeans, they are generally skeptical about my origin story but for a different reason. Because I have a lighter skin tone than most Afro-french, many assume that I am “métisse” or mixed. During my trip to Italy, an italian man told me “You’re beautiful. I love mulattowomen”. The assumption really bothers me because black and beautiful are not mutually exclusive concepts homeboy! But I do love their faces of disappointment when I tell them I am proudly, undeniably, 100% BLACK. 

But let’s discuss some positives, for there are many. While Black French don’t organize against injustices in the same way we do, that doesn’t mean they aren’t having these important conversations. The Afro-fem movement seems to be really big here. I’ve seen countless articles, youtube videos, tweets, and have even been invited to conferences by Afro-feminists to discuss the interesting balance of race and gender. 

I’ve met so many black french women who are smart and woke. Clever and funny. Women who want to be a voice for their community. Women who are artists, poets, and singers. Women who are beautiful inside and out. Women who are writers. Women who are fly. Women who are college educated. Women who want to uplift and strengthen their fellow sisters. Women who want to be a vessel for serious change in their society. 

So don’t sleep on Afro-Europeans. They have a very real place in our world. 

I would be remiss not to mention the Strolling Series by Cecile Emeke, which was in truth my personal introduction to Afro-European voices. Cecile Emeke is a British woman who brilliantly decided to film black individuals across the African diaspora. The result? Unraveling the generalized blanket of our black experiences into singular, personal threads of testimony. Emeke has filmed in the Netherlands, Italy, Jamaica, and many other countries and its widespread appeal has garnered a huge Youtube following. Of course, you’ll hear the familiar stories of micro-agressions, respectability politics, and self-love affirmation. But you’ll also hear views on mental health, sexual orientation & expression, capitalism, veganism, colonial reparations, and a plethora of other subjects not often heard from black standpoints. 

If you’re interested, I would start with one of my three favorites: Two Black Friends in France ,One Black Male Feminist from the UK, orA Black Actress in London. 

So what does it mean to be Black in Europe? I have the same answer for someone who would ask what its like to be black in the U.S. There is no simple answer. The culture, the attitudes, the ideas, the joys, the struggles of black people are not monolithic. They are varied. They are nuanced. They may intersect but they don’t coalesce. 

I write this to say there is more to the black experience than what you have experienced personally. I think its important not only to have conversations on blackness within the US but in a global context as well. And lets remind ourselves that as Black Americans, our global visibility gives us a certain level of privilege. The next time you say #BlackLivesMatter, mentally expand that demand outside of North America. When you think of the black community, challenge yourself to think beyond your own borders. 

And if you’re able, travel abroad. Talk to people. Have these discussions. Your eyes and minds will open wider than you know. 

Conjugation, subject-verb agreement, verb tenses…is there anything more clinical than learning a language at school? While these are all necessary elements of language learning, real fluency is born from listening to native speakers in their natural element.  

I’m talking about the type of mannerisms and peculiarities even native speakers don’t know about themselves! Sure you can write a 10-page essay in impeccable french, but can you gab with the girls at the hair salon? Here are the five language nuances your teacher won’t teach you. 

1. Inflections 

Languages don’t sound the same. That’s an obvious statement. But even the inflections and vocal tones don’t necessarily translate. For example, in english, depending on the context, we don’t necessarily need to go up at the end of a question. But in french, its essential. I’ve even been told before that even though my american accent is often undetectable, I speak in an american rhythm. I’m not sure what that means but it just emphasizes how these subtle idiosyncracies can make the difference. 

2. Interjections

I always thought interjections were intuitive. Actually, I never thought about them much at all until I moved to France. But I quickly realized that interjections are a learned part of language. If you stub your toe, you’re not going to say “ouch”. You should say “Ouïe”. If you eat something gross, you’ll get quite a few looks if you say “yuck” instead of “Beurk”. Even animals aren’t safe. Ducks don’t quack and pigs don’t oink. One of my classes (embarrassingly) had me imitate the entire animal kingdom because they found the differences so peculiar. At any rate, it’s definitely worth looking these interjections up because they’re a huge part of language. 

3. Facial Expressions

The french are quite facially expressive people. It’s quite entertaining as an outsider and all expats notice this right away. My favorite expression is the dumbfounded look my students give me when they have no idea what I’ve said. They widen their eyes and puff their cheeks like a blowfish…it’s hilarious. You can see that look HEREat 0:49. But what struck me most is how uniform that look is, which indicates that is cultural more than it is individual. 

4. Hand gestures

The french start counting with their thumb instead of their index finger, the “Ok” sign actually means “zero”,  and rubbing your nose means you’re drunk. Hand gestures are definitely cultural. It’s recommended before going to any country to look these up because you may think you’re giving the thumbs up but instead you’ve just started a fight in public. Typically, you won’t find these cultural differences in a textbook. 

5. Idioms 

One day I asked a friend what she thought of this guy she was seeing. 

Her response: “Il est sympa, mais il se regarde le nombril (He’s nice but he looks at his bellybutton). 

My first thought: “….That’s weird” 

What I didn’t know (and didn’t find out until a week later) was that se regarder le nombril is an idiomatic expression that describes someone as egotistical or narcissistic. 

Idioms are a little harder to prepare yourself for because the possibilities are endless and often the expression holds very little indication of what it actually means. However, whenever you hear one try hard to remember it and challenge yourself to use it in another situation. 

Have you ever been carried by a French firefighter to the hospital?

I have. 

Last week I was set to leave for Rome for 5 days with a friend. I was practically skipping with excitement days prior. I learned rudimentary italian on Duolingo, I watched the Lizzie McGuire Movie in preparation, and I fantasized about buttery noodles I can’t pronounce while practicing various poses for Instagram. I was ready! After being in wine and cheese France for 6 months, I couldn’t wait to get a taste of another culture. 

Seven hours before take off, I get on the bus to the airport. (I live really far away and had planned to meet my friend at her house beforehand).  As I’m still searching for a seat, the bus goes Herby Fully Loaded on me and totally throws me off balance. Before I know it I’m on the floor bleeding from my leg on a bus full of a people. No one offered to help me. Gotta love the french! 

I boogie-board the bus all the way to the train station. It’s 11pm and only the most precarious characters are around. My jeans and brand new white converses are now soaked in blood. *Cue nervous laughter* as I realize I look like the Walking Dead. So I limp-run through the platform in search of a bathroom. I finally find one not occupied by a homeless man but only to find out theres no toilet paper or paper towels. Parfait. 

Being the adult that I am, I call my daddy 6,000 miles away for advice. “ You should probably go to a hospital”, he suggests. Of course. Why on earth didn’t I think of that? 

I try to call 911 and then remember that 911 is an American emergency number. What’s the French emergency number. WHY on earth don’t I know this?!?! I’m a terrible expat. 

Six hours before take off and I am officially panicking. Because I’m in a train station in Nowhereville, France, I decide to (literally) hop on the train to the next more populated station. I get there to find it equally deserted. But that’s when Antoine the Firefighter saved found me. He calls an ambulance and it arrives in lightening speed. Antoine decides to board the ambulance like the gentleman he is. Antoine is cute. I’m in love with Antoine. He starts asking me all these personal questions, like where I live, what I do, and my phone number. Naturally I start flirting back until I realize he’s just filling out out my medical release form.

I’m wheeled into the ER, large suitcase in my lap, to find everyone and their mother and their mother’s mother waiting on a doctor. All I can think about is Rome. “How long is this going to take? I have a flight to catch!” Must. Have. BUTTERY NOODLES. My desperation earns me a seat at the front of line. I even cut a sick baby and woman that looks like the Crypt Keeper but scarier. 

Five hours before take off and I finally see a doctor. His name is Doogie Howser. Seriously how old was this kid? After clumsily applying anesthesia, Doogie administers six sloppy stitches to my shin. I can tell he’s as nervous as I am because his hand is shaking and he keeps asking the real doctor, “is this good?”. I’m too anxious to care because all I can think about is my flight and the fact that my white shoes are ruined. Mind you I am documenting this entire ordeal on Snapchat because I’m a millennial and thats just what we do. 

Four hours before take-off and I am unceremoniously released from the ER with a long list of prescriptions. I have no idea how I’m supposed to pick up said prescriptions considering its 2am and none of the pharmacies are open until after I leave for Rome. “Italy has pharmacies too” , says the sassy, disgruntled front desk lady. 

Three hours before take-off, I finally meet up with my friend at her house. The airport is 25-30 minutes away from her house but because we’re cheap we decide to take an hour long night bus for 2 euros instead of a 40 euro taxi. I don’t know what type of people I expected to be on the bus at 3am….but the sketch parade was in full force. Every stop the passengers are creepier than the last. They bus lights were dimmed, the rain came down hard, and the windows were so foggy we couldn’t even see the buildings. We clung to one another the whole 60 minutes. 

Ten minutes before take-off. The anesthesia is starting to wear off, I’ve thrown back some Ibuprofen, and I’m sitting window seat next to a priest. The meds kick in just in time for take off and I realize I haven’t slept in almost 24 hours. I knock out before the plane even leaves the ground. The End. 

What Did We Learn: 

- Don’t take public transportation by yourself after midnight. 

- Always know the emergency numbers in whatever country you’re in. 

- Ask more questions on the credentials of people operating on you (if need be).

- Trust french firefighters, especially if his name is Antoine. 

*Disclaimer: The following list is full of stereotypes….that happen to have a little bit of truth to them

1. Eating On-the-Go

American Girls:

French Girls:

It’s simply not done. 

2. Smiling

American Girls:

French Girls: 

They don’t. (Unless of course you’re best friends) 

3. Giving a random person a compliment

American Girls:

French Girls:

Apparently, complimenting another woman you’re not friends with is considered creepy. Whoops.

4. On Meeting New People

American Girls:

French Girls:

Europeans in general accuse Americans of being over-the-top friendly. 

5. Waiting for your french friend

American Girl:

Still the American Girl (Several Hours Later):

On time is not in the french vocabulary. In fact in many cases, it’s considered culturally polite to be tardy. See why here

6. On Dating 

French Girls after 6 days: 

American Girls after 6 years:

Let’s try to find a middle ground. 

7. On Makeup

American Girls: 

French Girls:

Seriously I feel like RuPaul outchea! But a little foundation wouldn’t kill ya’ll…

8. Dressing Up to Run Errands

French Girls:

American Girls:

Are we the only ones that do groceries in our sweatpants? 

9. Healthy Healthing 

French Girls:

American Girls:

But seriously, where’s my donut. 

10. On Working Out

American Girls:

French Girls:

I’m pretty sure french women have never set foot in a gym. But how do you stay so thin?! 

11. A Night Out

American Girl:

French Girl:

When I first applied to teach abroad, there was a section of the application that asked if I was willing to work in a Zone Urbaine Sensible (ZUS). Sensitive Urban Zone is just a fancy term for po’ & run down. A ZUS typically has a high percentage of public housing, high rates of unemployment, and very low percentages of high school degrees. In the United States we tend to refer to these places as the inner-city, but in Paris most of these neighborhoods are found in les banlieues just outside of the city. 

So knowing all of this before applying, I reluctantly marked a check in the square box. Why on earth would I agree to this, you ask? A couple reasons. The main reason being I was desperate to get into the program and thought that since many people would say no, this might help my chances. The second reason is because I wanted to have students from diverse ethnic and cultural backgrounds. I grew up in the Washington, DC metropolitan area and I am just in general used to that type of environment. But I didn’t imagine how much I would enjoy the experience. 

So I ended up being placed in 3 schools in 2 different cities. Two of my schools are in a nice, clean middle class community. There are town hall meetings, weekly farmer’s markets, community centers, a movie theater, and everything a good ‘ole town needs to feel complete. The other school is placed in a town that…has a lot to be desired. Its funny because these cities are RIGHT next to one another but if you go 5 minutes in the other direction it feels like a different world. 

The “lesser” city is not a ZUS but its probably one more project building away from it. When I told my other schools that I was teaching there, they all got wide eyed. “Oh you’ll never be able to control those kids. They’re wild. They all come from broken homes”. Even the teachers at that very “wild” school warned me before I entered the first day that they have a hard time controlling their students. All of a sudden I was scared. Wild? Uncontrollable? Am I about to be a teacher or a lion tamer?  

“How bad could they be?”, I thought. “They’re in elementary school for crying out loud.” 

I didn’t know how I would be received that first day but I certainly was not prepared for what I got. I walked in and was pleasantly surprised to see a sea of black and brown faces. Most of them are children of first generation immigrants from North and West Africa. I even have a handful of students from Cambodia, Vietnam, and India. Their excitement was borderline fanatical. I felt like a rockstar. Rich Homie Quan was right, I DO “be feeling like the man when I walk through”. Everyone came running up to me, asking me questions, shouting my name as if they’d known me for years. I finally know how Beyonce feels on the red carpet. 

I’m sure there are several reasons why their love for me was so instantaneous. Maybe its because I’m American. Maybe it’s because I’m considerably cooleryounger than the other teachers. But I can’t help but feel like the main reason is simply because I am black. 

We all know that representation matters. Typically when we speak on representation, we are referring to movies, sports, politics or some other platform seen behind a screen. Recent uproar on the lack of diversity within the Oscars is proof of that. But rarely do we consider the affect representation might have within an interpersonal relationship. Of all three schools, among roughly 30-40 educators, I am the only teacher of color. In schools that are made up of almost 90% minorities, you can imagine the message that subconsciously sends to the students. 

I’ve learned that being Black American is also synonymous with “cool” in France. One of the first questions my 4th graders asked me that first day was if I knew how to whip and nae-nae. Immediately, almost as if rehearsed, the class sprang up and started singing and dancing that incredibly annoying popular song by Silento. The principal was shouting, attempting to calm them down but something possessed me to dance with them. Their reaction was hilarious. They clapped and cheered as if I had finished the decathlon. I was given a “cool” test and I passed with flying colors. 

They love to bombard me with stereotypical questions:

Are you related to Obama?No. 

Have you met him?No. 

Have you seen the Queen?I’m not British. 

Have you been to New York?  Yes.

Do you eat hamburgers everyday?I wish. 

Have you met a cowboy?….No..?

Do you wear flip flops?Huh? 

Have you visited Big Ben? Again, Maxime, I’m not British. 

In the first week I created a slideshow about my life in the US. I included pictures of my friends, family, doing activities growing up, etc. They went crazy over my cheerleading photo, thinking that was only something they see in movies. And they oo-ed and ah-ed when they saw how big my college football stadium was. But there were two photos in particular that really took them aback. 

One picture was a photo of my sorority sisters and I at graduation, laughing with our caps on tight and tassles swinging high in the air. I had hoped they saw what I saw: Women with degrees. ** Black Girl Magic **. 

The other photo was of me in front of the Lincoln Memorial. Unsure of their familiarity with American history, I noted that Lincoln is most known for liberating blacks from slavery during his presidency and then explained how Martin Luther King gave his famous “I Have a Dream” speech in that very same location. For some of them it went over their heads but I could tell some were reflecting quietly on this. They were wide-eyed when I said MLK has his own memorial in DC and that a Black History Museum is currently being built. 

Imagine speaking in front of black and brown children who live in a country that rarely, if ever, discusses their ancestor’s history. And then telling them that there is a country, which is predominately white, that actually gives months and national holidays dedicated to the celebration and remembrance of people of color. To us, Black/Hispanic/Asian History Month is commonplace, but in France this is a mind-blowing, foreign concept. 

After class ended that day, one of my students came up and asked where I was from. “The United States of course!” I responded. 

“No,” she corrected. “I mean where are you from originally” 

This is a question I’ve grown quite accustomed to being asked here. In France, people of color are never seen as just black, or maghrebin(people from North Africa), or asian, etc. Where your ancestral roots lie are a big part of you. I finally told her, “My family has been in the US for centuries. I don’t know which African country I’m originally from”. 

“Oh,”she said disappointedly. “I was hoping you were from Cameroon like me”. And in that moment I wished I was too. 

My students have a knack for bringing my spirits up on bad days. Thanksgiving Day was a particularly rough day for me. I was in an unhappy living situation (Read HERE), I was physically sick for the past two weeks with no medical insurance, and I was homesick on the most familial day of the year. I was eating lunch alone in the teachers lounge when one of my (favorite) 3rd grade students ran up to me and said “Happy Thanksgiving, Anndi. You are too beautiful and I love you so much”. 

The hug she gave me was filled with so much love I could have sworn I was hugging a family member. That moment was really touching because it made me realize I was having a profound affect on someone. 

It has now been 5 months teaching and the “bad” school, the one EVERYONE said I would never be able to handle, is my absolute favorite. These kids make me excited to go to work. They are so motivated to learn english. Most of the time I don’t even remember that they come from underprivileged neighborhoods. But every now and then I get reminders. 

When I notice a student is wearing the same outfit several days in a row, I remember. When I ask a student why they don’t have any materials for class, I remember. When I had planned to do an activity where the whole class draws their family tree and am told by another teacher “thats not a good idea…”, then I remember. 

Listen, this is not a Hallmark movie. I’m not Ron Clark or Hilary Swank from Freedom Writers, giving underprivileged children hope to strive for greatness in the midst of disparity. (I’m probably more akin to Jack Black in School of Rock). But I do feel like I’ve been making a positive impression in their lives and most of that I feel is because they somehow see themselves in me. I can’t pretend they don’t drive me crazy or act out from time to time. But at the end of the day, they’re good kids. They’re beautiful, they’re funny, they’re engaging, they’re sweet, and I am so happy to call them my students. 

It’s no secret that french is hard to pronounce. From the throaty R to the nasally vowels, you can’t tell if you’re really speaking french or just a bad caricature of Pepe le Pew. I’ve taken french for 9 years and I still make pronunciation mistakes daily. Here’s a list of some words I’ve said incorrectly recently.

Canard(duck)can easily becomeconnard(a**hole)

Cannes (city in France) can easily becomecon(idiot)

Chat(cat)can easily become chatte(p***y) 

Décidé(decided)can easily become décédé (deceased)

Gare (train station) can easily become guerre (war)

L’amour (love) can easily become la mort (death)

Pêcher (fish) can easily become pécher (to sin)

What happened when I mispronounced these words? Usually…nothing. Either the other person would politely correct me or I would realize later that their sheepish grin meant I probably said something slightly inappropriate. Its okay to make mistakes though! We’re human. And more than likely you will get a funny story out of it (: 

Brace yourselves. This is the story of how I made a slow descent into madness. 

I met the Maline* family the third day I arrived in France. I had already skyped the mother twice the week prior and had fallen in love with her vivacious spirit. Marie*, we will call her. She was warm and sunny. She had long auburn curls and an infectious smile. I could just tell she was the most popular mom in the neighborhood. She already had two babysitters, but she was looking for a live-in english tutor. She assured me that my  *sole* responsibility was to help them with their english homework and babysit them every now again. Weekends were completely mine and I received weekly pay on top of free housing, a phone, and money for transportation. Who would turn down a deal like that? 

The Warm Welcome

Three months ago, Marie picked up my mother and me from our hotel promptly at noon. Her energy was through the roof. She was excited to meet us and my energy quickly matched hers. Their home was something of Martha Stewart perfection. Every room was immaculate, carefully constructed to allude the perfect balance between elegance and modesty. 

Hugging the entire back of the house were 5 shuttered French doors, which on this first visit were completely open to allow in the sun’s natural light. In the backyard were two little boys, ages 6 and 9, bonding over soccer with their father. In the living room was the eldest daughter, age 12, intensely focused, practicing the drums for an upcoming recital. 

What I loved most about my surroundings were the decorative artifacts in every corner of the house. Congolese masks in the office, Russian dolls in the den, Japanese art above the oven. They were trying to make a statement, for sure. “Not only are we well traveled, but we fully embrace other cultures within our home!” Honestly I dug it.  It was a nice touch to an otherwise vanilla home. 

After having a 5 course meal complete with red wine AND Champagne, Marie asked me when I was planning to move home. HOME. Whether this was a result of broken english or not, I took this as a sign that she already saw me as one of the family. I looked over to my mother & had an Orphan Annie moment. 

I moved in a couple days later, believing fully that this was the best gift I could have received in my move.

I was wrong. 

The Red Flags 

The first couple weeks were great. I was adjusting well to my teaching job. The kids were well behaved (for the most part). Marie and I got into the habit of having late night talks after dinner before her husband came come (which was often super late). We would watch TV, laugh, discuss cultural differences & sometimes even share a glass of wine. It was a very relaxed environment. She even encouraged that I go out more.

“You’re young!”, she said. “Paris is a beautiful city. See it every chance you get. Make friends! Meet boys”.

(Looking back on it, these late night talks are what ultimately hurt us. At the end of the day, Marie was my employer. And sharing a glass of wine every night with your employer blurs quite a few lines of professionalism.) 

One day, Marie fired one of the babysitters and needed me to drive her kids to and from activities on Mondays and Thursdays. I would have been happy to do so…had the family had automatic vehicles. I had never driven a manual car in my life and I certainly didn’t want to put her kids in potential danger. Because I wanted so badly for this situation to work out, I decided to take driving lessons. I thought it would only take a couple classes…but it didn’t. STICK SHIFT IS HARD. I had to learn how to drive an automatic car, in french, in a country with completely different driving rules. And Those lessons were not only stressful but they were costly (about $90 per class), and the Malines didn’t help me with any of it. 

What’s worse is Marie came to the conclusion not to pay me the first couple of weeks until I had gotten my driving together. She somehow convinced me that this was okay. 

During a late night heart to heart she admitted that her last au pair quit after only two weeks. When I asked why, she said, “she told me my kids were horrible” and started to tear up. I hugged her and said “I can’t believe someone would say something like that!” But I should have known then. 

She was very particular about how I kept my room, which I thought was odd. She asked me to deep clean my room AND my bathroom every Saturday morning (sweep, vaccum, mop, dust, wash and iron my bedsheets etc). Sometimes I even came home to my things put in different places without my permission…

Toussaints Break finally came and Marie insisted I go on a trip somewhere. I decided to go to Barcelona & London with a friend. When I left, a smiling family of five was waving me a bon voyage. When I returned, a monster was at the front door. 

Where Everything Went Left

I got back on a Saturday evening from an amazing trip. I couldn’t wait to tell the kids of my adventures. When I rang the doorbell, Marie opened the door with contempt in her eyes. “I need to speak with you”, she spat. 

She led me into the kitchen and told. me. off. 

“Who do you think you are?!! This is not a hotel!! You can’t just come and go whenever you please!! The room wasn’t clean enough before you left!!! You told me you were coming back in the morning?? THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE. THIS IS A FAMILY, WE HAVE STRUCTURE AND YOU MUST ABIDE BY OUR RULES”

Let me first explain myself. Yes, I did return earlier than I had anticipated. BUT I had informed her of this change THREE days prior on the phone, which in my opinion is ample time. As far as my room not being “clean enough”…I call BS, because I spent a good 2.5 hours making sure that room was spotless. 

But she wasn’t yelling at me for those reasons. I knew it. She knew it. I saw through her. She was mad I went on vacation instead of there to help with the kids. Thats it. Just passive aggressive BS. 

It was clear she had been planning this speech for days. I stood there awkwardly, confused and upset, trying not to tear up in front of this woman and her whole entire family (including her in-laws who were visiting for the weekend). I haven’t been yelled at like that by another adult since I was probably 12. And thats exactly how I felt in that moment - like a child. No longer was I another adult in that house. And no longer did Marie treat me as such. 

After that awkwardness, they all went out for a celebratory dinner with the grandparents. Since the in-laws were staying in my room, I was sent to sleep in the attic. I wish I was kidding. 

This Woman Crazy 

From that moment on, our relationship was strained. I tried to have several conversations to make amends because I wanted it all to work out. And I can tell she was visibly trying too. But that one conversation ruined everything. She continued to just give me more chores that were not discussed when I interviewed. I did their grocery shopping, their laundry, I cooked. I woke the kids up in the morning, helped them get dressed, did their homework. In short, I became the Help. And from that point on everything I did was wrong. EVERY night, she would come home and have something to say about something. Some times they were valid, most times they were straight up petty and contradictory. 

“ Why did you wake the boys at 7:18, they must be up at 7:15! I don’t like the way you load the dishwasher. The french doors should be closed before 6pm. You forgot to set the dessert spoons on the table.Lara’s english is still terrible, you must not be doing a good job. You forgot to mop behind the dresser.My children don’t eat meat at night. Why did the children not eat the chicken I prepared for dinner? Can you make a tuna tart for lunch? What do you mean you don’t know how…I thought you said you could cook? Did you lie about everything? Whats wrong with you? ”

Also, being an au-pair just all around sucks. You are not a glorified babysitter…you are their substitute mother. A typical day went like this:

• 6:30am wake up, get dressed. Open all the french doors for some reason this was always such a task. Make breakfast and set the table.
  
• 7:15 wake up the boys and help them get dressed. (When said kids are 6 and 9 years old this is easily the most exhausting part of your day.)
  
• 8:15take them to school 
  
• 9:30am - 3:00pm Go to my own school because I’m a teacher, remember?
  
• 4:30 pick the boys up from school
  
• 5:00 snack time
  
• 5:15 help them with homework
  
• 5:45 start the laundry/ play games with the kids
  
• 6:30 start cooking/ make sure the kids take their shower
  
• 7:15dinner
  
• 7:45 send them to bed, and read a bedtime story
  
• 8:15 finish laundry, fold clothes 
  
• 9:00 the time Marie would come home and have a long list of things she felt I did terribly and I would pretend to listen and/or care
  
• 9:30pm …..
  

I had to get out of there, ya’ll. I wasn’t sleeping well. I was resentful and mean. I was living with an emotional terrorist. I felt constantly uncomfortable and uneasy. You shouldn’t feel uncomfortable where you lay your head at night. I wasn’t enjoying my abroad experience that way. On top of that, the kids were super rude and disrespectful. I got hit, spit on, and slapped too many times to count. But what do you expect from children who have had 8 nannies and barely see their parents during the week?

In late November, I told Marie that I was unhappy with the job and wanted to leave. She seemed just as enthusiastic at the proposition as I was. She begged me to stay until Winter Break however, because she couldn’t find a replacement. Being the overly nice person I am, I agreed. A couple days later she texted me, TEXTED me, to be out of the house by the end of the week. 

Thus began my mad, mad dash to find housing…which I will blog about at a later date. But just know that was the most stressful situation of my life and I didn’t actually find a place to live until one week after I had moved out of the Maline household and only one day before I left for the US for Christmas. 

Conclusion

I would never recommend au-pairing to anyone. I agree that I unfortunately got stuck with a bad family situation. But even so, au-pairing is exploitation. These families are taking in young girls typically ages 18-25 that don’t speak their language very well and are paying them terribly. If you’re 18-25 you should spend your time abroad…having fun! Not being someone’s play-mother. Like Marie ironically once told me, “You’re young! Paris is a beautiful city. See it every chance you get. Make friends! Meet boys”.

So I’m gonna do just that. 

Jamaica is more beautiful than anything conjured in my wildest of dreams. I often visit rivers and coves, not just to swim, but to simply exist, be still, and listen to the sounds of nature… to feel the vibration of the Earth and energy around me.

I feel so blessed to spend my life here, exploring her history and secrets, her curves and sweetness, her pride and privilege.

Jamaica has changed my life & tremendously aided in the healing of my trauma. I am forever indebted to this land, the culture, and these incredible people. Thank you.

Jah bless.