Najois

When I first came to Europe from Africa, with my aunt, I sharply remember how I found everything weird. I wasn’t like the other kids. I was there and well aware.

It started in the airplane. I remember how we were served peas, and I didn’t know how to eat with a fork. In Togo, we eat our food with our hands. Which is the tastiest way to eat it, to me.

I couldn’t manage to get these tiny green balls on my fork. As I struggled,I asked my aunt: ‘ What are those?’ and she replied: ‘ Des petits pois’. ‘Hmm, ok’, I said, not understanding why you needed to fight with your food.

I wasn’t accustomed to Western food.
Everybody was white. That was weird to me. But their hair seemed to float in the wind. I was totally enthralled by that and wanted to have the same hair.
When in the car, I used to put a towel or scarf on my head, and open the window, to feel the breeze blow through my self-invented wig of sleek hair.

You might find this sentence weird looking at me, but if your entire family is African, you also see yourself as such.
But I was as curious as I am today, and asked all the questions I could. I wanted to know everything about these new people.

This picture shows me experiencing snow for the first time. My aunt had bought me this fantastic pink faux-fur, which would keep me warm and fashionable. And yes, as a small child, I was as much into my clothes as I am now. My little bonnet had a pompom, and I hated it. I pleaded every day to have it cut off, but my aunt declined.

A little slice of life.