Monday, October 29, 2012

My own philosophy, Kinshasa 2008


05-June 2008
 Well it’s been a whole month here now. The Lord is good, we found out (I never said it here) that the school here is free, as I’m a French citizen it’s paid for by the government across the board...so that gives me three months now till I start. It’s going to be difficult, it’s going to be a challenge….but if I really want to be able to live here for now, and learn fluent French it seems that this is going to be my best option. I don’t want to be scared away just because it’s going to be really hard….I want to see it as a challenge and I want to learn, in every way, to fit in with the French system, to speak and to learn French obviously, and to get a foretaste of what study life is like.
Mike is coming too…we just heard this morning.....next week on the 15th. I don’t want to say finally…heh but we did think he was coming awhile ago. And then the rest of this home’s members are going to be coming back too… I’ve become too much of a hermit…once you get used to your time being fully your own, you get rather attached to it….and all the things you can fill it up with. I’m weird, I know, but I think change is good for me again…I need a fresh new start from time to time, even if just in little ways, if not a major change of sensory to keep me moving and thinking and trying new things….and not thinking life is completely blah, no matter how perfectly I manage to plan it and then enact it out.
I read something very interesting, I want to copy it out here, or in my little literary quotes collection (that is growing, I’m always finding new things to copy down…profound thoughts are endless)
The only thing that you have to be afraid of is that the sky will fall on our heads tomorrow…but as they say tomorrow never comes…so we really have nothing to fear at all.
That is the best one of all (among many), why worry, it doesn’t help, what are you worrying about anyway, if the sky were to fall you’d be just as powerless to prevent it if you had worried all about it or if you had been blindly oblivious that it might ever fall, indeed, it would fall whether or not you thought it could ever fall or not if it meant to fall, and if it is to continue without falling, it will do so without or with your worrying that it might fall anyway.
The point is don’t worry. I need to stop philosophizing. I thought I’d never say that.
Or I need to write a book, a great big book of all of Natalie Anne’s philosophies…that will be a best seller and renown among the world’s finest literary minds forever and will immortalize me in their hall of fame forever and in the meantime make me rich and famous. Or scrap the best seller part, I’ve always been too off- beat and original to ever really have lots of people reading me, I just can be distinguished, by those who actually can get through my book and reach that same level of understanding. Keep the good money I’ll get for it though, and all the renown and eventually immortalization.
I'll end here with the two favorite paintings I did here, one of two of our orphaned kids ("les deux soeurs"), and one of the little Kikimi market we pass by every time we go visit the kids.

Musings and Beaux-Arts, Kinshasa, 2008

May 28, 2008


It’s been a long day. Sometimes I wonder what I’m here for, why I bother when everything is so hard, things crawl, and not only sometimes, they just come to a stop completely. You can’t rely on things to work, and you always have to have a backup plan-you can’t only be so set on doing your one thing that you then freak out when it doesn’t happen, when things just don’t work. You just have to wait awhile, you have to be patient, and only do what you can. With persistence things do and can pay off, but they won’t happen immediately.
Kinshasa, view from our yard

We never seem to appreciate what we really have. In other countries, the food is nicer, there’s usually more of it…its easier to make and prepare…Woolworths is known for its ready meals. Result: people get fat, we eat too much of what is actually not good for us, full of chemicals and preservatives….it tastes good yes, but that’s what happens.
Life is easier there. It’s not so difficult to do little things, the power won’t suddenly shut off on you (although in south Africa it’s happened to us quite a few times…it’s still Africa I guess), you won’t be forced to go haul stored water when you need it-- running water is a commodity that you truly appreciate when you have it here.

But result: in those countries, we take too much for granted…we become lost when even the littlest thing goes wrong…while here you learn to deal with the problems as best you can.
It makes people lethargic in its own way there…people don’t do anything that takes too much effort or will take too long, or do something they’ve never tried or aren’t used to… because they are too used to having things come easy…and after awhile you then don’t want to do anything that isn’t easy.

Here it’s a challenge. Things don’t just come to you, you have to fight to keep working and running what you have.
The result of the easy life is that you get bored, when there is no effort involved, there is nothing to keep you interested, to give you a sense of full accomplishment.
City train

There is no beauty in the little things there, because there they are just that, little things—and so we don’t take notice of them. But when every little thing is hard earned….and you know what it is like, in a very real and present sense to do without them—suddenly everything becomes more precious, you take more joy and pride in the smallest things done because you understand how easily they could just as have not been done. You learn to appreciate what you have in the very real realization that you could have a lot less, more so than someone who spends their time looking always in the shop window, seeing better things than what you own, and how much better you’d like your things to be.
Little bird in our garden

Appreciate life—you do more when you hear of death, than when you just hear about the problems others face and how tiresome their lives can be.




Beaux-Arts I went with Mom to the sculpture department at the Beaux-Arts de Kinshasa and worked it out with one of the students there to teach me a few times a week. So I'm learning modelage! Unfortunately, after working on my first little statue, learning how to make a plaster of it, and setting it on the windowsill to dry... someone stole it, can you believe it? It broke my little heart. But everyone was so sweet and felt so sorry for me, gave me some more clay to start again.

Manioc, Lycee Descartes, and my friend Floriane--Kinshasa 2008

26th of May, 2008 Well I had manioc for the first time this evening. It tastes and looks a little bit like pop, which I like (in the right setting obviously, and in small quantities), but it has a little extra added flavour, which develops into a sort of bitter aftertaste. Pop is a little plainer and purer (shall I say), and they put salt in it when they make it. This one you don’t apparently, but I guess if it was mixed with a nice sauce to sort of mask the taste, it could be alright. We had it with fish though, but that apparently is the traditional way to eat it (obviously, as those are their chief food sources anyway, the cassava and fishing). Not really my favorite choice for a meal..but it was an experience.
cassava, from which you make manioc
Foufou, the real thing!
Well Joe said it tasted like dough that hasn’t been cooked, my dad told us that manioc actually has arsenic in it (which apparently makes you a little funny in the brain…if you eat it for your whole life)…which also apparently is a cure for aids. Mylene liked it though. My mom’s the funniest though, after telling us before how bad and terrible it was and how it was so completely unedible when she tried it the last time she came here…said it was quite nice with lemon on it and that she could get used to it….that it was good practice for if we ever got invited anywhere. Of course with all that arsenic in it…if it doesn’t kill us it’s bound to be healthy as apparently it also prevents against malaria(or something like that), and has some other properties that help cure cancer. The wonder food!
I’m tired, and I have to get up at 5:30 tomorrow (well I’m pushing it to 5:40…5:45…I set two alarms just in case) to go meet with the principal of the Lycee Descartes school…and see if they’ll take me…and what procedures we have to go through to enroll for a scholarship. The Lord knows best, even though it does seem like a great option right now if it comes through…He knows if it’s a good plan or not, and I guess I just have to trust and pray that it will work out alright. I’m praying for it….that whatever happens it will be the perfect solution that will help me to learn French fluently and have a life with the outside world at the same time. He knows….and will work out whatever is best, because He said that those who choose the very best are those who leave the choices up to Him, and I don’t want to push for something that is not going to turn out to be the better choice in the long run. I know so little, and I don’t want to continually be getting it wrong, time and our lives are precious. I know you’ll have it Your way, and that Your way will be best for me and for my life in the long run.  

My friend Floriane Well, I ended up not staying very long at lycee Descartes, but I made a wonderful friend--Floriane. Her mom so kindly drove me home pretty much every night and she helped me with my "devoirs" and all the stuff I had a hard time understand. She came with me once to Kikimi and was just great with the kids!

Hitch-hiking, Grand Hotel and cultural event--Kinshasa, May 2008

10th of May,2008 My parents went out early this morning to go and get the car fixed….and speak to the director of the alliance française to try and get French courses for me. I escaped going with them…as they realized they could come back earlier, and when they did, we (me, my mom, and mylene) left for the grand hotel for the fete we were invited to.
Well, as the car completely didn’t work (we were hoping it would maybe be fixed later on in the afternoon) off we were to try and hitchhike (with our nice clothes). It was amazing though how the timing of everything worked out so wonderfully…we had only just stopped to wait for a car after walking a little ways when a nice medical van (with aircon!) pulled up and gave us a ride. He took us a ways, and then let us off, but as soon as we had waved goodbye a taxi bus (you know those very crowded door falling off the hinges, homey little traditional transport) stopped right in front of us with Bibiche (one of the girls they give classes to, and the one who invited us to this event at the grand hotel) inside who told us to come with her. So we joined her on the bus, (where mylene said the salvation prayer with everyone there) and after we took a taxi (she insisted on paying for everything) and so we arrived.
Yes, true to African time…though it was supposed to start at 3:00 it only started at 5:00, the event was 2 hours late. It was a good thing we had only left the house at 3:00 or we would have been waiting there all that time…although maybe it is precisely that attitude that makes everyone else so late. As soon as we came in Bibiche’s uncle greeted us and took us to sit over on the row of chairs by the side of the stage ( bright yellow covered, extra special seats of honor I suppose) and right away asked if Mylene and my mom could say a little something and present some of the gifts and a trophy. Oh yes, well this whole thing was about an actor (I hadn’t really caught that before but I had my mom translate what was happening a bit while we waited), very well known here and in Brazzaville, a sort of comedian and this thing was in his honor. Anyways, well we seemed to be the only white people there (mylene said that was why they asked us to present the gifts when they saw us, it’s always like that if you’re white) except for a couple older men in front of us (who turned out to be directors of the main TV station here, who had supported this actor (and one of them gave a speech later). I asked Bibiche about the course she was doing…. she speaks pretty fair English, and she actually translated a lot for me of the speeches later, she said she was happy to practice her English, very nice of her anyways. Even though I understand bits and pieces of what people are saying when they are speaking French, and sometimes enough to get the basic gist of what is being said…when it comes to speaking I always get caught blank over whatever words it is I need to say. Even if I understand them when someone else says them, when I have to put the same words together myself, my mind always goes blank over the important parts….so I can’t say anything over a few words. I guess I just must keep trying. The girls here are really pretty, and they really know how to dress up….the blacks really like dressing up, but they are quite posh in their own way here. I felt quite out of place actually….a bit underdressed…I’m just not used to really dressing up….especially when there’s the conservative issue….I just don’t have the right clothes for it. But what I don’t get is lots of the black girls show their shoulders….some of them with quite little tops and straps….anyways. I haven’t seen any tribal dancing before, well you know the whole grass skirt costume thing, for some reason we never went for anything like that before in south Africa….but it was an experience I had now I suppose.
They really know how to isolate their butts….one of the guys got up and was revolving his hips like the Cubans (like the little Havana nights man…they got it from the Africans actually). They all love to dance, once they got started, all of the actors and actresses from this guy’s group got up in a big line and were all dancing away….some of them we saw at the door before you could tell were just itching to dance the whole time, kept breaking out in a little move whenever a good song came on during the long wait. I remember now, one day a while ago we saw in a truck on our way home a bunch of guys dancing in the back (there was traffic so the truck wasn’t moving too fast). I guess it’s in all of them here, the dance in their bodies. When we were watching that documentary about Mabuto a few nights ago, the thing he loved to have was organize a bunch of his people to do these big dances for him, where they’d all sing and dance singing glorious praises to mabuto….but that’s another story. So today they danced, and they lined up to give presents to this actor and have their photos taken with him. Actually he’s not just an actor, he writes plays or something, comedy shows but all about and set in Congolese life (in the jungles and villages and stuff), but he was all dressed up (big white coat and sort of ski boots, with this kind of rasta hat, big glasses, and a made up white beard). I guess that must be his classic character he’s known for or something, because one of the trophies they gave him was like a little statue of himself, with that whole getup. It was raining by the time we started to go….and yes we didn’t have a car….someone had gone already to try and get us a taxi but had so far been unsuccessful. We were some of the first ones leaving, but as everything had run late we realized that we needed to get back…..however it was that we were planning to get home. Mylene saw a car waiting outside the door and so ran to it to ask the driver if we could get a lift I presume…but it was a little awkward as waiting right there outside too were two girls…looking a little strangely at Mylene. When their mom joined them we realized it was their car…so Mylene ran back to the entrance and asked the mother if we could get a lift with them as it was raining and we couldn’t get a taxi from the hotel. They kindly agreed and we squeezed into the back with them… and it turned out they had quite an interesting story. They had just been at the hotel holding a press conference to spread publicity on their dad’s death, who had been murdered just a couple months ago in Goma where they were from. One of the daughters was a lawyer in Belgium (the mom was half-Belgian half Congolese, and her husband half Russian and Congolese) and their French was very refined (I didn’t understand much of what they were saying but my mom told me afterwards). They were trying to fight to get some support, as they said there has been a lot more killings than just their dad in that area, him because he said things against the corruption and against poaching and things and made some enemies, but there was almost a mafia there using the reputation Goma has for its violence to continue these things even though it was in the past now.
The other daughter had two little boys, and the younger one, the 5 year old, had said that he had a dream where he saw his grandfather, and he was telling him how beautiful heaven was and that he had to tell his mom and grandmother the things he said and to tell them that he was happy there. She even said that they were all sure of his presence and that he was helping them now. It’s a confirming thing almost to hear things like that for yourself from other people who have experienced things like this and believe in a life after death, outside of just the family testimonies and what we believe, that other people come to the same belief and conclusions. It was very recent this happening to them, and very touching, mylene and my mom were sure it was just the lord having us meet them right there and then….the mom even invited them apparently to go and stay with her if they ever go to Goma. Then after dropping them off at their place, she sent the driver to take us all the way home….an amazing godsend because finding a taxi in that weather would have been most difficult….(we drove by the enormous group of people huddled around the gas station waiting for taxis.) So many amazing things happen here, often just what could seem like ordinary things but here It’s different….you notice things more here, the little things. Out of the thousands of ways that things can go wrong here, when things go right it just seems so amazing I guess, but it’s only proof that we are well taken care of and that there is something that stays with us wherever we go. It’s so easy to ignore little things like that in other places…where everything is just sort of worked out and relatable to something. But here it’s not, everything is different and it’s not the same kind of world. Just the way things part and open for you with the people here when you say that you’re missionaries, the way people give so much respect for what you’re doing is in itself amazing….but there are so many other things that just by natural circumstances should end in a mess and in failure for these guys…but they’ve stuck it out, and they are still taken care of and things keep opening, and things happen and as helpless as they may sometimes seem, their work still thrives. I want to go to the market place again (the one we went to on Saturday, the 17th (when they celebrate being free from Mobutu) after trying to get into the palais de marbre, but when that didn’t work we went for a little walk to the street where there are just rows and rows of furniture making stalls, and all these groups of guys at work, other ones trying to sell you their couches. They even had one artist we saw, who was doing a clay model to pour copper into later. Anyways, it would have made a nice picture, the artisan street….and then after that when you go out the gate and past the wall it was almost like going into the jungle….with all the trees and plants ahead of us…and scattered along that walk some of the old Belgian houses….a little taste of Europe in an odd place. They also had the ‘meteo’ building, (apparently it used to be the best weather station building in Africa when the Belgians occupied congo and were using it). Ok I’m getting bitten by mosquitoes now and I have to go…

Sunday, October 28, 2012

French school and commercial street--May 2008



13th May2008
I was out all day again, we went to the French embassy for the ‘immatriculation’ and then to the French School to find out about French courses and my actual enrolling next year. We got a lot done…but the sun really wears you down after an entire day out….I don’t think I could be doing too much of that day in and day out.
Alain, Bohney, my mom, Malu, Joseph and Joe
We went to the rue commercial (by the market place) afterwards, and my dad got pick pocketed…this guy just stuck out his elbow to hold him back when there were a few people pressing in and fished his hand into his shirt pocket…not very subtle but effective….if there had been a little more in his pocket. Thankfully there wasn’t,(his passport was in another pocket…we had all that kind of stuff with us as we had just been to the embassy) he only lost 100 francs (meant for the car guard)….but it still minded us to be careful, we had been warned before that that street was notorious for pick pockets. 
Kinshasa street

The people here are quite respectful, when they talk to you they are a lot more polite, their whole manner and language is much more polite than the way people in South Africa talk to you, and even just in other places. But there’s still plenty of crooks, even if they’re all smiley and nice.

I haven’t been whistled at yet (which you can’t escape in south Africa) while walking down the street, although I had a few people blowing me kisses…which is a little more disturbing for me (whistling seems normal and you just ignore it by now, but people trying to smooch the air to get your attention a little less…but I suppose it’s all the same). One guy after blowing kisses actually came up to our car and started talking to my dad telling him that I was very beautiful….while his friend came and stuck his hand in the window on the other side and tried to snitch my bag….I grabbed it back before he could thankfully, (as losing my passport would have been a rather bad thing) and they went away when the light turned. But my dad wasn’t very helpful, instead of clearly telling him that he was a protective Italian father and that what was he even doing looking at his daughter and that he’d kick his butt from here to cairo if he didn’t go away, he ‘sneakily’ told him my name was anne when the guy asked what my name was and just laughed and said ok to his praises. Not very bothered…I suppose he feels he has to be nice because he’s a missionary….even when he got robbed today he just figured that it would have been a donation to help the poor anyway.
Malu came over (well was over here already) and stayed for dinner and he had a nice long chat with my parents and mylene about politics, of which I tried to follow. I suppose it’s good for me to hear as much French as I can; when I can understand some of it it’s ok, because then it keeps me guessing for the other half and I’m not completely clueless as to what is going on, but sometimes it all just goes way over my head.
Well goodnight, more to do tomorrow, would have liked to write a little more, about the sights, sounds, and smells..and my impression of the school… and how sick I felt after being in the sun all day, and how we found a library (albeit a small and somewhat stingy one), and how mylene was so excited about the movies in French (she hasn’t watched any in a long time because she doesn’t understand properly the English ones), and how I got mad at my mom again, and how I luckily got to skip fish for dinner as mylene made for just me and her some eggs. And the strange dreams I have here, that are always somewhat scattered by the time I write this after a full day of frying my brain.
But from doing all these things, I am too tired now to actually tell you about them….a day has many things in it and you cannot record them all. Sweet dreams.

Congo River and "El Patio"

11th May 2008 Where to start… well today we were out pretty much all day. We went to go see the Congo river, which I took lots of photos of, discreetly of course, as actually if someone sees you doing it they’ll shout at you and take your camera away. The street running right next to and facing the river is where all the embassies are, and around the corner (area which name I forgot) is where most of the white community lives. It was a little odd, and relieving almost to see some other white faces (including a nice hunk of a runner jogging down the road, although he must not have too much in brains because I don’t know why anyone would want to be out running right smack in the heat of the day….but his bod sort of makes up for that I suppose…talk about dedication). Well if there are a few more like that around here somewhere, (hopefully wherever I’m going to) then it should make life quite a bit more exciting heh…





 Anyways, we had lunch out there, and then we went to their Bible class at the ‘El Patio’ (a restaurant/hotel that lets them use one of their rooms every Sunday). The class was supposed to start at 2:00, but only Alain was there (their friend who had kept up the classes when they were gone)....and true to African time ( at least 2 hours after everyone else’s) everyone else only showed up at 4:00. We had just been about to get ready to leave when they came, but we started a class anyway….I didn’t understand most of it, anything in French too technical or specialized always goes way over my head, but it got pretty lively towards the end when they were all discussing the second chance, salvation after death topic, and I tried to get my mom to translate a little so I caught a bit of it. Oh, one of the guys there, Goge I think his name is, is a black version of Omar Shariff….well not identical obviously, but it just struck me that he looked like him….he could be a double I think if Omar Shariff ever had to act in a movie where he became black...(...can’t think of a story line on that one…) but he definitely had the nose, the high cheekbones, even the deepish voice and the very politeness. Anyways, we tried to leave the place at 5, of course everything took a little longer (one more guy only showed up around 5…one of my mom’s old friend, so he probably wanted to see her, but it does seem a bit ridiculous being that late….rather not come at all, but like Alain told us time doesn’t really seem to bother them), well anyways we got home around 6:00. Black girls are so pretty here, with very delicate features too. My mom seems to think some of the black men are quite good looking too…... Someone very cheerily when they said goodbye to me, (ah Natalie, congo hey, welcome to congo, it’s a wonderful country, you like it here, yes, ) asked me what’s something you like here about congo? I’m afraid I was a little speechless….I never know what to say, of all the funny things I think about when I think about any place, I never really know how to answer that question. It’s not like I don’t like it here, there are things I am happy about and am finding to enjoy, even though it has its frustrating times and I know I don’t want to stay here forever…..nothing honestly came to me at that second. (the weather eh) and we sort of changed the subject when I said it wasn’t as hot as I expected, and my dad started telling him how it was much more humid in madras). I know I like the people, like I said before, I like my freedom, the time I have, it’s something new and different to where I was before, but then at other times, the people are just as slow and full of problems as you’d find anywhere, some things take so much more time here and there are many things back in south Africa that were so much easier than here. But again, this is getting to how I find the situation affects me personally, not Congo itself, and none of these things are what you can explain abstractly to a stranger like that. My standard response in South Africa to people of why I was coming here was that I wanted to learn French…..and I’d only be trying it out for a few months. True enough yes, but that was before I knew what it was really going to be like….or at least before I had experienced it. I suppose what I like most about the country itself, is the feeling that you get with places like this, that its raw, that it’s so different, that there’s so much potential, there’s so much to learn and see about it, the things on my list pretty much I suppose. You almost feel like you’re in the middle of nowhere….. . I know I like that you get the feeling that you are really a part of or at least actually first hand seeing, if I’m not so much a part, people that are really doing something, who can really say that they are missionaries. They are helping people, and they have sacrificed to be in and love the place that they are in. They are giving people the spiritual side of life and teaching and training them to pass on our beliefs to others, and they have convinced and taught a lot of people. I’m always going to take Jesus with me, I can’t deny what I’ve been taught or the way I’ve been raised even if I find high fault with it now, there are certain things that I am always going to see in life and never going to be able to get away from.

Mylene's birthday, Kinshasa--May 2008


May 9th, 2008
New word for the day: bribe (in lingala) = coca-cola Well….not a bad day. The power was off half the night last night but I woke up and jumped in the pool first thing this morning….to cool off ( someone else was in the shower and I couldn’t wait). It’s mylene’s birthday tomorrow, she wants to go see the monkeys (at least that’s what I understood) so we might go out somewhere or other then…I haven’t been out in the town yet (sorry, the city) so will be interesting to see what we can see, although I have feeling most of it is going to look just like every other African country’s big city that I’ve been too….with maybe even a few reminders of India. Why are all poor countries so similar….

It’s raw, patient, constant, but unpredictable, new, desperate, ridiculous, peaceful, strange, kind, but limited, learning, changing, continuing...

I shall add more descriptions when I think of them, maybe when I see a little more and live here a little more…want to see how much I can see that it is….well for now that’s Congo.



May 10 2008

Joe is a polish uncle Philip....of course he’s a little different, because he’s polish I suppose. No, anyways, we celebrated his and mylene’s birthdays today (his is in a couple days)…and they both told their life stories.
Mylene is an amazing person, and she’s been through and done a lot in her life.
Joe’s was interesting too…seeing as he was born and raised in communist Poland. Listening to their stories you can really see why they decided to serve the Lord, because for them it was really the best and more fulfilling thing they could do.


Joe, Mylene and cheese cake

The cheese cake was good…well a little sweet and more meringue than cheesy, but good, especially considering what my mom had to work with…
 


My hair is cut, as of today of course, and my mom very kindly did it for me. Didn’t come out exactly how I wanted, was quite frustrated with it for a little while (one side of the bangs came out cut quite differently than the other) but it doesn’t actually look so bad, it will grow anyhow, and my mom did quite a nice job otherwise.
Felt like a bit of a waste of an afternoon, especially when I was so worried about it, but I’m glad I just did it, it looks nicer than before when it was all scraggly.
Apparently they have a contact to cut hair (whom I just found out is rather good) but I wasn’t sure about trusting my hair to one of the hairdressers here (I thought they’d only cut black people’s hair) but anyways we’ll try them next time maybe. 
Hair cut



Our yard
I looked up the Congo and DRC today (to add to my ever growing list of new interests of information, I don’t know when I’ll ever catch up with it all) and I think I have a few thought new words to add to my little list. Stricken, untimely, regretted, abused, lowered, still un-sinking, needed, resourceful (ok a little double-meaning for that one), clinging, stubbornly proud (I’m afraid the last ones refer at least to our guard, who besides in other things, won’t come and ask us for food….too proud for that apparently…and if we won’t bring it to him at the time he likes to have it, will say that he doesn’t want it at all. The problem was that tonight we completely forgot to bring him some dinner after ours….and so when my mom remembered at 11 o clock….of course far too late to reasonably give it to him, still she felt so bad that we had forgotten about him that she felt we had to still go give him some dinner. Of course he said he didn’t want it, they probably had just woken him up, but I think they convinced him to take it in the end, he hadn’t eaten all day….shame poor guy, anyways there’s the explanation of stubbornly proud at least).