Moving out

Spent a great week on holiday- stayed at Nico's parents' house in Montaigu and popped along to Mont St Michel, St Malo and Nantes. Got back to Blois last weekend and started the process of cleaning, sorting, throwing stuff away. How did I accumulate so much stuff in the space of a mere 7 months? (mostly clothes, to my shame!) One huge suitcase, 2 boxes of miscellaneous things, 2 huge supermarket bags of clothes, a raclette maker, a cafetiere... oh dear! Hope it all fits in the car on the way back.

Susan and I cleaned the house fastidiously, even behind the oven and the washing machine-truly disgusting, a year's worth of grime! We made the rendez-vous with M. Bride, our landlord for 2.30 on Friday. He forgot! Honestly, that man. He came later in the day after we rearranged a time. He walks in, all smiles, asks if everything is still in the house (like we'd steal any of the furniture!) and promptly writes us each a cheque for the caution (deposit) without checking anything. All our cleaning unappreciated! tuh. He's clearly rich enough not to care!

So now I'm all moved out now, staying with Nico ... the parents and the brother arrived yesterday and we'll be doing some touristy stuff like chateau, wine-routes etc... then we leave.

Scary.

The last week

My days seem to be a mix of fast and slow lately- either rapid-fire minutes or lengthy moments that drag; all in all quite disconcerting- I woke up this morning to the realisation that I've already said goodbye to 5 people and I've had my last day of work.

Easter last weekend was lovely. Went to church with Susan and Rose and then had a rather fancy lunch of caille aux raisins (some kind of bird... im not entirely sure) cooked by my lovely boyfriend. Monday was a holiday so all of us went to Chambord for a picnic. Absolutely perfect sunny day- we ate strawberries and played frisbee and got sunburnt, and I made the all important 'first-daisy-chain-of-the-summer'. Tuesday night had a goodbye dinner with Teresa and the English profs at lycée- they gave us both a parting gift of a scarf and a card signed by all the teachers... :)

Had my last BTS class the next day- (I love these boys)- they're older than me, some of them, and such lads- I always feel a bit like Wendy with the lost boys when in class with them! My last classes at collège were great- I took in some proper British fare- marmite sandwiches, shortbread and scones with cream and jam, for the kids to try. As usual marmite provoked the strongest reactions, with the scones being the clear winner in the enjoyment stakes. In the evening went to Anne-Marie's house for drinks with the collège teachers, which was nice and relaxed, and Natacha gave me a really nice book on the Loire as a leaving present.

My last ever class, at lycée, involved eating cake and not much else (though the marmite also made an appearance). Said goodbye to Anna, handed in my keys with Susan, and that was that. Went back, tidied the house a bit, and went out in the evening to 80s night at le Singe Vert with the others. Now it's saturday morning and I've already said my goodbyes to Kirsten, Rose, Miriam, Steve and Mehdi. I don't think the sadness has caught up with me yet. I expect it'll hit me when I get back to Blois next week and find a big gap where people have been. As for this weekend- off to Nantes with Nico, then to Mont-St-Michel and La Rochelle. So it''s not the end just yet.

Grace

Recently I’ve been seeing a lot in the news about Zimbabwe- there are the usual stories about out-of-control inflation, the corrupt activities of Mugabe and his government, and the difficulties of day-to-day life. The things that have caught my eye the most, however, are the stories of torture- people beaten, humiliated and even killed for their political activities, for exercising freedom of speech; for reporting what goes on in a country where the media is state-controlled.

“Jesus died on the cross for my sins”

Read it again. And once more. If you’re like me, this phrase has become just another statement, a truth condensed into mere words. I read the story again today, a story I have read countless times, that, like a movie you watch over and over, becomes so familiar you stop paying attention because you know what happens in the end. It was only when I started thinking about torture and human rights abuses in Zimbabwe that I started to think, to really imagine, Jesus’ death.

As I read modern-day stories about Zimbabweans being lashed and beaten, raped, subjected to electrical torture- I think of Jesus being whipped, of the crown of thorns being pushed into his head, of being nailed, naked and bleeding on the cross.

When I read about torture and death in Zimbabwe I am filled with grief and anger- emotions that go deeper than when I read similar stories about other countries, because I am a Zimbabwean. When, as a Christian, I read about the torture and death of Jesus, my saviour, how much more should I be touched, grief-filled, angered…and all this willingly, for us, for me. Yet so often do I reduce his death to a mere fact in my mind, not praising, loving, thanking, giving to him as he did and does for me?

“Thank you” is not enough.


It’s something to think about this Easter.