I was born in post communist Bucharest. Tariq tells me with the fall of communism, Lambada was THE song that would constantly play on TV and radio. I don’t remember much about Romania but I do recall the time we were packing to move to Senegal. I have recollections of the heavy snow and us returning one evening and seeing little kittens trying to climb the walls of this ridiculously big house we lived in. 

I don’t feel comfortable writing about Bucharest, because I literally have no recollection and I forgive myself for that – my age range in Romania was 0-4. But I do have a small flex. My mother tells me she hasn’t seen this many flowers at the birth of any child or any occasion for that matter, that she did at my birth. All diplomats, colleagues, Ambassadors – everyone sent huge bouquets and I will forever be proud that my arrival in their lives changed everything for the better. 

However, I remember Senegal VERY WELL to say the least. I immediately contracted malaria when we landed there. My siblings went off to school and I was one of those ‘home schooled kids in Africa’ for quite a while. I memorised many Bollywood films that we had on the VCR especially Aamir Khan and Pooja Bhatt’s movie. Yes, exactly that homeschooled kid in Africa you see in Mean Girls. But I had a great time to say the least. I accompanied my mother to diplomatic afternoon teas and she was proud to carry me around as an accessory whilst she hid the older kids, made her seem younger, even though she was literally in her late 30’s but having kids that late in the 90’s was just considered shameful. I also recall accompanying her to French classes where I would quietly sit and draw. I did join the International School for a few months but was taken out as we were sure we would get posted again.

Senegal had a bizarre string of incidents take place that will never make sense to us or any other family other than we reach the conclusion that we were simply aloof and disconnected from reality. We got robbed by a gang overnight and we slept through the entire incident! Worse, nobody knew about it and my siblings went off to school the next morning. I woke up and realised my VCR was gone and the penny dropped that actually a lot had disappeared!

We siblings used to ‘party’ when our parents left for social commitments. Partying featured listening to and watching, Choli Ke Peeche which was considered a vulgar video. We weren’t allowed to sing it openly. (You all may google the lyrics, I can’t share them here). Ironic isn’t it? 

Dakar I recall had the most stunning fish restaurants. I will never forget the quality of fish we got and the ambiance overlooking the sea is unmatchable. Africa has beauty I have never seen elsewhere. I also started learning French in Dakar naturally with the people around me. 

Dakar lasted two years. During the time we traveled to some places such as Gambia in Africa. I was only 5 but I have a clear memory of my grandfather (mother’s father) passing away during that time and me returning from school finding her very composed but waiting outside for me as the car pulled in which she never did. My father had picked me up from work and had told me in the car so I was prepared. I was very young to understand but I went up and hugged her.

I was eager to get my older siblings approval. I wanted to go everywhere they did. I forced myself to my brother’s 15th birthday gathering at the coolest ice cream parlour in Dakar and ended up throwing up there – typical. But my siblings didn’t care as far as I recall.

Soon enough it was announced that we are moving to Greece. We started packing. I was helping my father pack downstairs. He was a good packer. I asked to help, he said whenever he would pull the tape and I could help cutting it. Whichever sane adult would have handed me full blown scissors is another debate. The first go in, his thumb was waiting there for me nearly chop off. I heard him scream and I realised I had nearly cut through his finger and much less of the tape. He started bleeding heavily but stayed calm. I freaked out and guided him to the bathroom but all I said to him was: ‘Whatever happens, don’t tell Ami. She will KILL ME!’. He got quite a lot of stitches but I waited the whole time outside the clinic with immense guilt. So that’s my trauma from Dakar in a nutshell.