{ Story Time Friday #4 }

Hello everyone!!!

I'm so happy that it's Friday, think it's my favorite day of the week. Anyway, it's time for another story and I thought I would share about my earlier years and the place we used to live in.

We lived in Povoa de Santa Iria, a district in Lisbon, Portugal.

When I started writing this post, I went to Google Maps to try and find our old home.  I had a bit of trouble at first because I couldn't for the life of me remember the name of the street.  Now you have to remember I was really young, 4 or 5 years old.  But the memories that I have of those younger years in those apartments, have stayed with me forever.  I remember quite a lot from those younger years.

Looking at the pictures now, I almost wanted to cry.  The amount of times my little 5 year old feet ran on those cobblestones, played hide and seek behind cars parked in these same spot, ran up and down the cul de sac with all the neighborhood kids.  I just can't even wrap my brain around it.  Certainly brought a lump to my throat.

The building above was our building, and we lived right where the highlighted area is.  I can still remember my great-grandmother, leaning over the window and letting us know it was lunch time, or dinner time, or telling us to get inside and get ready for school.

Our friends lived in all of these buildings around us.  Sprinkled throughout. 

That area that is highlighted on the left bottom, that used to be a little store.  We would go in there for fresh bread and other supermarket goodies.  I still remember my stepmother went in there one morning to get something, and there was a little girl in there with her mom.  For some reason the little girl pointed at my stepmom and started yelling out "that's the crazy lady, that's the crazy lady".  LOL

My stepmom was so offended, she quickly bought what she needed and left.

The store owner used to have all these plastic crates stacked up outside his store, and at nighttime, the bigger kids in the neighborhood, that lived just above the store, would tie ropes to the crates, and start pulling them all the way to the top of the building, then drop them making this huge bang all over the cul de sac. 

That building right there in the middle, is one that was etched into my very young mind and I've never forgotten it.  Where the van and the truck are parked right now, used to be just sand and dirt.  We used to play on there as kids.  There was this specific game we played using pocket knives (don't ask hahaha).  We would throw it down on the dirt, then throw it again and draw a line from one point to the other.  Then the next kid would get a turn and so on.  I don't quite remember the object of the game, but we would try to connect all the lines and close them off and so on.

Anyway, back to my story.  I was sitting outside my building one afternoon, it was either a Saturday or Sunday, and the next thing, I noticed a big lump of something falling from the top floor of that building.  I remember hearing the thud as it hit the ground, and not knowing what to do or how to react.  Some kids and adults ran towards it, I just hung in the background, and I'm glad I did, because a young girl had jumped from the very top.

To this day I see the whole thing playing out in my mind.  She was wearing a long white gown and that is exactly the lump I saw falling down.  Terrible thing to witness as a young child.

OH my word the memories.  This structure is part of an old aqueduct that ran through the area.  See how high it is off the ground?

Well my brothers and I, and the other neighborhood kids, would walk across it.  I actually cringe thinking about it now, what the heck was I thinking?

But we would start right here on the edge, walk right to the wall thing, then cradle it and hug it and shuffle from this side to the next, and then walk all the way down to the other side, do the same, then climb down, and run back and start again.  We are extremely lucky to never have fallen off, matter of fact I don't recall anyone ever getting hurt on there.

We spent many years in this neighborhood and I have SO many stories to tell you, and I will tell you as our Story Time Friday goes on.

It just made my heart ache looking at these buildings, still standing almost 40 years later. 

The memories, the sights and sounds that are deeply ingrained in the tar of the road, the cobblestones on the sidewalks and even the walls of these buildings.  Amazing!!!

I'll leave you with a photo of what I remember our kitchen looking like inside.  This isn't our kitchen, but it looked exactly the same, all the apartments were almost carbon copies of each other.

I can almost see my great-grandmother standing at the counter, making soup for dinner.  :)

Like I said above, I have a ton of memories from our lives during this time and I'll tell them all, or at least all that I can remember, so if you're interested or curious, be sure to come back next Friday.

{ Story Time Friday #3 }

Hello everyone, welcome to another Story Time Friday.  I'm happy to be back with yet another story from my childhood.

Last week I told you about Portugal and arriving in Portugal at a very early age, what I didn't tell you and actually should have done before, was talk about Zimbabwe, previously known as Rhodesia.

My grandparents and great-grandma lived in Zimbabwe for quite a few years.  They absolutely loved it and when we stayed with them for a while, we did too.

I have such fond memories of that beautiful African country.  It's not really a place often spoken about, matter of fact I think it's much like Mozambique where many people haven't even heard of the country before.

We stayed in Salisbury, Rhodesia.  One of the most beautiful cities I have ever seen.  Mind you I was pretty young at the time but there are memories that are so deeply ingrained in my mind, that I will never forget.

I don't recall too much of what we did there, or the places we went to, but one of those memories that I have are from the stunning Jacaranda trees that lined most of the streets.


Just breathtaking!!!

And that's basically how I've remembered Zimbabwe over the years, the country with the deepest brightest purple trees.

Another memory I have is of my grandfather.

His name was Julio, and he was one of my favorite people on earth.  He was just this funny, sweet, loving family man who did anything for his grandchildren.  But he also was a jokester and loved playing pranks on us.

He had this thing where he told my brothers and I about this monster who had the body of a man but the head of a bull.  And I used to be so scared of it.  So when he wanted us to stay inside or come in from playing outside and we weren't listening, he would tell us that the Bull Headed Man was watching us and we needed to come in.  He didn't have to tell me twice, I ran for my life anytime he said that.

I still remember one night sitting at the kitchen window with him, he was holding me up to look outside, and my two older brothers were standing at the counter also looking out.  My grandparents had a backyard that was surrounded by a stone fence and beyond that was just land.  He would tell us that the bull head liked sitting on that fence and watching us to make sure we were being good.

I couldn't see anything, obviously because he wasn't real, but I did try my best to look and look in the hopes that I would one day see this elusive mean monster.  Hahahah

Some may say that what my grandfather did was mean, but I don't think it was, it was just a way to play with us, but also keeps us in check.  On the one hand he would mention the monster, but then he would also be the type to walk into the kitchen at midnight, on a weekend, and bake a cake for the grandchildren just because we said we wanted some cake.  I will never forget that :)

I really do wish that I had more memory of the time we spent in Zimbabwe, but unfortunately I don't, I was far too young to recall anything more.  As a child though, certain moments in time have the power to change you forever, and I know that those moments I spent there definitely left a mark on my heart.

{ Story Time Friday #2 }

Good morning friends, come on in, I have a pot full of coffee, which I certainly am going to need today. 

You know I went through really bad insomnia for about a year, but I've been sleeping very well for a while, unfortunately last night was another one of the not so good nights for me.  By the time the alarm went off this morning, I was not ready to get up. 

It's also cloudy and rainy so the usual bright morning was shadowed by darkness, and what seemed like middle of the night. 

Anyway, I'm back, and I have another story to tell you.  I'm sorry for the lack of Story Time the past 2 weeks, but I did explain in a previous post :)

But let's get right on to our story for today.  I had previously told this story on my blog, but I really want to include it in my Story Time Friday so that one day when I compile it all into one single book, I can have everything in one place :)


If you remember, we left Mozambique as refugees, first fleeing to Zimbabwe (Rhodesia) and then on to Portugal.

It was all so strange to me as a little child, here I was barely 2 years old, having already been through a parent divorce, fleeing a country, moving from place to place and now in a completely new city.

For the first few months or a year that we lived in Portugal, the only place my father and stepmother  could afford was this tiny little room in one of Lisbon's buildings.  Rua Sebastiao Saraiva Lima.

It's funny how I remember so many details even though I was really young at the time, but I think that some things are so deeply etched into your heart and memory that you will recollect them for many years to come.

One of the things I most remember was the front door to the building.  This massive wooden door, it always made me feel like I was walking into a castle.

Source

The building's foyer was huge.  It had staircases on the left and the right going up to other rooms, but ours was on the bottom floor, almost as if in the basement.  There were quite a few families renting in that building, and the owner was this tiny, sweet old lady who became a family friend.  Actually on one of our trips to Portugal decades later, we went by to visit her and say hi.  She really was such a pivotal person in our lives.

But, back to the building.....

I remember walking in, and turning to the right, going down these little stairs and then a hallway with a few doors.  Our room was there, behind one of those old wooden doors.

There were 6 of us in that bedroom.  My parents, me, my 2 older brothers and my baby brother who was but a few months old.

The two of us slept on the floor on a mattress, I would sleep right next to his bassinet and it didn't bother me that I was on the floor, I didn't know any better, I didn't think anything was wrong.  I kind of liked sleeping right next to the baby.

The only thing that I didn't like and would drive my parents insane, is that there were mice all over, and I would sometimes lay in the dark hearing their little feet scrambling across the floors, praying and praying that they wouldn't come anywhere near me.  For the most part, they stayed outside of the room, but there was the one night where not only did they come into the room, they ran right across me, onto the bassinet and across my baby brother.  GROSS!!!

During the day, my dad would go to work, and my stepmom would stay home with us.  There wasn't much to do, but we found ways of staying busy.  We pulled out pots and pans and would take them to the backyard of the building.  If you can call it a backyard.  It wasn't much of one, just a little area surrounded by big stone walls, a few potted plants and chickens.

Oh the chickens.  The smell is so unique that I have never forgotten it.

One could say that we were poor, but I don't think we were.  We were just starting out, in a new country, my parents desperately trying to plant roots, and start a good life for us all.

Lisbon was a busy place.  Beautiful, old, full of history.

There was never a dull moment and we never ran out of places to see and visit.  All you had to do was take a walk in any direction and you were surrounded with cafes, shopping, museums etc.

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These are the kind of streets I remember.

The kind of places I visited.

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And my favorite thing on earth to ride???  Carro Electrico.  The Tram Cars. 

These Trams have been in operation since 1873 and are a huge favorite for tourists.  I was always fascinated with them and if we had to go anywhere, I would ask if we could ride those instead of taking a cab.

Mercado da Ribeira

Another favorite of mine, were the big markets.  We would go once a week for the fresh produce, fish, meat etc.  The smell was indescribable, it assaulted your senses.  On the one hand you had the smell of fresh fish, but then you had hot coffee, and flowers, and fruit and vegetables.  It was a kaleidoscope of scents.

The tiny streets that only fit one car going one way.

The alleyways between the buildings, stairs that seem to go on forever, and the hanging clothes above.

There was always so much to see, and as a child I don't think I need to tell you how exciting it was.

 Source

There's something magical about Lisbon.  The sights, the scents, the people.  It's such a gorgeous city and I'll always remember my times spent there, not only as a young child.

We didn't stay in Lisbon for too long, we did eventually move to Povoa de Santa Iria, that is where I remember most of my young childhood, that's where I first went to school and where I have tons of memories.  But that is for next week.  :)

{ Story Time Friday #1 }

Happy Friday everyone :)

I was laying in bed last night, and just before I drifted off to sleep, my mind decided to go on full steam ahead thinking of ideas for my blog, posts I could write up, day specific features that would ensure I stay on track (like my Happy Homemaker Monday ).

And then it hit me, why not do a story time every Friday.

I like to think that I have led a pretty interesting life, I've lived in many countries, I've visited many places, I've experienced many things, I used to be a radio DJ, and I also used to be a singer who recorded some stuff back in South Africa and once sang in front of 10 000 people.

I was born in a country that not many people think about, I was forced to leave that country with my parents and the rest of the family when I was just 1 year old, and flee for our lives.

There are so many stories inside me that I would love to get on the blog, record them, keep them all in one place for the future.  I don't want to ever forget what I've been through and what my life has been and I think it would be quite interesting for my children to one day sit and read about their mom's interesting life......and when I say interesting, I mean interesting, everything from haunted houses, to being attacked by a ghost, to participating in a riot in Portugal, to the day my dad and stepmom were almost taken by some strange people, to the morning we woke up to find a small baby sized coffin at our front door with my father's picture and a bullet beneath.

Moments in time, memories that will forever be etched in my mind and in my heart.

If I hadn't lived through all of these things, and was an outsider looking in, I would have some serious doubts about these stories, because truly some seem to come straight out of a movie script.  But they're not, they're my life, my crazy insane full of weird and wonderful moments, life.

Every Friday, I will be telling a story, from the earliest memories stored in my mind, all the way through childhood, marriage and up to now.  I think I have stories for years to come and I really can't wait to tell them :)

I thought I would start today with what I think is one of the most important events in my life, the one that shaped everything because truly if not for that moment, my life would have probably been extremely different.

I was born on the 10th of August, 1974, in the African country called Mozambique.  It's not a common name heard here in the States or anywhere in the world really, unless you're in Portugal, or Southern Africa.

I often get mixed reactions when asked where I was born, some are shocked, some are surprised, some have no idea where the country is.

So I thought it would be a good idea to start at the beginning, to show you where I was born, where I came from and why I have such a huge pull to the ocean and the beach.  I haven't seen the ocean in almost 10 years and I can't even tell you how out of place I feel, it truly is like a fish out of water feeling and I am constantly thinking about how much I need to go.  Maybe sometime this year.

In 1498, Portuguese explorers landed on the Mozambican coastline. Control of Mozambique was left to various organisations such as the Mozambique Company, the Zambezi Company and the Niassa Company which were financed and provided with cheap labour by the British Empire to work mines and construct railways. (Source: Wikipedia)

Obviously I don't recall much of Mozambique, what I do know was told through stories by my greatgrandmother, grandmother, grandfather and father, mother, stepmother etc.

For all intents and purposes they lived a beautiful idyllic life.  Friends, family, wonderful homes, camping trips, movie theaters, beach outings and parties and so on.

And then one day it all came crashing down.  I guess I shouldn't say in one day, there was of course a very long lead up to it.

Portugal had ruled the colony of Mozambique for 477 years.  Insane!!!

As the communist ideals and anti-colonial issues came to light, tensions started to rise and suddenly that quiet blissful life started feeling the pressure to conform or get out.

I often heard the stories from my family and other family friends who fled as well, about how neighbor turned on neighbor, friend turned on friend and even family on family, as accusations flew, fingers were pointed and people started getting arrested.  As I grew older I kind of started relating it to the Salem Witch Trials, it was along those lines, if you didn't like someone you could just tell the government that so and so said or did, and that person was arrested and punished.

It took 9 years of a brutal war culminating in it's Independence from Portugal in 1975.  I was but a year old at the time.

Within a year, most of the 250,000 Portuguese in Mozambique had left.  Some were thrown out by the government and a lot like my family, fleeing in fear.  All the Portuguese people were basically told to get out within 24 hours with only 44 pounds of luggage allowed to be removed from the country.

Needless to say many of us left with little more than the clothes on our bodies, and completely penniless.  The homes that were so lovingly taken care of, the lives that had been built, all left behind.  It was absolutely heartbreaking.  

We fled to Rhodesia now known as Zimbabwe, many others fled to South Africa and some to Portugal, where we ended up a year later.  

I don't recall any of that, but I do have one simple memory that has stayed in my mind my whole life, and it is of us piling into either a helicopter, or a train or whatever the vehicle was (and I know that sounds insane because a helicopter and a train are nowhere near the same thing), and me sitting on my mom's lap completely terrified, crying and not understanding what was going on around me.

 Arriving in different countries, we were treated like third world citizens, we didn't belong, we weren't wanted and life wasn't easy.  But we made it work and the first 9 years of my life, the absolute foundation of my childhood and who I am, was formed in Portugal.

I was born in Mozambique, but I am Portuguese and will always think of Portugal as my home.

Did I ever go back to Mozambique?  Yes I did, a couple times, and I'll tell you all about that in future posts.

See it doesn't matter that I remember nothing about my country of birth, I have a place in my heart that is and always will be connected to that beautiful land, I can't even look at pictures without getting a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes.  It hurts, it makes me sad and it makes me wonder what could have been.  I wouldn't trade my life and where I am and what I've become, for nothing in this world, but I will always wonder if we hadn't been forced to leave, where I would right now.

EDIT:  I've had a few of you ask me if I would consider turning this into a meme so they could join in.  ABSOLUTELY!!!
I thought about mentioning it when I first typed the post up but I wasn't sure if anyone would be interested as there are so many other memes around.  However, I have decided to go ahead and put up a linky and turn this into an every Friday feature.  I am so excited to read everyone's family stories :)