Musée de l’Histoire de l’Immigration: 29 avril 2015

In this post, I describe my visit to the Musée de l’Histoire de l’Immigration last Wednesday interspersed with stories of three incredible advocates for immigrants’ rights in France whom I have had the honor of meeting. The day after I visited the museum, I interviewed one of them who is the author of a book published last year on dignity for the undocumented, a book which is available at the museum.

There is a lovely park to the southeast of Paris called the Bois de Vincennes with two little lakes in it and many paths, easily accessible from the metro station, Porte d’Orée. I went there today to go to the Palais de la Porte d’Oree which houses the Cité nationale de l'histoire de l'immigration, or the Museum of the History of Immigration in France which has only been open since 2007.  In spite of a light and rather chilly drizzle, lots of people were walking in the park, and quite a few were entering the museum.

An article in the New York Times about the museum’s opening explains some of the contradictions I have encountered regarding immigration and social identity in this country; it also pans the museum for opening before it was ready. The exhibits seem to have improved immensely since its opening, as described in a more recent article in Jeune Afrique, written at the occasion of the museum’s official inauguration just last December (2014) by President François Hollande 7 years after its opening. The authors refer to it as “the museum that wanted to exist,” beginning as a slightly disorganized space with few visitors and now, slightly more organized and welcoming almost 300,000 people per year.

Three women I have met in Paris have impressed me with their knowledge and advocacy for full rights for immigrants in France. Two of them are associated with a Children’s Center in a quartier where many people of West African origin live, and the third person is former educator and an author of a book on the sans-papiers, or undocumented immigrants here.  I am interviewing the latter tomorrow at her house in northeastern Paris and will write more about her soon. Full rights includes the right to education, employment, housing, health care, and most importantly, citizenship.

I got to the museum around 1:30 and went straight to the gift shop to find the book Les grands by Sylvain Prudhomme, one of several being considered for this year’s Literary Prize of the Porte d’Orée to be awarded in June. Prudhomme will be giving a talk there about his book in mid-May that I hope to attend. I ended up with two additional tomes, one called Moi raciste? Jamais! (Diallo & Sassoon, 2015), and the other, a journal named Hommes & Migrations published by the Musée with articles about West African immigrants to France. I took my purchases to the café/resto for lunch before visiting the exhibits.

I’ve been thinking about inviting the director of the Children’s Center and her board member out to lunch to thank them for their openness and generosity. From my first email, they have always responded with enthusiasm and hospitality to my inquiries. The director, whom I will call Hélène, is always pulled in several directions at the same time but nonetheless makes time for me. Just this morning, I received an email from her letting me know that the woman who used to be principal at a middle school near their center has agreed to be interviewed by me. This is really great news in light of the slowly turning wheels of the French bureaucracy that has thus far prevented me from accessing schools in that neighborhood in spite of Hélène’s efforts.

As you climb the elegant stairway to get to the museum’s exhibits, there is a timeline reviewing the history of immigration in France. It’s a powerful display, showing that immigration has been an ingoing and long-term phenomenon, not a recent result of globalization/mondialisation. It reveals some historical quirks, such as the fact that Picasso was denied French citizenship in 1940.

The exhibit space itself is not well-marked so I started in the “Dons” section, full of “Gifts” from the public related to immigration, detailing family histories related to immigration. There are countless identity cards and passports, photos and relics showing the history of Italian, Polish, Portuguese, and more recently, South American immigrants. There are few artifacts from immigrants from African countries.

The main exhibit shows the history of immigration in France but seems to be divided into thematic topics. My favorite piece was an installation of bunk beds, maybe six or seven stacked up, with ladders from the floor to each bunk and African pagnes as covers on each one, and plastic market bags hanging from each bed. It addressed the difficulties in finding adequate housing that African immigrants in particular have encountered in Paris.

Although that installation by a Camerounian artist portrays a critical stance toward an issue that current  immigrants to France face, it is unclear to what degree the museum itself holds a critical stance. And maybe therein lies the problematique: the museum leadership needs to clarify and strengthen its stance, its point of view, its tone. It cannot be neutral.

FaceTime with Luc: 21 avril 2015

My 2 year old grandson Luc and I facetimed today for quite a long while, largely due to his fascination with Parisian traffic (and his accommodating mom!). It’s the first thing he asks me about: “Show me traffic,” he says. And of course I oblige (after all, I started it!)! I hold my laptop out the window very, very carefully, aiming its camera six stories down toward rue Alexandre Dumas so that Luc has a bird’s eye view of the Parisian street where I live. Today, a special treat: he got to hear the distinctive “woo-ee-woo-eeee” siren of a sapeurs pompiers' truck careening toward an emergency. Hopefully all turned out well for those in need of their services.

Luc’s other favorite traffic moment is when the garbage men arrive in their large green and yellow truck and stop every 50 meters to empty overstuffed trash cans from the apartment buildings lining the street. The men wear bright yellow vests over their lime green jumpsuits so are tiny yet visible from our 6^th floor vantage point as they noisily load and empty the trash cans. Cars, trucks, and an occasional bus line up behind the garbage truck, and the ones furthest from it often blow their horns in vain, much to Luc’s amusement. The garbage truck advances 50 meters, and the parade behind it follows. Did I forget to mention the mopeds and motorcycles? They tend to precariously weave around the rest of the traffic, entertaining my grandson even more!

Jakob and Bree’s arrival and a bateau mouche: 9 avril 2015

My nephew Jakob and his wonderful femme, Bree, arrived in Paris last Thursday afternoon! That first day, it was initially just a joy to have them here, with their luggage, after their original flight had been cancelled due to the air controllers’ strike here in France. (Not exactly sure why USAirways cancelled a flight from Charlotte, NC, into CDG, which was virtually untouched by the strike.)

We took a taxi back to the 11e (through major bouchons of traffic) and they settled in. We headed out into Paris around 18 h to take the metro all the way to Alma-Marceau which turned out to be quite a long ride, with our destination, the Bateaux Mouches at Pont Alma. We had to wait 30 minutes for the next departure, so Bree and I shared a little bottle of white wine on the floating dock, in the sun. We got on board with a couple of busloads of tourists, and began cruising down the Seine. 

With the sun shining, we decided to sit on the outside upper deck. We were surrounded by people from all over the world: Malaysia, Italy, China, Sweden, Germany, India, and the US, to name a few countries represented on board.

The golden dome of Hotel des Invalides, where Napoleon is entombed, was visible soon after we began our trip. When Amara, Fodé, and I were in Paris in 1988, we visited des Invalides, having walked a mile to get there from the Eiffel Tower. As we stood above the grand tomb, Fodé who was 4 years old at the time, was incredulous that someone was buried there, asking in a loud voice, “Il y a quelqu’un dedans?” We tried to convince him that a former emperor of France was indeed dedans.

There were other sites on the river banks that I had never been attuned to on previous tours, such as the opening to the St. Martin canal, which leads to the Villette, seen from Anny’s nephew’s 6^th floor apartment on the Quai de la Marne, and the Marais and Saint-Paul Saint-Louis Cathedral (but does the Marais truly border the Seine?). A beautiful bienvenus to Jakob and Bree!

Bon voyage, Anny!

Annie left this morning after just over a week here. We headed out to find her a taxi to the Gare de Lyon slightly after 7 am, toward Blvd. Voltaire. The streets were pretty quiet on this national holiday. We turned toward Nation and made it all the way to the taxi stand (a very long block) before seeing one. The driver parked and hopped out of his car to put Annie’s bag in his trunk. He was happy to accept a short fare to the Gare, only a five minute ride away. I explained where she had to catch the Air France bus, and he asked if she knew the schedule. Bien sur! She turned to thank me and tell me what a wonderful vacation she had had, and we hugged and both shed a few tears. I hope we’ll get together in Cleveland soon after I get back!

It was lovely to have a friend here, someone to sit with in cafés, with whom to go to museums and markets, with whom to eat dinner.  Relishing the simple joys of companionship and making sense of the world, together.  I miss Roy’s presence, sharing the same space with him every evening, reviewing our days, reaching out to touch him. It’s so ordinary, like brushing your teeth and having cereal for breakfast, until you’re apart for longer than is ever normal.

So having a childhood chum here was quite special and greatly appreciated! Tomorrow, it’s back to school for most of the day.

Café life: 31 mars 2015

Had a fruitful and fun session of field observations today at ma petite école. The principal greeted me with his usual early morning gusto and told me that he had something special for me. He said that one of the teachers I have observed and interviewed let him know that her group is having a conference next Friday, April 10^th at 16h30. This is the day after Bree and Jakob arrive but since it’s in the late afternoon, it’s perhaps a good time for them to rest. The subject of the conference parallels my research focus: immigrant children and their academic success. The teacher who brought it to my attention will be attending, so I hope to see her there, in the 13è which will be a new quartier for me this trip.

Now, the sun has come out and Annie and I are sitting at Pure Café in my Parisian neighborhood. The café sits on a V-shaped corner between two streets (Paul Macé and Impasse Franchemont), with room in front of it for several bistro tables and chairs for warmer days. As we enter, a sign offers, “PURE AFTERWORK: Tous les jours de 17h à 20h, coupe de champagne 7 Euro", so I plan on imbibing. We move to the back of the café and sit next to each other on a banquette behind a table, the better to watch the café world go by.  We take out our writing tools and eventually start writing. We also order une noisette and a café au lait. Miam.

The café is beautiful, filled with bright natural light from the floor to ceiling windows which make up its walls. The triangular bar itself occupies the center of the space, with traditional zinc counters. The espresso machine takes up a large section of one side and bottles of wine line another side. Liquor bottles are hung, upside down in some serving contraption that must be used to accurately measure out shots.

Two thin middle-aged women walk in and their matching outfits scream, “We are jumelles!” They are both wearing form fitting red wool coats, with twin brown leather ankle boots. They have matching shoulder length Lautrec-ian red hair, with lilac colored scarves wrapped around their necks. A group of older men standing at the bar greets them as they walk by on their way to join an old friend, also standing at the bar. We notice that their handbags are slightly different. They order coffee, stay for 15 minutes or so, and then head out with their friend.

Market Day: 4 mars 2015

Two long blocks from my apartment, at Blvd. Charonne, it’s market day today, so I got up ready to go after a shower. But hélas, still no hot or even warm water! Drawing upon my Peace Corps experience*, I heated up some water on the stove, poured it into the bathroom sink, and washed with it, and then emailed the housekeeper who said she will stop by later to check it out.

The market stalls spread along a very wide median strip on the Boulevard. I am so excited at the sight of fresh produce, flowers, saucisse, fromage, that I stop at the second stall and buy some endive. I hear a voice behind me, “Beh, you should go to that one over there, voyez la où il y a la queue?” I turn and see the owner of the Pizza y Fichi restaurant (where I had a delicious dinner last night). She is smiling and says “Bonjour, I am the person from the resto last night. “ We shake hands and I ask her how she is, and we chat a bit as we walk through the market.  Dis donc! I just ran into someone I know in Paris! It’s a great feeling of possibility- I could grow some roots here! C’est génial!

I buy some fresh vegetables and fruit, a baguette bio, which means organic, and two croissants, non-bio, and stop lastly at a cheese stand operated by an older couple, bundled up in layers to stay warm, with aprons on over everything else. The woman cheerily greets me and asks what I would like. I request a thin slice of Roquefort, and she says, alors, she will let her husband do that. He grins and says to us, “Even now, with Women’s Day approaching…” International Women’s Day is still a big deal here, evidemment, and it will be celebrated on March 8^th. 

After getting home and unloading my market treasures, I pack up my laptop and head to la Nation, where I can catch metro #1 directly to the Carrousel du Louvre where I have scheduled a OnetoOne session. Quite a dramatic setting, in the “basement” of the Louvre, right next to one of the smaller pyramides. I enter and am directed upstairs where there seems to be a short line of people waiting to talk to a clerk. There are many pairs or small groups of geniuses standing around, ignoring customers-very different from my home Apple store in Shadyside. I approach two men and tell them that I am there for an atelier. As luck would have it, one of them was my tutor, Cristophe, and he immédiatement welcomed me and took me over to a counter with stools where the OnetoOnes take place. He was most helpful and I learned some helpful techie words in French such as telecharger=to download, sauvegarder=to save, etc, plus, bien sûr, some actual content regarding iPhoto!

Being deux pas from le Louvre, I had to stop in.  Probably a good day to visit, Wednesday. I went through security a little after 1 pm, and experienced no wait whatsoever. I stopped at the small café before entering the larger lobby where you buy your ticket, and had a tasty ham and cheese sandwich with a coca light. 

Then I was ready to hike the Louvre.  I took some photos, included here, of some art and of the crowds.

It was a lovely way to spend my first full day in Paris. Allez, merci de m’avoir lue!

NB: Every place I lived in  Côte d’Ivoire had running water (maybe not exactly in Soubré) and hot water! On occasion, I visited remote villages where there was no running water and my hosts would heat up bath water over a fire. Those stories are for another blog!

Arrival: 3 mars 2015

We landed 30 minutes (around 7:45) early on a sunny Paris morning. Lots of walking to get to the passport contrôle, but luckily the line was short. I was surprised that we had not been given any papers on the plane to fill out for customs before our arrival, and now, that the customs agent (or immigration agent) didn’t ask for any information-not where I’d be staying, for how long, etc. It’s a very open border! At first I thought, now, we all go pick up our luggage and then, there would be another gate to pass through, for customs, but non. I got my bags quite quickly and headed to the exit which again to my surprise, was truly an exit. On the other side of the door, there were lots of people, mainly people of African heritage, awaiting friends and relatives. Then I passed through a group of drivers holding signs with names on them. I looked carefully for “Touré,” hoping that maybe one was there for me…beh non.

The line for taxis moved quickly. As luck would have it, my cab driver was a gentleman named Robert, from Cameroun, who has been living in France for 18 years. He is married to a French woman and they have two little girls, 4 and 7 years old. We had a lovely conversation about his life and the life of immigrants in general in France during our 45 minute trip into Paris. I told Robert about my research: an ethnographic study of a diverse school in Paris to learn about the education of immigrant children, particularly kids from West Africa, whether they are first, second, or third generation immigrants. This encouraged him to share his insights:

·      In general, immigrants are not treated well here, according to Robert.

·      Things have gotten worse since the attacks in January. People do not trust anyone who is not French. It was already bad: here he is, finding a job after his university education was impossible, so he drives a cab. He explained that this was not due to lack of experience or meeting job requirements. If a Frenchman with fewer qualifications applied for the same position, he got the offer.

·      Robert cannot get French citizenship even though he’s married to a French woman and their children are French. There are way too many hoops to jump through.

·      He plans to return to Cameroun in five years or so for good. He just feels so much more at home there, every time he visits.

I took this as a good omen for the research I’ll be doing over the next three months. Robert also offered some advice for me: tell my prospective interview participants that the interview will last 30 minutes. Comme ça, they will be more enthusiastic to begin and when the time stretches closer to an hour or more, they will be happy to continue. He also suggested that I study lycées and universités. I explained that I really have to limit my focus, but perhaps I would observe in a lycée as well.