Archive for 'Munich'

The Beauty of Having African Hair

The Beauty of Having African Hair

These days I’m again going through the paces again with my hair. By that I mean: now that it’s more gray and white than black, I’m trying to figure out what to do with all the gray kinks and curls. I wish I had the nerve to just go “natural” the way younger women are doing. I’m also fascinated by the way African women have for centuries worked their hair. Look at novelist Chimamanda Adichie Ngozi’s many styles! Here she is in my ...

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Feasting the Senses: The Christkindel’s Market in Munich

Feasting the Senses: The Christkindel’s Market in Munich

“None of us is getting any younger, and if we should meet again in this life, you need to come visit soon,” Anita, my dearest friend had said over Skype. It’s not that urgent, I thought, but fate might have something else in store. I booked my flight to arrive in Munich in time for the first Sunday in Advent, when the festive season begins and Christmas markets start popping up on Rathaus Plätze, and the scent ...

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Would You Believe That Even Pugs in Europe Have a Waistline?

Would You Believe That Even Pugs in Europe Have a Waistline?

So here I am, nursing my jet-lag and feeling a bit melancholic after my spiritually uplifting visit with my friend Anita. I’m taking time to contemplate and reflect on my visit to Munich and Bonn with her.

What made me feel as if I were on another planet, because I had never before taken note of it, was the behavior of dogs. Any size dogs. From little Asian temple doggies to the humongous Anatolian Mastiff parading along ...

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Want to know how I met a handsome American man in Munich?

Want to know how I met a handsome American man in Munich?

In writing my recent book, Split at the Root: A Memoir of Love and Lost Identity (Kindle) or Split at the Root: A Memoir of Love and Lost Identity, I tell the story of growing up within a culture and a race that was different to my own. Here’s an excerpt:

Sometime at the end of January 1968, a few weeks after my return from Guatemala, the phone rang and my friend Gabi hollered excitedly through the receiver. “Hey Girl, listen. I’m ...

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