Lu le jour de mon mariage...

Claude Yende (15 Janvier 1944 – 09 Février 1998)

Mari aimant et père adulé de ses filles.
Avec son humour noir et sons sens de l'observation aiguisé, il en a fait rire et pleurer plus d'un.
Michaël, considères-toi chanceux car ce monsieur disait souvent : "celui qui osera mettre ses sales pattes sur une de mes filles…"

Cela fait maintenant 13 ans qu'il nous a quitté mais il reste à jamais présent dans nos cœurs. Nous nous souvenons de lui avec affection, cet homme au caractère bien trempé, qui n'aimait pas les enfants des gens! Les mioches, les moutards, les affreux jojos comme il aimait à les appeler.

Puis, un après-midi de novembre, survint Yasmine. Une petite fille qui, au fil du temps, se révéla être le plus affreux des "jojos"! Mais il ne pouvait décemment pas la mettre à la porte, n'est-ce pas? Donc il a dû supporter les frasques de la petite Yasmine; qui se levait tous les soirs à 22h pour se mettre à danser dans le salon en chantant en lingala et finalement renverser la bibliothèque de son père en lui faisant un grand sourire!

S'il était avec nous aujourd'hui, il serait heureux de voir ses nombreuses filles évoluer, devenir les femmes qu'elles sont avec chacune un petit morceau de lui, de son caractère et de son humour légendaire.

En son absence pourtant, les Yende n'ont pas manqué de figure paternelle car elles ont hérité d'un père de cœur, leur oncle, Max Munga (qui n'est malheureusement pas là ce soir). Toujours très généreux, il s'est assuré que ses nièces ne manquent de rien.

Enfin, puisqu'il s'agit d'honorer les pères, J'ai la chance d'en rajouter un à ma collection, celui au bras de qui j'ai fait mon entrée : Hubert Mestrez.

...Et à la mère

Vous croyiez que c'était terminé? Et bien détrompez-vous!
Car je ne peux clore mon discours sans parler de ma maman, n'est-ce pas?
Une maman qui depuis 13 ans est aussi un papa. Une maman extraordinaire qu'on échangerait pour rien au monde, qui assure la permanence contre vents et marées. Une maman avec un cœur d'or et des doigts de fée : Emilie Munga!

The Reunion

4 years had passed since I last saw him. We met at a party. Our host introduced us to one another and we acted like we didn't know each other.
Later that evening, I was taking the air on the terrace when I felt his presence behind me.
- Hey, he whispered.
I turned around and there he was, handsome in his tuxedo with his beautiful green-gold eyes. I took all my time appraising him from head to toe and finally answered:

- Hey. I turned around again, facing the city and pretending a total fascination with the view.
- It's been a long time. How are you?
- I'm fine. I hear Business is good for you.
- Yes it is, indeed.

There was an awkward silence. Then, he approached to stand next to me, put his hands on the railing, his left hand a few inches away from mine and said:
- I'd like to see you…in private.
- Oh, really?
- Yes, really.

I could feel his eyes on me. He touched the back of my hand, caressing it with his fingertips. I shivered, a whole current crossing through my body. How could he still provoke this much effect…4 years later!
- Where? I asked with a small voice.
- Do you have the same phone number?
- Yes.
- I will text you my address.
He walked back to the party, leaving me there… confused…pissed off…excited.

The Wait

The text came in 2 days later.

Good question. Should I go? Even if I wanted to, I wasn't sure it was a good idea.

Hum! Who was I trying to fool? Of course, I'll go. As if I could ever tell him no! And there lied the problem; I always said "yes". Always. Even when he asked me if he could leave; I said yes, go. This kind of opportunity only presents itself once in a lifetime.

Did I love him? Yes, I did...I do. I let him go because I loved him and didn't want him to regret anything. Regret leads to bitterness and bitterness turns love into hate.
So Yes! I will go.

But yet, I decided not to answer his text, just to keep him wondering, make him wait too. I'll just show up on his doorstep tomorrow at 4.

The Secret Rendez-Vous

At 4pm sharp, I knocked on his door.

- Coming!
I went into his apartment; his lavishly decorated apartment. Hum, I didn't remember him as an ostentatious luxury lover. Maybe being famous changed his tastes?

And he must have noticed the look of surprise on my face because he said:

- This is not my place you know. A friend is letting me stay here for a few weeks.
- Oh…okay. Thank God!

Aaaand, that awkward silence again. Electricity filled the air. I was barely breathing, looking everywhere except in his direction.

"Don't make eye contact, girl! Don't look into his eyes! You know what's gonna happen if you do!"

That was the little cartoon lady in my head.
Yes, call me crazy but I've always pictured my inner voice as some kind of manga character.

And here I was, fixing the intricate designs on the carpet.

- Baby, he said with a soft voice. Look at me.
- No, I replied in a small voice, shaking my head.
- Why not?
- 'Cause I'm doomed if I do…
- Oh…Well, I'd love to be doomed with you.

My heart skipped a beat, my palms were sweaty, my mouth dry.

"Hum, if you get all turned up only by the sound of his voice, might as well look".

He came towards me, put a finger under my chin and made me raise my head. When our eyes met, I knew I was lost.

What She Came For

I looked into his eyes, his beautiful eyes, for what seemed like an eternity. I just stood there like under a spell, not moving a muscle.
Then he took my hand and led me across the apartment... to his bedroom.

"Doomed, hun? More like screwed!"

Said my inner voice, laughing at me.

He closed the door behind us, and, still holding my hand, sat on the bed. I was standing between his legs, feeling hot, cold, confused, excited, happy, afraid, all the above.
He was looking at me, assessing me like some kind of precious object; like when you've been waiting for something for a long time and there it was, finally yours, all yours.

- If you have doubts, you can leave now. But if you let me start, I won't be able to stop.
- Well…then don't stop.
- Okay, he said, pulling me closer to him with a satisfied smile.

"Et voilà! Can't turn back now."

This is the moment; this is what I came for today. I knew it would go down like this so I kept it simple: black top, black leggings, flat shoes and a cardigan. Easy to get into… even easier to get out of.

He started undressing me: took my cardigan off, caressing my shoulders and my arms. He planted soft kisses on my wrists all the time fixing me intensely. I shivered but kept looking straight into his eyes. I kicked my shoes off, my top flew over my head. He undid my pants and slid them down, touching my legs.
My bra (hell, he unhooked it with 2 fingers) and panties quickly followed the rest of my outfit on the floor.

- Let me look at you.
I kindly obliged, stepping back, totally naked and unashamed. Well, there was nothing to be ashamed of, nothing he hadn't seen before. And by the look on his face, I could see he appreciated the show.
- Do you like what you see? I asked boldly.
- All of me like what I see, he replied, showing me the bulge in his pants.
- Okay; my turn.
- Your turn to do what?
- Well, to undress you my dear, I said with a smile.

"Girl, you got that attitude just right!"

I slowly walked to the bed, swaying my hips, took his hands and made him get up. Simple outfit too: t-shirt, sweat pants, barefoot.
Soon, both of us stood there, quietly watching each other; waiting.
Then, he took me into his arms and started touching me, kissing and caressing me everywhere, from the base of my throat to the back of my knees. He was kissing my belly when he put his tongue in my navel. An electric wave coursed through my entire body. I was about to blow out.
All the time he said nothing, clearly loving the effect he had on me, the reactions he was causing. I promised myself that no matter what, I wouldn't ask, wouldn't beg for anything. I was so ready for him to go further but too proud to admit out loud that I wanted him... now.

It was time to even things out. Not fair to be the only one going crazy in here.
I started kissing him back, biting his bottom lip, licking my way down from his neck to his belly…and finally got down on my knees. I used my hands, my lips, my tongue…and my teeth. I was satisfied to feel his breathing change, his body tense, his hands gripping my shoulders and pulling my hair.

Finally he broke the silence:
- I want you.
- I know.
- But I don't want it nice and slow.
- Suit yourself.
He bent me over the bed.

And their story continues, hotter than ever...

The Aftermath

Sex with him's so amazing
Like in my memories. No, even better.

I woke up in his bed, in his arms...sore...with a stupid smile on my face.

I didn't want to wake him up so I didn't move; just laid there naked, reminiscing about the way (should I say «ways»?) he had treated my body. Gentle but so ruff at the same time.

Well, that's what you asked for, remember? And I quote: «I don't want it nice and slow».

Huuuumm and he was prompt to grant my wishes. Closing my eyes, I replayed the whole scene in my head: his hands all over my body, his hot kisses and powerful thrusts...

I must have moaned out loud because I felt him move so I rolled on my side to watch him wake up. He was so handsome with his impossibly long lashes and his unshaved beard.
He opened his eyes, looked at me and smiled. Even in the vapors of sleep, his eyes still clouded, his hair tousled, he had the power to melt my heart.

We laid there, gazing in each other's eyes, not talking, not even breathing for fear of breaking the spell. And it felt good; it felt safe and familiar, as if 4 years hadn't passed since the last time we shared the same bed. He took my hand and started kissing my finger tips, pulling me close to him. Reality kicked in when his phone rang.

-If you wish, I can ignore it.
Too late, the spell was broken.
-Answer it, I'll get dressed.

He looked disappointed, hesitant but finally picked up his phone. I gathered my clothes (they were all over the floor) and went to the bathroom to freshen up. When I got out, he had left the bedroom. I followed the sound of his voice and found him in the kitchen, drinking water...naked.

Some things don't change...

And now what?

And now, well... My heart (and some other parts of me) wants me to pick up where we left off. But my brains (the smartest of the lot) says it's useless. Indeed, he is only here for a few weeks and then he leaves, goes back to his life of travels around the world.

If I decide to follow my heart, we will go out, attend parties, have fun and lots of sex (yeah, we do that); and when it's time to go, he will leave me brokenhearted...again.

Decisions, decisions...

Introduction

Cette petite histoire se situe à Kinshasa (RDC) dans la commune de la Gombe et raconte le quotidien d'une famille congolaise durant le mois de Septembre 1998.

Pendant 1 mois, la guerre civile fait rage au Congo. Des rebelles armés se sont réfugiés dans certains quartiers de la capitale. Le barrage hydro-électrique d'Inga, dans le Bas-Congo a été bombardé. Il n'y a plus d'électricité et les routes de ravitaillement de la ville de Kinshasa sont bloquées pour couper toute possibilité de retraite aux rebelles.

Un couvre-feu est instauré et prend effet tous les jours à partir de 18h00'. Les militaires s'appliquent d'ailleurs à tirer en l'air à l'heure dite pour rappeler aux gens de rentrer chez eux.

La rentrée scolaire, qui devait avoir lieu le 1er Septembre, est repoussée d'un mois.

De plus, une grande animosité règne entre congolais et rwandais à cette époque. On accuse ces derniers d'être responsables des événements et on les agresse (voire pire) à la moindre occasion. Pour ceux qui ne le savent pas, les africains peuvent très souvent deviner les origines des uns et des autres rien qu'au physique.

Alors, si on ne parvient pas à prouver ses origines de manière convaincante…On est passé au "pneu".

Etant donné que je ne ressemble pas à ce que je suis, je suis assignée à résidence.

Je décide donc de décrire mes journées sous la forme d'un livre de bord de capitaine de bateau.

Vendredi 28 Août 1998

20h30' -Cela fait presque 2 semaines qu’il n’y a pas de courant. Le week-end passé, ils ont eu l’amabilité de nous en fournir le matin (7h30’) et de couper le soir (20h30’). Nous avions la prétention de penser que ça se passerait comme ça tous les jours, mais, lundi après-midi lorsqu’ils ont coupé, c’était définitif. Nous sommes vendredi et cela fait 5 jours que nous vivons, disons-le carrément, comme des villageois.

21h30' -Nous pouvons entendre un bruit ressemblant au ronronnement d’un moteur d’avion; certains parlent de chars. Le son ne me dit pas grand-chose.
Quelques 3 quarts d’heures plus tôt, on a entendu des tirs d’armes légères au coin de chez nous. Notre voisin, qui a un groupe électrogène assez bruyant, l’avait mis en marche et donc ne pouvait pas les entendre clairement. Lorsqu’il a appris que ça recommençait à canarder, il s’est empressé de mettre fin à la cacophonie. Ouf !
Donc, depuis 2 semaines, je m’ennuie à mourir : privée de télé, de musique, de tout, même de sortie. Et depuis un certain temps, un régime spécial à base de riz, de poulet, d’haricots, de pondu et d’eau fumée s’est installé. Le poulet on y a droit tous les jours ; il va finir par nous pousser des plumes ! J’espère quand même que nous aurons de l’électricité d’ici quelques jours … Mais ne spéculons pas.

Samedi 29 Août 1998

13h05' -Il y a un point que je n’ai pas abordé : comment passe-t-on nos soirées vu qu'il n’y a pas de distractions ?
Nous sommes en tout 13 personnes. Après avoir mangé vers 19h, les enfants montent dans le petit salon, y installent matelas, nattes et coussins. Les parents nous rejoignent et on s'installe comme on peut, éclairés d’une parfois deux bougies. Toutes les demi-heures, on écoute les informations (des stations étrangères de préférence). On se couche tôt et on se lève tout aussi tôt le lendemain matin ; et c’est repartit !
Au petit (mais vraiment petit) déjeuner de ce matin, je me suis risquée à manger - disons plutôt à boire - de la semoule de maïs. Maintenant je descends manger, vous devinerez sûrement quoi ? La même chose qu’hier, avant-hier et ainsi de suite: du riz. Je déteste le riz!!!

15h07' - On parle guerre. Le débat est ouvert. Entre-temps, les bombardements semblent s’être atténués. En écoutant les conversations (comme à ma bonne habitude), j’ai appris que les pays venus nous prêter « mains fortes » larguaient des bombes aériennes.
Apparemment, on patauge dans la sauce militaire ; on est menacés d’indigestion. De toute façon, la plupart du temps, c’est de l’ « Intox ».

15h22' - Ça se corse, comme dirait ce cher Napoléon. On change de registre. Maintenant on se prend pour des historiens. Ca discutaille ferme. Et t’en veux et j’ t’en donne et patati et patata...
En plus on saute du coq à l’âne. Des Tutsi, on passe aux Arabes. Quel rapport ! ? ! Ce sont les arabesques de la conversation. La personne qui arriverait à ce moment précis ne pourrait pas se mêler à la mêlée car il n’en verrait ni la tête ni la queue.
Bref, comme mon pote l’électricien, je me tiens au courant !

Dimanche 30 Août 1998

7h35' -Nous venons d’écouter les informations. Ce que j’ai retenu de plus important est que les forces gouvernementales auraient, paraît-il, repris le contrôle du barrage d’Inga. Ce sont là les dires des autorités locales. Mais toujours pas d'électricité. La vie rurale continue...

10h50' -Le voisin remet la musique en marche. Il doit vouloir préparer son déjeuner ; déjeuner qui ne révèlera sans doute pas, à l’inverse du nôtre, son origine de cuit au charbon.
Cher ami, si vous pouviez éviter de nous assourdir, je dirai même plus, de nous abasourdir avec votre requiem de Mozart Congolais, ce serait gentil, merci ! Mais bon appétit quand même !

11h15' -Il a appuyé sur stop. La cuisson de la soupe aura été brève. Mais je ne m’en plains pas, loin de là.
Je ne sais pas si vous le savez mais le soir, comme le reste de la journée d’ailleurs, il n’y a pas d'électricité. En conséquence, les voix portent. Pourtant, cela n’a pas tellement eu l’air d’interpeller une de nos voisines, qui, hier soir, vociférait des imprécations douteuses destinées aux oreilles de Dieu mais qui ont été portées à l’attention de tout le quartier. A croire que Dieu est dur de la feuille et qu’elle voulait être sûre qu’il n’en perde pas une miette et nous non plus d'ailleurs. Comme dirait un certain diable d’homme : elle se prend pour qui ?

17h15' -Le concert gratuit recommence pour la seconde fois de la journée. Qu’il en profite bien parce que d’ici à ce que ça recommence à canarder, il devra bien l’arrêter son boucan.
Mais je dis ça par pure jalousie parce que si nous avions nous aussi un groupe électrogène, nous le mettrions en marche en dépit des récriminations des voisins.

Amazon

Fnac

Edilivre

Life is simple
Love is simple
But we, humans, make it so confusing...

Life is simple
Love is simple
But we, humans, make it so confusing
Always choosing the hard way
We remain angry when we could be cool
We’re stubborn when we could just let go
We’re spiteful when we should forgive
We judge our partner
When we’re not perfect ourselves
We remember things we could forget...

What a stupid game,
Life is too short to waste your time arguing about the colour of the sky
Then we break up…and make up…again and again
Where are we going?
What are we doing?
Will it ever end?

Love should be blind enough to let you close your eyes when it’s ugly
High enough to climb a mountain
Hot enough to warm the coldest nights
Humble enough to bow
Kind enough to share
Brave enough to dare
Soft enough to care

Love should feel like what we see in the movies and the books
Endless,
Patient,
Curious,
Naughty,
Crazy.

Love should be everything and everywhere.

-Lily, I don’t understand you. Kyle is perfect. What do you want more? Asked her mother, at the breakfast table.

“What I want? She thought. “Hum, if only you cared.”

All her entourage seemed delighted that she marries Kyle. Everyone except herself!

He announced their engagement during a dinner a few days ago. She couldn’t believe her ears. She had not even answered him yet. Lily was mad with rage but had tried to keep a cool and serene face. The guests even had a toast in their honor.

-What do you think?

-I can’t imagine. Kyle Stevenson is a charming young man, attractive and rich. He will be the perfect spouse. And you know what his family represents in financial sector. Such a union would be a boon for your father...

-Oh please! A boon for my father, a joy for my mother, a chance for our family! Everyone wins in here. What about me, eh? ME? Nobody seems to care about my feelings. What if I don't want to marry Kyle?

-Ridiculous, said her sister Jennifer. Why wouldn’t you want to marry him? The guy is bloody Prince Charming! You don’t know how lucky you are.

-If he's so perfect then marry him yourself!

On these words, Lily left the dining room. She was leaving the house when someone called her from the top of the stairs.

-Hey, Lily!

It was Arthuur, her twin; the only one in this house who seemed to understand her anger. They had always been so close. Of all her brothers and sisters, he was the one she loved the most and vice-versa.

-Hey bro! she said with a voice that she wanted cheerful.

-What’s up! Not in a good mood this morning.

-No, not at all. I’m fine.

-Don’t pretend. You know damn well I can read you like a book.

Hum, like a book indeed.

-So, tell me. It’s about “the news", right?

She didn’t answer. Her silence was quite eloquent anyway.

-So?

-Yeah. It’s that bloody wedding again. I’m fed up. Nobody cares about my opinion or any objection that I might have. Better: they even seem surprised that I can have objections.

-I understand. Come, let’s have a walk, said her twin, putting his arm around her shoulders.

He opened the door and they went out in the park. After a time, Arthuur decided to ask the question that burned his lips for a few days now.

-We haven’t talked about it but there’s something I’d like to ask you.

-I’m all ears.

- Somehow you agreed if Kyle took the pain to make an official announcement, no?

-You don’t understand. He asked for my hand, yes. And I said I was gonna “think” about it. I was even more surprised that you when he made that announcement.

-Really? So why did you just stayed there staring at him? You were so pale I thought you were going to pass out! You could have said something!

-And what was I supposed to do? Stand up and shout: “you liar!” Beautiful scandal...

-Yeah, you’re right; conceded her brother.

-Ok, let’s change the subject please. Don’t you have more pleasant things to tell me? How’s Lucy?

-She’s fine. We had dinner last night.

-Hum. Netflix and chill?

-Oh stop it!

Arthuur knew his sister was teasing him. Lucy was his girlfriend. She wasn’t smart…but she had some “attributes” to compensate that lack of brain.

They were crossing the tennis court when they met Casey.

-Hello you two. Everything ok?

-Yeah, we’re fine. What are you doing here? -My dear, I’m the boss. I decide when I work; he said with a grin.

The remark made her smile. Casey was their elder brother and the head of a famous publishing company.

-Are you playing alone?

-Waiting for Jennifer.

-Talking about me? What have I done?

Jennifer came after Casey. The mini tennis skirt she wore displayed a large amount of her endless legs. Her only fault was that she talked too much.

-Nothing Jen. I was just telling them I planned to play with you this morning.

-Oh, ok. So let us start, if you please. Don’t forget I have to get to the hospital by 1pm and it’s almost 11.

-Will you join us?

-No, thanks, said Arthuur. I have a course and I’m already late.

-Right. Jen, let’s go. See you later.

-Bye! Shouted the twins, running out from the court.

Passing near the swimming pool, they decided to lie down and enjoy the sun. A moment later, they looked at each other and Lily burst out laughing.

-What’s that tale about a course? You’re on holiday!

-Yeah, I know. It’s the only excuse I found. You know I hate tennis.

-Yes, I know. I hate it too!

-You know, we are so alike. You should marry me!

Lily’s face grew dark. Her brother brought it back to the only thing she didn't want to talk about: her wedding. She knew he was kidding but couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable.

-I’m sorry. Don’t look so the offended.

-Whatever! Said Lily, getting up.

She entered the door which led to the living room. Then took the stairs and went straight to her bedroom. She had an appointment with her father and wouldn't late.

They say it ain't over 'til it's over. Especially with your first...

They dated for a year, in high school. They were seventeen, he was her first and she was in love. Maybe he was too; but too much influence from his friends made him act as if he didn't care.

There lied the problem. When she cared, she wasn't afraid or ashamed to show it.

They didn't see each other much outside of school. Him being busy ignoring her on purpose (to look cool in front of his friends). And her, too proud to show it hurt.
It's funny how young boys think that showing love for a girl makes them look weak...
The sex, though rare, was good. Actually, she had nothing to compare it to. She just liked it... a lot.
He had this way of making her toes curl, her nails scratch and her teeth bite.

She didn't break up with him because she stopped loving him. She just grew tired of him disappearing for weeks at a time. Then, he would show up again, all smiles, as if nothing happened.

She fell for somebody else. Somebody who was present and who told her what she needed to hear, when she needed it the most.

Sex was even better with this one. Frequent, rough and oh so dirty. This one was such a player, though. She knew it but didn't care.

But yet, her first always held a special place in her heart. They remained friends after they parted. And every time they met, even years later, she couldn't help but wonder...

And she could see he was wondering too. He confirmed it by sending her a song: "All The Things I Should Have Known".

Yeah, if he only knew that all she wanted was to see him more often, put her head on his shoulder, lay in his arms.

They could have been great together. Intelligent, passionate and driven, they would have accomplished a lot. Ah youth! Making us feel like we know what we're doing when, in reality, we know nothing.

He was her first and there will always be unfinished business between them. He made her discover her body, her womanhood... but not all of it. He touched her like she had never been touched before... but not everywhere. He awakened her to a world of unknown sensations... but...

And every time she sees him or talks to him, she asks herself... what if?

Le vol: long, chiant, crevant. Une centaine d'heures de Bruxelles à Washington et 2 de plus pour atteindre Miami.
Cependant, pour la première fois dans l'histoire de ma vie de voyageuse aérienne, je n'ai pas été malade.
J'ai même... mangé!!!
Oui moi, Yasmine, 22 ans, 1m58, je me suis nourrie dans l'avion et mon estomac est resté à sa place. Fait à marquer dans le annales.

Bon, après s'être faites arnaquer par un chauffeur de taxi peu scrupuleux, qui, soit dit en passant, nous a déposées au mauvais hotel, nous avons fini par arriver à bon port vers 23h et des poussières.
5h du matin en Afrique du Sud et à Bruxelles: impossible d'appeler Maman ou Muriel (notre cousine restée à Bruxelles qui nous a déposé à l'aéroport), ou qui que ce soit d'ailleurs.

Le lendemain matin, après le petit déjeuner (qui à nos yeux s'apparente plus à un repas de midi), une autre mauvaise surprise nous attend. En effet, la fille de l'agence de voyages nous avait assuré que le prix que nous avon spayé couvrait non seulement le séjour mais aussi le petit déjeuner et le souper. FAUX et ARCHI-FAUX! Je peux vous assurer qu'elle a dû sentir les malédictions proférées outre-Atlantique contre sa personne.

J'ai oublié de préciser que la veille au soir en arrivant à l'hotel pour le check-in, épuisées et n'aspirant qu'à une bonne douche et un lit confortable, il a fallu payer $54 de frais pour: