Happy Hollidays

It’s that time of year again. Can you believe that I am already old enough to have traditions? My first Thanksgiving was spent with family in Minnesota and I got so attached to the idea that I had several of them imported for the big feast again this year in Senegal. Grandma and Grandpa made the long trip across the water and they liked it so much they just kept right on going. Baby Adventure Traveler had a big impact on them and they decided to conduct their own investigations into Tunisia, Egypt, and Kenya. They saw wonders ancient and modern including a plethora of great African animals but I believe their greatest pleasure was seeing one pudgy little human.




















This time of year is a good time to reflect on the past, look at old photos and hear stories of how everything came to be the way it is today.




















It is also a time to play and be joyous and the spirit of the season really brought the kid out in all of us.

Grandpa especially.
I really wore him out.















Not all traditions are easy to follow. Last year in December we lit Hanukkah candles and sang “Rock of Ages” quite poorly. This year there was a fat man in a red suit. I feel a bit conflicted and suspect there is some sort of a cover up going on. The guy with the obviously false beard and exaggerated paunch certainly had something to hide. I will see if I can figure out a way to meld these odd rituals in future years because they both had some interesting parts. But frankly, it matters little to me if we are eating potato pancakes or drinking egg nog, as long as I get to spend time with people who want nothing more than to laugh at my delightful antics.

I wish you all the best during this time of year and I hope that you too are surrounded by people who take ridiculous amounts of pleasure in watching you do something as simple as putting on sunglasses or helping sweeping the patio.












Happy Hollidays and as I say to every airplane that passes overhead, “Bye bye!”

Peace to all,
Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler

BANNED IN CHINA!!!

BABY ADVENTURE TRAVELER CENSORED -- 1.3 BILLION CHINESE LEFT IN THE DARK
It's true, Dear Readers, Baby Adventure Traveler is closer than ever to taking down the corrupt Communist regime terrorizing China with an iron fist. My messages of peace and adventure struck fear into their hearts and they no doubt envisioned their cushy way of life crumbling around them as their downtrodden country-men rose up and said “Yes, peace to all, including us!” This is an exciting moment in history. Not since that guy stood in front of the tank has one person come so close to derailing that trainload of totalitarians and their massive military machine. Of course that guy ended up wearing cement sandals at the bottom of the Yangtze, but that won’t deter me.

Upon receiving the news (see the comment section from my last post), I wrote a harshly worded letter and dispatched an envoy to the United Nations in Geneva to file my formal complaint. Naturally, there was much diplomatic hand-wringing at the Palais des Nations and I believe they are drafting a resolution at this moment which will also probably be banned in China and that will be the end of that.

In stark contrast to the oppression in the land of Confucius, life in that Alpine nation could not be more pleasant. In Switzerland the serene beauty of the mountains jutting up dramatically behind Lake Geneva has led the Swiss to just sit down and enjoy the peace, according to my envoy, Assistant Number Two. As a result, they set up a system of democracy and neutrality where anyone could speak their mind and the army would never get involved in any imbroglio so bad that it couldn’t defend itself with those handy little knives.

When the Swiss first adopted this simple weapons platform they could have been overthrown by a marauding troop of Boy Scouts who, according to my intelligence, would have been greeted as liberators. But in truth, the Swiss Army was so inept with traditional artillery that the phrase “Swiss Miss,” which has been corrupted over time, originally referred to their targeting acumen. Now, however, after years of practice they have become quite good at defending themselves using all the little attachments on the knife, especially the eyeball remover, a device people generally mistake for a corkscrew.

The important point is this: free speech and a meager investment in defense technology has not resulted in anarchy, poverty, pestilence, or attack. Au contraire, the Swiss have become so advanced that they are able to charge $10.00 for a box of Cheerios and sell watches that cost more than my Honda CR-V. I implore you brave souls living in the icy shadow of the Great Wall to keep reading your smuggled copies of Baby Adventure Traveler. Spread this message to your neighbors and together we will shine a light into the darkness.

Until next time, peace to all, including the Chinese
Omi, Banned Baby Adventure Traveler

Puppy Love

As some of you have surmised by now, there is more to being a celebrity than catwalks and champagne parties. There are tribulations associated with our position in society that ordinary people often don't understand. One of the challenges I find myself coming up against is figuring out who my true friends are. I am often asked to appear in public and each time I do I am surrounded by the most lovely people. But always in the back of my mind is the nagging question, do they like me for me, or because they see me as a cultral icon? From time to time I call my agent to arrange public relations events with some of the lesser known babies in Dakar. I've come to rely on my agent and sometimes call her several times a day. It seems that every time I pass a phone I just have to pick it up and give her a quick "hello," or as we say in Senegal, "awa." She is a good agent and I appreciate the fact that I am always able to reach her, whether I am calling on a traditional land line or the air conditioner remote control.

Recently, I've been working birthday parties. I am often asked to put in an appearance so I can be photographed with the birthday baby, demonstrate how much cake I can eat, and show off some of my more risque dance moves. I am also available for Bar Mitzvahs, weddings and Iftars. "Iftar" is a dinner ceremony held during the holy month of Ramadan after Muslims have been fasting all day. The dinner is preceded by prayers and appetizers of dates, bread and coffee. It is a solemn, deeply religious event and people dress their best. Why they thought an amusement park would be an appropriate venue for this continues to baffle me.

As you can see from the photos below, I have come to rely on the council of two colleagues, Lefty and Righty. Unlike those I meet at my public events, they seem little interested in photo ops or the glamour of being associated with me. The three of us are beginning to develop a good relationship and we go almost everywhere together. Like a devil and angel sitting on my shoulder, they are my conscience, advising me on all manner of decisions. Lefty tries to steer me toward the light, urging sweetness, patience, and fewer tantrums while Righty fosters darker urges such as playing with the remote controls, furiously wiggling out of my high chair, and voting Republican.

Of course there are other minor characters in the drama that is my life. Ralphie, Jackie Jr., Adriana, and Tony B. often join me for tea. They are cute and lovable and they receive many kisses from me. But ultimately, like the Sopranos victims they were named for, they are unanimated and expendable.

For true friendship, there is no one like Gazelle. She is always looking out for me, even when she is accidentally knocking me down. She licks my face, follows me around and is a permanent fixture underneath my seat at the table because she knows I'll drop the most food. Whenever I see her or another of her ilk, I yell out as much of her name as I can pronounce -- "Ga-ga!" She is warm, loving, and faithful. My puppy wants nothing more from me than hugs and sometimes I get the feeling she doesn't even realize how big I am in the Baby Adventure business. Those things just don't matter to her and for that, she is my best friend in the world.

Until next time, peace to all.
Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler

Africa Through the Eyes of Others

How does an adventure traveler know she is having an impact? What keeps us going day after day, slogging through the ticks and the heat to bring you comfortable readers in your dens and internet cafes news of the Third World? It certainly isn't by cashing your subscription checks (as you can see from this photo, I've had to resort to the odious Hollywood habit of product placement). For me, the measure of a successful adventure traveler is the number of readers she can entice up out of that plush chair and into her realm. I am pleased to say that I am already at three with two more scheduled for later this fall. But these visits are more than just a testament to the transcendental works I've penned, they are also a rare opportunity for me to re-experience Africa through their eyes. The first-time traveler to Africa has a sense of wonder and bewilderment which I find sweet and childlike.

Patricia was the first to be wooed by my words. She came from Switzerland and spent much of her time assisting my assistant in her classroom. I also was invited by the school to conduct symposia on topics ranging from "Deconstructing Mass Media in Contemporary West African Society" to "How to Fit a Dozen Goldfish Crackers in Your Mouth at Once."

One thing that Patricia thought was remarkable was the segregation that is nowhere more obvious than on select beaches in Dakar. In this photo, a resort hotel's private beach abuts a popular public beach. A (Senegalese) man in a kayak rows back and forth along the border to make sure no locals cross onto the pristine, abandoned beach. At first glance, one wonders how such blatant segregation can be tolerated. On further reflection, however, I wonder who is discriminating against whom. The guys on the left look to me like they are having a lot more fun.

Next came Curt and Sarah all the way from Wisconsin. As you can see from this picture, Curt is wondering why he thought it would be a good idea to come to Africa. Spending time with them helped me see just how much I have adapted to here and how trying every day life can be. For example, I witnessed the deleterious effects of food not properly prepared. When served perfectly wrong it can take down a full grown adult for three days. I also was reminded (here I'm being diplomatic as the following fact is not generally forgotten) that it is anatomically impossible to apply sun block to one's own back. People in Wisconsin may have the luxury of forgetting this fact, but people near the equator do not.

Curt and Sarah's visit coincided with Ramadan, the holiest month for Muslims who spend every sunlit hour fasting (clearly not the religion for me). They even deprive themselves of water until after sundown when they may refuel for the next hungry, thirsty day. My Midwestern guests found out that this is not only a time for quiet, serene prayer and communication with Allah, but also a good chance to steal stuff. Crime always goes up during Ramadan and the wary tourist must fend off those who hope to pickpocket their way to a virgin-filled heaven. But mostly my guests were confronted with those on a slower path to carnal nirvana, the shysters and hucksters who merely try to talk you out of your money by offering a variety of products and services including windshield wipers, glass chess sets, underwear, acting as tour guide, and the small donation they need to refrain from keying your parked car.

But then there's my assistant Number Two -- a simple man, some say Gump-like. He sees a beautiful woman sipping coconut juice on the beach in the sunset and he just thanks Allah that he has everything he needs in the world. So dear readers, I will put my boots back on and ride off in search of more adventures to write about in the hopes that you will come see Africa through your own eyes.

Until next time, peace to all.
Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler

Mail bag

I have received so many great letters from my fans since starting Baby Adventure Traveler. I am no longer able to reply to all of them individually so I decided to post a few of the most commonly asked questions.

Dear Omi,
My husband and I are redecorating our house and we can't agree on curtains versus blinds. Just about the only thing we do agree on is that we both trust your judgement. Any suggestions?

Signed,
Pam from Scranton, PA

Dear Pam,
You were right to come to me with this dilemma. While it is true I am not an interior decorator per se, I feel passionately about window dressings and as qualified to give opinions about them as fellow celeb Tom Cruise is about psychotherapy. Long flowing curtains that reach the floor are the covering of choice for me. In my own abode, I can spend an afternoon twirling around in the curtains, running through them, and hiding behind them waiting for someone to say "Where's Omi?" only to rush out into the room laughing at their always startled expression by the fact that I was hiding in the curtains all along. You and your husband are in for hours of fun if you go with curtains.

Dear Omi,
If you could be any kind of animal, what would it be?

Signed,
The Claw, Stillwater Correctional Facility

Dear Claw,
Definitely an elephant. I've gotten quite good at imitating the elephant sounds that my assistant taught me how to make. I regularly stomp around the house practicing.

Dear Omi,
My favorite character is Assistant Number Two. He seems delightful and intelligent, whimsical yet deep, and just fabulous in general. And don't get me started on his Adonis-like good looks. My girlfriends and I all want to know more about him. Please feature him more prominently in your stories and maybe include some pictures of him doing push-ups without a shirt.

Signed,
Babs in Tulsa

Dear Babs,
This blog is called "Baby Adventure Traveler" for a reason. I am the star and the only one who will be figured prominently. I admit I briefly toyed with the idea of creating a spin-off series but ultimately decided no one would tune in to a blog titled "Adventures with Number Two." On an unrelated topic, is the city of Tulsa still adding fluoride and psychotropic acid to the drinking water?

Omi,
I'm a long time reader, first time writer. I'd like to see your column venture more into politics. What is your suggestion for Middle East peace?

Signed,
D. Cheney, undisclosed location

Dear D,
I don't claim to have all the answers, but I do know that a nap after lunch, a warm bottle of milk before bed, and plenty of hugs all day long make me feel warm and loved. Perhaps those things should be worked in to the roadmap.

Dear Omi,
Most babies I know spend their days making things wet or dirty or both. By contrast, you seem fairly articulate and have visited a list of places as long as your leg (or as thick, which ever is bigger). In this information age where anyone can clog the internet with "mediatainment," the pressure to create ever more interesting and titillating articles pushes some beyond the bounds of journalistic integrity. One must wonder if there is any embellishment in your own journal or if in fact, you really ever went anywhere at all. I saw a chubby baby in K-mart last week down on County Road 9 that looked suspiciously like you...

Signed,
Ray in Davenport, IA

Dear Ray,
It comes as no surprise to me that denizens of a town named after a sofa would tend toward the sedentary. However, I can assure you and any other doubters that the stamps in my diplomatic passport bear witness to my wanderings and all the anecdotes are real. As for embellishments, well, all important people have secretaries and assistants that are expected to fill in the details when we end dictation with "et cetera, et cetera." But I can assure you, my assistant's most frequent editorial contribution is translating my erudite vocabulary into simple-speak so the good people of Davenport, Iowa can follow along.

Dear Omi,

I can't get a strait answer from anybody else and I figured you must know. Where do babies come from?

Signed,
Ricky Wong, Mrs. Johnson's third grade class

Dear Ricky,
It is an age old quandary, but I think the more relevant question in today's world is "where are babies going?" Today, babies are found on every continent and represent all walks of life. Some are actors, some are criers, and even a special few are adventure travelers. I predict some day we will put a baby on the moon. There is no stopping us.

Thank you all for your lovely letters, please keep them coming!

Until next time, peace to all.
Omi, Baby Adventure traveler

African-American

I try to blend in by wearing the latest African fashions. My assistant had to cut a wider neck hole so my bulbous melon would fit through. It was very humiliating.

I have been living in Africa for over half my life and I think I am now turning African-American. My bloodline is all American – a rich combination of North and Central which will ensure I grow up to be both practical and passionate. But now the air I breathe, the food I eat (almost constantly), the dirt I roll in, the music I hear, and much of my adoring public are all African. I must admit I have never fully understood the term “African-American,” which is nothing more than two distant spots on a map bound together by a hyphen. Even though it makes no mention of the color spectrum, it seems to denote skin pigmentation. I find this curious and I wonder if I share similar experiences with others who use this label.

For example, now I eat African-style with my hands whereas before, I recall sipping genteelly from a boring, sterilized bottle. Africans are famous hand-to-mouthers, literally. Some of the favorite dishes are yasa poulet and tiebdienne. The first is chicken, the second is fish. They both are mixed with rice and share a similar tomato-onion sauce. It is a wet, messy meal and Senegalese grab it with their right hands, squeeze it into a sticky ball and pop it in their mouths. I find this utterly squishy and entirely delightful. I’ll never go back to the bottle again.

I wonder also how many people can say they have experienced the unique African plague of mango worms. These are not actually worms but big, disgusting larvae from some kind of fly or other menacing bug. They grow from eggs that hatch right under your skin. This is a joy usually reserved for pets and my poor Gazelle gets them regularly. But I was lucky enough to experience first-hand one of the little suckers holed up in my own head in an apparent attempt to ride to fame on my coattails. He grew silently but painfully right in the back of my skull and we shared many adventures together until I awoke from a nap one day to find he had left me just as silently as he came. It turns out my assistant smothered the red welt with Vaseline so the poor larvae had to come up for air and then when he did, my assistant pulled him out with tweezers. Sometimes life can be difficult here for adventure travelers, but even more so for mango worms who think they can live a comfortable life stowed away in a celebrity’s noodle.

You can see that I have also abandoned the American and possibly Australian transportation method of riding up front like a baby kangaroo. Now I ride African-style in the back of the bus where all the cool kids sit. I kick back in my comfy wrap and let my assistant catch all the bugs in her teeth for a change.

I don’t know, maybe being African-American is more complicated than all that. Besides, there will probably be too much explaining to do if I check that box on my college application forms. All I know is I am grateful for having the opportunity to sample the best and worst life has to offer on both continents, no matter what my skin color. And I may never be a master of race relations, but at least I don’t have one of these in my parlor.

Until next time, peace to all.
Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler

Paris

Paris, France – The primary purpose of this trip was to uncover evidence of the widely held American suspicion that the French dislike us and that they are snooty. Naturally, my first stop was the Arc de Triomphe, which was conveniently located just a few blocks from my tiny apartment. A curious monument in a country that has lost every war it has ever been in, not to mention the World Cup. I believe the monolith is really meant to symbolize the French triumph over letting it bother them. Despite being perpetually in second place, the air of superiority that they have managed to maintain is impressive and indeed monumental.

But I was pleasantly surprised to find that the French are delightful hosts to visiting dignitaries, even Americans. My assistants ordered every baguette and bottle of wine in their broken, accented French and every time the response was the same -- politeness served up in flawless English. And the French clearly agree with tourists of all nationalities on the long-held belief that my adorableness transcends cultures. From the banks of the Seine to the heights of Montmarte, people from all walks stopped to pay their respects and make faces as they passed me. The apex of attention came as I snaked my way through the line to ascend the Eiffel Tower surrounded by a Japanese tour group. As I repeatedly passed their ranks, I proved to be a much bigger draw than the tower itself. Crazy elderly women made undignified tongue gestures and otherwise cool adolescent boys were wooed by my cuteness. Like a pin-up girl in a war zone, I entertained the troops and posed for multiple pictures.

Some mistakenly believe the root of French pride stems from their vast achievements in painting, sculpture, theater, philosophy, architecture, fashion, dance, cuisine, and political thought. I guess these things have a certain importance, but their true contribution lies in the shopping district of Paris. At one point, I was so overcome with emotion by a sale bin of shoes that I climbed inside and enshrouded myself in the glory of French culture.

After debating de Tocqueville's philosophy and comparing theories on Sartre with some locals at a corner cafe, I began to come to the conclusion that the French have been getting a bad rap. While it is probably true that they will not be convicted of smothering Americans with love, they certainly appreciate beauty and class when they see it and they saw it everywhere I went. As if that weren't enough, they've built one of the most photographic capitals in the world. I'm including some of my favorite pictures below for my loyal fans.

My American-made carriage was among the largest vehicles on the streets of Paris. There, even the ambulances are diminutive. I am not sure to what type of "urgence medicale" this little car is designed to respond but I suspect it is exclusively for midgets who fall into trash compactors – an uncommon, albeit regrettable occurrence.

This car really cracks me up.

Caught up in the allure of all things Parisian, I enjoyed a picnic of baguette and cheese at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. I’m a teetotaler myself but I allowed my assistants to taste a sip of wine, which turned out to be a habit they were reluctant to break.

Every girl should have a stroll down the Champs Elysées on her birthday at least once in her life.

Sometimes it rains unexpectedly in Paris.

Paris is still a city of romance. My natural magnetism brought out the handsome and swarthy older men, but even though I walk around without pants, I am a shy girl when it comes to love.

For reasons I was not able to discover, the French are very clear about where they want your weiner dog to walk.

Until next time, peace to all. Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler