**Champ de Mars, Paris, September 25, 2020**
Here I am at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, a week after arriving in France, posing like a Coco Chanel model. Despite the chill, I shed my jacket to reveal the graceful curves of my slender frame. With a radiant smile, I sparkled before the camera held by my impromptu photographer, my cousin Vinette, assisted by her lighting expert, my other cousin Jeanne.
What joy and delight it was to let loose on an autumn afternoon in such fine company! Jeanne couldn't stop teasing about my lethal hip sways or my captivating brown eyes, which she claimed could unravel even France's most secure man—the President of the Republic, Emmanuel Macron.
Indeed, I felt stunning and alluring, though the younger of Aunt Fatou's daughters had a knack for exaggeration. Vinette reminded Jeanne that the head of state preferred mature women older than himself, suggesting a twenty-five-year-old like me stood little chance of catching his eye.
Not so sure, Jeanne countered, convinced my African charm would leave no man, without exception, unmoved.
We laughed at the delightful jest again and again until the photo shoot ended, then went for ice cream.
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**Paris, October 27, 2020**
My first month in France passed mostly in peace, though the cold grew fiercer as winter approached.
The chill was constant and unbearable, keeping me from enjoying the outdoors as much as I'd hoped. Still, I had already fulfilled one dream: visiting the Eiffel Tower.
Thus, I spent most of my time alone at home while Aunt Fatou worked as a housekeeper for a bourgeois family downtown, and my cousins Jeanne and Vinette attended school at Lycée Emile Dubois and Paris 8 University, respectively.
Have you noticed? So far, I've mentioned only women in our household, yet… there lived a man: Aunt Fatou's husband, Jacques-Cartier.
Upon my arrival, I was told the fifty-something truck driver had left for a delivery of French apples to Central and Eastern Europe.
A native Frenchman, the father of Jeanne and Vinette, they said—somewhat stern, they emphasized, but gentle with those he'd come to know over time.
"Not very reassuring," I thought to myself.
And how right I was… On the evening of October 27, 2020, Jacques-Cartier returned with a thunderous presence. Furious, it seemed, after receiving a hefty fine—whose amount I never learned—for speeding and driving under the influence.
"But who's this now?" was the first spontaneous remark from the head of the Vilepin household as he found me seated in his designated armchair in the living room.
No need to say I froze, and my Parisian idyll crumbled on the spot. The tranquil times and warm welcome I'd known vanished.
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**Paris, October 28, 2020**
Last night was dreadful, as I could hear Jacques-Cartier, Aunt Fatou's husband, ranting from their bedroom about me.
His voice, hoarse like a frog's—likely from years of heavy drinking—rumbled so loudly our tiny apartment shook, the vibrations reaching neighbors above and below.
He didn't stop grumbling to his wife about the extra burden my presence under their roof caused—or would cause over time.
The man, now fiercely irritable from excessive spirits, didn't mince words in telling her I needed to find a job and move out as soon as possible.
Poor Aunt Fatou couldn't get a word in. Each time she tried to explain she'd warned him about her niece arriving from Senegal to stay and ease into French society, she was cut off.
"Well, no, Madame! Hurry and sort out this mess. We struggle to get by with four, and now I've got a fine dumped on me. We'll need to tighten our belts, so adding a fifth person to our already tight budget is out of the question," bellowed Padré Jacko, as his daughters—my cousins Jeanne and Vinette—affectionately called him.
They tried to reassure me that his anger, as always, would fade by morning once the wine in his veins cleared.
I remained skeptical. We crossed paths in the living room that morning, October 28, around eight. My "Good morning, Uncle!" was met with a cold dismissal and contemptuous eyes from the household head.
I don't know how I survived such a piercing glare from my aunt's husband.
Nevertheless, it confirmed my need to leave the Vilepin home at once. I resolved to start job hunting that very day.