Monthly Archives: June 2026

When Walls Grow Higher

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As I walked to the pharmacy with my three-year-old, I noticed that most yards were enclosed by walls more than a metre high. For some reason, my mind wandered over all the streets I had walked through during the past year and a half, and I realised that almost every yard I had seen was closed in.

As I continued walking, I shook my head because it reminded me of home in Cameroon. These days, almost every new house is built with a high wall around it. Society has changed, and people no longer feel safe enough to leave their doors open.

In contrast, I found myself thinking about my visit to Amsterdam in April 2026. I had gone to visit my Japanese friend-sister in Hof Van Groenen, and from there they kindly drove me to Hilversum, a beautiful little town, to visit family friends I had first known during my teenage years in Cameroon. As we sat in their living room, I noticed people passing by on the street glancing through the windows into the homes around us.

At first, I found it strange, but my host simply smiled. Later, he and his wife took me to Naarden-Vesting, the historic fortress town, and explained the history behind its beautiful star-shaped design. As we walked through the town, I noticed once again that there were no fences around the houses, and people looked through the windows quite naturally.

Curious, I asked my host whether it was not considered inappropriate to look into other people’s homes. He explained that, in their culture, living rooms were often decorated to be seen and admired. People displayed old antiques on shelves or arranged tulips of different colours on the windowsills for others to enjoy.

That way of thinking challenged what I had grown used to seeing. It was comforting to know that there were still places where people valued openness, community, and tradition. Everywhere I went, I was met with warmth, kindness, and gestures of welcome.

As I reflected on that visit, I could not help but sigh deeply. It saddened me to think about how much my own society has changed. The spirit of togetherness that once held people close seems to be weakening. Children no longer show the same respect for elders, neighbours pass one another without greeting, and on buses, young people often remain absorbed in their phones while elderly or injured people are left standing.

Yet this reflection also reminds me that values do not disappear on their own; they fade when people stop practising them. If there is any hope for a more humane society, it must begin in the small, ordinary ways we choose to treat one another: in a greeting, in an open heart, in respect for the elderly, and in the willingness to see our neighbours not as strangers, but as part of our shared human family.

Finding Peace in Gardening

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Many of my clients have described gardening as one of their favourite hobbies because it creates a sense of serenity. It gives them space to reflect, calm their thoughts, and step away from the chaos of their busy schedules.

As someone who spent the first ten years of her life in a village, you might think gardening would come naturally to me. In many ways, it should have. I was involved in turning the soil, planting, and helping to maintain the garden. And yet, I never really paused to appreciate the feeling that came with it.

In April, I decided to take up gardening for myself and step outside my comfort zone. I tilled the soil and created four small patches for lettuce, melon, huckleberry, and potatoes. As I worked, I felt both excited and anxious. My mind raced with questions: Would the seeds germinate? Would they grow well?

This was my first time tending a garden without anyone’s guidance, and all I had to rely on was what I remembered from watching my mother more than twenty years ago. To make matters worse, the rains stopped just as I had finally decided to begin. Once the groundwork was done and the seeds were planted, I waited for rain, only to realise that I would need to water the garden by hand until it arrived.

I headed to the utility room to rummage through the tools we had and found a hose, which I connected to the tap to water the garden by hand. For a week, I cared for it that way—until the hose broke. Suddenly, I was left wondering how I would keep the garden alive in 32-degree heat without it. Then I remembered how my mother used to carry water in a can to nourish her vegetables. So, once again, I went off to the supermarket, this time in search of a watering can.

That was the moment I realised gardening is not as simple as people sometimes make it sound. It requires patience, consistency, and thoughtful planning. As the weeks passed, I kept a close eye on every small change. As of June 3, I am thrilled to say that I have around 12 healthy bunches of lettuce growing and 16 potato shoots pushing through the soil. Unfortunately, the melon didn’t make it.  As for the huckleberry, I believe it has not adapted well to this climate in the way it would back home in Cameroon.

I remember my mother sprinkling ashes from the fireplace over the huckleberry plants to enrich the soil, but that is not something I have access to here in France. Even though the huckleberry did not survive, I decided to nourish the rest of the garden with organic compost instead. Now, whenever we peel carrots, cut tomatoes, eat bananas, or have any other biodegradable food scraps, I chop them into smaller pieces and place them in a small hole in the garden. In this way, the soil is gradually fed through decomposition.

To pass on what I am learning to my two sons, I let them help with weeding around the lettuce. Watching them work so joyfully brings me a deep sense of fulfilment. My three-year-old is still too young to understand exactly what he should and should not touch, so I give him the task of collecting garden waste and putting it into the green bin bag. His eager little voice always responds with a cheerful, “Yes, Mommy.” My six-year-old, on the other hand, can already tell the difference between the plants, so he carefully pulls out the unwanted weeds.

Now, as I work in the garden and watch my children interact with it, I understand more deeply why so many people cherish this hobby. Beyond the harvest, gardening has given me a new way to connect—with nature, with my memories, with my children, and even with my clients. What once felt like simple labour has become a source of joy, reflection, and quiet pride.