Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF)

June 7th, 2024 MP4 File, ChatGPT, Adobe Photoshop & Firefly My mother, Sery Nicole Princesse (as she culturally was called by her last name first, then her first name, then her middle name) had a difficult life, which in turn caused us to have a complicated relationship. My sister and I can agree that the main reason we appear somewhat normal is because despite everything we went through growing up, our mother was a good parent to us for the first decade or so of our upbringing. But we also agree that the traits we inherited from her and our father as well as the unstable conditions they (respectively) had us live under at various points in our lives most certainly contributed to the lasting psychological issues we are both experiencing to this day. I think one of the most difficult things for children to do is to recognize their parents as human beings with desires, faults, ambitions and emotions not so far removed from their own. I spent too many years angry at my mother for neglecting and abandoning us, although from the confrontations she and my sister had regarding this she never admitted to having done anything wrong as she really thought she did what was best at the time. But as I matured, I realized that the anger I was holding onto was toxic to my own mental health and wellbeing and was keeping us from having any sort of relationship. So back in 2018 when I was 22, seven years after I had last seen her, I told her I was coming back to Antwerp to visit for the first time since moving to the US and how important it was to me that we made plans to meet. And she agreed, so she flew from Casablanca. We had lunch together at Panos, rode the ferris wheel at the seasonal fair by Central Station, and walked the Meir and Offerandestraat. We had lighthearted conversations, shared silly gossip, and made loose future plans for a trip to Côte d'Ivoire with my sister when we could all afford it. These moments with her made me nostalgic for a simpler time, when she would hold my hand tightly while crossing the street or kiss my bruised knee with a “Yako ” (a Bété/Baoule word for sorry or condolences) and make it feel all better. I didn’t know at this point that these would be our last moments together in person. She passed about two months after the pandemic lockdowns began, due to her mental health causing months-long mistrust of the efficacy of the insulin she depended on resulting in her taking it too inconsistently (the fact that she was having a hard time paying for insulin, which we found out posthumously, also didn’t help), as well as circumstantial issues she encountered regarding lack of adequate healthcare in Côte d'Ivoire once her diabetes-related health crisis began. Part of what hurts so much about losing her was how preventable it all seemed. There were many variations of “If only” statements that ran through my head for months after her death. Sometimes these resurface when I feel the pain of the loss acutely. But then I light a candle for her and take comfort in the knowledge that her spirit lives on in my memories. One hundred percent of the proceeds from minting this NFT will go to Doctors Without Borders,  towards improving access to healthcare in countries such as Cote D’Ivoire . Every subsequent sale will be split 50-50 between the seller and the foundation. You must be 18 years or older (or whichever is the legal age in your area) and possess a valid credit card tied to your name, or if purchasing with crypto you automatically attest that you are of legal majority age within your jurisdiction to be making such a transaction.