My parents sold their motorbike and sidecar, packed up house and sprogs and relocated us lock, stock and barrel way across the globe from England to South Africa. Quite a feat in 1969 when maintaining links with family was much more difficult. Wandering the planet does seem to have infected my mother and her brothers, though. One uncle was in the RAF and spent years stationed in Cyprus while the other, a ships engineer, sailed the 7 seas and 5 oceans. My brave aunt delivered that set of cousins in Guyana and Sierra Leone respectively. By contrast, I've firmly planted my toes deep into the soil, possibly in protest against being forced aboard a BOAC flight and whisked off to Africa against my childish will.
There, I've said it. I really, really, really did NOT want to leave home and hearth and especially my beloved granny to head south on some barmy adventure of my parents. It got worse (so I thought then). They'd decide on Friday afternoon to pop off to Lourenço Marques (now Maputo, Mozambique) which entailed loading up the old Renault 10 (no aircon, plastic seats, feuding siblings and awful carsickness) for the weekend. It also meant sleeping in the car at the border, waiting for it to open on Saturday. Some weekends it was Gaborone, others Swaziland or the then Eastern Transvaal and Kruger National Park. Hour upon interminable hour spent in the car traversing dusty dirt roads.
Thankfully, the sulky brat grew up and dragged her own offspring through similar experiences. With aircon and a heap more travel comforts but to the same unappreciative audience. Talk about payback!
Home is where the heart is, they say (what tosh, my heart never leaves my body) and Paul Young yodeled on about laying his hat but the best bit of advice I've received about setting up a new life in a new country came from a much loved friend who has had her fair share of intercontinental and trans-continental moves - pack 1 piece of home to take with you. No matter how useful / less it is, having an anchor item at hand helps calm the emotional waves. (Thanks Lynda xx)
Airline weight and baggage limits kiboshed that, and HO very selfishly dumped the 3 books I'd sneaked into his hand luggage when he investigated the cause of nearly wrenching his shoulder out of it's socket. Bust, and it wasn't a pretty moment!
Practical items took preference over emotional possessions but it's amusing to investigate our limited cutlery assortment - we forgot to pack a tin-opener. Look at what emerged from my lime green suitcase though - my dawa cocktail stomper and a Swiss Army knife! Got my priorities sorted, then.
Fortunately, we have a second bite at the household moving apple and are flying back to SA next week to pack up Henry the Campervan with more necessities and home comforts. We have rented an adorable little hobbit cottage in Nairobi and it will bring much joy to have a few familiar things around us once more. One item I reluctantly left behind the first time was a favourite embossed, recycled glass wine goblet. That will be the first item lovingly packed so that Kenyan sunsets can be toasted with a memory-filled glass and all will be well in my world.
Like it or not, we become ever more true to ourselves and our family heritage as we age. The biggest laugh of all - my mother's family name is Moss. It looks like granny and granddad produced a clutch of rolling stones determined to challenge that!
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| My essential bits of home! |
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