Karma Chameleon

We can skim along life's surface like a water boatman, without impression or impact; or plunge into it like a hippo, creating a swirl of suction and disruption that says 'I'm here, watch out!' I like to wallow and submerge, snuggling deeply into life and making it my own. It's there for seizing and shaking, carpe diem and all that, and why not?

Making the best of what's delivered to my feet is all very well but the startling ease with which I slipped into a life unimaginable just 4 months ago is unsettling, to say the least. 

I find chameleons fascinating and charming and will spend time watching them change to blend into their surroundings. But for people, adapt or die is rather dramatic; few of us ever have to face that choice and while 'it is what it is, just accept it' gets me through and over many challenges, there is something, well, shallow, about changing one's own skin so to speak and slipping into another lifestyle without pause or hiccup.

Born in England and raised in South Africa, I've long considered Africa to be my heartbeat and England my cosy, snuggly slippers. Comfortable and as easy as it is to live in the UK compared to the helter-skelter of Africa, there is something about the drama, colour, noise and vibrant human warmth of the continent that has ruggedly grasped my heart and soul and won't let go.

Or so I thought. Until I arrived in England one chilly December afternoon.

Less than an hour after landing, I was repeatedly asked for help by travellers trying to navigate Thameslink rail system. During many years of travel to the Netherlands, UK, New York and even Paris, I became accustomed to being stopped and asked for directions - it rather thrilled me because I felt that I looked 'local' and saw that as rather a compliment.

Now, I question my loyalties and skin-deep partisanship. How can I consider myself a true African while loving the astonishing choices and benefits and sheer comfort of living in a First World country, with easy access to everything you need and a whole bunch of things you didn't realise were possible, let alone needing them? How the hell did I lose my Saffer accent so fast and master the public transport system so quickly? Now I raise my eyebrows and sigh impatiently at people hesitating on the London underground, or fumbling with tickets when a quick tap with a bank card will do.

Who IS this person of such shallow roots and loyalties she swirls across the ocean like a rainbow iridescent splash of oil on water?

I like living here in England.

There, I've said it. So far, two months in, I've suffered only fleeting moments of homesickness. Worse, I'm scouring travel specials - do you know how cheap it is to go to Cuba from here? Prague, Turkey, Croatia are just a stretch across the channel and the pound, at least for another month, still buys a ton of things the ZAR can't even contemplate. Plans to fly south in early Spring are changing - there is so much to see and do here and Africa isn't going away. 

Truth be told, I'm somewhat shamed by my shallowness and how easily I discarded who I thought I was for creature comforts.