“Can I go to the school where there’s Seko and Matt McCarffey? My best friends in the whole wide world.”
“No one wants to play with me at my new school. It makes me sad. I don’t want to go back to that school. I want my real school.”
“Can I please get my moths back from Grumps’ house? Can I go to his house to fetch them? I will be quick. I promise.”
“I am tired of English. I’m over it. I want to go home. To Africa. My home.”
“Why is Dad always on the aeroplane? Why is Dad always at work?”
“When you speak to me like that Mom, you break my heart.”
“I miss Gra Gra so much it hurts in my chest.”
“Mom you make me so angry I want to cut your head off with a big knife.”
There are layers of complexity underneath those simple sentences. Sentences that my four year old has spoken. Sentences that simultaneously make me want to laugh, cry and submerge myself in a barrel of wine. We did a big thing with this move that we’ve casually dubbed Adventure 20-13. We moved a well-rounded little boy away from all the family, friends, pets, places and possessions he has ever known and loved. And we chose to re-settle him in a new country. A new home. A new school. Where everything is foreign, in every sense of the word. And he had absolutely no choice in the matter. We decided for him. We pulled the ultimate parent card.
So we’re five months in and the dust is slowly starting to settle. New realities are being shaped. I’m starting to wake up less thinking that’s all been a dream…that we’re on some version of a weird holiday. And I’m slowly starting to take the time to reflect on what we’ve done. The decision to make this epic move wasn’t taken lightly. We didn’t do it playing rock, paper, scissors where the winner of the best of three decides. Although that kind of reckless attitude to decision-making would normally apply to us. We’re not a couple known for weighing up much when it comes to making decisions. Any decisions. We looked at our flat once before we bought it. We cracked open a bottle of wine, offered a random amount over the Internet to sellers we never actually met and it was accepted the same night. Our house story is even more bizarre. We didn’t see the inside of our house before we bought it. We climbed over the fence with the agent, peered in through the windows and made an offer on the way home. We didn’t drive our car before we bought it either. You get the picture. No lists feverishly created, analysed or probed. No pros. No cons. For us it’s always been simple. We go with what feels right. We go with our gut. And for the most part, it all turns out ok. We’ve come up with an odd little system to make the most of the Russian roulette of living that seems to be our style. Rather than try and go against it. We roll with it. And we’ve rolled on pretty steadily thus far. Touch wood.
Granted if Adventure 20-13 goes pear, it wouldn’t be as simple to rectify as a house with mould or a car that’s a bit wonky. It has been the biggest decision of our lives. Bigger than anything we’ve ever done. Because it has, and will continue to have, the most monumental impact on the most valued treasures in our lives. Our two children. If we were to go back to the primary reason compelling why we’d consider leaving a perfectly happy middle class life in a country we love with incredible friends and supportive family, the answer would come straight back to where we started. Our children. They’re the question and the answer in everything. I think that’s just what happens when you become a parent. It becomes your new status quo. Forever. So me questioning our motives for this move and our overall plan for adding value and benefits to our children's lives naturally begins and ends with them. We’ve chosen to make this move to present them with opportunities down the line that would not otherwise have been available. It’s simple on paper. It’s simple to rationalise it. Simple to explain it. But to live it? Not so simple at times. As the record of my journey here has shown.
It’s too soon to gauge the effect of this life change and how everything will land after all the shaken pieces settle. Will they land smoothly? Will they break? Will they form new pieces? We will do our best to influence what we can. Control what we can. Make decisions we believe are right for our children, for ourselves. And beyond that, no one really can answer. It’s all at the mercy of the rollercoaster of life. You do your best and that’s all that can be asked of you. For my son, however, his needs now are simple. Life couldn’t be less complicated. He wants a house with space and trees to climb. He wants his dog. He wants his friends. He wants his family. Not necessarily in that order. But with equal measures of love and longing. And we’re trying very hard to provide for those needs. As best we can. We win some and we lose some. But we try. We’ll never, in any contest, be crowned Parents of the Year. But we’d have a good shot at Try-Hards of the Year. And I’m realising that’s not half bad. Forget sharing. Trying is the new caring.
I’ve learnt a lot from my four year old in these five months. He’s struggled with this change. He’s reacted to his new circumstance. He’s thrown epic Oscar-worthy tantrums. He’s been cheeky and sarcastic. He’s behaved like a feral rabies-infected monkey. He’s convinced me to allow him to sleep on his Dad’s side of our bed when he’s away “to protect Mom from the dinosaurs”. He’s also curled into my arms and released heart-wrenching sobs. He’s never pretended to feel anything other than what he expressed. And he’s expressed all of it. The vulnerable, the rabid and the disturbing. And this has allowed him to adapt in a healthy way. To come to terms with his new life. On his terms. At his own pace. His adaption has shown a profound resilience of spirit and strength. It’s an example of how to live genuinely. To live with feeling. At all times. To always be real. I will carry this with me. And one day share with him how he truly inspired me. And continues to. He’s been the unsung hero of Adventure 20-13. A true champion. Brave and courageous in the face of some scary stuff and some even scarier teeth.
In time, the angry outbursts and impassioned pleas to “leave English” and be taken home have diminished. I’ve also had fewer death threats. Never a bad thing that. Sometimes, though, our son will see a Labrador in the park or on his walk to school and later that night when I’m tucking him into bed, there’ll be a reference to how he aches for his beloved dog Gra. And there will be tears. His and mine. As we both remember a pet we dearly miss. But the moment will pass. And we move on. As human beings do. One foot in front of the other. 'n boer maak a plan ek se. He made a remark a couple of weeks ago that made me smile: “Mummy” he said, “You’re looking pale. Are you feeling poorly?” Poorly!! I ask you! He’s settling. No doubt about it. Using the local jargon is a clear sign of integration. We couldn’t be more proud of our little hero. Worried about what other toff sayings he might pick up. A little nervous perhaps of a Pom accent that he’s started to develop. But proud none-the-less. And blessed. Blessed beyond measure.
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| Our Hero of Adventure 20-13. |
