So we went back to South Africa. As a family. For the first time since we left. For the first time in nearly 4 years. In my head of course, I’d been back. Many times. I’ve dreamt of taking our children back to where they were born. Back to where their Dad and I were born. Back to where we grew up. Built a life together. To the warm and welcoming east coast. To the KZN hills and valleys that we know. And I believe know us. Back home.
We landed at King Shaka after a 24-hour journey. The first thing that hit us was the heat. As it does. Cloying. Humid. Hot. Distinctively Durban. And then the sense of space. The outlook in South Africa is so open. In every way. The horizon. The landscape. And more than that. There’s an abundance of spirit in the people too. We talk. We share. We’re unreservedly ourselves. And that’s rare. You don’t find it in the UK. I don’t think you find it anywhere else.
On our first night, I literally made my husband record the sound of bullfrogs and beetles outside our bedroom window. We marveled at the absence of aeroplanes blazing a path above us, of sirens shrieking in the night. What a treat it was. To close our eyes and fall asleep to a chorus of nature. To sounds like no other. We spent our days in the sunshine under that great big African sky that I speak of so often. We lazed in sparkling blue swimming pools, bobbing about on lilos. We spread out our pale bodies in the shade. We walked on the beach. Enjoyed the delicious crunch of yellow sand between our toes. The children clambered on the rocks. Chased crabs. Collected shells. We walked along the Umgeni River with the dogs. We meandered in the Midlands. My son tried his hand at fishing – the fish are safe, let’s put it that way. We visited majestic Michaelhouse. Mandela’s awe-inspiring museum. We ate good food, drank good wine and enjoyed the company of those closest to us. It was a time to treasure. And all too soon, it was over. All too soon, it was time to say goodbye.
It never gets any easier. No matter how often you do it. You’re leaving. They’re staying. The simplicity of it is brutal. Except it's not that simple though, is it. My coping mechanism is to focus on the little details associated with the departure. I shepherd children. Organise luggage. Keep a check on the time. All of this so that I don’t have to acknowledge an inconvenient truth that’s as conspicuous as it is out of my control. The heartbreaking reality that milestones are being missed, our children’s lives are unfolding a continent away in all their unique glory and there are human beings whose absence in our day-to-day lives will never feel right. And so I fiddle with zips, check passports and find mindless tasks. And long after we’ve boarded the plane. After take-off. After the mayhem of the meal service. And long after the children have finally succumbed to sleep, when we’re flying high into a dark expanse of nothingness, I fall apart with the sadness of it all. And then, of course, I pull myself together. As you do. It never gets any easier though. No matter how often you do it.
It never gets any easier. No matter how often you do it. You’re leaving. They’re staying. The simplicity of it is brutal. Except it's not that simple though, is it. My coping mechanism is to focus on the little details associated with the departure. I shepherd children. Organise luggage. Keep a check on the time. All of this so that I don’t have to acknowledge an inconvenient truth that’s as conspicuous as it is out of my control. The heartbreaking reality that milestones are being missed, our children’s lives are unfolding a continent away in all their unique glory and there are human beings whose absence in our day-to-day lives will never feel right. And so I fiddle with zips, check passports and find mindless tasks. And long after we’ve boarded the plane. After take-off. After the mayhem of the meal service. And long after the children have finally succumbed to sleep, when we’re flying high into a dark expanse of nothingness, I fall apart with the sadness of it all. And then, of course, I pull myself together. As you do. It never gets any easier though. No matter how often you do it.
South Africa was too hot and too wild for my daughter. She missed the twinkling fairy lights in her little bedroom. Her toys. Her bath. And the cold. She missed the cold. My little one is too little to express his opinion just yet. But for my eldest, it was an unforgettable experience. A memory that I know he will cherish forever.
"I feel light in South Africa, Mum. Like I can just open my arms and fly. I love it. I love it all. Even the snakes. It's a special place. It's our special place."
I couldn't have said it better myself, my boy.
"I feel light in South Africa, Mum. Like I can just open my arms and fly. I love it. I love it all. Even the snakes. It's a special place. It's our special place."
I couldn't have said it better myself, my boy.
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| "In South Africa our Land" |
