Written for SA2Eire by a Member
I should have left a lot sooner. Left when I had the chance all those years ago.
I should have left before my ties were broken, before nothing remained for me to love except the memories. I no longer feel tied to this land, the soil, the bush, the beaches. I no longer feel Africa in my veins.
I remain here only because I cannot yet leave and take my daughter to build a future elsewhere.
The umbilical cord, severed
I spent my youth travelling around the globe, yet always returning when Africa called. The land of your birth ties you to it like an umbilical cord connects you to your mother, even after birth.
Now it is severed.
I have not had life-threatening experiences in this country. I have not endured the terrible fear so many others have had to carry. Yet I still drop to the ground when I hear a firecracker or when a car backfires. I still obsessively check the house is properly locked before bed. I still aimlessly wander the rooms at night, switching lights on and off to show whoever is watching that I, too, am watching. And waiting.
The moment I knew
I remember exactly when I knew it was time to leave.
I was at OR Tambo International, having just come back from a trip to Zanzibar. It felt like I had walked into a solid wall of stress. My shoulders automatically drew up and hunched. My head started aching. I grabbed desperately at my hand luggage and grasped my passport.
I no longer felt safe. A cold snake of fear slithered down my spine. As I went through passport control, I vowed that one day I would not be coming back. This was no longer my home.
That was in 2017.
The research begins
The next day I started with research.
Ireland was at the top of my list for two reasons. Firstly, it had always held a mystical fascination for me. Secondly, I had family there. My aunt and uncle had lived there for many years before returning to South Africa. After my daughter was born, my aunt had tried repeatedly and unsuccessfully to get my husband and I to move.
Now, here I was, 49 years old, a single mom of a then 10-year-old, investigating which countries were open to giving us a home.
I failed dismally on any country with a points system, because of my age and lack of finances. I still had no idea if my ex would allow me to make the move with our daughter. But, as with most challenges, I look for solutions before I present the problem. I needed a plan that made sense and was practically possible.
I whittled the list down until the only option left was Ireland.
Easy peasy, lemon squeezy
South African passports won’t be that much of an issue. People like us Saffas. I have a Bachelor’s degree in law. I have 13 years’ experience as a compliance officer in financial services. I was Head of Compliance for a group of eight companies. They will be clamouring to give me a Critical Skills Employment Permit. My profession is on the Highly Eligible Skills List. Research shows Ireland has a gap in senior management positions because young Irish professionals are moving abroad to build their careers.
There is an old African proverb that says: “If you carry the egg basket, do not dance.”
I sent out my CV and sat back to wait for all the offers.
Hahahahaha.
The humbling
There can be no arrogance in this journey.
About two months in, with no phone calls and no offers, I was told about a Facebook group called South Africans Moving to Ireland. I joined, and I started to learn my lesson in patience and humility.
I also learnt that no matter how much research I did, there is always a need for a reality check, and more often than not, a need for support. The group cannot do the hard work for you. It cannot get you the job. But it can point you in the direction of help. With your CV. Why it is best to approach companies directly. Why LinkedIn is important. What government departments to research. What documents you need.
The list just keeps getting longer.
The qualification gap
What we South Africans don’t seem to realise is the value of education in Ireland.
Most people here have a Master’s degree as well as a string of other qualifications. As I started really using LinkedIn, I realised that although I was well qualified, I had to be at least equally qualified, if not more so, than the Irish candidates I would be competing against.
So, at 50, I had to start studying again.
I started by joining the professional bodies: the Association of Compliance Officers Ireland and the Institute of Banking Ireland. I researched all the qualifications they offered. I decided on the type of job I wanted, and looked at job specs to see what they were asking for. I chose the Professional Diploma in Compliance, offered by IOB and awarded through University College Dublin.
The fees took a huge bite out of my savings. But I believed the investment was worth it.
Studying, working, mothering, surviving
The IOB required me to write exams in Ireland, which I knew would decimate what was left in my bank account. But I decided to use the opportunity to really explore and immerse myself in Ireland. It was the best decision I have ever made.
I studied for the whole of 2019, writing two exams in May and again in September. In between, I explored by bus, train and hire car. My thirst for this beautiful country was huge. I drank in Ireland. Not just the Guinness, but the scenery, the people, the lifestyle.
I took my daughter with me in September, and we spent more than three weeks having adventures. After my first September exam, I took her to the Gaiety Theatre to watch Riverdance. As we sat in that beautiful theatre, she told me about her day with our cousins, turned to me, and said:
“Mom, I feel like I am finally home.”
The studying was hard. I work full-time. I am a single mom. My work hours are arduous. The cost of paying fees in ZAR took a greater toll with each payment, as the currency steadily weakened.
In December, as I stood on that stage to receive my Diploma, every sacrifice was worth it. My daughter and my cousin, Tracy Gravett, were there to support me.
The conversation with my ex
When I started studying, I decided to discuss the situation with my ex.
I didn’t want my daughter to lose her Dad, but I knew I couldn’t stay in a country where there was no future for her.
To my delight and surprise, he was totally in agreement. Before I finished my sentence, he agreed and said he would sign any paperwork necessary for us to leave.
The paperwork just to take her out of South Africa on holiday is arduous enough. Her Dad lives in a different city and a different province. Every document requires his original signature. Getting her passport in 2018 took months because we could not be at the same DHA at the same time. We ended up having to do the application twice before he was able to sign in a different city.
I can only imagine how difficult it would be with signatures required from parents in different countries, for school applications or visas.
We have decided the best way forward is for him to give me full custody of our daughter. That will allow me to sign authorisations and documents without his consent. I am truly grateful for the sacrifice he is willing to make. I am currently working on getting an official court order granting me full custody. As with many relatively simple processes, COVID has made this task beyond difficult, with courts closing and bureaucratic wheels turning even more slowly than usual.
Why I should have left sooner
None of us could have anticipated this virus. None of us could have known the world would completely shut down. So much preparation was required before I could even think about leaving.
But those are not the reasons I should have left sooner.
I should have left sooner because I want to feel Proudly South African. I want to feel like other members describe in their blogs. I want to feel excited and sad about leaving.
I am not, and I don’t.
I don’t feel like this is my home.
I wanted my child to grow up here in South Africa, in freedom and equality. I wanted her to know the joy of riding bikes in the street with her friends. To walk to school without an adult. To play in the front garden. To go for a walk on the beach. I wanted her to feel safe, to be a child, to walk with her friend to the corner café and come home when the street lights came on.
But she cannot venture out of the house by herself. She cannot ride a bike, or take a peaceful walk on the beach, alone or even with me. We no longer have constant electricity. Our city is out of water and has been taken over by gangs, drug dealers and traffickers.
Everything I fought for 30 years ago has come full circle.
What I have learnt
I have learnt on this journey, and in my travels, that “overseas” people do not understand.
I have learnt never to use the situation in this country as the reason I am leaving. I have learnt never to discuss politics or opinions with anyone not from South Africa, and never on the group. We stand together as a community. I will not discuss anything that may harm or flag this group of people so desperately looking to start a new life and build a future.
I would pack my bags and leave tomorrow.
I would never look back.
I would miss friends and family, but in essence, COVID has already taken them from me.
As I sit here writing, I am sad. Sad that I will not miss the country of my birth. Sad that I am not Proudly South African. Sad that we never were the Rainbow Nation.
Ireland, in her Sunday Best
Each time I have visited Ireland, she has dressed in her Sunday Best.
She shows me sunshine with gentle rain. Each step out the door is a treasure hunt as she proudly displays her treasures and history. I know my experiences will differ when I live under her flag. But I have seen and felt and explored her magic, and it will always paint the undertone of a life as a chosen Irish citizen.
My journey is not yet done. It is not yet even certain. I may never get to Ireland. That CSEP may forever elude me.
I may never have to feel guilty that I don’t feel sad.
