The woman I miss. Africa.
The ugly truth is this: despite the political and economic chaos of our country, almost all of us will still say, “I love my country. I love it to the core of my soul. I miss that land, the sand, the sky and the nature.”
That love doesn’t get cancelled out just because we left.
I haven’t been back to South Africa in nearly four and a half years. I’ve focused hard on making our life in Ireland a good one. Building. Stabilising. Surviving the first-year wobble, then the second-year settling, then that quiet moment where you realise… oh. This is actually our life now.
But some days I sit in quiet contemplation and I remember what we chose to leave behind.
Being born in South Africa was a privilege. Growing up in that mad, chaotic time of change came with mixed emotions. And I knew from young I was going to leave Her. I finished school, finished university, and I left. The UK for seven years.
But she called me back.
We were blessed after years of difficulty with our two incredible children. And I knew again, the moment I first saw my miracle boy, red faced, partly red-haired, feisty but sensitive… I knew I was going to leave Africa again. Then a few years later I saw my precious girl and the truth became unavoidable. We could not stay. I had to protect them. I had to give them a better future, no matter the cost to our own lives.
South Africa is Her. She lives in me. She is in my thoughts more often than I wish she would be.
And let me tell you something else that people don’t always say out loud.
Moving to another country in your 40s, when life has finally got comfortable, is not easy. Moving with two little ones in tow is not easy. Starting again from the bottom of the ladder is not easy. But we did it. And I count my blessings every day for what we have here in Ireland.
I love Her too.
I’ll do a Part 2 about Ireland, because she deserves her own love letter. But this one… this one is about the woman I miss. Africa.
Tonight, I watched a promo video of Pietermaritzburg, panning across a sky I’ve known almost my whole life. And my heart broke, right there in my Irish living room.
We can argue over a bottle of wine all night about the future of South Africa. The whole system is a debate. Quirky bunch, aren’t we.
As summer comes to a close in Ireland, I remember spring in South Africa. I smell the flowers in my memory. I hear the return of birds as the season shifts.
