Dealing with homesick tremors & seismic shifts...

since the last blog entry we have had some really lovely and lively guests through the camp, and my mood is undoubtedly a lot better. it shouldn’t really be surprising that the guests we are looking after can totally alter the nature of the job, but it can also totally change how i feel about the valley and the bush and being out here.

when we have guests who are enthused about the wildlife and the setting and the camp- whether they be first time safari-goers or old hands who just love Africa- it is very hard not to get sucked into their journey, excited and delighted by the same things as them, and entertained and educated anew by the tales of the bush. they are also, obviously much easier to host- enthusiastic guests make talkative guests, and it is far nicer to spend a drawn out afternoon or evening chatting animatedly over the dinner table, instead of desperately clutching at conversational straws until such a time as everyone has had enough and the polite thing to do is to draw the meal to a close.

the Canadian family who stayed with us were utterly charming, including their two gorgeous kids who were so sweet, polite, enthusiastic and naively child-like (an uncommon trait in most children i’ve come across recently) that the husband and i both remarked to each other after a particularly lovely star-lit dinner with them that ‘when we have kids we want them to be like that’ (not that its happening any time soon- don’t get excited mother! no chindeni babies on the horizon just yet!); the Indian couple who were just delightfully energetic and enthused, despite finding it rather chilly out here; the British couple from Essex travelling with their student-age children (its so refreshing to see a family that gets on so well that even after years of enforced travelling together they continue to go on family holidays after they are unnecessary!); the Anglo-French couple who were totally charming in their ‘petit’ French asides to each other (“Mon dieu! Il ya dix heure! Je suis en lit!!”); and the Canadian couple who had just raised a million dollars climbing Mount Kilimanjaro… i don’t think i need to explain why they were good people, or why they made interesting company! all of these guests have made my past week or so delightful, hosting has been a pleasure rather than a chore, and my mindset is a world away from my ‘tricky customers’ rant in my last blog.

however, i have still been beset by a slight sense of melancholy, which i just couldn’t seem to pinpoint a reason for.

i had quite convinced myself it was homesickness, which would make sense, and i have been very acutely aware of the absence of my girlfriends and my mum quite a bit recently. i’ve always been used to fairly constant female contact, and having a female support network- i’m used to being surrounded by women in the workplace, my close little clique of female friends back home, and my mum who i would speak to at least once a week, and often much more, on the phone. as fantastic as the husband is he can’t really replace the female listening ear, and as i pick apart our guest’s behaviour, analyse our co-workers relationships, and wonder about our friends back home i am often met with a questioning eyebrow and a response of, “you think too much.”.

if only he knew- i’ve spent whole evenings back in London with the girls debating the meaning of a text message or the importance of a certain twinkle in a man’s eye. i am after all a qualified, certified philosopher, and on top of that a woman- over-thinking comes with the territory.

the distance between me and my female cohorts feels massive at the moment- it is not only a physical thing, but keeping in contact is a challenge due to the very limited channels of communication out in our bushcamp.

there is no internet out here (these blogs are only getting uploaded by a helpful husband taking the laptop to the lodge with him on transfers), my British mobile charges a £1 a minute to make or receive calls or text messages, and frankly we aren’t earning enough to make that viable so its sole use at the moment is as an alarm clock (glad i’m paying £30 a month on my contract for the privilege! thanks Orange! and by the way, please stop reminding me about Orange Wednesdays, because i would dearly love to catch the latest blockbuster on a 2-4-1 ticket, but its not really an option right now is it?), and our Zambian mobile can receive international calls for no charge but the only person who has worked out a way to make the calls to us without it being extortionate is the mother-in-law, and i don’t think she is interested in hearing all of my girly chat and conjecture.

3 separate things have rammed home the distance recently.

the first was spending time with the mum and daughter from London, who were staying as guests when i was doing my ‘relief’ stint at the other camp. they were not dissimilar in age to myself and my wonderful mother, and they got on just as well as we two do. watching their easy banter made me miss dreadfully the relationship we have, and despite getting numerous exuberant hugs from ‘Tinks’, the mother, nothing quite matches a hug from your own mum.

the second was picking up a series of emails from one of my best London friends, who has become engaged since we came out here and started the season. she was essentially my chief bridesmaid when i got married- though i never really articulated anything so specific, and didn’t want to draw such distinctions between my best girly friends, she was the one who was always free to come with me on epic shopping-missions, she was the one i turned to for a second opinion before buying my wedding dress, she was the one took time off work and who sat up for hours tying ribbons on to napkins, she was the one who sneaked off for a cigarette with me the night before the big day, and she was the one who straightened my train as i walked down the aisle. she was there for me at every turn, holding my hand and giving me both practical advice and reassuring smiles.

and she has asked me to be one of her bridesmaids, which i am just thrilled about. but time was way too tight to see her when we returned for the festival, so i have still only seen her engagement ring on a photo, and only spoken to her a couple of times on the phone, and her planning is continuing apace without me there to help her at all. she sent me three emails over a period of a few days, all of which i received at the same time in camp, after we sent the laptop down to the lodge and got them downloaded. the first was an email about her planned preliminary wedding dress shopping trip, the second was an excited but tentative message saying she thought she might have found ‘the one’, and the third was a picture of her looking stunning, wearing the dress she had decided upon and bought that weekend. i suddenly felt so far removed from her that i just burst in to tears. i wish i could have been there for her as she was for me, and missing out on this beautiful bonding experience with one of my best friends was just really sad. i know that there will be plenty of time when we get back to the UK for tying ribbons on to napkins, and sneaking her fags, but nonetheless i had a painful realisation that by being out here in Zambia i am missing out on some very important moments in the life of someone i hold very dear to me.

and the third was a message i received from one of my oldest and closest girlfriends from home a few days ago. it seems she is going through a difficult time, the details of which i don’t want to go in to because it is her life and not mine, and blogging about it seems a little crude, especially before the dust has settled, but again i feel so very helpless and so very far away out here. i’ve sent her a reply, and the computer is making its little trip to the lodge tomorrow so i may well get a response back from her then, but the communication between us is so very clunky, and more than anything i just want to give her a big hug, look into her eyes and ask her to talk to me. emails are a frustratingly drawn out way of communicating, and though i may be able to offer her a few sage words of advice in type, i feel like a very lame friend not being able to be there for her more, at what is a pretty pivotal moment in her life.

so that’s it, i figured. i’m homesick. just home-sick.

and then my thought process went a little further- but what home?

we don’t really have a home do we?

though strictly speaking we have a house, it is currently full of other people, and it is in a city that we have denounced and moved out of.

is Dorset home? i guess it is, but we don’t have a base there yet, and i had a startling moment of clarity as i realised not only was i feeling the absence of my friends and family, i was also feeling the absence of any real anchor.

come November, i will have no job, no career, no home to speak of and i will be well and truly thirty. i’ve not really achieved anything of note, i’ve got nothing tangible to show for my thirty years on this earth. god, i’ve not even managed to achieve a size 10 body or properly quit smoking with any kind of enthusiasm.

disappointing.

and maybe, just maybe, that was the real reason for my angst and melancholy.

the old regular uninspired, turning thirty, panic-attack. pretty much a text-book Bridget Jones moment.

so, one evening after the guests had left for their evening drive, i tried to explain these feelings to the husband. there was mild panic in my voice, and my words were interrupted by the odd hiccough of emotion as i struggled to express myself clearly, eventually settling on the simple words “really, i don’t have anything of my own, and that is a bit pathetic for a thirty year old…”

i was half expecting him to utter “you think too much”, but instead he just tenderly hugged me, looked into my eyes, and replied “but you have me.”.

they were the sweetest words he could have said.

and we talked on into the evening, lying side by side on the bed in our little tent, not bothering to turn on the light as the darkness enveloped us. and we agreed that when we get back to the UK after this season we need to put some roots down in Dorset, get a place to call home and fast.

as fun and as crazy and as amazing as the past year has been, taking the opportunities life throws at us and running with them, it isn’t enough.

it might have been enough for the 29 year old me, but i just don’t think it is for the 30 year old who is waiting just around the corner.

but, and I must be clear on this, that is not to say that we are ruling out coming back to the bushcamps to do another season.

and its certainly not to say that we are ruling out grabbing any other unforeseen opportunities that may arise.

its just that to feel comfortable doing those things and taking those opportunities i need to feel anchored to somewhere; i need something physical to tie me down to a place that i can call home; something more than just friends and family; a place that is mine and permanent, that is not a tent, or a hotel room, or a backpack.

i guess this is a fairly seismic shift in my mentality- when i started this blog on the dawn of my twenty-ninth birthday i was desperate to get away from the mundanity of life, be reckless and carefree.

not to grow up.

now, as my thirtieth swiftly approaches i’m desperately seeking some permanence, some stability. i catch myself day-dreaming about shades of paint for a non-existent sitting room, imagining a beautiful kitchen and what paintings i could do to go on its walls, and aching to get all my precious belongings out of storage and neatly laid out in a proper place instead of piled on top of each other, higgledy-piggledy and gathering dust.

so it turns out, after all that, however hard you try, as life takes you down its long and winding road you just can’t stop yourself from growing up a bit….

…just a bit, mind…