i had always assumed when October was referred to as ’The Suicide Season’ by bushcamp managers it was due to the oppressive heat and humidity. we are halfway into the month, and i now have a different theory.
i think people start to feel a little strange, perhaps a little mad, come October because by that time they have been out in the wilderness for so long. it has certainly worked with me that way. and indeed, i’ve held back from blogging for a week or so, because i’ve been feeling so sorry for myself, and in such a negative state of mind, and i didn’t want to write something i would seriously regret.
i’ve had little rants in my head about how utterly tedious it is to still be washing every bra and pair of pants in a little green plastic bowl lodged into the sink; i’ve had fits about the fact that it is impossible to keep the sand and foliage out of our tent, so every morning as i lever myself out of bed i trudge over several dried crackling leaves before i can turn on the light; and i’ve actually wept real, angry tears about the impossibility of keeping the sheets clean, because our feet are always so filthy from walking around in flip flops day after day that you can’t help but leave dirty paw prints on the end of the bed.
i’ve had thoughts revolving in my head, just waiting to be typed out, about how my beautiful isolated Eden has transformed in my head, and now feels more like a prison.
about how hard it is to keep a smiling face with the guests day after day, to nod and agree how fantastic it is that there is no internet, and no tv, and what a relief to be away from the pressures of the modern world, when all you really want to do is get out of this backwards outpost and back into civilisation.
and about how sad that a place i initially adored and was so excited to be living in has transmuted into a place i just can’t wait to get away from.
and all of this negativity is genuinely, i believe, bought about by a kind of cabin fever. i’ve always been susceptible to it- i would drive the husband crazy when we were living in London because we’d plan for a quiet weekend in, and by Sunday at 3pm i’d be climbing the walls, having a hissy fit and demanding we go somewhere, anywhere, do something, anything, just as he was settling down to watch hours of pre-recorded football. and that was how i reacted after a day and a half in our 3 bed house, with internet, sky tv, all of my belongings to entertain me, and a plethora of activities at my fingertips.
the only thing that is surprising to me now, when i consider it, is that it has taken 4 and a half months for the cabin fever to kick in here in the bush, where in many ways we are so much more restricted in what we can do, and so much more contained in a relatively small area.
i suppose there have been breaks, the odd day here or there where we have escaped up to the lodge, and at the start of the season when we were quieter we would often ‘get out’ when transferring guests to other camps, or even get to go on evening game drives if there were few enough guests that the presence of two extra bodies in the back wouldn’t force anyone to squeeze up. these little journeys out of our camp base were enough to break the monotony, and just give a brief change of scene; enough to keep me sane and halt the encroaching cabin fever.
but for the past month, since we got back from the 3 days off over my birthday in September, we have been almost constantly full to capacity. this has kept us within the confines of the camp, and within a schedule, so even though the faces that we see every day are changing as the guests move through, the programme is always the same and the monotony starts to hammer home.
we had a really fantastic Australian couple come and stay at the start of the month for two nights. they were living and working in a remote mining town in Zambia, and travelling with their mum and showing her the sights of the country they currently call home. they were our age, and we bonded instantly. i felt that i could talk honestly with them and share the pressures of being away from home, being thrown into a community that is alien, and how much you start to miss modern conveniences that you took for granted. better than that even, it was amazing to chat to people who were totally on our wavelength; who used swear words as adjectives not expletives; who not only knew what we were talking about when we mentioned the likes of ‘Summer Heights High’ and ‘Family Guy’, but agreed on their genius rather than thinking them crude, infantile and in bad taste. it was absolutely amazing to spend time with guests who felt like friends and equals, and though we have had some really fantastic people stay with us and i have adored many, almost everyone who passes through is closer to our parent’s age than ours, and these were the first in a long while who were just like our friends back in England. i didn’t want them to leave after their two very short days, and when they did the void their parting left just rammed home to me how trapped and bored and frustrated i was feeling. the cabin fever was well and truly upon me.
and thus, i did about the only thing i felt i could do.
i sulked .
because of course there is no stomping off in the bush, there is no slamming the door and going for a long walk, there is no ringing up a friend and going to hang out at theirs for a change of scene. there is nowhere to go, so i stayed where i was and was miserable.
i’m not a totally irresponsible bitch, and iI recognised that the guests who were coming to stay with us had paid an awful lot of money to be here and inflicting my sulky face on them was not really fair, so i pulled it (and myself) together for the times that i was front of house. but behind the scenes i spent most of my hours angrily swinging in our hammock, or face down on the bed, finding it difficult to raise enthusiasm for anything, snapping at the local staff or the husband, and generally being very bad company. if i wasn’t exactly suicidal i was pretty damn depressed, and i suspect my behaviour and moods were pushing others towards homicide.
so this was what the famed ‘Suicide Season’ was all about.
eventually the husband realised that something had to be done, for my own welfare and sanity, and also (probably mainly) his. he insisted i go up to the lodge, just for a few hours- there was a transfer leaving at 5 in the morning, and another returning at 12 the same day.
this would give me about 4 and a half hours in a different place, with different faces, with access to internet, and the option to go to the spa and get a rush job done on my feet, which by this time had suffered the worst of my agitation and frustration and were pretty much picked to shreds.
i was sullen, couldn’t really think it would make me feel better, and at times almost couldn’t be bothered to go. and then the night before, when it looked like there wouldn’t be room on the vehicle to fit me in i amazed myself by the lump that materialised in my throat and the hot tears that streamed down my face. i rushed to the sanctuary of the hammock, and decided i was most definitely mad.
but at 5am the following morning, just as the morning dawn was cresting the hills, i plonked myself into the front passenger seat of the transfer vehicle, with 6 passengers behind all wrapped up, and waved goodbye to the camp for a few hours. as we drove away i realised that i hadn’t left the 100 metres stretch of land that the camp is situated in for almost a month.
and i felt the weight on my shoulders lifting almost immediately.
by the time we reached the lodge a couple of hours later i was smiling and garrulous, and it was all one hundred percent genuine. no forced smiles, no fake laughs- i was just pretty happy to be somewhere different for a short while.
and of course the time passed way too quickly, and i didn’t get half the things done that i needed to do, but it didn’t really matter- i felt refreshed and revitalised by my change of scenery, and ready to face my guests and my staff with a healthy attitude, and a spring in my step. no longer a victim of ‘Suicide Season’, just a smiley bushcamp manager ready to enjoy being out in the middle of nowhere for the last few weeks of the season, keen to make the best of the situation we’ve found ourselves in, and to suck every last little bit of enjoyment out of our last days here.
after all, it really is a little slice of Eden.
and if anyone tries to tell you different they are probably just sulking.
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