Of course I knew it would be hard, but knowing and doing are two different things. Saying goodbye has to have been the worst part of all of this. Such a huge leap of faith, uprooting our lives, everything we know and care about to follow a calling for some good old globalization. It seemed like such a good idea. Why not return to where my blood came from and internationalise ourselves? Why not trade continents for new adventures and old histories? Why not hand our green passports in for our son’s pink one? And while I still firmly believe all that and am not regretting anything, I think the sheer admin of the getting going overshadowed any apprehension that threatened along the way.

Suddenly, when all was done, and we were spending our last 2 weeks in the old country in limbo (no job, no car, no house, no things – just our suitcases and goodbyes to be said) it all came rushing to me. I hadn’t allowed myself to think of the goodbyes. I hadn’t left any space for doubt – I was too busy doing everything needed to get those visa tickets. When no-mans land arrived, I suddenly felt this foreboding and kept waking up at 3am thinking ‘What have we done?!’

The final farewells left me with such a heavy heart I was sure the plane wouldn’t be able to take off due to the sheer weight of it. How could I leave? In a way leaving the land of my birth seemed fine. A place I absolutely adore, with adventures that have filled me and kept me all this time – it was surely preparing me for the next chapter. But leaving the people? That is not as easy. Because that is the true leaving…leaving my own little corner of Africa, carved out in the hearts and the lives of those I love.

So yea, saying goodbye sux, and I needed a moment to gather myself.