Are you glad to be back?

“So how does it feel?”, “Are you glad to be back?” Are the most frequently asked questions.

In going away to Africa, I went for Gary, to save him, to restore our marriage, so shattered after our losses, to find joy again. Gary went for me, for my career and to let me find some escape and or joy away from home.  At a cost to my family; to Spencer, my mother, my sister.  I don’t think Spencer really noticed we were in Africa the first year.  He was off in North Bay, starting his new adventure at college. He was busy and happy with new experiences and friends. After our first year away Spencer finished his college program.  He wasn’t sure what was next, though he had a summer job.  But we weren’t there to be a home base, a familiar shelter, a safe haven for him. He never said, but I sense, he missed us keenly.  It is only in hindsight, in things I have heard and seen since that I am realizing this. I am sorry. And while we were closer to some of the terrorist attacks and natural and man-made disasters (e.g. the fire at JKIA), ironically, we didn’t think feel the threats as keenly as those far away.  Perhaps it was our distance apart that made our lives in Kenya seem riskier or more dangerous to those at home than we ourselves thought they were. Again, I didn’t realize this until we were home and I am sorry for the worry that we caused. For some, we are back and we carry on business as usual.  For others, it will take love and patience to make our new way forward.

Coming back to Canada, coming home…………..home but not.  The farm its our place, and where are hearts have been since we got it, but it was never ‘home’, but more like our getaway, we have been away and coming back. We had never lived full-time, exclusively at the farm.  It was a weekend, holiday and sometimes getaway place.  We always had jobs and projects at the farm.  So in a way, now that we are back at the farm, The balm, it’s like we are on holiday here, (granted a very working holiday) in a holding pattern until we return to the Gem or move back into Nidulus (our home in Toronto)

I was anxious about returning to the farm.  Not quite the scene of the crime, but closer to Alistair than anywhere we had been in the past 2 years. Our last family weekend at the farm was mere days before Alistair went into the hospital and before we had any idea of what lay ahead.  I certainly felt his presence with us in Africa often, usually when we saw some spectacular scenery or breathtaking animals, or when we did something incredible like zip lining or walking with lions and sometimes too in the daily African scenes. I could hear him exclaim how cool this or that was and laugh as some of Nairobi’s or Africa’s idiosyncracies.   Even when things weren’t great, I could hear his encouragement. But it was different there.  It was a separateness. I didn’t have memories of him in Africa, he wasn’t in situ there, he wasn’t in context there.  He was with me in spirit.

What would it be like when we moved back?  At the Balm, I remember him here, I see him there, I recall us doing this here and my eyes tear, by breath catches, by heart pounds.  It is the memories of Alistair. We may have been far away and for two years, but we weren’t away long enough to change that.

In some ways, I feel myself spiralling backwards, downwards. We ran away and now we are back.  Thankfully, Gary is in a much better place now, no longer depressed.  He is eager to get busy, though I am sure he too is often reminded of his work mate, assistant and apprentice.  Like our first three weeks at the farm, he is physically busy all day with activities and thinking out plans and resolving problems. He still drops into bed with an exhausted exhilaration.

By nature I am a morning person.  The alarm goes off at 5am and I am at my desk by 5:03 still in my bathrobe and slippers, but raring to go.  The first few hours fly by as I remain focused and intent.  I see breathtaking sunrises, through the apple tree and across the fields of corn. I can watch the birds in the apple tree in front of me.  I am uninterrupted for hours.  But I am uninterrupted for hours.  Sometimes I have no on-line chats or telephone conversations with colleagues and there is certainly no face to face interaction. I enjoy wrapping up work in the early afternoon, when I often help Gary with the work and chores around the house or on the property.

Toronto is 2 hours away, so friends aren’t exactly stopping in. As for weekends, friends are off on summer holidays.  We don’t have many acquaintances in the county.  Its been a bit isolating.

All this work around the house is getting us caught up to where we left off.  Much of the remaining to do list are big jobs (taking down walls, putting on a porch, putting in 16 feet of doors, to name just a few) and require considerable planning and even more capital.  The capital will result in the sale of our city home, which is not on the agenda for a while. That’s the plan.  It requires patience.  I am not nor have I ever been a patient person. Haraka, haraka haina baraka. (Hurry hurry gets no blessing.)

My old friend self-doubt it back, larger than life.  Funny that this shadow should hunt be out so easily upon my return. While living in Africa, had I created a new persona?  One that was better? more comfortable? more confident? more realistic? or more honest? more lovable?  One that my shadow reminds me was a facade? Is my shadow taking comfort in my return and with it, sharing all those darker feelings?

Finally, I think I have experienced the much touted ‘reverse culture shock’, the hiccups and bumps that expats often experience as part of their re-entry. Yesterday, I crashed. It snuck up on me.  Well, perhaps it didn’t sneak, but despite my expectations, I was surprised.  It wasn’t the shock of miles of excellent roads with obedient drivers.  It wasn’t the aisle upon aisle of accessible, clean, products and produce.  It wasn’t the cleanness or safety and security. It wasn’t the orderliness and that things actually work the way they are supposed to.  I think it is a sense of loss, the end of our grand adventure.  I feel like a kid who has had a massive sugar overdose and am now having a massive sugar crash. Life in Africa, despite the challenges and frustrations, was sweet. All that excitement and exhilaration.  But that is life about, changing, growing, getting over and moving on. I have been at the farm for 40 days (and 40 nights, coincidence?). I hit a trough. I was crabby, testy and short-tempered. I couldn’t focus and was going in ever decreasing circles. I know, you are thinking “Poor Gary” and rightly so. Here is what I posted on FB yesterday:

Dear God,
Please help me to make the effort to thoughtfully consider what is next in my future, to make fair decisions, to help me be patient (time needs time, I know), to discern my gifts and to not only be content with them, but to use them to the best of my ability and not squander them selfishly.
PS I am assuming this will help with my funk….
Lots of love and gratefully yours,

I am no longer amazed that when I bare my soul, the universe answers.  I still don’t know exactly what the future holds for me, but I did receive thoughtful, caring, kind and loving responses, I did receive wonderful, useful suggestions. I did receive confirmation that my current feelings are often part of the end of assignment experience.  I smiled, I laughed, I cried.  I continue to be grateful.  I don’t know what will be next, but I know that these anxious feelings won’t last.  I have faith that I will leap again and the net will appear.

I wish everyone, including myself, ‘enough’.  And thank you to all those that have been a companion on this journey.

 

 

On your mark, get set….

We are counting down, in single digits now.  I guess that’s the strange thing about an assignment.  We moved here, but we always knew there was an end date.  At first, we counted up (we have been here three weeks, five months, a year) and then, at some point, we started to count down, six months left, three weeks, five days.  Even when we started counting backwards, it was a long ways off.  We expected visitors, there were trips and excursions to plan, new local places to see and restaurants to try.  But the past three months have flown by at an astonishing rate.  I was in Nigeria and Ghana for work, we went to Rwanda to see gorillas, our last visitors came, then we were off to Italy and we have just come back from Jordan.  Yikes! It’s quite dizzying.

The final stretch, in addition to a hectic quarter end at the office, has also been filled with a couple of local excursions (Brown’s Cheese) and a moving to do list that could rival, well, probably not a state visit, but is certainly of gargantuan proportions.  Thank goodness for spreadsheets, with tabs for a) questions, b) before we leave to do’s, c) inventories at depreciated value, d) inventories at replacement price, e) once we get home to do’s, f)items to sell and g) one for gifts.  Documents for the three of us have been scanned and forwarded.  Arrangements to terminate services done. Reference letters for the gardener, the housekeeper and the driver have been written, printed, signed and distributed.  Plants have been given away and we continue to try to ‘eat ourselves out’.  It has kept Gary and I both busy and focused.

Being bird nerds (hardly knowledgeable enough to be birders), we have enjoyed many a morning, late afternoon and evening watching the birds: the screeching laugh of the Hadedas, their scimitar beaks stabbing the ground for bugs, especially termites, the rainbow coloured varieties of tiny Sunbirds, their delicate beaks poking out nectar, the singing Bulbul and the formal tropical Boubou in his evening dress,  the Olive Thrushes (a Kenyan version of our big Canadian robins) dipping, diving and splashing about in the bird bath and the gossiping chatter of the diminutive Cordon Blues enjoying the seeds we have put out for them.   We have been surprised and delighted when the migrants pass through; the magnificent Turacos sporting their opera capes, black velvet on the outside, red satin on the inside and the rare (for us) clacking, awkward Hornbills.  In the midst of our congested (physically, mentally, sometimes socially) lives, these creatures force us to slow down, take notice and appreciate them. We breathe deeply.

A few weeks ago, unconscious that it might possibly be one of the last evenings that Gary and I had to be by ourselves in the yard of the Gem, we sat under the soaring and delicate trees of our yard.  At the time, I was only vaguely aware that these occasions were counting down as we each shared the activities of the day.  But as we became more in synch with the rhythm of the fading sun and diminishing traffic, we became quieter, listening to the birds, watching for the bats.  We chatted about what we have enjoyed so much in our two year African adventure, what we will miss, how grateful we feel for being given this experience, this chance to rehabilitate and reconstitute ourselves.

And as we did so, a hornbill and then another, landed on the tree beside us.  At first, they hopscotched about, from limb to limb, eventually settling on a branch 30 ft above us.  We watched as one kept hopping closer to the other, who would then hop a few inches further down the branch, until there was no room left.  There the two, huddled together, shadows merging into one,  remained.  We watched.  They didn’t move.  It seemed they were settled in for the night.  We watched silently.  And as we did, barely discernible in the evening shadows, something silently floated down.  I held my hands outstretched as a downy feather settled on my hand.

We have been where we were meant to be.

We are not alone.

We are going where we are meant to be.

 

A tree in Africa for Alistair

We planted a tree today, in Alistair’s memory.

We are in the Masai Mara for Easter.  We are with our closest friends in Africa, Carmen and Dominik Amrien.  They are Swiss,  and in addition to being archetypically clean and prompt, they are energetic, kind, generous, thoughtful, funny, fun and caring.  They are also Tusker’s mother’s people, which is really how it all started. Our friendship in Kenya is coming to an end, as they leave in two months. While we already have plans to visit each other, we decided several months ago that we should go on weekend away together somewhere in Kenya before they leave.  We settled on Easter weekend and we chose the Masai Mara.

We stayed at the Olare Mara Kempinsky.  It is a tented camp, but by far the nicest camping yet.  We did morning and afternoon game drives, rested and relaxed in the middle of the day and when we were not sleeping at night, we listened to hippos, baboons, hyenas and zebras as well as the peaceful sound of the rain on the canvas above us.

This morning, we planted a tree in memory of Alistair.  Its an African Green Heart tree.  We didn’t select the type of tree, we let the lodge chose it. Having found out the following, it seemed like a perfect choice.

Warburgia ugandensis ssp ugandensis, also known as Uganda/Kenya/East African greenheart or pepper-bark tree or elephant pepper tree (Muthiga in Kikuyu), is an important medicinal species of evergreen tree up to 30m tall and with smooth or scaly, pale green or brown bark, found at 100-2,200m in lowland rainforest, upland dry evergreen forest and also on termitaria in swampy forests in Democratic Republic of Congo, Ethiopia, Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Malawi, South Africa and Swaziland Africa.

In Kenya the species occurs widely in highland forests and riverine forests of savannah woodlands such as those found in Masai Mara. It flowers in December-January and seeds in May. The genus is named after Dr Otto Warburg (1859-1938), born in Hamburg, lecturer in botany at the University of Berlin and author of many botanical papers.

The tree is remarkably useful in many ways . . .

Medicine: extracts of most parts (leaf, twigs, stem and root bark) have high antimicrobial activity but stem bark is the most widely used by traditional healers and medicine-men and this is mostly harvested from natural forests. Various plant parts are used to cure or alleviate several ailments such as stomach-ache, constipation, toothache, common cold, cough, fever, muscle pains, weak joints, erectile dysfunction, candidiasis, measles and malaria, as well as livestock diseases, eg. trypanasomiasis. It rivals the widely known neem tree (Azadirachta indica) which is widely used in herbal remedies and claimed to cure around 40 diseases.

Food: Fruit edible; all parts have a hot peppery taste subtly different from chillies. Early Indian immigrants to Kenya, working on the construction of the railway, used the leaves and seeds to flavour curries before the chilli plant was introduced.

Fodder: Leaves, pods and seeds are fed to livestock

Fuel: The wood has high oil content and burns well with an incense-like smell

Timber: Heartwood yellow or greenish, becoming brown on exposure; very fragrant when freshly cut (also persists for several years) smelling like sandalwood. The wood is resistant to insect attack (not termites!) and very strong. It was commonly used for the yoke pole of ox-wagons. Also good for building and furnituret. Dust from milling is very fragrant and cause sneezing!

Gum or resin: used as glue to fix tool handles

Shade/shelter: the dense crown provides good shade.

Soil improver: leaves provide green manure and mulch.

Ornamental: often planted for amenity purposes

So after breakfast, with Carmen and Dominic,  Godrey the gardener, took us to the spot he had prepared. It was near our tent and as we looked at the spot, we could see topie, zebra, gazelle and wildebeest and could hear the river, now moving quickly, behind it.  What a ideal scene. Godfrey had already dug the hole and placed the seedling.  The marker was already in place as well. So Gary and I gently shoveled the dirt around the new plant.  Then Godfrey said we would bless the tree.  He poured the water over the seedling as we washed our hands.  We made a few jokes and laughed and cried. Our friends cried with us.  We miss Alistair.  The ache of the hole in our hearts has never gone away, it can’t ever be replaced or refilled. But we are not alone.  We have learned, we continue to learn to deal with it, to make the best of it, and to grow from it, as he would have wanted us to do.

 

And so it seems fitting, as we approach what would have been his 19th birthday, at a time when we celebrate the Resurrection of Christ,  that we have planted an African Green Heart tree.  The will grow tall quickly, it will help others heal and it  will have a magnificent view over a majestic land filled with God’s creatures. We have brought Alistair (and Spencer literally and figuratively) to Africa with us.  And just has he has left a bit of himself with so many of his family and friends, we shall leave a bit of him, his memory, in Africa.

Here is what the tree will look like in a couple of years.

 

Africa has helped us heal.  We have lived in a different part of the world.  We are reminded constantly of our good fortune.  We have made acquaintances and friendships.  We have explored.  We have risen, for the most part, to the challenges.  We have made wonderful, new, lifelong friends.  We have been blessed.

Planting the tree today will remain a special part of this journey.

 

view of the Masai Mara from the tree.

Love you forever, Bobo.  xoxox