My African childhood Christmas

Growing up in Gaborone, my family truly cherished Christmas and the celebrations that the festive season came with. Since primary school, Christmas celebrations tended to start from the end of September with regular rehearsals of the nativity play and everything that was part of the end of year school concert. My friend Maipelo would always have a narration part and I would have a sidekick job being King Harold, Joseph or Mary. There would be traditional dancing, singing, marimba and multiple other activities. As the final days drew closer, rehearsals would either move to Maitisong or Legae Academy Halls which came with a certain level of excitement as we ventured out of school for rehearsals. Midway through the eagerness, we would have to calm our nerves to write our final examinations for the year and with those completed, concert preparations were full swing which basically meant, going to school to spend the whole day rehearsing. The curtain raiser entertainment would eventually give way to the main event and as the concert evening concluded it would only be a few days before school was finally out.

There was a tradition of having a “resolution day”, if I may call it that, on the last day of school which basically meant if anyone had said something to you/looked at you wrong at some point earlier in the year or whatever you wanted to “resolve”, the last day of school was the day. I remember being involved in a fight in grade 2 because some girls of another class of the same grade, had said a friend of mine had balloons in her a*s. Childish looking back at it now, but it was the done thing at the time.

School would finish late November or early December and the 6-week holidays would begin. Some of my friends would leave town and travel to their hometowns but my sister and I would always remain in town. We would usually spend our days, watching television or going to the town library which had some holiday activities available. Occasionally, we would spend the afternoon playing traditional ball based play (sekonti ball, ma-roundas) with the neighbourhood kids, ensuring that we got home and showered before mum knocked off to avoid a hiding.

My father would usually start his leave mid-November to start his farming hobby. He would spend weeks sitting on the tractor, ploughing for his farm neighbours and would return bearing gifts with all the income he got. My mother would work until the last week before Christmas. Her work would usually host a children’s Christmas party and give away traditional British Christmas food which my sister and I never really enjoyed. To this day, the smell of traditional pudding, which my mother cooked for hours on Christmas Eve, still irks me.

Christmas mornings were reserved for opening presents and getting dressing in new, often matching princess-like dresses for my sister and me with usual sparkly accessories.  We would attend the morning service at church and return home for lunch. As my mother’s boss would visit then, we had to remain in these clothes the whole time he was there and in our best behaviour which at the time seemed like a heavy imposition on us.  As my mother’s boss was British, his version of Christmas was very different to ours and as he provided the catering, we would have a traditional British lunch with turkey, pudding and all the trimmings. This is despite it usually being hot in Africa at Christmas time.

My fondest memory of Christmas is a rare one we spent with our extended family in Mookane, a little country town where my mother grew up. All my cousins came over and I remember having the best time. We played hide and seek, lit fireworks, made our own fireworks, played till the sun went down. I think my grandmother lost her voice at the end of the visit from yelling at us and calling everyone the same name.

I do miss my childhood Christmas, more so being close to my mother and sister as we are currently spending Christmas on 3 different continents. I also miss the gospel and Christmas carols singing, the nativity plays and talking about the true meaning of Christmas. I hope that in time, my family will develop our own traditions around the holidays, which will create amazing memories for my son.

With that, I will take this time to wish everyone a Merry Christmas, whatever it means to you and however you choose to celebrate.

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Adult tantrums

I know they say that you go through the terrible twos and then after that, you apparently learn to regulate your emotions. Well, I currently have a 3-year-old and I can attest that although the tantrums have eased somewhat to what they were from about 18 months of age, we still have periods where someone is clearly losing the plot. How I cope with it is to think that he is briefly possessed by an energy he cannot control and as a way of asking for help, he has to cry and throw himself on the floor. Usually, this is not anything a cuddle won’t fix. I guess it is still somewhat expected at his age though so it’s all good in a way.

Have you ever, as an adult, had a moment where you feel like you were having a tantrum? For example,

• You enter into a store to browse and potentially buy something only to have the store attendant follow you suspiciously around the store as you might not look like the “type” of customer who would buy anything, or they do the exact opposite and don’t even acknowledge your presence. You figure its best to leave the store without buying anything although there might be something you would have bought had they been more welcoming.
• You go for dinner and have to ask for every minuscule thing for your table despite everyone else having the menu/water for the table/glasses/cutlery being brought to their table without having to ask. You then leave the restaurant occasionally before the food arrives and often without leaving a service tip.
• You are a patient and present to the doctor reporting that “I need antibiotics for my sore throat” as a presenting complaint only to storm off yelling profanities when the doctor makes a clinical decision that your ailment is likely viral and they will not be prescribing any antibiotics “in case the infection goes to your chest next week” illustrated in my previous blog Things I wish patients knew…
• You are driving when another driver cuts you off and suddenly you have to make them pay for what they did by honking the horn, flipping the bird, driving erratically and yelling profanities at them.
• You are invited to a party at a certain time only to get there at the time stipulated or a few minutes later and people are still in the early stages of meal prep and the party is at least a few hours from being ready and you think it might be better just to leave. You are thus unable to enjoy any of the party as a result and spend the day on your phone or sulking.
• You come home and despite your partner being home all day and you at work the whole time, you found the house in the same state as you left it in the morning and the dreaded “what’s for dinner?” greeting you at the door. You have a shower and go straight to bed after making yourself a sandwich to see if your partner will sort something out for themselves.
• You have been leaving hints everywhere about what you would love for your birthday/mother’s day/anniversary/Xmas only for someone not to heed your advice but instead get you something you feel you have no use/need for. You smile whilst slowly dying and trying to control the emotion inside.
• You have been dating for a few years and have been talking about getting married but your partner is not proposing “at the perfect time”. You have been overseas together, spent times in secluded beaches/on top of the Eiffel tower/on the edge of the Grand Canyon or other “perfect proposal locations” where you were pretty sure he would pop the question only to leave empty-handed.  You don’t want to ask him when he will propose but you sulk for a little while after every disappointment.

These are some examples that have happened to a few people around me and, I must admit, may have occurred to me at some point and make me realize that there are things called adult tantrums. It can be really hard to regulate your emotions when you are in certain situations and sometimes you end up crying/yelling/sulking in response. I have read an amazing book called Don’t sweat the small stuff, and it’s all small stuff by Richard Carlson, (reviewed on my blog entry titled Books I have fallen in love with… ) and sometimes I can’t help but be carried away by my emotions despite knowing that whatever it is will certainly not matter in a few months let alone in a few days. I, however, thought I would pen a little something to say, it’s okay, adult tantrums happen to the best of us. The key is to acknowledge them for what they are and learn not to dwell on the negative mood for too long. Hopefully, with time, you learn to identify it early and diffuse the inner tantrum before it becomes a full-blown meltdown.

 

 

Expectations…

I have recently moved into a new neighbourhood and I must acknowledge that I might have set up really high expectations of my neighbours, all of which have spectacularly failed. I thought I would write down what I thought would happen so that at least the universe can digest my crazy thoughts and maybe one of my potential neighbours might read this and do the needful. Despite not moving into a beach neighbourhood, I had this picture in my head of moving into a Home and Away-esque neighbourhood. Sadly, the reality was far from my expectations.

I imagined coming with the moving truck and parking in the driveway and having all our neighbours coming out of their houses like a mob squad to each help with unloading the truck. After quickly sorting the offloading, each family would then invite us to their place for cupcakes and tea only to then realise we couldn’t visit all of them on the one day. They would then come up with a roster as to whose house we would visit and when and we would diligently attend each of the 13 houses on our street to get to know each neighbour better finishing off with a massive “Welcome to our street” party where we would be the guests of honour. After those 2 weeks we would have quickly gone on to have a meeting as to what the street was doing for the Halloween parade and after that go into organising the annual Christmas street party. All the grandparents on the street would be happy to dote on little Mr L and allow us to have date night more regularly as we would come home to find that he was picked up from school, had had a bath and dinner and spending the night at William’s house at number 12. Occasionally we would also have a few kids over at our place to share the care duties and birthday parties, street garage sales would be massive! Okay let me stop before you report me as being a bit special…

The reality of our new street, however, is that I have waved hello to a few people and that is it… No cupcakes, parties or anything for that matter. We even bought candy for Halloween and no one knocked on our door. I will have to try to introduce myself to my neighbours eventually but for now, I am just building my courage up and still crossing fingers that some part of my wild imagination can be made a reality.

*Actual names of my neighbours may be used in this post. Unfortunately, I don’t know any of them

*Imagefrom boredpanda.com

Married life

A friend recently got engaged and coyly asked if there was any advice I could offer her with regards to being married. I promised I would write something for her and even though I haven’t been in this institution too long, I thought I could offer my 5 cents.

As there are numerous books published on the topic, I thought I would write my top 5 married life tips.

1. Marriage is a long-term relationship- so enter it knowing that you are in it for the long run. I understand that there has been a steady increase in divorce rates worldwide, but ideally, that shouldn’t be an option as you enter your union. “In good times and bad, in sickness and in health,” implies that it won’t always be rainbows and unicorns and that it sometimes does suck *ss, but you have to always be ready to fight for your marriage if it’s worth fighting for that is.

2. Choose your marriage partner well- to do that, one must know who they are and what they want in life. This includes knowing your non-negotiables and negotiables in a relationship. If you really don’t want to deal with other people in your relationship or potentially playing second fiddle in your significant others’ life, it might be wise to reconsider marrying someone who already has children as it might mean their ex-partner will always feature in their life, and by association your life, and their children will probably always come first.  Additionally, don’t choose a partner you plan to “fix” or that you plan to make your lifelong project because when you finally realise that they may never change, you might be too far invested in the relationship.

3. Communication is key- this is one of the pillars of a great relationship. As you plan your wedding day/new house/names for your children, it’s important that you actually communicate with your partner every step of the day. That means talking AND THEN listening to understand NOT to reply. Communicate when you are happy/sad/upset and all other emotions because if you only communicate when you are mad, you are not doing it right.

4. A marriage is a union of two people and together they unite their families. Genesis 2:24- For this reason, a man shall leave his father and his mother, and be joined to his wife, and they shall become one flesh. I understand this bible verse to mean that when you choose to unite in marriage, you choose to put each other, and your new family first and your respective families second. It can be difficult for either party to cut the apron strings, especially if your family is close-knit but essentially the aim is to have a functioning INDEPENDENT new family and not merely a subset of either party’s family with other people being consulted or being in charge of decisions they should not be privy to. Setting these boundaries and having everyone understand what they mean is paramount to having a successful marriage.

5. Love like its going out of fashion- Try and dedicate time to spend with your partner and try and show them every day that you truly are grateful to have picked them for the life journey and you want to grow old together. This can be difficult when you both work fulltime, no nanny/babysitter, or the weather doesn’t cooperate for example but it really doesn’t have to be expensive or over the top kind of stuff. Hold hands, kiss each other hello/goodbye/I miss you, go for a bike ride/walk, have an indoor picnic etc. All these are free or relatively inexpensive and the sentiment they impart is priceless. We are never informed how long we have on earth with our loved one, and having counselled widows and widowers, most regret not cherishing or celebrating what they had with their loved ones. Like belly buttons, people will always have an opinion about whatever you do in life so dance in the rain and let them talk.

 

*image cliparts.co

 

I am sorry…

These are truly some of the hardest words to say. Even my 2-year-old would rather give you a cuddle and do everything to show that he is sorry whilst vehemently refusing to say the words.

I have been listening and watching as the story of the Hollywood mogul and his predatory behaviour towards women unfolded in the news and social media. Most of these women, unfortunately, were approaching him in a professional capacity and thus felt they couldn’t really come clean about his disgusting behaviour. I also heard during the drawn-out campaign of the US elections, excerpts of Trump’s recordings about how he personally dealt with and “handled” women he found in his midst. I also recall how everyone’s beloved television dad, Mr Cosby, had similar allegations brought against him in a court of law although a few more women than those who eventually took him to court had reported on similar despicable behaviour. I then asked myself- when do boys learn these sorts of behaviours and what reinforces this to keep going? What makes them think that this is an appropriate way to interact with women? Who modelled this behaviour for them during their childhood? This thought took me back to my childhood as I will elaborate below.

I grew up in a middle-class home in a small corner of Gaborone, the capital of Botswana. I attended a private school if you could call it that, from primary right through to high school. As my friends and I reached adolescence, the topic of great interest naturally steered to dating and sex – who is with who, what they did when/how etc. I recall many Monday morning assemblies, hearing whispers from other classmates about what had gone on over the weekend whilst my nerdy self-had been home. There usually, (I hate to acknowledge it was a repetitive occurrence), was a story of how some girl was invited to a “party”, had her drink spiked or drunk too much only to woke up and find that she had been sexually assaulted by a few of the boys who happened to be at the party. This was colloquially called a “gang bang” session. From memory, there were some girls who seemed to be invited to these parties and have this sort of thing repeatedly occur to them without reporting it to the teachers let alone the police. Sometimes you would hear that some of the victims had to travel to South Africa to have some surgical termination of the resultant pregnancies as termination of pregnancy is illegal in Botswana. It just seemed like a thing that occurred, that most people heard about but never really reported or prevented. It just seemed like the Harvey Weinstein scandal, except in high school of course, where a lot of people would have known about his behaviour but chose to be quiet or were quiet due to circumstances only they understand. Now, this was one school of many and if this occurrence was extrapolated to all the schools in Gaborone/Botswana, there are a lot of people who have been hurt and much more who knew about it and kept quiet.

Well, I am here now to say I am sorry…
For my participation in the silence and the ongoing victimization of the victims, I would like to say I am sorry…
For not offering you a shoulder to cry on, I would like to say I am sorry
For not asking if you were okay, I would like to say I am sorry
Most of all, for being too young to understand how I could even try to help you, I would like to say I am sorry.
I understand that we are unable to change our past and that I was merely a child myself when this was occurring but still I say I am sorry. I recently read Lupita Nyongo’s recollection of her own experiences with Harvey Weinstein and how she regrets keeping quiet about it as maybe talking about it earlier would have prevented a few more people having to endure such behaviour. I hope that my career as a family physician, a privileged position in society, allows me to try and right my childhood wrongs and to empower women who may find themselves in such situations to report such behaviour and know that I will always have their backs. I hope that little boys and young men, through the exposure of these sadistic creatures, realise that each woman who is abused could be their mother/sister/aunt or daughter and that hopefully, this different perspective teaches them how to properly and respectfully treat women. I hope with time, we can live in a world where men don’t feel the need to sexually overpower women EVER! I also hope that women continue to speak up so that, we, in turn, make these guys VERY sorry for messing with us.

From the hood…

I just completed Trevor Noah’s “Born a crime” semi-autobiography and thought I would pen something down about it. When it finished, it truly felt like I was saying goodbye to a friend that I had come to know very fondly during the past few days. If you have read my previous blogs, you know how I love audiobooks and how they allow me to multitask and this one was certainly a great accompaniment to the recent transition of my life and will forever remain one my of my great reads.

Trevor, yes, we are now on a first name basis, is someone who has always seemed to be different and far removed from the kind of life I grew up in. He is currently hosting one of America’s famous late-night shows and when he was introduced in that role, I thought that was another notch that would seal our differences. Here he is now, being famous, being a millionaire etc and here I was, not being famous and certainly not a millionaire… yet. But this book gave me a glimpse of the humble beginnings he comes from and what a transformation he has made to be where he is today. Some of his early stages are somewhat like mine, not the having the white father bit or growing up during apartheid South Africa bit obviously but a lot more than I would have known had I not read the book.

Growing up in Gaborone West, G-West/G wa-wa as it is colloquially called, I can appreciate when he says he grew up in the hood. My hood had everything his hood had.

• No tarred road which meant cleaning off the dust from the house every morning only for some hoon undo all your hard work by the evening.
• Those guys who wake up to sit on the side of the road when you are going to school and you find them in the same spot on your return home
• That guy who is the hood mechanic, who has a few scrap cars in various states of repair cluttering the yard and occasionally spilling onto the side of the road
• Being sent off to buy half a loaf of bread at the neighbourhood tuckshop, which Australians call a milk bar, which was a room in someone’s house that was converted from a bedroom to a shop by installing shelves and having a large sign next to the window. My mother eventually converted our garage into one of the tuckshops which sold simple groceries and progressively added beer and braai, otherwise called BBQ, to what was on offer to its patrons. This obviously attracted a few interesting characters and we could sit at the back of the house and listen to never-ending stories about the hood.
• I was one of the girls he talks about who was essentially instructed to spend all my after-school time indoors, doing chores and studying and would get a serious hiding if ever my sister and I sneaked out and got found out.
• My mother left her teaching job to get a better-paying employment as she wanted my sister and I to attend private school despite us coming from the hood. Having been part of the public-school system, she wanted different for her children.
• There was a very famous cannabis dealer at the end our street and his place was fondly called HQ by those in the know. It was not astonishing to see the celebrities of back in the day, chilling outside the premises drinking or smoking joints as I made my way home from school.

When you grow up in the hood but then experience a totally different life compared to the average hood resident, it can be very tempting to try and shake off that part of your past. I remember battling with that part of my identity in high school where I knew no one who came from the hood like me. I have however, through passage of time, learnt to look back with fondness at my history and those beginnings I came from. I even had part of our wedding ceremony in the hood, where the whole neighbourhood was invited and we sure did have a blast. Hearing Trevor recount his memories of growing up in the hood with such affection, the laugh out loud moments of his cheekiness and the overall book made my day and allow me to proudly say that I am from the hood and glad Trevor and I somewhat share that history.

*Image from Google

I saved a life!!!

I know that I have probably assisted in saving a few lives in my career as a family physician. However, there is nothing like having someone’s life literally in your hands and this was one of those days I still reflect on and thankful for what I do as a profession.

I was about 7 months pregnant and working the evening shift in a metropolitan medical center as a General Practitioner. I had just finished having my afternoon break and was on my way back to see my evening patients when one of the receptionists asked me for some assistance. She had been notified by a passerby that someone had fallen outside the clinic and she was pushing the wheelchair to go and see what was going on. As we strolled over to where there was now a few people standing in the middle of the road, I could hear someone saying “Sir, keep your eyes open and stay with me”. I immediately thought “F*ck, Fu*k” and quickly waddled my pregnant self to the scene where an elderly gentleman was lying lifeless in the middle of the road bleeding from his forehead.

I immediately went into doctor mode, instructed a passerby to call the ambulance, got the receptionist to call more staff to help, did a basic assessment and started doing chest compressions (CPR). I should add, it was nothing like the one illustrated on the above cartoon image, in case you were wondering. Here I was, kneeling in the middle of the road which was really wet as it had been raining that day, with a huge belly, singing “Row Row your boat” to keep count of the chest compressions and trying not to shit myself waiting for more help.

After a few minutes doing solo compressions and silently praying for the man not to die, I could finally hear sirens and knew that more help was on the way. Soon the firemen with their big muscley arms had taken over doing the compressions and I could try and recollect my thoughts and give them a handover of the situation I had found myself in. The ambulance was soon also at the scene, the road cordoned off and a mini emergency room set up in the middle of the road as they tried to stabilise the patient before transfer to hospital.

I quickly dried my pants and retreated back into the medical center to see my patients who had apparently been impatiently getting mad at the receptionists for not being seen on time despite the lights and sirens they could clearly see and hear from the waiting room. I completed my evening shift and headed home where the emotions took over as I cried, recalling and finally processing the events of the evening as I debriefed with hubby. The following day, I found out that the elderly man had survived and was admitted to intensive care. I got to meet his lovely wife the next day who couldn’t stop expressing how grateful she was for our actions as well as stroking my obviously humongous baby bump.

As I reflect today on that day years ago, I am eternally grateful for the skills I have attained in my medical training and the ability I had to make such a big difference in the man’s life. I am also appreciative of the little changes I am able to contribute to my patients’ lives daily as I continuously work on collecting brownie points to heaven.

*Some names and locations changed to protect the patient and staff

*Image from Google

Self-sabotage

This is what I do most days… I know what I am doing and can acknowledge that it is not ideal for me to do it but it’s like there is a magnetic pull that I cannot ignore which means that I find it really… really hard to keep according to plan.

For example, I will decide on a Friday that the coming week will be the week that I finally get my act together and try to make my dream of a 6-pack materialise. I will organise gym wear, get my meals for the week sorted and even tell my husband so that at least someone will hold me accountable for my actions. Now my husband is always of the opinion that I really don’t need a 6-pack or thigh gap or whatever it might be that I am using as a reason for my self-imposed boot camp but is happy to go according to plan as long as it doesn’t inconvenience him too much. Come Monday morning when its time to wake up in the morning, that’s when the train usually gets derailed. Having a healthy breakfast is something that I do every day anyway so after missing my exercise regime in the morning, I console myself by saying at-least brekky is healthy. I go to work with my water bottle and come lunch time have my low-calorie meal.

Now I don’t know if this happens to everyone else but on the days that I am apparently trying to eat healthy, it’s like I am ALWAYS hungry and probably eat more than I would if I wasn’t too concerned about what is going into my mouth. I suddenly get not only a sweet tooth, but a salty and spicy one all rolled into one. By 3 pm I am already thinking of what I am going to make for dinner and what other snacks might be available when I walk through the door. This is all going on at work, between patients of course and it’s something I am ashamed of because really, I shouldn’t be thinking about food all the time but that is what just happens.

When I get home, I try and be good, drinking water, having fruit etc but after dinner, I always seem to go crazy with my cravings and then think to myself tomorrow is another day to start again whilst I know that the cycle will just continue. I often counsel patients about all things diet/food related like drinking water before a meal, asking if you are hungry before putting anything in the mouth, dealing with emotions and acknowledging them rather than suppressing them with food so I think I do know what I am MEANT to be doing although putting this into practice is the most difficult thing.

I recently started pole dancing classes with a friend (another story for another time) and I thought this would be the stick that I needed to get my butt into gear but I can honestly say that this is not the case. It has been an embarrassment being the only student in the class unable to climb up the pole and touch the ceiling like my nimble classmates but even that has not been enough motivation to get my act together.

I know this is a struggle that I share with a few people and I know that some people have probably worked their way out of our self-sabotage crew so it would be great if someone can enlighten me so I can finally be a step closer to my 6-pack. I think my thighs are too in love to ever agree to a thigh gap so we will just plan for a 6-pack for now..

*Images from Google

STOP mum-shaming

I am not one to get very defensive about my mothering choices but something recently struck a chord with me and I thought I would share. Watching the daily evening news, I was dutifully informed by the news reader that the Duchess of Cambridge had successfully raised her children without any exposure to electronic media and it was insinuated that, this was the best way for children to be raised. I understand that in this modern age, it is a mean feat to raise 2 kids under 4 without any electronic media exposure and that is what was probably the whole point of the news clip but somehow made me feel judged as a mother. When you work full-time in a 2-income home, have your child in childcare 4 days a week because a live-in nanny is not an option, you come home to juggle making dinner, bath time, doing laundry and everything that needs to be done to have some sense of peace and order in the home, sometimes giving the toddler something to distract them is the only way to get things done.

Having shared in reading more than 50books in his young life, my son is well acquainted with the pages of a book and he has a lot of toys and a few other things that could distract him but sometimes you use what you know will work. I am one to admit, the electronic tablet has been a lifesaver in my home and sometimes allows me to use the bathroom in peace without having a toddler banging on the door or sticking their fingers under the bathroom door.  I am also one to admit that there should be limits as to how long kids should be on electronic media and ideally the guidelines say there should be any electronic media use in kids under 2 but if that is the only way the kid can eat enough to sleep all night and not wake up hungry at 3am, then I think you can make a call as to what works for your family.

I will jump off the soapbox now… have a great day…

Friendship…

This is a controversial topic but one I thought I would entertain for a little while and pen here for everyone to read. I know there are many memes about “friends being for a season or reason” etc and I totally understand that. I also know that sometimes I have been guilty of calling people friends when actually they haven’t been friends in the true sense of the word.

Social media also plays a role in making relationships exist in our heads when they might actually not really exist in reality. I know I am guilty of having people on my Facebook page who I then get to know really well in terms of what they have been up to, whether they are married, have babies, where they go on holidays etc only to actually realise that the last time I actually communicated with said person was in primary school late last century. I have physically met some people on my Facebook and actually not been game to actually say hello to them because I don’t think they would know me and sometimes this can be because someone is a friends’ friend but because you see them so much, you feel like you already “know them” when in reality you two are strangers.

Experts say that you tend to have less than 10 or so true friends in a lifetime and most of the time these friendships are built in the early years of childhood and high-school. This is because this is a time you develop a sense of identity and try and define who you are as well as the people you want to associate with. There is another peak in friendship development when you go to college and identify with people who sync with your personality and then you might then have another friend from work as life goes on. So really by the time you are in your mid-thirties, you have already picked your friends and they are to last a lifetime.

The tricky thing with having to leave the country to attend college and subsequently living far from the mother ship is that the original childhood friendships face a big challenge with trying to remain alive especially if you have been away for too long. Sure, you can keep the emails and skype going but with time things suffer to some extent and then, unfortunately, you can find that you have friends but not really the friendships you had anticipated to have when you were growing up.  You don’t really know your “friends”, or their family and don’t have those deep-rooted ties that you had equated with deep friendship. Also, when you then go to visit the mother land, you come to the realisation that people have grown and moved on with their lives and sometimes there isn’t really space in their life for you as you had thought they had always been.

Most of the time you make do with the situation and move on as well but there are always tough circumstances which bring this issue to the forefront especially when you live overseas without much family support. Simple examples of these include

• Who to write as next of kin on your children’s childcare or school card who would be happy to come and collect them should you not be able to
• You find yourself in some financial strife and need someone, not only to lend you money but to understand and to listen to your dilemma as well as offer some unjudgemental advice
• You have a new baby and you are not coping whether emotionally or otherwise and you need someone to genuinely open up to and ask for help
• You have a death in the family and want someone who knows the family to lend a hand only to realise none of your “friends” truly know your family enough to lend a hand. (I personally think introductions of who your friends are to your family shouldn’t ideally happen at a funeral)
• You have a great business idea and you need someone who will be objective and realistic to give you honest feedback which might be “dude, that business idea sucks and maybe you could change it like …”

I guess what I really have been thinking about is trying to be the friend that I would want to have for myself and also trying to really know my friends, their families and hoping that I enrich their lives as I hope they do mine.