I would really like to write more (and more and more) about last week’s writing course tutor, but obviously I am very discreet and more to the point, would not want to get myself in hot water! Better to try to focus on the positive rather than the negative. Grrr. Plus, I have been boring everyone I see or speak to about my traumatic week, ad nauseam - so time to desist. My kind parents assure me that doing anything ‘creative’ is bound to be difficult and frustrating. If it had been a fine art workshop I imagine it could have been a lot worse because at least you can fiddle around with words for longer than paint on canvas in an attempt to get them right.
Annual leave is always a big event and long anticipated. The long haul flight and complete change of scene is hugely exciting at the end of the school year and we always have so much fun catching up with family and being spoiled rotten. Sadly, we never quite manage to put in the required effort in to see all the friends in England that we would love to catch up with and frighteningly the years are slipping by so quickly. Every time I go back to England I feel nostalgia for my old life and this year it was underpinned by the fact that we’ve been living in East Africa for nearly ten years now. I had a slight panic about the prospect of never actually ‘going home’, much to my husband’s annoyance.
Since completing the fiction writing course, I’ve been spring cleaning like mad because returning to Nairobi after visiting the UK makes everything look different. After the homely clutter of English houses full of very nice things, ornaments, pretty colours, fitted carpets, mod cons etc. the parquet floor here seems cold, I find myself wondering how we continue to live with no carpet on the creaky stairs, how we tolerate the poky, dark kitchen, the scruffy curtains that were chewed by puppies years ago now look like rags. The old sofas and cushions look scruffier, the walls seem bare and dirty and there are always far too many depressing hidden corners filled with dust and utter rubbish that we have been busy accumulating.
Gladys and Florence who work in our house must have been inwardly swearing on Saturday morning as I spent hours holed up inside cupboards throwing things out with abandon, kicking up clouds of dust in the process and failing to return anything back inside. Sweating and filthy, I dropped a heavy box on my foot and head butted a wooden shelf in the process. As the once immaculate upstairs corridor became clogged with increasing piles of junk, they were probably concerned that their usual half day of work was going to run into the afternoon and evening. In the end no overtime was necessary and I tried to counter the fact that I was behaving like a woman possessed by giving out the finally unpacked new radios and scarves that we brought from England as gifts for everyone. Phew. That is only one room tackled (an important one because my computer is in here) and so many more corners and cupboards lie in wait. I wonder how long my tidying fervour will last?
Soon, the urge to spring clean will fade and I will fall back into scruffy indolence. Eventually I’ll stop noticing the million stains on the piece of white ‘off cut’ carpet in the sitting room that I bought ill advisedly after our UK visit last year in a desperate attempt to brighten up the wood floors. Magasines, newspapers and paperwork will pile up everywhere again. It takes time to settle back in to expat life and sometimes a lot of imagination to make Nairobi look more like home.
Annual leave is always a big event and long anticipated. The long haul flight and complete change of scene is hugely exciting at the end of the school year and we always have so much fun catching up with family and being spoiled rotten. Sadly, we never quite manage to put in the required effort in to see all the friends in England that we would love to catch up with and frighteningly the years are slipping by so quickly. Every time I go back to England I feel nostalgia for my old life and this year it was underpinned by the fact that we’ve been living in East Africa for nearly ten years now. I had a slight panic about the prospect of never actually ‘going home’, much to my husband’s annoyance.
Since completing the fiction writing course, I’ve been spring cleaning like mad because returning to Nairobi after visiting the UK makes everything look different. After the homely clutter of English houses full of very nice things, ornaments, pretty colours, fitted carpets, mod cons etc. the parquet floor here seems cold, I find myself wondering how we continue to live with no carpet on the creaky stairs, how we tolerate the poky, dark kitchen, the scruffy curtains that were chewed by puppies years ago now look like rags. The old sofas and cushions look scruffier, the walls seem bare and dirty and there are always far too many depressing hidden corners filled with dust and utter rubbish that we have been busy accumulating.
Gladys and Florence who work in our house must have been inwardly swearing on Saturday morning as I spent hours holed up inside cupboards throwing things out with abandon, kicking up clouds of dust in the process and failing to return anything back inside. Sweating and filthy, I dropped a heavy box on my foot and head butted a wooden shelf in the process. As the once immaculate upstairs corridor became clogged with increasing piles of junk, they were probably concerned that their usual half day of work was going to run into the afternoon and evening. In the end no overtime was necessary and I tried to counter the fact that I was behaving like a woman possessed by giving out the finally unpacked new radios and scarves that we brought from England as gifts for everyone. Phew. That is only one room tackled (an important one because my computer is in here) and so many more corners and cupboards lie in wait. I wonder how long my tidying fervour will last?
Soon, the urge to spring clean will fade and I will fall back into scruffy indolence. Eventually I’ll stop noticing the million stains on the piece of white ‘off cut’ carpet in the sitting room that I bought ill advisedly after our UK visit last year in a desperate attempt to brighten up the wood floors. Magasines, newspapers and paperwork will pile up everywhere again. It takes time to settle back in to expat life and sometimes a lot of imagination to make Nairobi look more like home.
4 comments:
I'm sorry if this sounds uncharitable or rude, but the line:
"I had a slight panic about the prospect of never actually ‘going home’"
really ticked me off. As an immigrant in England, we are CONSTANTLY bombarded with the fact that we have to "integrate" and that we should consider this "home". We are made to feel subordinate for wanting or keeping our own culture, we are touted as "economic migrants" because we live and work there (legally, I might add) but one day want to return home...
YET out of all the British (indigenous) people I know who have lived and worked (sometimes for decades) in other countries, most eventually return home. Are you (they) too not economic migrants? Are you (they) too not taking advantage of the country only to leave when you've had your (their) fun?
This is not meant as a personal dig or judgment on your statement, rather, a call, in general for the UK to wake up and realise that it does the exact same thing it accuses all the "Johnny foreigners" of doing. Shameful for a country where 10% make their living working abroad.
Dear Anon,
I absolutely hear what you are saying. From a personal point of view, we left England two days after our wedding telling assembled friends and family that we were off for three years max. The fact that ten years have rolled by and that we are now so integrated into living in Africa that we have no definite plans to move back, has taken me by surprise.
However, we too are constantly reminded of our immigrant status in that work permits are renewed every two years in a process that is by no means straightforward or guaranteed. Expats in Kenya/Tanzania are strictly only allowed to work here if they are bringing new skills to the country, training and employing many local people and/or investing a large amount of cash locally.
In spite of the fact that we have found people in both Kenya and Tanzania to be very open and friendly, there is still a bitter taste of colonialism which taints the attitudes of many Kenyans toward white foreigners - which is obviously to a large extent justified - but uncomfortable nonetheless.
We felt this during the recent December 07 Kenyan election when things broke down in this country. I also felt this very much during my writing course last week where I was made to feel that I should not have been attending because of being an 'outsider'.
It must be tough to live as an immigrant in UK as I know that the place is not nearly as friendly or welcoming as East Africa.
I reread my comment, and I'm sorry, it comes out as harsh, it was not meant to be.
I'm Kenyan, but not African. Its interesting reading your comment because, growing up I remember my parents going through the same thing but in a different way (we're the scapegoats for when things go wrong).
Also, there's really no excuse for anyone to be bitter or tainted or for them to make you feel like an outsider because of your skin colour, nationality or religion. That's just plain wrong :|
Anyway, good luck, I suppose in many ways the problems we face are the same. Sorry for being a jerk.
No offence taken at all. There are problems in being an outsider in a foreign culture which will remain whatever you do or however hard you try to integrate yourself into a new culture. The suspicion of all things foreign will never go away.
My lovely writing course tutor who was very well travelled touched on something when he said to the Kenyans in my class (particularly the students), 'yes, go and travel, yes, the streets in New York are really paved with gold but remember, you will work hard and you will never have experienced extreme loneliness like it.'
Post a Comment