It’s a feast or a famine isn’t it?
We lead a pretty quiet life most of the time, hell some weeks could be described as crushingly dull. But the last few weeks were epic, freaking epic.
In the two weeks we have:
:: Celebrated a very special 10 year old’s birthday with a horse ride at the lovely Green Ranch at Lake Bosomtwe
:: Spent 4 very full days filming an episode of House Hunters International! I know! Crazy! Their first African episode outside of South Africa.
:: The kids (and I by default) endured a week of exams
:: Moved house
:: Had television stolen from this ‘gated community’ (A very special thanks goes to our security whom we pay a bomb for).
:: Drove to the back of beyond (ok the outer suburbs of Kumasi) chasing handicrafts and…
:: Trying to remain patient when asked for the umpteenth time to bring back laptop computers and mobile phones for people
:: Racing around trying to buy gifts which say something cool about West Africa, and simultaneously not being ripped off
:: Saying the summer goodbyes, many of the expats are leaving for the European summer break, and all the while…
:: Spending far too may hours driving in the heat and dust of Kumasi in a car with an embarrassingly squeaky fan belt and broken aircon. If only I had a spare day, I’d get the bloody thing fixed.
But best of all, tomorrow morning is our last school commitment for the year, the movers come and take the last of our furniture to our new place. And in a week today we’ll be racing up those Emirates steps and winging it back to Australia for the annual pilgrimage.
We’ve been on the countdown to the ‘summer’ holidays for weeks now. It’s kind of odd calling them summer holidays in this land of endless +30 degrees. If anything, I’ve taken to calling the weather over the last few weeks a Ghanaian winter, as we’ve had mornings which could almost be described as cool. It’s taken to past 9am (gasp!) to reach the 30degrees mark. And we’ve been having rain a few times a week, so heavy it feels strangely suffocating. And waking up on a grey morning, with the aircon on, listening to the rain on the windows, one can almost be fooled into thinking it is winter. That is until you open the door.
Countdown charts have been drawn and dutifully crossed off each day. And we’ve started those deliciously torturous conversations about food. Sausage rolls and tomato sauce, BBQ shapes and Tim Tams, Twisties and chocolate milkshakes. Me, I’m waiting for the goats cheese, good olives and Morpeth Sourdough bread. I am literally salivating typing it.
As Australians, we are used to the big break being coincident with all the chaos of summer and Christmas, so it feels quite odd to be finishing school in what seems like the middle of the year. There is talk of new teachers and classes for next year, and the low level anxiety of being separated from friends, but all that can wait a few months. The break is a long one too, just on 2 full months.
The really tricky part for me, is holding it all together. I’ve felt it when I worked fly in/fly out, I’ve felt it when Bill was working fly in/fly out. And every time we leave here, I feel it. It’s that last week, those last few days; when you patience is getting thin. We are all getting better at ‘Managing our expectations’ (it’s a mantra around these parts). Knowing that things don’t always (ever?) go according to plan, and taking those few extra deep breaths to keep sane. But at the bitter end, those breaths become a little shallower and my tolerance just keeps slipping.