The secret to successful relocation — whether between cities, countries or continents — is not to think about what you miss about the place where you used to live. I’ve never bought into romanticised notions of uniquely African sunsets or the magic of Highveld thunderstorms, and though I love the bush more than anywhere else on Earth, I don’t see the point of getting maudlin over the cackling of francolins at sunset or the smell of hardekool smoke in the cool of the evening.
Even at my lowest point in Sydney, what I missed was not so much South Africa itself, but human contact. The sense of isolation, the knowledge that I was eight or nine hours from my friends and family, was deeply depressing even if, rationally, I loved the great public transport, the museums and parks, and the lack of crime. I never actually thought about South Africa — not the hadedas-and-braaivleis version of the country at any rate — and I certainly never moped about not being there. Missing people, I have discovered, is completely different from missing a place.
Now that I am back in politician-infested Mzansi, I don’t think about Sydney. I just don’t. I missed it terribly back in December when I was out in Jo’burg visiting family, but now that it’s likely to be months before I get the chance to head back across the Indian Ocean again — to visit — there’s no point. It’s a waste of energy to hanker after the ferry to Circular Quay, the beach a ten-minute walk from my apartment, the calls of the magpies and the kookaburras.
Oh, I do allow myself to miss being able to buy dried figs from my local Franklins (South African supermarkets do Safari raisins and pretty much nothing else) and the great variety of produce from Harris Farm Markets. South African shoppers have no idea of the amazing variety of fruit and vegetables — especially Asian vegetables — that Australians take for granted.
Perhaps I’ve focused on fresh produce because the experience of shopping is roughly comparable, and very few other aspects of life in these two countries are, at least in my experience. My Sydney self and my Jo’burg self hardly intersect at all. In Sydney, I caught buses, lived utterly alone, kept student hours. I was lonely and listless, even if I lived in one of the loveliest cities in the world. The Jo’burg version of me is a BMW-driving, brainstorming, Powerpoint presentation-writing corporate animal. I’m all about the work — I came back for the opportunity to do the work I love, after all — with weekends spent reconnecting with my family and friends. I’ve attended two family lunches two Sundays in a row — a luxury unimaginable in my life in Australia.
So I am finding, as I undergo this strange experience, that the only way to move between worlds is to cut a part of yourself off from them. Be there when you are there, and don’t think about it when you are not. Don’t think too much, full stop. Just keep going, and you’ll manage.
A prince with dignity and determination
Prince Ngarambe’s goals are to become Rwanda’s first transgender model and to uplift the country’s youth
The EFF’s principles are unshakeable
Unlike the ANC, the core values of the freedom fighters do not change with each leader it elects
