Comings and Goings

The conversation always begins with:

"How long have you been here?"

“Four months, What about you? How long are you here for?"

"Our contract's up in December, but we're hoping to renew."

There’s a hesitation. What does that mean? Am I going to learn all about her, like her, laugh with her, adore her children, and then have to wave her goodbye in few months?

"We're pretty sure it will be renewed "

They both nervously smile.

And then the conversation moves to a comfortable place. They talk about the house, the kids, the adjustment. They are both in the same position, far from home and making their way through each day trying to work out what the new rules are.

They both laugh about the near death experience crossing the road that morning, or fume over the deep injustice when some stranger stops them dead in their track to remind them that they're a bad mother:

“Are YOU going to put a hat on THAT child? Haram!” arms flailing.
What they don’t know is the tug-of-war that goes on with that child to keep their hat on before leaving the house. Every. Single. Day!

They laugh and then they exchange numbers.

They both left the table realising that she laughed for the first time in a week. And often what was making her laugh were the same things that had made her cry earlier that day when she'd thought of going straight to the airport to head home.

She is going to be okay. She has a friend.

Making new friends is an essential part to expat survival. When you're new, your criteria of making new friends cannot be named, it comes in the form of a sign, a similarity, a possible connection. Eye contact and a smile can provide an immediate feeling that things will be okay, that this move will be fine. People are friendly here.

I'm now in that happy place that comes at the four-month mark. The apartment is becoming to feel more like our home, I have a few favourite haunts, and few friends to text when I need to escape with for a coffee or a weekend getaway.

But since last Friday, I am now also acutely aware of the sadness that arrives with news that a friend is moving on. Goodbye is hard and the idea of saying goodbye to new acquaintances here fills me with dread.

Being ‘the leaver’ is a lot easier than being the person left behind. When you're left behind you will find yourself constantly reminded of things you did with a friend, reminders that they are no longer here anymore. That brief flash of excitement when you think of that restaurant, that concert, that dinner party.

Losing a friend to another country means you are left with the option of going it alone, or putting yourself back out there in the world of introductions.

So, if you're new in town, I'm looking for you! And if you're not new here, but you're new somewhere else, don't worry, it'll get better, it will become easier. I promise.

Expat Woman: is it in the Blood?

Two women talking at Muqattam, 1948 http://vintageegypt.tumblr.com/

Mateo and I were in the elevator this morning and a neighbour came on board. She asked where we are from and my immediate response was “Australia”. She smiled but seemed unsatisfied with my answer, my accent wasn’t enough. She’s was right, in addition I should have said “my roots are from Egypt hence our dark skin and oriental features, oh and, Mateo’s father is Swiss and…(stay with me now). But we reached ground floor before I could give her a true description of our intercultural family: quasi-Australian-Egyptian-Swiss, hold on there’s a nation missing - British.

You see I’m not the first expat woman in my family. My British Grandmother was a pioneer of the “modern international woman” in the first half of the 20th Century.

In her late 20’s Grandma was lured by Egypt’s magnetic attraction. An allure that was distinctly exotic but an attraction no doubt that began when she was a little girl when her mother used to take her to the British Museum to see the magnificent relics of Ancient Egypt. While growing up she was overwhelmed with an insatiable appetite to travel to Egypt.

Like the thousands of privileged tourists who flocked to Egypt during British occupation, Grandma was stirred by the city’s physical beauty, its jewel of the Nile, its grand temples, its fine restaurants and sidewalk cafes, its seductive music, and its lively and sometimes even decadent nightlife.

The Golden Age of Egypt in late 1940’s was glamorous, and so was she. I imagine her as a leading lady in Agatha Christy murder mystery novel Death on the Nile: a beautiful, confident, intelligent, slightly wicked, Gin swilling, carefree woman.

What I admire most about her is that she chose to use her freedoms in search for her own identity - a relatively new concept for women’s rights in her day. She was a self-exile who chose to leave a homeland, a depressing Post War London that she may have considered intellectually, politically, racially, or sexually limiting or even oppressive.

Unlike more casual visitors, Grandma worked, married a dapper, el macho Egyptian man and settled down with two children in Cairo for nearly 20 years. And when British occupation was ousted from Egypt, she did not return to England with the family, instead they migrated to Australia where my Mum met my Dad (a fellow expat Egyptian) and they say the rest is history.

This year my Grandmother celebrated her 90th birthday but sadly lost her husband - they were married for 60 years. Even though she’s quite mysterious about her past, it’s her entanglement with Egyptian culture that has the strongest impression and is of most interest to me. In her cockney English accent she can ramble off perfect fluent Arabic. She never speaks of her experience of The Blitz during WWII but loves talking about Kingdoms of Ancient Egypt like a true historian. I can’t remember her ever baking an English pie but she made a mean Molokhia!

And now that I am an expat mum in the Middle East, I have so many questions to ask her: How did she blend into her new world? Was it easy? I suspect not! Did Grandad’s family welcome her with open arms? How quickly did she learn to speak Arabic? How comfortable was she in her second-skin as a Cairean? Did she feel alienated from family and friends back in England? How did she cope with tough times?

No matter the answers, one thing is for certain she lived her dream with full gusto, regardless of her hardships. I am sure she nostalgically looks back at her life in Egypt and can fondly laugh at her language disasters, power cuts for days, cold showers, blocked pipes, and recollect silly wives-tales for treating mysterious illness’ (which also doubled for warding off the ‘evil eye’).

There she was, in one of the most ancient cities of the world creating not just a new history, but her future – and my future. As Elanor Roosevelt said “ the future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams”. My Grandmother taught me to live my dreams. It’s her part of my heritage that loves being an international nomad. This inherited “itchy feet” feeling is a bit like a virus, which lives on in the blood regardless of place or circumstance.

I’ve followed in her footsteps in many ways. I began travelling solo in my 20s, finding my independence was extremely important and liberating. When Grandma graduated from university at the age of 70, she gave me the drive to pursue my academic interests. However I got one up on her, I got my driver's license (hehehe).

When I met Mikey, I knew he also had the travel bug in his blood and we amicably agreed that travelling would be factored into our future together. When the opportunity in Beirut came up, we were both incredibly excided about hitting the road; a piece of family nostalgia for me to return to the Middle East and new exciting experience for us as family, although I never imagined we would travel before Mateo’s first birthday.

But our world is a lot smaller than in my Grandmother’s day with the internet, skype, facebook, email, blogging etc. I feel I am in constant communication with friends and family back home.  Yet, it hasn’t been all smooth sailing and I haven’t been shielded from the stresses of adapting to life in a foreign culture.

Daily tasks can feel one hundred times more difficult to accomplish than back home and sometimes life feels anything but easy and carefree. I regularly wonder what on earth possessed me to give up my identity, support network, career! And as I sat at home sick for weeks on end (another virus hit me hard after my chicken pox) I felt incredibly lonely and helpless not being able to meet other women.

It crossed my mind, should we pack up and go home? This is not the expat life I had imagined! What would Grandma have done? But as I watched Mikey and Mateo adapt to their new lifestyle like a fish takes to water I just had to accept things for what they were and ride it out. And after several quiet weeks, finally I met up with a fellow expat mum and all of a sudden, I feel normal again (hello Daniela).

It all has to do with connectivity. Even though we are from different parts of the world, I met a woman who didn’t gasp when I told her about our reason for moving to Beirut, who didn’t think it was strange to live in a different country for a few years, and who had common stories of trials, tribulations and joys of bringing up a child in new surroundings.

I’ve come to realise that I belong to a tribe, a common throng of women who travel the world, many working or trailing behind their spouses, offering support and encouragement, bringing up children, finding their own way through the newness of each location.

Will I belong to this tribe forever? Maybe, possibly, hopefully. As long as my Grandmother’s adventurous spirit lives on inside of me.
 

Grandma, thankyou for leading the way. love you xxx