My mum, sister, our home help, Sam, my younger brother and me on the steps of our bungalow.
It’s my birthday this week – October 3rd, to be precise. As the end of September approached and my birthday month was on the horizon, it led me to thinking of all the places I’ve lived and worked in my life: England, Argentina, Canada and (during the earlier part of my childhood) Zambia, Africa. My parents, three siblings and I lived there for 3 years, or so, where my father worked in the copper mines. We lived in a small bungalow in a mining town, and some of my earliest memories were of ochre, dusty sunsets and the scent of geraniums on a warm evening breeze.
At night, we would spend time on the veranda with friends and neighbours. The adults would sit talking and laughing, and the seesaw sound of crickets was a constant backdrop to the conversation and jokes. The cooking smells of one dish or another would fill the house, welcoming all who entered.
These times were among the happiest in my life. They were the times I felt the most content, when I was enveloped in the warmth of the African climate. I didn’t have a care in the world back then and was part of a true community. My younger brother and I would play outside, in the pot-holed streets, along with all the other children from the ex-pat families. We never ventured too far from the house and were always within hearing distance when our mother would call for us to come back inside for dinner.
It’s good to reflect on one’s life every now and then. It’s a way of keeping those memories alive and a part of who we are. As you can see, I even found some old photos of our time in Zambia.
One of my earlier birthdays, in Africa. My brother, Michael, my younger brother, Mark, me and my sister Bernadette.
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