‘Is this it?’
In what was a clear rebellion against the #blessed social media movement, my brain plagued me with this question for months. And, on paper, there was no reason for it. My husband was a busy NHS consultant, I had two children and we lived in a period, charm-filled part of Edinburgh. As the PR for a luxury hotel, work was an adrenalised mix of manic keyboard typing and champagne fuelled meetings and I loved it.
But, at a certain point, what I had dismissed as an indulgent middle class malaise became a clamour that could not be ignored. My amazon prime habit was out of control as was my gin consumption. Neither were making me happy. Without the comfort blanket of my career who was I and what did I stand for? As I fast approached 40 these were questions that I felt I should have been able to answer, but I came up alarmingly short. So, about 18 months ago, we did what all sensible adults would do in our situation: we packed up and ran away to Africa.
I’ll admit, when my husband’s job offer for a hospital in Malawi came through, I had to look the country up. As one of the world’s poorest countries, it conjured up images of drought and famine, a sliver of a country nestled between the better known Tanzania and Zambia. It has the least amount of doctors in the world (the World Health Organisation estimates there is just 1 doctor for every 40,000 people in Malawi compared to one in 400 in the UK. A statistic that’s especially unhelpful in a pandemic, but that’s another unexpected twist in the tale…).
It therefore appealed to my husband whose calling is working in resource limited settings, and whilst I didn’t know what my purpose was - and admittedly still don’t – the thought of supporting his work and taking our kids on an adventure told me to jump. About 10 weeks after officially accepting the job offer we were gone.
And what a ride we’ve had so far. Having relocated to a little thatched house on a hill overlooking the capital city of Lilongwe, the Malawi we have discovered is raw and rustic. It has offered us a heady cocktail of rugged beauty mixed with potholed ridden roads leading to freedom and adventure. I’ve witnessed the sheer joy of two naked children frolicking in one of the largest fish-filled lakes in the world. I’ve seen their eyes grow wide as we watch elephants splash on a river bank. And I’ve taken quiet pleasure as they kick a plastic bag football on the beach with fellow barefooted Malawian friends.
But these romantic snapshots of Africa cannot be experienced in splendid isolation. Life here is so slow sometimes it makes me want to scream. We’ve had to weave through a maze of challenging bureaucratic systems to set up a life here, and in a land-locked country where food supplies can often be sporadic, cheese and Greek yoghurt have become the star prizes from the weekly game of supermarket sweep. Then there’s the kind of poverty that sends feelings of look-away-shame rushing through your body sending your cheeks on fire. But although there is overwhelming need, it has lessons to teach us too – lessons of community, acceptance and resilience.
As a family, we’ve pushed through culture shock, homesickness and heatwaves, bugs - of the tummy and bed variety - bats and malaria. There have been stretches of boredom, loneliness and feelings of total disconnect from those I love back home. I’ve also missed Scottish Blend more than I ever could have imagined. But the surface discomforts are nothing compared to the deeper challenges. I’ve found that as my world view has been stretched I have to sit with the discomfort of having beliefs challenged, outlooks shattered and committing to change.
I wish I could tie it up in a neat sentence but it’s a very messy work in progress. But, often when we are on the road in our 4x4, windows down and the huge African sun melting into the dust-filled horizon at the end of the day, there are moments of pure bliss. We are in the driver’s seat and have gone off road trying to chart our own wee journey in this world. That is as liberating as it is scary. And, for the first time in a long time I can breathe.
To read more of Jessica’s adventure head to Instagram.