Asleep Over Africa
You don’t need to go to Africa for 2 years to make you clean you house, but it’s an effective way of achieving it. You’ll then realize, if you don’t already, that 95% of your possessions are superfluous, something I’d suspected for some time. To rid your life of 36 years of accumulated unnecessaries is a cathartic experience. I now feel leaner and fitter (just figuratively speaking, unfortunately). Georgina, casting aside her natural inclination to “collect” (the uncharitable might say “horde”) , joined in heroically, with a heavy emphasis on recycling.
It wasn’t easy to leave family and friends in the UK but grey skies and constant rain helped persuade us. British summer 2008 happened over 3 days sometime in July and before I could find my already packed shorts it had vanished. The grey sky of August was good packing weather. We packed, repacked then packed again. What to leave behind? We had only 25 kgs baggage allowance. The girl on the phone at Air Namibia claimed it was just 20 kgs, so I wished I hadn’t asked.
We didn’t care if a rainstorm drenched our train to Gatwick. We were off to see where the sun lived during the day. It certainly wasn’t in Britain.
We jammed ourselves into the 2 inches of room between seats in the plane’s economy (3rd class) cabin. The advantage would be that if the plane crashed (Heaven forbid) we were too squashed in to be thrown around. The overnight flight was direct to Windhoek. We could sleep over Africa, which was just as well as there didn’t appear to be an in-flight film. On being woken up at 1.30am for chicken (I think) and roast potatoes the size of croutons (I have acquired the knack of being able to eat at any time of day, or was I born with it?), I vaguely remember Jeremy Clarkson’s voice (Top Gear) recommending I buy a Ferrari. Maybe I was having a nightmare? Africa lay in darkness 36,000 feet beneath us. Algeria?
The African heat blasted us like the exhaust of a jet engine as we left the plane. I now regretted wearing umpteen layers of clothes (to extend the paltry baggage allowance) and wondered if dying of heatstroke was a particularly unpleasant way to go. I was soon find out……..
Don’t be silly. Who do you think is writing this stupid blog (or “diary” as volunteer Alison (more about her later) insists on calling it?
September 22nd, 2008 at 7:48 am
heehee, Dad you always make me giggle! I love the “potatoes the size of croutons” haha, and the umpteen layers of clothes to extend the baggage allowance. So funny. Keep it coming!!