Sometimes you just have to accept what life throws at you.

It is late afternoon and I am sitting up in bed nursing my first episode of travelers’ belly! It is a week before Christmas and if, a few months ago someone had told me I would be spending this Christmas in Pakistan I would have been the first one to laugh and say ‘don’t be ridiculous’.

However, here I am.

My life in Kenya is over. A very sudden and traumatic end to a life I thought would continue until literally my dying days. Saying goodbye to family, friends, the people and the places that have been part of my daily life for so long was probably one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.

Why you ask? Enough to say, I guess we never really know someone as well as we think we do.

BUT, with the love and support of the amazing Pasta Mamas (who you will familiar with from previous post), wonderful friends in both Kenya and Australia and of course my amazing and ever supportive family, I have passed through the worst of it.

Most of my worldly goods are on the high seas somewhere between Mombassa and Sydney. Not that they even have a home to go to when they arrive. I will sort out that problem when it comes.

When I was offered a job in Pakistan, 2 weeks after arriving in Australia, I jumped at the chance – great job, beautiful country and it delays the inevitable – having to find a house and a job in Australia.

As my friend Becs said when she heard I had accepted my new job ‘I knew you would be doing something amazing before too long’.

The thing is, I no longer have an African Kitchen Table in fact I don’t even have a Pakistani kitchen table! What I do already have though is a note book full of jottings, frantically recorded and ready to be expanded into posts – bustling cities, stunning country side, outrageously decorated lorries, beautiful fashions, delicious food and incredibly welcoming and hospitable people.

Fate has handed me this opportunity. I am not sure it is quite what the friends who said ‘everything happens for a reason’ had in mind but right now I am grabbing it with both hands. I am one month into my stay here and my senses are already saturated with the experience. Who knows what will happen tomorrow.  

Just in case you are worried that I am lonely, here is proof that I did not come alone. Sitting on my bedhead is the little soap stone rhino given to me by my next door neighbour, Nadia, just before I left Kenya. She hoped it would always be a reminder of the rhinos who came to visit us in shared  our  'front garden' Nairobi National Park

The Arrival

I am final here.

After 4 weeks of anticipation I am stepping off the plane in a country that is to be home for the next 12 months. It is 2am and the autumn chill is very present as, with my fellow passengers, I make my way by bus, from the plane to the main terminal. As promised, there is someone waiting at the arrival gate, holding up a paper with my name. He guides me effortlessly though immigration and customs – probably the smoothest arrival I have ever had in all my years of traveling. Of course there is the usual wait for the baggage to be unloaded but finally it comes through the flap. The conveyer belt has seen better days, but it does the job and with relief that they are all still intact, I retrieve my 3 bags.

Contrary to what I have been told, my ‘Mr Fixit’ does assist with pushing heavily laden luggage trolleys!

Emerging from the arrivals hall into the crowd waiting to greet family and friends the contrast could not be greater. My fellow passengers are mostly decked out in jeans and leather jackets (except for the few ladies who prefer the comfort of traditional dress). I have to stop for a couple of seconds to take in the scene before me, it is now when I realise that I really am here in Pakistan. As at arrival gates around the world the crowd is 5 of 6 deep. Men young and old dressed in their traditional shalwar kameez, traditional Pashtun hats and well wrapped up against the cold in their beautiful embroidered Kashmiri shawls.

Moustaches! Everywhere I look there are amazing moustaches. I am guessing they do not shave them off at the end of Movember!

 

Whoops! I am hurried along to the waiting driver, who piles the luggage into the pickup and we are off in to the Islamabad night. Not a lot to see in the dark unfortunately but to be honest all I really want is to get to the house.

As much as I want to fall into bed, I always need to take time to explore my surroundings. Even if it is only my allocated room. I change out of my traveling clothes and ‘claim my space’ by unpacking my belongings into cupboards and shelves. The room itself passes muster – the bed is comfortably firm and the shower gushes boiling hot water within a seconds of turning on the tap.

 I wake to the midday call to prayer. I am not sure what time I finally fell asleep and even now I could probably sleep through the day but I make the effort to get up realizing that I need to get into a normal routine as soon as possible. With coffee in hand, I find my way up to the rooftop terrace. It is a beautiful autumn day, clear and crisp with the sun shining and making a gallant effort to warm the air. Our street is quiet, lined with trees. Our house is at the end of the cul-de-sac and across a waste area I can hear boys playing cricket – yes, I am definitely in Pakistan! The Margalla hills surround the town, appearing to rise up directly from the houses on the opposite side of the street. They are barren and brown and unfortunately will not be covered in snow during the winter although they will provide some much needed exercise.

Down on our very small patch of lawn, the watchman looks up and waves as the peace is suddenly shattered by 10 generators along the street springing to life as the town power goes down for a couple of hours. Oh well, not everything can be perfect.