Our first year as immigrants – 2009 – was a blast. We were like tourists, out every weekend climbing dunes at Bethell’s Beach, exploring tunnels at Devonport or hot-footing it over searing black sand at Piha. We were welcomed by people we met, and it was so easy.
“We arrived here a few months ago,” we’d smile. “We’re loving it,” we’d beam. And we’d be invited in.
Now it’s different, but it’s hard to pinpoint why. The magic of all those first months is over. We know now what to expect. We feel more responsible for our move. It has finally sunk in, and we are looking about and admitting: this is our new home now. Do we like what we chose? (The answer is ‘yes’, by the way.)
But it’s complicated.
For one, I feel a new level of homesickness. It would be so much easier if everyone back in SA said, “This isn’t working. Let’s all leave.” Then we wouldn’t wonder what we’re doing here, thousands of kilometres from SA. What makes it more confusing is that all our friends and family have stayed in South Africa and life has continued as normal for them. We wonder: why was it not OK for us, when clearly, they’re still fine there? Did we over-react? Are we too sensitive? Should we, gulp, go back? The thought fills me with dread, but the questions don’t stop.
I am sure this is a normal part of finally accepting the move here. We love it here in New Zealand. It’s almost too good to be true. We have forgotten the stress of everyday living in SA, the torturous uncertainty about a long term future for our kids. We remember the good times, the friendships we have left, the beguiling beauty of a Cape Town sunset on a white-sand beach, and the spectacular mountain ranges jutting into the African sky. That is tourist-speak, and tourists are what we will be when we go back to visit in SA.
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