This is story #31 in the series “Where Exactly is Home?”. The author recommends you read them in order.
Introduction:
“Where Exactly is Home?” follows the story of my parents, my two younger brothers and me, Susan, who emigrated from war-battered Britain, in the mid-late 1950’s, to Southern Rhodesia, Africa.
The effects of this move on our family were huge, as we struggled to adapt to such a different way of life. Only after further upheaval, and more long-distance travelling, did our family eventually settle in the city of Salisbury, Rhodesia.
However, we did not know then that we would not remain there for the rest of our lives, either.
When the family first went to Africa, I, Susan, was 9 years old. My two brothers, John and Peter, were almost 7 and 4, respectively.
Nowadays, as seniors, John and Peter live in England. I live in Canada. Throughout our lives, we have both benefitted from, and suffered because of, our somewhat unusual childhood.
I, for one, still sometimes ask myself which country represents home to me.
This is a series of stories under the title “Where Exactly is Home?” – I recommend you read them in order, starting with story #1.
31. Heading to the Beach No Easy Undertaking
Whenever our family of five set off for the beach, I felt as if we were undertaking a major expedition. Our nearest beach was hundreds of miles away on the Indian Ocean, at Beira, in Mozambique, where the language spoken was Portuguese. It was a long, boring two-days’ drive to get there.
We had to start our holiday preparations early. My mother wrote to the Estoril, asking for a reservation in one of their beach cabins, and we waited for the none-too-fast postal system to bring us a response, hoping that we would receive a confirmation for the dates chosen. We wanted to stay for five days.
As soon as we knew we’d be going on holiday, we began to think of what we needed to do first. Oh, yes! Find and check our passports. Were they in date, or did they need to be renewed? Were all the photos valid, since we children were on our mother’s passport?
Reservations made and passports in order, the next task was to prepare the car for the long road trip required. I remember my father used to take the car to a local garage for a check-up. Did we need air in the tires? Were the wheels balanced? Was the spare tire pumped up and ready? Did we have a spare fanbelt? Was the battery in good condition? Everything was checked to ensure that the vehicle was well prepared for the journey ahead. Being in Africa, the roads were not the highways seen here in Canada today. There was only one road between Southern Rhodesia and Mozambique, and it was narrow and bumpy, especially in Mozambique where potholes and corrugations were the order of the day. There was nothing much along the route, either, except for a very occasional gas station where we could stop to use a toilet. All around us was the bush. Sometimes we might drive through a tiny rural town, or an African village, where the children, in their brightly coloured clothes, danced up and down, waving at us to stop and buy fruit such as oranges from their roadside displays.
