This is just that. A point of departure.
Departure. In 16 days we are climbing into our cars and departing.
We, being our small, and slightly volatile, family of five.
We are leaving our reasonably comfortable, but stressful, closeted but risky - life in the city to go and spend two years living in a small Xhosa village on the wild coast of South Africa.
The fact that none of us can speak a word of Xhosa should bother us. Frighteningly it doesn't.
My partner (secretly my beautiful, brave, patient, kind, frustratingly correct wife) and I have both resigned from our jobs, taken the kids out of school, and decided to go and spend two years in the remote village of Nqileni, in one of the poorest areas in the Eastern Cape of South Africa.
Nqileni has no electricity, no roads, no infrastructure, no toilets and no running water.
They also have no traffic, no Big Mac's, no television, no crime, no pollution, no noise and nowhere to hide.
In about 17 days from now, however, we will have passed the halfway mark and will be closer to the destination, then we will in fact be arriving rather than departing.
Arrival. A point of arrival.
A new opportunity to learn. A massive challenge.
We will be moving from a 300 square meter house to a cottage less than 40 square meters.
This is small. Very small in fact. Our little house has a cow dung and mud floor, mud bricks, and a skew roof that I put up myself in our last visit in October.
We will have to dig our own toilet, rig up a shower under a Jerrycan, survive on what rainwater we can collect, grow our own vegetables, keep a few chickens, fish for a lot of our supper, home school the kids, and amongst it all, find each other and ourselves.
We will be hanging on by our fingertips through the whole wild ride.
Which at least means that we won't be able to point fingers at each other.
Shout , scream, laugh, cry and swear - yes.
Point fingers - no.
We have started packing and are both working flat out to get all of our work, packing and project planning in place before we leave.
We have a manic two weeks ahead of us.
We will keep the blog as a family. When in doubt go with my version of events.
Claims that I am prone to wild exaggeration are wildly exaggerated and not at all accurate.
I suspect that having got the ball rolling, I might be shunted to the back of the blog line by a thirty-something achiever, a nine year old teenage girl, a five year old bossy little dynamo, and a three year old independent little chap who quietly sows angelic destruction in his wake.
Well, the start is made.
Bravely by me, because it was done without consultation or prior approval.
Remind me next time to tell you why I was so wickedly clever calling the site "by the tips of our fingers" and not something like, "returning to the country life", or "Organic country living".
I am a clever little chap.
But let me depart.
For now.
Departure. In 16 days we are climbing into our cars and departing.
We, being our small, and slightly volatile, family of five.
We are leaving our reasonably comfortable, but stressful, closeted but risky - life in the city to go and spend two years living in a small Xhosa village on the wild coast of South Africa.
The fact that none of us can speak a word of Xhosa should bother us. Frighteningly it doesn't.
My partner (secretly my beautiful, brave, patient, kind, frustratingly correct wife) and I have both resigned from our jobs, taken the kids out of school, and decided to go and spend two years in the remote village of Nqileni, in one of the poorest areas in the Eastern Cape of South Africa.
Nqileni has no electricity, no roads, no infrastructure, no toilets and no running water.
They also have no traffic, no Big Mac's, no television, no crime, no pollution, no noise and nowhere to hide.
In about 17 days from now, however, we will have passed the halfway mark and will be closer to the destination, then we will in fact be arriving rather than departing.
Arrival. A point of arrival.
A new opportunity to learn. A massive challenge.
We will be moving from a 300 square meter house to a cottage less than 40 square meters.
This is small. Very small in fact. Our little house has a cow dung and mud floor, mud bricks, and a skew roof that I put up myself in our last visit in October.
We will have to dig our own toilet, rig up a shower under a Jerrycan, survive on what rainwater we can collect, grow our own vegetables, keep a few chickens, fish for a lot of our supper, home school the kids, and amongst it all, find each other and ourselves.
We will be hanging on by our fingertips through the whole wild ride.
Which at least means that we won't be able to point fingers at each other.
Shout , scream, laugh, cry and swear - yes.
Point fingers - no.
We have started packing and are both working flat out to get all of our work, packing and project planning in place before we leave.
We have a manic two weeks ahead of us.
We will keep the blog as a family. When in doubt go with my version of events.
Claims that I am prone to wild exaggeration are wildly exaggerated and not at all accurate.
I suspect that having got the ball rolling, I might be shunted to the back of the blog line by a thirty-something achiever, a nine year old teenage girl, a five year old bossy little dynamo, and a three year old independent little chap who quietly sows angelic destruction in his wake.
Well, the start is made.
Bravely by me, because it was done without consultation or prior approval.
Remind me next time to tell you why I was so wickedly clever calling the site "by the tips of our fingers" and not something like, "returning to the country life", or "Organic country living".
I am a clever little chap.
But let me depart.
For now.
