Family bonding over artwork – all the kids helped to paint the children’s bedroom
“How is it possible to bring order out of memory?” I read this a long time ago, and now as I embark on my journey, I feel the same way. I know I am blessed, born to wonderful parents, the oldest child – who could torture her younger siblings – all in pursuit of establishing a close relationship with them. Qualified for MENSA membership and at 18 yrs went to University abroad to study. Met a wonderful person, fell in love and married him. Loved my job, and finally had an angel, a baby boy. Wham! My husband informed me we were going to move to his homeland for good, his father had been killed by robbers and he needed to move to be with his mother.
Ordinarily this would not faze me a bit, after all mothers come before all else, nothing else usually does, but this! Complete upheaval. So, I who grew up in a privileged part of the world, living in a nuclear family set-up, not knowing the names of any bean or cooking ingredient, and mostly doing as I pleased, would move – avec a small child – to a third world country, in a joint family system, where I would be expected to be (not behave like, but be) a good homemaker.
“Honey, they have cooks and maids there right? I mean if I need to tell them what to cook for lunch.”
“Yes, but my mother believes in doing things herself, so we have a maid to clean, but the cook does not cook, he only assists, like a sous chef.”
“Ah, so I will need to learn how to give orders, and talk like a chef. What about electricity outages and the pollution?”
“Don’t worry; everyone will love you, just like I do. You will get used to it and my entire family in no time.”
“Entire family? Ummm, are you all very close?”
“Oh, I can’t wait. Every weekend all my sisters, their children and spouses, my aunt, my brother and his kids and wife all come and spend the day with my mom – and us.”
“Ah! So how many people is this altogether?” me in an underlying, hopefully undetectable paranoid tone.
“Oh a few, let’s count. My brother, his wife and five kids (he eventually had one more, so six), my sisters (three), their spouses (three as well) and their kids (a total of eight), my aunt, uncle and two kids, the aunt who lives with us (a spinster), us and my mom – so that is 33 people (we eventually also had two more kids) only. Ah, yes and any guests who might want to stop by, they are always welcome.”
“All in one house, every week, for the whole day? Ummm, who cooks? What about snacks? I bet they cater the meal that sounds like fun.” I am calm; I remember to breathe at regular intervals.
“You’ll see, don’t worry and just get back to packing the boxes.” Off to work my husband goes. I work from home on Tuesdays and I start, check email, oh I can Google Masterchef.
How hard can that be I think, I scramble and stream an episode of Masterchef, and I start my journey to becoming a chef. I will tell my dear husband I am being proactive, also I call my mom and ask her to email me a couple of recipes that are actually easy to make, I mean order someone to make but look difficult. Believe me all South Asian recipes are that way. Then I call my brother and ask him to come over, immediately. He is at university – but PhD’s are not as important as a sister in crisis, so he rushes over.
That taken care of I start packing boxes (Masterchef in the background, subliminal learning) – my brother helps. I will miss him most of all. We fight a lot, I used to sit on him when we were kids – and fart, but we also would move heaven and earth to come to each other’s aid. I will miss not being able to call and chat with my sister and parents at whim. I will miss my friends – but I can make new ones. I will miss my aunt who lives in the same city and with whom I have shared many adventures – like changing tires by ourselves. Most of all I feel I will lose a part of myself, I will have to adapt.
We packed forty boxes in all; I even packed the diaper I had saved from the first pack of diapers we bought for my son. It could come in handy in la la land. I quit my job, a job I loved with people who taught me all that I know about working in the real world, it was my first job. My husband also quit, we had some money saved and we were both young enough to have stars in our eyes. Stars that actually glittered, we had gifts for everyone; that always helps.
The move still hadn’t sunk in. It was driving the U-Haul truck to the shippers with the boxes that finally brought it home. Once this was done, there was no going back. We couldn’t just unpack and decide that we weren’t going. After dropping off the boxes, my husband and I went and had a coffee, each quietly drowning or swimming in his own thoughts. I felt hope because if in your mind you have lost the battle, then there is no way to win it. In my mind, just as the clouds are ready to accept the sun at dawn, I accept the idea of moving, to an unknown place, live with strangers, according to alien customs and rituals but with determination that my husband loves me and God has a plan and this is me making the best of what I am offered.
Now I am excited, it is an adventure, I will make new friends and my son will get to know his grandma. He will be immersed in a heritage that will benefit him as he grows, he will learn languages and play games in the street. There are so many positives, I dwell only on those. Our flight is in a week, we have farewell parties and people tell us what they think of our move. One thing amazes me, all of our friends with the same cultural background as us tell us we are making a huge mistake, there is nothing left in a third world country, we are throwing our future away. Those who have grown up here, tell us that family is the most important thing and that we are lucky to have this opportunity to spend time with them.
My parents wish me the best. My sister promises to visit, my aunt refuses – she tells us we will be back. The hardest is saying goodbye to my brother, he has made me less homesick, has supported me in my endeavors and we have done a few things we shouldn’t have – like buried meat gone bad in a public park. I do not know if we will ever live in the same city again, but I pray we will, all three of us. Hindsight is 20/20 they say, and I know now that siblings are truly the most important thing a person can have. With them you can share anything, be silly, laugh, cry, yell, swear, bounce ideas at each other and you know that the only advice you will get will be brutal, but it will be the truth and it will help you.
Off we go, at the airport I stock up on gum, chocolate, candy, cookies, bottled water. The cashier at the duty free shop rings up my purchases – $250.00
“Honey, you know there are stores and you can get all of this over there.”
“Yes, but we are not going shopping the minute we land, so I’ll have this for the interim.”
“Where will you put all of this, I’m not carrying it!”
“We could put it in the stroller, and our son could walk.”
“Sorry, we are putting all this back except for one of each,” my husband to the cashier. He then buys $10 worth of stuff and we proceed to the waiting area.
I am mad, “What if they don’t have M&M’s there, you know the blue ones are hard to find.”
Before my dear husband can answer our flight is announced, we are really, truly off. I look back for the last time. I take it all in, and then I remember, “I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance.” (Beryl Markham, West with the Night)
I go, there are no tears in my eyes only hope. Determined am I going to make this work and to grow from this life change. It will not define me – I alone will define who I become.
#visitdubaiNEVER is the new hashtag Dubai should promote.
Learn to laugh 