We were unpacking boxes.  We had just moved to Lusaka. From Hong Kong.

The rain pelted down. Dad and I sat together at the outside bar of our new home. The bar was nestled in the corner of the terrace overlooking a kidney-shaped swimming pool. Wellie was nuzzling at Dad’s ankles trying to find a sheltered spot. He was having one of those dog premonitions of the weather change. Dad had heard stories of expatriate families, being burgled and killed for as little as a bag of rice, fresh fruit or a loaf of bread so he thought that buying a guard dog would be extra protection for us.  Wellie was a delight, but I remember thinking that he was as likely to protect us from burglars as I was, as he was only a puppy at the time.

I loved the smell of tropical rain. Musty. Dusty. Especially warm rain. It was a hot sticky day. No breeze. Just bucket loads of water pouring down. It reminded me of Abidjan. Which I’d missed dearly during our very short time in Hong Kong. The African rainy season was so comforting. After the long sweltering summers, we could look forward to yard destroying monsoon autumns. I remember hoping it would be the same thing, in Lusaka, our new home.

It felt strange to be unpacking boxes. Usually Mum and Dad moved during term time, when Simon and I were still in boarding school. Simon and I both knew it was something to do with too much disruption. But was it too much for us or for them? I wasn’t sure.

“It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change” said Charles Darwin.

We are learning about evolution in school.

I know Mum was more afraid of change than we were. I guess it had something to do with us not knowing anything else. Simon and I had moved so many times up to this point. Was it our 6th or 7th move?….St. kitts, Bordeaux, somewhere in the south of England, Kinshasa, Lumbumbashi, Hong Kong, Abidjan, and now Lusaka. No, it was our 8th move.

It would go like this.

“Kids, we’re moving!” Dad would pipe up during dinner.

“Where to next?” both Simon and I would shout cheerily.

Usually, we left home for school from one country and fly back home from school to another country three months later, for the holidays. Our rooms were always the same. Mum insisted that a good transition helped if our bedrooms had the same posters, the same bedcover, rug, bedside table. I have to admit, it was very comforting coming home to a brand new home and finding everything as it was in our previous home. Maybe that’s why it wasn’t such a big deal for us.

The rain had started lashing sideways into Dad’s new cozy corner. Wellie was starting to whimper as he noticed the puddles of rain moving towards him.  He got up, ears drooping, looked up at Dad with sad eyes.

“Time to go inside” Dad chirped. Dad’s voice had a twinkle about it every time we were settling into a new place. He loved adventure. He loved change.

Mum not so much.