Should we stay, or should we go?

After Libby’s death we had begun to speak again of the things we’d dreamed of doing when we first began dating (we had not dared to dream a lot during the following ten years). We had both travelled before we met and both longed to travel again; to visit new and exotic places; to meet fascinating and inspiring people. Now we had the added incentive, that the children were sounding very ‘Gloucestershire’ and their experiences of life beyond felt somewhat smaller than we’d hoped. I began to look at the international adverts in TES (Steve was too busy to give it much thought).

Then in the new year we took a day trip to Cardiff, where Piran bought a small globe ball. We sat opposite each other on the train home and I asked Steve as I threw the ball, “So, if you were to go and teach anywhere in the world, where would you go?” Steve didn’t take long to find the spot on the ball and circle it with his finger, “Anywhere here:” Southern Africa. He passed it back across the table to me, “How about you?” “Anywhere except here,” I responded: Southern Africa. Perhaps another reason to stay in England would be never agreeing on a new destination!

The gamechanger came through Kieron, my Deputy Head, deciding to return to St Andrew’s High School, where he had previously taught Maths, but this time he was appointed Head Teacher. He was heading out to Malawi later that year and he seemed so excited about the possibilities that might unfold there. So when St Andrew’s advertised an Assistant Headship that looked suitable for Steve, the question was obvious: should he apply? It was exactly the part of the world Steve wanted to return to and we would have the added advantage of knowing the Head. In any case, the post was advertised globally, so even if Steve applied, there was a good chance he would not get the job. And we had the huge hurdle to face, of breaking even the faint idea to Mum that we were considering taking her beloved grandchildren 5000 miles away for two whole years; that was beyond agonising – it felt like the cruellest thing I could conceive to do – we had to give this some serious thought.

On the morning of the interview at the Malawi High Commission in London, I found Steve sitting on the sofa in his best suit, looking rather ill, pondering not even going to the interview. This was huge. This would turn things upside-down for our little family. Could he take that responsibility? Wouldn’t it be better to pull out now? Steve’s track record at securing jobs is close to 95%, so I think he feared, not ‘not being offered the job’, but ‘being offered the job’! I found him in a state of high tension and took away his choice, “Get on that train and do the interview.” If he pulled out now, the choice was made for us. If he got to the interview, it bought us a few more days of thinking time.

We had so many questions flying around in our heads;

• Will Malawi be flat and barren like Steve’s photos of Botswana?

• What if it’s too hot and I can’t cope?

• Will it be dry and arid?

• Will they have Haribo? Chocolate?

• Will the supermarkets sell anything that we recognise?

• If it’s the poorest country on earth, will people resent us?

• Does the Internet work there? What if I can’t Skype my Mum?

• Will there be snakes and spiders?

• What if it was a huge mistake and we would wish we had never gone?

They felt like very long days of waiting. Days in which we contacted, emailed and talked to every single person we could think of who could offer advice or wisdom: Libby’s friend who had lived in Malawi; close friends who had moved to Tanzania when their girls were the same age as our two; my other sisters; our friends close by and those far away; anyone and everyone.

Three days later the call came; he was offered the job. And he accepted.