Mothering Sunday 30^th March 2025 – the talk I gave today at Family Church

Happy Mothering Sunday! Can I hear a cheer for all the mums?

When I talk about mothers today, I am speaking about those who are mums, women who long for kids, women who maternally support others, people who have mums, people who have lost mums, those whose relationship with mum is difficult. Everyone.

The children have been writing down for us what they love about their mums.

I’ve also asked some mums:

• What they love most about being a mum
• What they find hardest being mum

Mum 1

1. Seeing them play/have fun/laugh altogether (which happens regularly)
2. Having to repeat myself ALL THE TIME

Mum 2

1. What I love most about being a mum is that you know you’re doing something worthwhile each day. Having children was God’s first commandment for us, so caring for them and providing for them is one of our highest purposes.
2. The hardest thing about being a mum is the tiredness! It’s a job that doesn’t end!

Mum 3

1. I love everything about being a mum, but especially the close, loving bond between me and my child, cherishing each other, watching them blossom to become who they are, safe.
2. The hardest thing is letting them go, and adjusting to a changing role.

Mum 4

Of course. Off the top of my head, as a mother of adult children:

1. Encouraging and supporting them to develop their own interests and talents.

2. Not being able to fix everything for them once they have flown the nest.

Mum 5

1. A deepening relationship as they grow up

2. ⁠Not being able to fix (big) things for them as they venture into the world on their own

Mum 6

1. The Love I have for my children – they are my everything and my purpose. I was definitely called to be a mum and I have been so blessed.

2. It’s hard work and never stops! Finding time to breathe gets easier as they grow but it still gets you sometimes and when the kids fight it’s trying. Xxx

Mum 7

1. I’ve loved seeing their characters develop and them growing into beautiful adults.

2. When life is hard and there is nothing you can do to make it better.

 

What does the Bible have to say about mums? We learn that:

1. God honours mothers – in the 10 commandments & Jesus quotes that commandment, too.
2. Jesus had a mother – what was her role?Carrying and giving birth to him. Jesus IS God. He didn’t have to be born as a human. God could have chosen another way to appear to his people. Yet he chose to become miniscule and to be fed and protected in Mary’s womb. To be a baby. To be held and nurtured and fed and weaned by his mum. The more I think about this, the more staggered I am. This was God’s choice. This is how much He honoured the role of earthly mum. God put us in families and chose to be born into a human family.Mary was the one to kick-start Jesus’ ministry. Telling the servants at the Cana wedding – do whatever He says. She knew Him better than anyone on earth. Saw His unique gifting, his anointed ministry, his divine moment. John 19, 25-27 When he was dying on the cross, he took care of this same earthly mum.  She was a widow by then and without his 1stborn son, could be vulnerable. So he put her in a new family with his closest friend, John.
3. God is mother to us – our comforter

2 Corinthians 1, 3-7 God of all comfort

• Just like every good thing in creation, the role of mother was created in God’s image. Mums across the world and throughout history have reflected the nature of God himself.
• Every caress, every soft kiss, every meal lovingly made, every sleepless night with a little one, every task that keeps the family safe and well, mopping up dirt and sick, every gentle reprimand, every hour sat at a sick child’s bedside, every tear shed in silent, every prayer for a hurting child, every dream for a brighter future. THIS. This is our parent, our mother God.
• Holy Spirit the Comforter. Isaiah 66 and so often called the Comforter. It’s  no accident that in the Shack, Holy Spirit is a mother – do read or watch it if you haven’t yet.

The 2^nd time through, read the quotes – this time from a God perspective, thinking what God’s mother heart is like.

Something from these quotes is going to jump out at you. Ponder it. Meditate on it. Talk to God about it.

Mum 1

• Seeing them play/have fun/laugh altogether (which happens regularly)
• Having to repeat myself ALL THE TIME

Mum 2

• What I love most about being a mum is that you know you’re doing something worthwhile each day. Having children was God’s first commandment for us, so caring for them and providing for them is one of our highest purposes.
• The hardest thing about being a mum is the tiredness! It’s a job that doesn’t end!

Mum 3

• I love everything about being a mum, but especially the close, loving bond between me and my child, cherishing each other, watching them blossom to become who they are, safe.
• The hardest thing is letting them go, and adjusting to a changing role.

Mum 4

Of course. Off the top of my head, as a mother of adult children:

1. Encouraging and supporting them to develop their own interests and talents.

2. Not being able to fix everything for them once they have flown the nest.

[I did wonder if this applies to God, but in many ways it does. God could choose to fix us, but if He take away our choices, our agency, but that would lessen our humanity.]

Mum 5

1. A deepening relationship as they grow up

2. ⁠Not being able to fix (big) things for them as they venture into the world on their own

Mum 6

1. The Love I have for my children – they are my everything and my purpose. I was definitely called to be a mum and I have been so blessed.

2. It’s hard work and never stops! Finding time to breathe gets easier as they grow but it still gets you sometimes and when the kids fight it’s trying. Xxx

Mum 7

1. I’ve loved seeing their characters develop and them growing into beautiful adults.

2. When life is hard and there is nothing you can do to make it better.

How often are you turning to God for your comfort?

If you lost your mum or she’s far away, reach out to mother God. If your earthly mum relationship is imperfect or broken, reach out to God now.

Is God putting someone on your heart who you can show this comfort to?

 

I’ve always loved socialising over a shared meal. The dinner table was such an important place to chat and share news when I was a child. And yet I didn’t grow up cooking; indeed, it has long been a fear of mine. But why? I have travelled around the world on my own. I’ve given birth twice. I teach teenagers, for goodness’ sake! What is so frightening about cooking?

One reason, I think, was having so many older siblings who were extremely capable in the kitchen and seemed to produce beautiful meals effortlessly (as did my mum, of course).

Then there was circumstance. At university, I was in catered halls for 3 years, so I didn’t have to acquire those skills. As a young professional, I would rotate through pasta, pizza, and scrambled egg. On maternity leave, my husband bought me a recipe book (written by a teenager), and so I added spaghetti bolognese and carbonara to my repertoire. When the children were little, we visited friends in the Hague, who made us a delicious Jambalaya, which I then learnt to make, and so that became another staple of mine. At some point, I learnt to make a chicken and apricot tagine – another one-pot dish on my repertoire. And later I added fish pie as well. But I never really felt confident to invite people to dinner.

When we lived in Malawi, we were incredibly lucky to have a housekeeper, and Jeffrey prepared fabulous meals for us. This meant that people did come and eat with us at home, but almost never meals prepared by me. When we returned to Yorkshire, Covid hit, and so socialising indoors was not an option. But 3.5 years on from that, there is no good reason not to invite people around for a meal. Or is there?

The thought of preparing a 1 or 2 course meal for friends still fills me with dread. I do a lot of thinking while swimming lengths, so in the pool in January, I made myself address this conundrum head-on. What was holding me back? Friends had either already eaten my Jambalaya or they couldn’t due to their dietary needs. So why did I feel so stuck?

Well, I’ve always struggled with written instructions. I have to read them over and over before I understand them. If those instructions include multiple numbers and quantities, it becomes even more difficult for me. Add to that the pressure of expectation and knowing people are coming around, and my reading skills deteriorate even more! Hence, I’ve sought one-pot dishes; dishes with very few ingredients or dishes I know inside out.

If I’m being really honest, there is another deeper barrier to preparing meals. And that barrier is time. I don’t just mean the lack of time – the need to make dinner quickly due to more work to do afterwards, or the children needing me or simply being really hungry. I’ve always had this deap-seated issue with the amount of hours it takes to prepare food and the very few minutes it takes to eat it. This seems a disproportionate use of time, especially with my feminist ideals, when there are so many other demands on my time!

So, having decided in the pool to invite some people over in February, my wonderful sister offered to help me prep 3 dishes to serve. I thoroughly enjoyed this, but mainly because I always enjoy time with my sister, plus she was reading most of the instructions! The meal did go really well, too.

So, a week later, when my work friend recommended to me a new recipe book, ’15 minute Indian’, I was very keen to try it out. Could I do a meal for friends,.myself? I bought in all the spices, cupboard ingredients, and the fresh ones too and invited my mum – playing it safe the first time! Mind you, I did want to deliver some of the food to friends having a tricky week.

When I saw all the fresh ingredients on the kitchen side, it felt really pleasing. I put on a podcast and began peeling and chopping the sweet potato into cubes. As I began the same with the butternut squash, the podcast was talking about the importance of doing life at 3 miles an hour, of walking daily and of slowing down the pace of life. I realised that chopping the vegetables could be quite therapeutic. Is this what I had been missing all these years? The preparation can be enjoyable! I’ve always enjoyed a journey, not just the destination; maybe I can take this approach to cooking…

I took the same approach to measuring out the spices and put them in glass bowls ready for the 3 dishes I had planned. Just as I was wondering if it is all worth it – I’d normally buy a jarred sauce – the podcast spoke about how humans were designed for hard work and for challenge. Modern life has made so many things easier, and yet we have increasing struggles with our health and wellbeing. Somehow, it is good for us to grapple with things, to make physical effort, and not to have everything handed to us ‘on a plate’. (Plus, I bet my curry would taste better!)

The dishes turned out well, and everyone enjoyed them. I was even able to drop some off for our friends. In the past, all the hours of food preparation would have only been worthwhile if friends or family told me how good it tasted or that they really enjoyed it. Suddenly, I was finding that I didn’t need that; it was an added bonus, but the real joy had been in the making, in the slowing myself down and doing things methodically.

Who knows what I’ll manage to make next…and who knows, maybe I’ll even grow some culinary confidence?

The approach of a new year can be a time for reflection. It can be unsettling or daunting. As we reflect on the year that is passing, we wonder whether it was a good one and whether we made the most of it. Doubtless, at our age, there will be elements that bring sadness or regret. Today, I heard the words I needed to hear on the brink of this new year.

For me, at the end of 2023, I feel as though I am coming through quite an arrid patch; I spent most of this half term on crutches and recovering from a double infection. 6 weeks on, my voice still hasn’t fully recovered from laryngitis. And it’s amazing how important our voice is, not just at work, but for our sense of self. Voiceless, most of my thoughts internalised, I have felt quieter, smaller, less myself. This, coming at the end of the longest term I can remember, has left me sapped and feeling that life has lost its sparkle. Don’t get me wrong, people around me have been wonderful, and there have been moments of real gladness, but the days have felt long… Do you know what I mean?

And then this morning, I woke up late and remembered it was Sunday and I’d forgotten to go to church. So, feeling a little bit fragile inside my maudlin New Year reflections, I sat in my prayer chair and opened my Lectio365 app.

Firstly, the poem that always comforts me on December 31st:

Then, the Psalms remind us that God is always faithful and always has been and always will be. And my favourite words from Isaiah:

I love the idea that God is doing a new thing, but 2 things stood out for me today:

1. The instruction first to forget the former things. How liberating that this is a chance to let go of anything from 2023 that could hold us back!

2. Where is it this new thing will begin? In the wilderness, in the desert. How poignant, when the way has felt so arrid and dry, that here I have a promise of faithful God growing something new.

Then Pete Greig gives us the Methodist Covenant. This means so much to me, perhaps because I grew up in a Methodist church, but also because it is deeply, spiritually significant on this day, especially.

So often in our modern lives, without even noticing, we find ourselves at the very centre of everything, and we worry about losing our significance. And yet, reading this 250-year-old covenant, I know a deep sense of liberation. It is not all about me. There is a higher, brighter way. And yet, this juxtaposition, that I am loved. I am known. I am secure. I put my hand into the hand of kindest One I know, and I pass safely into 2024.

I find myself in Cleveland for the second weekend running (the Scout camp is here and both kids have joined since our return.) This time I’m here alone. And this time it’s not a weekend camp, but rather the South Korea Jamboree selection day…and I am just here as ‘taxi of Mum’.  

So, I have 3 hours. To myself. And it’s sunny. In England. North Yorkshire, to be precise. Yes, that’s right, you heard me correctly – the sun is shining! In March. And on a Saturday. In fact, the sky could not be bluer!  

I’ve dropped off #1 child and her friend and I am free, free as a bird. And this does not happen often, I can tell you. I consult my sister, who knows the area much better than me, and I know exactly what I’m going to do with my luxurious time. 

I’m going to climb Roseberry Topping. 

Even the drive from Carlton in Cleveland, through Great Ayton to Newton under Roseberry, is stunning. Such picturesque stone cottages, signal red post boxes, sunny yellow daffodils and village greens. Quintessential English scenery in Spring. Yorkshire at its finest.  

I park up in Newton, put on my walking boots, check the water and snacks in my rucksack, set the route tracking app, select a playlist, put my sunnies on (yes it’s still sunny) and I set off up the hill. 

The exhilaration of the climb is intoxicating. The strong winds, the steep steps, the lush, green fields as far as the eye can see and the sheer size of the blue, blue sky… 

The exertion feels good. I have to keep stopping for water and a breath, but the climb is like Nyambadwe Hill in Malawi, but with paths! (Amazing how much easier it is when someone has carefully carved a stony way and placed actual steps up the hillside!) 

Many others had had the same idea; couples walking dogs, families with young children, a few lone walkers like me. Mostly, I couldn’t hear the chatter and chats around me, as I had my earphones in. The beat of the drum, the stirring lyrics and the familiar tunes spur me on, as the climb gets steeper.

As the climb gets steeper, the views are more and more spectacular. The village is tiny now, down below. I can no longer see the carpark or the pub, nestled somewhere at the foot of the hill. The surrounding hills are majestic and I know that I can almost smell the ocean…but not quite…the sunshine and the recent rain make the distant view a hazy one. Perhaps this makes the scenery more atmospheric in the mystery of the blurred edges. 

I take my phone repeatedly, to try to capture this moment. Can I seize this beauty, this uplift, this freedom, in a camera frame? Of course, I can’t.  

What do I do instead? I internalise my sense of playful liberty so that I can treasure it through the coming week. 

And I sit down and write a blog, so that I can capture the time I spent 3 hours by myself (at the end of a very long week) up a hill, with the wind and the sun for company. 

Tonight, we took my niece to see England play Canada at the Riverside Stadium. It was exciting, skilful, end-to-end action. But the best thing? Sitting there with my talented, knowledgeable niece sharing her insightful commentary and watching her face, watching the action of her heroes. What a thrill to be there in person, our family of 4 and her.

We could not have done this, 5000 miles away.

Last weekend, we drove up to Northumberland, to celebrate 50 years of the incredible lady, who I am privileged to call my sister-in-law. We got to see family we had not seen since before 2015…and that was a joy in itself. The whole event had been organised lovingly and in secret by my sister-in-law’s partner; the surprise highlight of the evening came when the whole family got to witness him get down on one knee and ask if she would spend the rest of her life with him! There was not a dry eye in the house. That moment was so emotional for everyone thankful to be there that night.

We could not have witnessed that from 5000 miles away.

2 weeks ago, our precious mum turned 80 and we threw her the most magical party, with dozens of friends from different phases of her life (Ilkley, Skipton and Ripon), arriving unexpectedly at the colourfully decorated venue. To see her face when she realised among the guests were her precious granddaughters – she had no idea they were travelling up for her birthday! Then came her brother and his family. Her friends from French group were there too, and her Church Home Group. The day was precious in so many ways.

We could not have relished this joy 5000 miles away.

It was Piran’s 12^th birthday this week and he had 5 friends come back with him after school, having started high school just 5 months ago. And he is thriving there, along with his sister, in an environment where he is uninhibited by ‘the olds’ being teachers at his school! His personality is blossoming freely and it was clear, seeing his friends, that they all feel free to be themselves, quirky and unique as they are. Having bought our house in pandemic times, we have had almost no visitors in our home…so it was a real delight to see Piran playing crazily with friends INSIDE OUR HOUSE! [This was also true at Izzy’s party 3 weeks ago.] Today, Izzy’s best friend’s family came to lunch and we enjoyed a relaxed afternoon, eating, drinking and chatting, while snow came down outside.

Yes, we could and did have parties and meals with friends where we were 5000 miles away (minus the snow!) and yet, the community we socialised in was so transient, that we had to keep saying goodbye to dear friends. Even this week, another one where once again someone asked me why we came back, I heard that 3 more good friends from our old school are moving on from Malawi. What is more likely here, in the Yorkshire Dales, is that friendships will last, in this fixed location. That is not to say that changing locations make friendships less worth investing in; on the contrary, some of my most valuable friendships were made, or continue to blossom, hundreds or thousands of miles away. However, after 5 years overseas, I am starting to appreciate the ‘permanency’ of life here in Ripon. After all, there is a reason why people come here and stay!

Do I think we will spend the rest of our professional lives in Ripon? Will we retire and die here? I’m not at all sure that we will. However, after a very difficult ’18 months since returning home’ homesick/lonely patch, I am beginning to think that we are turning a corner and that life here is beginning to feel more rosy, more settled, more optimistic. Emergence from COVID is a huge factor and I’m sure the first flowers of spring send me positive vibes too. I love being able to pop in to see Mum on my way home from walk. I feel so blessed that I can walk the dog with my sister. Walking home from school in the daylight is another huge contributing factor to my happiness! I have also seen rainbows and starling migrations this week (always signs of hope for me). If we can secure a healthier life/work balance, I will be even more fully convinced about our new Yorkshire Life!

• 

Facebook reminds me 1 year ago today we boarded a plane and left Malawi. Tears flowed as friends and colleagues waved us off in the school bus. The cocktail of emotions was immense: sadness at all we were leaving; relief to finally have a flight after months of uncertainty; excitement to be reunited with loved ones back home.

• 

We cannot believe a whole year has passed:
• A year without my favourite open-air swim
• A year without seeing those striking mountains – Ndirande, Nyambadwe, Soche, Michiru and the incomparable Mount Mulanje
• A year without seeing the beautiful faces of our Malawi friends, colleagues and students
• A year without the heat of the sun (well, there has been some sunshine these past few weeks, but it is not the same!)
• A year without epic road trips
• A year of not screaming at the other road users
• A year of constant power, water and Wi-Fi
• A year of total food choice and online shopping (and my, we’ve needed it)
• A year of adjusting to our 4 new schools
• A year of being able to walk to school…on pavements
• A year of COVID chaos
• A year of still not being able to see most of our family and friends
• And yet a year of being 4 minutes’ walk away from family.

It is impossible to know if the advantages outweigh the disadvantages of returning. We just know that we miss it. Every day. All the time. Daily we compare our lives. Moment by moment our hearts fly black to a place, a face, a race.

• 

• 

• 

• 

They say Africa gets in your blood. I don’t know the whole continent of Africa; I only had the privilege to visit 7 of her nations. But bearing in mind, this was a continent that had never been on my bucket list, it sure has burned an indelible mark on my soul. More than anywhere else I have lived or visited. Yes, I often think back to France, Singapore, Cambodia and other countries I’ve been blessed to visit, but the African memories seem to burn brighter…time will tell if that remains true.

I now see why Steve spent a decade reminiscing and persuading me to take an African Adventure with him!

So, coming back to the questions at the top that people often ask…

Do you miss Malawi? Yes, achingly, all the time. But then I have to remember how achingly I missed family here, when I was there.

Do you regret coming back? There have been days this year when we have; when the return to British education has felt stifling and the COVID regulations have been suffocating. The life/work balance evaporated and once again we can feel more distant from our own children. The maelstrom of pandemic life has sapped our energy in a society with less respect for the teaching profession than we had been used to. The sheer physical demand of changing classroom and building, every lesson, up to 8 times a day, has taken its toll.

• 

And the things I would do to de-stress have been painfully less available, like swimming. Our city pool reopened a couple of months back, but I have to organise myself 2 WEEKS in advance to book to go! And this week, the anniversary week, my NHS app pinged, and I cannot even leave the house, have a walk, swim or go for a bike ride. The day after isolation I would love to go to church, but when I look online, it is ‘at capacity’! And so I continue to attend CPC Blantyre online and feel spurred on by the joy of the worship and the simple truth of the preaching. Midweek Lectio365 enables me to find peace in daily meditation.

And yet, on balance, I do not regret coming home. It was so important to respect our eldest’s wishes to come home and for her this has been significant (not that she hasn’t also experienced regret). We knew it was the right time and the right decision. If you think back to my 2019 year-long fast from alcohol, to pray for our 2020 mission to find all the pieces of this oh-so-complex puzzle…it seemed an impossible mountain to climb. We must have applied to over 40 schools across the north and northeast. Between us we flew back 3 times for 6 interviews. It wasn’t just us getting turned down; Izzy also got rejected by 5 schools, as the great schools up here are all full! But then, the miracle really happened! We both secured good jobs at schools, not just in the same city, but ON THE SAME ROAD! Izzy found a place at a school a short bus ride away, where we had not even applied! And Piran has had a year at the very school where mum is a governor. Mum and Helen found us a house, equidistant between them, that we bought without even seeing! And it is PERFECT for us.

• 

• 

• 

• 

How can I really regret coming back? Yes, it has been hard. VERY hard. But everything was provided for us to settle back here in North Yorkshire, so close to where I grew up. We even have Steve’s family 90 minutes away, which feels like icing on the cake.

And as life begins to open up again, we will be able to swim, hike, cycle. We will make the most of this beautiful landscape. And we will road trip again. Next month we will see more family and friends. There are so many places in Europe we would like to see (again). The kids will take advantage of opportunities less available in Malawi. And perhaps, just perhaps, our second year in our schools will be less stressful, we will know the systems better, and some life/work balance will return. Either way, there will be meals at mum’s and walks and wine with my sister. Piran will play football with his big cousins. Our Yorkshire life is blessed indeed.

• 

• 

• 

Snow flurried down, through the classroom window. But inside the room was well lit, recently redecorated, with a pretty, patterned wallpaper on one wall and duck egg paint on the others. The fire roared in the wood burner, filling the space with welcome and warmth. Today the lesson resources were working well, enabling the class to respond eagerly to questions, engage in competition and feel proud of their work, as they heard the teacher’s praise. They knew their teacher cared about this lesson and it mattered that they give of their best so that she would be proud of them. As she always was. The tasks were challenging, going in and out of French and English: decoding; encoding; translating; comprehending; then joyously producing utterances of their own in this foreign tongue.

And yet, the students could not feel the warmth of the fire. They could not appreciate the smell of fresh paint. They did not see the teacher’s mug of hot coffee. Nor the blanket over her knees. They could not even see each other. Not really. The teacher sat alone, at her laptop, talking into the void, sharing her resources via smart technology tools she barely understood and had only just learnt to use.

Upstairs, in three bedrooms, three other lessons were taking place. Four schools under one Victorian terraced roof.

This is our 2021 reality; not some kind of fastastical novel or futuristic film. Us. The Harrisons. In a little city in North Yorkshire. In the middle of a very cold winter, that feels even colder because we have been away for five years, in warmer climes.

You might think that this new reality would feel daunting and unwelcoming – full of technological challenge – online classrooms, virtual parents evenings, meetings where attendees are sitting in a dozen different places. You would expect that this extreme extrovert would be missing the interaction with students and colleagues – the banter, the jokes, the buzz of a school full of teenagers – there is nothing like it. Normally. Normally, my caffeine-fuelled, ‘not quite sure how I got here this morning’ self comes alive as the sea of expectant faces in front of me responds to that day’s lesson offerings.

Yet here I am, sitting all alone at a computer, unable to see my classes, but still delivering fast-paced, varied lessons. Online. Do I feel low energy, four days before half term? Am I wrung out or shattered? Do I feel claustrophobic inside these four walls? Am I desperate to get back into a real classroom, with real children in it?

The answer is no. No. No. And no again. I feel trepidatious about going back.

And I surprise myself by my response to this bizarre, ‘not what we expected’ transition year back in the UK. The truth is (between you and me), I am loving my virtual school. I love that I can choose the room temperature. And the clothes. I can sleep later and be with MY kids earlier. I can have a cuppa with my husband at ‘break’ and I can drink as much tea and coffee as I jolly well like, because, guess what? There is a TOILET right there and I am not risking the safety of any small people each time I use it! Which I do. A lot.

I really like that I can sit at my dining room table with a genuine, actual, comfort blanket around me (my sister’s) and with my enormous fleece to keep me warm (my father’s fleece hugging me as I work).

Because, do you know what I realise about my job, my vocation, my profession? It is EXHAUSTING: emotionally, physically and mentally. Last term was physically more draining than any other I can remember, because it is the teachers who are moving from building to building, in my case between 11 rooms in 6 buildings multiple times per day. Mentally it is tiring – someone calculated how many thousands of questions we respond to in a day – it is a lot. But emotionally…we pour ourselves out each and every day, so that our pupils get as much out of every lesson as they can. This means throwing our all into each slot of 40, 50, 60, 70 minutes (I have tried them all)…responding to every child’s needs, knowing that their enjoyment and success in our subject depends, to some extent, on us.

And so, I realise, that this extrovert is becoming a little more introvert each day. I am happier with my own company now than I’ve ever been (I used to fear time alone). Being here, now, in this space, is enough. I am not seeking thrills or hunting for opportunities to meet new people or make friends in our new city. I’m sure that will come. But for now, this is a unique window of calm and self-preservation, as I watch the snow tumble down the classroom window.

August 2015 we packed our bags and moved our family 5000 miles to Blantyre, Malawi, to begin our 2-year African adventure.

Today, 5 years later, we touched back down at London Heathrow, ready to start the next chapter of our family life back in the UK. We have come back to my roots, back to North Yorkshire, 25 years since I left to begin my university studies.

As we flew, first to Addis Ababa, then to Heathrow and as we sped up the motorway to Yorkshire, I was asking myself, “Have we changed?” and “What’s it like to be back?” I fear the first question proved far too philosophical for the amount of sleep I managed last night, so I had more success answering the second.

If anyone is now worried I am about to make poignant remarks on post-Brexit Britain or how COVID-19 is affecting our world, you need not worry…perhaps this is content for another blog…but no, my comments tonight are merely observations that we, as a family, have made in our first day back in England since 2018.

1. The officials at security were really interrogating travellers…it took quite a while before we heard any civilities, “Good morning, how are you?”, certainly no ‘welcome to Britain’…and progress was exceedingly slow. 4 baggage handlers wore luminous vests. One said to the other, “We’re not allowed to touch these now, are we?” And he sat down.

2. There are a lot of lifts and escalators (the last escalator we were on in Blantyre, the lady in front of me sat down on it – she was a novice and was too scared to stand).

3. I could pay for breakfast with contactless payment (Ethiopian didn’t serve us a drink or breakfast this morning.) In Blantyre I’m lucky if the normal visa pin POS machines work 2 out of 3 times!

4. The roads work. People follow the rules of the road. Ok, we saw 2 ‘boy racers’ on the motorway but it feels staggering how people stop at red lights, give way to the right on roundabouts, overtake in the right hand lane and there were ZERO people walking in the road.

5. ALL the vehicles are road worthy! All of them. I didn’t see one car or lorry that would not pass its MOT. It’s amazing. 223 miles and we didn’t see a single broken down car blocking the road!

6. Beside the road, there were healthy cows and sheep in the fields as we drove north and to Piran, that was exciting. Like a small boy, he pointed and said, “Cows!”, “Sheep!”

7. The grass – English grass – in the fields is so green and beautiful (so well watered – it has rained multiple times already today)! The crops in the fields also looked so healthy.

8. The rain is cold! The day was warm but I was so surprised when the rain wasn’t warm! What’s that about?!

9. Linked to 7, if you put the washing out, you have to keep checking the weather…just because it has rained once, doesn’t mean it has finished raining!

10. The distribution centres here are enormous, for Amazon and other big retailers. Big business.

11. There are a lot of windmills.

12. Family is priceless. It doesn’t matter how much your journey cost, seeing your family again, even at distance and without hugs, is worth every penny a hundredfold.

13. The variety and quality of food available here is incredible. The range of goodies stocked in the fridge and cupboards for us is out of this world: from mature cheddar to Longley Farm yogurt; from olives to cherry tomatoes; from tiger loaf to apricot wheats…all such a treat. Divine.

14. Haribos still make children incredibly happy.

15. Cadbury’s Giant Buttons still make me very happy.

16. It’s 9:45 at night and it’s still light! In Malawi it has been dark for 5 hours and they are only one hour ahead.

17. We’ve been watching a few programmes we’re used to watching on Netflix. It hasn’t glitched. Not once. Not even a little bit. No buffering…at all.

18. My brother in law assured me there is no load shedding programme. Not even little 4 hour ones. Up here, electricity is pretty much 100% guaranteed. Imagine that!

19. I can drink beautiful cold water. Straight from the tap. I haven’t filtered it. Or boiled it. Or left it in the sun. Just turned the tap on. It tastes amazing.

20. I will go to bed in a normal bed. Without a mosquito net. And what’s more, I haven’t heard the buzz or felt the nip of a single mosquito. Yeah.

So, for those of you who are feeling for us, having to quarantine here for 14 days, honestly this is pure joy! We have much to celebrate. Much to enjoy. Let’s see what else our first fortnight back will bring…

So, the world over, it would appear, people are not satisfied with looking at a beautiful view of a mountain. It’s not enough to stand at the bottom and admire the majesty of the peaks and their waterfalls. We have this insatiable desire to be at the top of the mountain. No matter how we get there, we have to see the view from the top.

You can go to the Alps and you will find the most staggering feats of engineering, where funicular trains and gondelbahns will carry you up steep mountainsides to the mind blowing vistas at the top.

You can visit Cape Town and there you desire to take the cable car up Table Mountain to see the incredible sea views from the top. Wow!

You read about Everest and the ‘chaos’ of people trying to ascend the world’s highest mountain. Kilimanjaro has thousands of visitors each year, determined to beat the altitude and make it to the summit.

And then there is Mount Mulanje, a gem hidden from many, in the Southern Region of Malawi. She is a free-standing granite massif, 3002 metres high (at Sapitwa Peak) and she towers over the surrounding tea plantations, close to the Mozambique border. Those fortunate enough to know her name are drawn to her. We hear the legends and tales surrounding her and yet become sucked in to her magnetism.

Many living in her shadow have never attempted to climb to the plateau. And those who have attempted to climb her ill-prepared have not lived to tell their tale. In his book ‘Venture to the Interior’, Laurens Van der Post writes of his mission to discover Mount Mulanje (as well as Nyika), sent by the British government in 1949; his beautiful narrative turns into a terrible tragedy.

More recently the Brazilian, Gabriel Buchmann, decided to climb Sapitwa, insisting on venturing further than the point where his guide implored him to stop. He got caught in a ‘Chiperone’ (bad weather front) and died of exposure under a rock, where his body was found two weeks later. The film, ‘Gabriel and the mountain’ tells the story of this adventurous and intelligent student of Economics, whose poor decision up Mulanje brought his life to an early close.

Sapitwa actually means, ‘don’t go there’  in Chichewa, and local legends have reinforced over the years how dangerous it can be to attempt the hike, especially in bad weather.

And yet, we stand and look up at her majestic stature and admire the waterfalls cascading down, so tempted to conquer her! And we know that if we take enough guides and porters who know the mountain, and if we take it steadily (phangono phangono), then we will be fine.

So this weekend we decided as a family to climb Mulanje. Three of us had already climbed to the plateau, but not our youngest, and none of us together. So having planned it for over a year, the time had come. We packed our rucksacks for the porters to carry and our day bags for ourselves. We were slightly nervous about the ascent because last minute changes meant taking a steeper route than anticipated. However, many friends had recommended the Lujeri route and reassured us we would be fine.

We set off early on the 25^th May, met our friends en route and picked up our guides outside Mulanje Pepper Pizza restaurant. They squeezed into the two cars and we travelled for a further 45 minutes to the Lujeri tea estate, where we met our porters and left the cars beside Shed 3. Once the porters were allocated rucksacks, we were off, one guide and porter at the front with our 3 boys. The initial walk through the tea plantation was so pretty – the tea plants such a lush shade of green – there is no shortage of water around here. To our surprise, we realised that the plants placed at the end of the rows of tea were actually pineapple plants! We’d never seen them growing before.

Once we left the tea behind, we began the tough ascent through damp woodland, the route at times so steep that ladders had been positioned against the rocks, to aid our climbing. We were grateful for them, as at other times we just had to scale rocks, clinging to the side, or scrambling over them. And the ‘up’ went on forever. Our legs were aching, our hands tired of pulling us up, section by section and our brains became exhausted from the concentration required for every step. Then there were the bridges, the green mossy bridges, not to be used at any cost!

Finally we reached the plateau (and let us be clear – there is nothing flat about this plateau) and soon the hut was in sight; rarely have we been so thrilled to glimpse a wooden chalet and the smoke rising from its fires. Madzeka Hut: there it was to welcome us. Cups of tea and the curry dinner we had brought with us. We ate well and slept even better!

Then came the decision: we awoke to bad weather…indeed it had rained a lot in the night. Stanford, our lead guide, was not happy for us to stay at Madzeka and risk a slippery return descent on Monday. The alternative was a middle day hike to Chinzama Hut and the longer (safer) descent from there. But some of us needed a recovery day. Could we not risk the Madzeka descent? Or should one group move on and one group remain?

We took Stanford’s advice and had the most spectacular trek across the plateau, up hills, down valleys, crossing rivers, passing pools, with eagles flying overhead and evidence of serval cat but no sightings by day. The paths were not easy, but they were wider, more open than the previous day, and reached by the sun, as the clouds lifted to reveal some of Mulanje’s impressive peaks.

We were thrilled to find Chinzama hut held fabulous views. It was higher up and colder, so we were grateful for the fires.

After another good sleep, we awoke early and packed after a good breakfast, so that we could begin our long descent. First we had the 2-hour hike across the plateau to Minunu Hut, set in a stunning location, but sadly abandoned and ransacked. From there, the edge of the mountain came into view. Once again the clouds descended, hiding from view the immense drop to both sides as we mounted the spur above Lujeri. The path was littered with the waste from illegal Mulanje Cedar logging; it smelt divine but also incredibly sad beneath our feet.

It’s hard to describe our ‘path’ for the next 3 hours. Steve felt it was not  a real path; rather some ubiquitous route taken by loggers hiding from view. And yet it is a path marked on the map and named. It was at times so narrow, you could only concentrate on placing your foot correctly; looking down the precipice below was out of the question. Many times we had to clamber over huge boulders and fallen trees. The wet mud and mossy rock was slippery under foot, adding to the tension. Anxiety levels were high and language colourful at times, as birds flew overhead and we heard monkeys in the trees. We took turns to cheer each other on and John, our guide, showed infinite patience going half the speed he was used to. His hand appeared at just the right moments to assist with frighteningly steep rocks and stepping stones over surprisingly fast-flowing rivers. Twice now he has been my Mulanje hero.

So  after 8 hours of treacherous walking, we finally saw Shed 3, our cars and my son, who had descended 3 hours more quickly, came running into my arms, surprised himself by the tears rolling down his cheeks at the sight of us emerging from the woods. Aged 9, he knew, like us, that we had achieved something very significant and experienced something unique in its splendour and fearsome might. An adventure never to be forgotten, but one we’d love to repeat.

 

As if there had not been enough adrenaline for one day, on the long drive home the Malawi Electoral Commission announced the long-awaited and close results of last week’s presidential elections. I guess you could say we were lucky to be driving through the home district of the re-elected President, so the running and dancing, singing and chanting were those of happy citizens. We may have been less lucky had we been driving further north. We returned home to power cuts and the water ran out before we had all showered: the reminders that Malawian living has as many ups and downs as the Mulanje Massif.

 

What brings people here? Why does anyone come to live in the Warm Heart of Africa?
Is it that life holds out bunches of fun and adventure and we are the ones who reach out to grab them with both hands? In our case, fun and adventure in Malawi?
Or is there a darker reason to our life choices, for some of us moving out here?
A friend of mine remarked a few months ago that he had spotted some similarities between many of the expats he had met out here in Malawi. What was it?
• We’re less risk averse than most?
• We love to travel more than we love to settle?
• We’re fed up with mundane lives in Europe?
Look at the number of people here working for NGOs and other agencies. Are they here to save Malawi? To make a huge difference to peoples’ lives? For sure. But is there a more personal narrative here as well? Even here in my life, am I here to become a better teacher? To influence my students for good? To educate the future leaders of Malawi? Perhaps in part, but I’m not sure it’s the main reason I’m here.
Although some of these reasons may be very true, the more people you chat to, the more you see that, for some, these may merely be collateral byproducts, as you realise how many of us have painful stories in our closets.
Some have just come out of long-term relationships. Some have been disappointed in love. Some have reached difficult career crossroads. Some have been ill. Others have lost a loved one. Or several loved ones. Many of us have a story of loss silhouetted behind this story of adventure. And the shadowed silhouette does not lie far behind the Malawi life story. So is there a link between the two? Or is my perception a false one?
If we took a cross-section of life here and compared with a cross-section of our home town, maybe it would look just the same? Don’t all communities of people share these stories of joy and sorrow? Perhaps here in Malawi, the difference is that we are simply less guarded to share our vulnerabilities, being so far from home?

Here we live with a sense of the ephemeral. Our life here is temporary; it is transient. It is, in many ways, surreal. We hear the exotic birds singing and see the tropical trees; jacaranda violet, flame tree red, frangipani yellow and pink, yesterday-today-tomorrow petals in purple and white. And the sun shines 330 days a year. Then the rains come with torrential force and impressive thunder and lightning; even this seems somehow exhilarating. It is a far cry from dull days, drizzle and damp Novembers. So little here reminds me of home. So it is easy to forget much of what came before…our former life. I’ve even found myself in conversation with new friends, answering a question about where I used to live or what I used to do or what happened 20 years ago. I answer, then find myself thinking, ‘Did I? Were we? Did he? In that place, at that time?’ and I realise there can be a real disconnect between the two parts of my life: the me before and the me after Malawi. It would be easy to reinvent yourself here and I’m sure that many people do. When was the last time you got to reinvent yourself? University maybe? A change of career? But imagine if you moved 5000 miles away, what would you become? Who would you be?

But could you be another you? Could you alter that thing about you that has always been your Achilles heel? Could you become more outgoing? Less outgoing? More diligent? Less diligent? More/less bothered what others think about you? More successful? Less obsessed with being successful? If you could change that thing, surely a move to the other side of the world would make that possible? Well, unless other people are better than me at changing themselves, I don’t think these things are possible. Not really.
When there is pain in our offering, it has to be dealt with. Moving 5000 miles only moves our sorrow 5000 miles with us. We may fool ourselves that we have a recreated life, but then something happens and boom! There it is again. Like it has followed you here…

But is sorrow such a bad thing? Do we want life to be simple and childlike and painless? That is like asking not to be a grown-up and not to love at all.
The challenge really for us, wherever in the world life brings us, is to face our pain, caress our sorrow, find comfort for our heartache and accept that without this we would not be the beautiful people we are today. Our life would be the poorer for it and our wisdom would be lacking. Wherever you are, seek kindness. Seek compassion. Seek opportunities to use your life’s rich tapestry…you never know, you may find you can help someone else struggling with theirs…