Visiting family

A while back I wrote a blog about visiting Family and friends back home. As wonderful as it was to see those people we care about so much, we found it hard. So when some of my family said they were going to come and visit us in Kenya, I was over the moon with happiness.

Making plans

En famile we set up a Whatsapp group and over the months booked flights, a trip to the coast, a short safari and a few days back in Nairobi. As the time grew closer our chats increased in intensity, frequency and inanity. Everything from the important – how much booze would we be able to get into the country, to the absurd – are there killer monkeys? As the day dawned sleepless nights were had in excitement and then suddenly the a car holding my nearest and dearest arrived. They were here.

Reality vs fantasy

The point at which reality and fantasy collide was instantaneous. Whilst I’d been sunning it up on Tiwi beach for 4 days my family had a 24 hour journey to reach me. Planes, Trains and Automobiles were in fact 2 planes, a train, a boat and 3 cars. As our sunburned faces smiled our welcome, their undoubted equal joy was tempered by the hellish journey…. but the champers was opened and our reunion was perfect.

An unrealistic idea of perfection

The first hurdle was my own. My own expectations for what I wanted my family to experience their first time in Kenya was probably unrealistic. Grey skies and thunderous black clouds threatened to scupper my dreams of endless sunny days on white sand beaches. The rain never appeared and the skies cleared to Perfection but my fretting at the weather was symptomatic of my feelings about the trip. I wanted everything to be perfect for the people I loved and worried too much that it wasn’t. My idea of perfection was unattainable but it didn’t stop me from wanting it.

Rose tinted everything

As the holiday continued the expectation vs. reality conundrum continued. Our family time spent here in Kenya was fabulous, but as expats and (family of expats) the distance creates a rose tinted idea of one another. We all know that we use Facebook (my main method of communication with those back home) to present our best lives. My family sees my kids riding a bike, grinning with joy eating Nyama Choma, singing their hearts out at a school play. My family were no doubt living with the impression that my three golden haired little babies are cherubic little angels. They don’t see the temper tantrums, the arguments the general every day difficulties of raising three children. Chuck my 3 kids, my brothers 2 kids (all aged between 4 and 6) into a pot with sunburn, malaria tablets, late nights, no home comforts and it makes for an ‘interesting’ medley. As a parent my frustration grew that my kids weren’t being the best versions of themselves for people that love them and see them infrequently. My desire for things to be ‘perfect’ on this holiday seemed laughable. I felt morose. Then I realised that ‘perfect;’ is a matter of opinion.

Perfectly, imperfect

I’d wanted my mother to spend time walking through the soft sand with waves lapping at her feet and all her cares blown away. I’d wanted my brother and his wife to get some time to relax. I wanted my children to spend quality time with their cousins and form a bond. All this and thousand more amazing memories happened.

Yes, there were moments when the kid’s behaviour was ‘special’ to put it kindly.

Yes, each and every adult member of my family had to have a little ‘me time’ at some point to get away from the wailing.

Yes, there was a little rain. A hangover or two. A lunatic Tuk Tuk driver. A killer spider in the suitcase.

But in its own inimitable, frustrating, wonderful and utterly exhausting way, it was perfect. Save your Hollywood style perfection for your honeymoon. Once kids come along, champagne sundowners with a glass of fizz nearly always coincide with bedtime. Romantic beach walks with the other half usually involved cajoling a kid or two to come along. With family, and kids in particular, the perfection is in the imperfection.

The time I spent with my family on holiday achieved everything I wanted it to. My kids are fast friends with their cousins. We ate, drank, danced, laughed and swam in a moonlit pool for 10 nights. I celebrated being together in places that I’ve grown to love dearly with people that I’ve loved my whole life.

Love is all you need

And in the end, the funny thing with families is that for all their quirks and ups and downs they are yours. As an expat you miss them madly. You spend weeks counting the days in excitement until they arrive. The holiday arrives; you spend a week annoying the crap out of each other. Then they leave and you are heartbroken and the missing starts all over again. In the end all you have to hold on to are your memories, so you better make them good ones.

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