“I could never live in England again,” says my friend.

We were at a BBQ after a long weekend of parties. The night before 80 people had gathered under the African stars to celebrate a birthday. Fairy lights dotted the tree, fires burned merrily throughout the garden. We danced until 2am and walked home through dark streets where wild animals roam.

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The next day, our kids played outside as we drank white wine. They set up ramps and flew through the air on bikes. Or caught grasshoppers in jars, climbed trees and made an obstacle course.

It’s nearly winter and peak rainy season, but our outside life continues. Our African life of simple pleasures: drinking and dancing with friends. Roasting marshmallows over fires. Catching snakes and coming home covered in mud. Simple pleasures, real life, simple fun.
I pondered my friend's statement. Earlier that day I’d read a quote, which had made me think about home:

“No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow.”

In many ways returning to England would be akin to rediscovering the safety blanket of my childhood. To return home would be a balm and comfort. Let me explain…

The comfort of coming home

In England, everything is familiar on a gut level.
Even though I’ve lived in Africa for 8 years, I have an instinctive understanding of how England works. I may have to double check the bank notes when I go back. I forget tube etiquette and supermarket checkouts have me stumped, but our humour and our traditions are all mine. They are what make me English.

I won't go so far as to call myself a patriot but I am proudly British. I am proud of our eccentricities and idiosyncrasies. Of our dry humour, of our ridiculous politeness. And I still think it is one of the most beautiful places in the world.

I imagine returning home. So many struggles would disappear. No alarms, burglar bars and electric fences. Free healthcare. Shops full of food I know how to cook. A family support system. Jogging without fear of Matatus running me over. Driving without fear of Matatus running me over. Camping without fear of being eaten.

England. Oh! England

But Oh England… you have changed since I left. When did you become so cosseted and closeted?

• Car seats for a 12-year-old?
• Safety signs everywhere
• Regulations, rules and restrictions
• Tax on sugar?

When did the British people accept that the government should be in charge of making decisions about their health and safety? About their very lives. When and why did we hand over control?

I don’t want to say nanny state… but hello!

The British government seem intent on banning and controlling every facet of the British people lives. Perhaps it came from a good place; restrictions on alcohol, booze and sugar are in the publics best interests. But hell! Why don’t you ban fun whilst you’re at it? I respect that we need to protect our children but as adults, we are responsible for our own lives. The more we are protected by the state the less we are able to think for ourselves. Are we building a nation of cotton wool wrapped robots?

Not wanting to go near Brexit at all. But rather than voting to take back control by leaving the European Union, perhaps us Brits should take back control from our own government first.

Taking back our lives in Africa

So I choose to stay in Africa. Where danger lurks on every corner and we love it and live it and grow through it. Let our kids fly through the air on bikes. Let adults drink and dance next to open fires. Let's sleep under the stars where the lions roam free. These things, they teach us lessons. They make us think for ourselves. Believe me, if you spend an entire night in a tent with a lion a few metres away you develop pretty stringent escape strategies.

As a Brit abroad, it’s hard having your heart in two places. A quote from my friend sums it up:

“You will never be completely at home again because part of your heart will always be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.”

I love England. I love Africa. There are problems and paradise in both places. Nowhere could ever replace the country of my childhood or the people I have left behind there. But for now, I want to give my children a life of freedom, responsibility, challenge and adventure and England can’t offer me that.

“ I could never live in England again,” says my friend.

“Me neither,” I say in response… and the 8 other Brits around the table nod in agreement.

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