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Anne P Shirley
My African Journal: A Personal Memoir of Four Years as an Englishwoman Abroad
My African Journal: A Personal Memoir of Four Years as an Englishwoman Abroad
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Nothing lasts for ever. I know that now, though it has taken a long time for me to recognize this fact. A few months ago I sat with Keith during those long drawn-out days watching him as he prepared to leave this world, and knew that he had accepted that nothing lasts for ever too.
But when we were young, with our lives ahead of us, it was impossible to think of an end. And why would it? Life was a journey with a million exciting choices and it was up to us to be brave enough make the right ones.
My story really began in 1959 when, at the age of 18, I met an impatient young man who was prepared to take on the world if it didn't conform to his dreams. I was a quiet follower and merely went along for the ride - Oh but what a ride! Africa was already ringing its bell to be noticed by the time I met Keith - and he heard it, though he didn't quite understand the signal.
We married; he became a science teacher; I got a good job working in the office of a large company in Leeds. And surely that's how it would stay until we retired at 65? But in 1966 Malawi beckoned, though I have no idea how it chose us. This beautiful part of Africa became our home for almost three years.
I wrote home to my family every few weeks - there always seemed to be something to tell them, though each event faded once I had put pen to paper. So you can imagine my surprise when, in 1987, after my mother's death, nearly all the letters I had sent from Africa were found in a box tied with string and carefully numbered. This is my story....
But when we were young, with our lives ahead of us, it was impossible to think of an end. And why would it? Life was a journey with a million exciting choices and it was up to us to be brave enough make the right ones.
My story really began in 1959 when, at the age of 18, I met an impatient young man who was prepared to take on the world if it didn't conform to his dreams. I was a quiet follower and merely went along for the ride - Oh but what a ride! Africa was already ringing its bell to be noticed by the time I met Keith - and he heard it, though he didn't quite understand the signal.
We married; he became a science teacher; I got a good job working in the office of a large company in Leeds. And surely that's how it would stay until we retired at 65? But in 1966 Malawi beckoned, though I have no idea how it chose us. This beautiful part of Africa became our home for almost three years.
I wrote home to my family every few weeks - there always seemed to be something to tell them, though each event faded once I had put pen to paper. So you can imagine my surprise when, in 1987, after my mother's death, nearly all the letters I had sent from Africa were found in a box tied with string and carefully numbered. This is my story....
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