New new hemisphere

Even our fantasies are haunted by our nightmares. I was talking to my little sister about the fictional country of her own making. 'It's very warm there, and it hardly ever rains', she said. 'The most popular job is to be a plumber...to fix their water problems. Also, you know how we have a war that's been going on for a very long time but doesn't happen here? Well, when they have wars, they don't go on very long and they always happen elsewhere.'

We were sitting in the library of the Nigerian High Commission, waiting to have our new passports issued and getting an education in the meaning of the term 'echelons of power'. The busy consular staff varied from being unbelievably attentive to blankly obstructive; humanity and bureaucracy make a turbulent mix. Meanwhile, the displaced waited. Waited for proof of identity, of existence, for movement, for livelihoods, for legitimacy - in wealth and poverty and middle income, in good health and ill, contented and restful, vocal and disenfranchised - all waited at the behest of the Mother Country or Father Land and its agents for a place at the family table. We waited in alert silence and competitive watchfulness, and later in jovial camaraderie, brought to us by the children. Lesson 1: in Africa, it is not possible for children to be seen and not heard. Children are our light - our biggest challenge and our greatest hope.

They crawled on the floor, ballet danced around the room, sang loudly, made escape attempts and generally exhibitions of themselves with no recriminations from the generous adults, brightening up an otherwise very dull and tense wait. Here's to you African children, all over the world, young and old...

After my short stay at home I began the second leg of my journey out to the middle east, filled with some trepidation. Why did I lurch myself head first, alone, into such uncertainty? Well meaning advice churned in my stomach - what to eat, what not to drink, who to trust - and my little sister's tears dripped behind my own eyelids. Homesick already? Surely not as heartbroken as the Australian girl behind me on the flight, singing morosely to herself in a very loud voice - 'leaving on a jet plane...' For by now I had found excitement. This was a new hemisphere, a different country - they do things differently here. An advert for designer burqa sunglasses in a magazine was the first harbinger of this, followed by the view from the plane of a different kind of architecture - most buildings white or terracotta, the famed symmetry of Islamic art adorning the landscape, abounding with domes and cubes. Even the natural habitat was different - shrubs peeping through the sands in the perpetual struggle between life and barren desert, and lots of palm trees, evenly spaced, carefully planned. At seven o'clock, the sun was already setting, confusing me about the nature of the darkness - was this foggy snow I could see? Should I have brought a coat? I needn't have worried - stepping out into a sauna which steamed my glasses up reassured me that the 'foggy snow' was in fact white desert sand.

I was given a warm welcome at immigration to the United Arab Emirates as the customs official tried to learn how to say my name. I had a joyful reunion with my family and am glad to be in a new hemisphere - with new news, a fresh perspective, different priorities and a temporary reprieve from the big adventure up ahead. I am not alone just yet. Thankfully. Still, I am a bit excited and grateful for the opportunity to see the diversity of this world we have been given.