Voetsek!

From my warped grey vantage point in the land of perpetual drizzle and obnoxious pubescent gang members, Dubai shone like a beacon of bling and opportunity.

I had realized that the cloud hovering over Mud Island (the semi-affectionate term used by South Africans living and working in the UK) was not purely a meteorological phenomenon. It had in fact begun to envelop my brain. Mediocrity had grown tentacles and wrapped them around my now pasty ankles.

Two years ago I headed off to London to pursue my dreams of travel and career. The reality of things was that the funding required for the aspired life of a rock star, flitting to Europe on frequent mini-breaks, was sadly absent. I began to grow irrationally resentful of all those aspects of London life you hear South Africans living there muttering about: delays on public transport; those Vitamin D-thieving overcast skies; the cost of living; the unacceptably high rate of obesity among pigeon community.

Thankfully a wafer-thin sliver of optimism, unlike my dented bank account, had survived, unscathed. Amidst my growing disgust at my existence as an underpaid legal alien, the memory of those few trips began to itch like a mosquito bite on a humid Durban night. The Middle East, to my mind, London’s polar opposite, seemed the Only Option.

At this point it had not occurred to me to go straight back home to Joburg. I admit that at face value I’m a statistic. A drop in the ocean of the million white South Africans who have left the country in the past ten years.

Like those wildebeests on a Sunday night David Attenborough special, more and more of us uproot and head for the hills. There are an astounding number of us living and breeding in Wimbledon, South West London, alone: a staggering 45,000. However, like those migratory herds of snorting mammals arriving at a new stamping ground, a significant number of us find that the grass is often not as green as we expected it to be.

Now, as tempting as it is, I will not turn this into a rant about how overrated that UK grass in particular is. The point is that my instinct tells me that even the lawns of Honolulu would have their share of divots and mole-hills and could do with some weed killer.

Living abroad and experiencing different cultures is a mind-broadening, exciting opportunity. Being able to engage in life overseas is indeed a privilege. Doors are opened and people change, emerging, hopefully, more rounded and enlightened people on the other end.

The single most important thing of which I have become aware, is this incredible new appreciation for the place I came from. Home. South Africa. There is nowhere quite like it. And for all its problems, it’s still where I am headed one of these days.

‘Til then, Dubai is my stop-over and it is going to be one hell of a ride.