Applying for Jobs from Overseas

Well yes, it was an uphill slog. I'm an expat Careers Adviser. I support clients applying for jobs in third countries.  Help them consider and articulate how their experience in Somalia is of relevance for Zimbabwe. Some 80% of them get the job. I know there's a massive recession, hundreds of applicants for each job in some fields. But I thought getting a work permit and setting up a company in Kenya was the difficult bit. I don't think I apply for jobs beyond where I'm at. And yet nonetheless which are the missing links it took me a while to grasp when I was looking for work back in my home country, UK, for myself?

Well first, and obviously, each person's situation is different.  You can't predict your own progress by those of your friends. Many of my clients are the ones with the primary expat jobs in their family, snazzy job titles and IN the corporate structures.  We all know it is much easier to find a job when you have a job. As I say to the other half of my clients, the accompanying spouses, it is very much harder when you've lost the entry ramps and informal networks.  I've kept up with my referees, have kept them updated, - but its harder to get the soft information and onto the specialist linked-in and professional body groups if you're working abroad in another sector.  'I'm one of you really' I email in plaintive tone to the group's admins.  All a bit too needy.

The sector makes a difference. It is far more productive to apply from another country when your sector is international development. When an email address ending in a far-off country domain is an accolade showing you've already won your spurs. Or when you are seeking posts in another country office for the large corporate which sent you to Kenya in the first place.  Those of us seeking to return to a non-global sector in an austerity-hit insular market from a foreign clime, well its different.  And you're addressing not only the reality, but other people's perceptions of the reality. 'Kenya = mud huts' or 'Kenya = Safari Pit Helmets & Out of Africa', - neither of which are perceived as helpful brands to show you as a key innovator in a university careers service.

The internet and jobs websites are a massive boon. Thank you www.jobs.ac.uk, www.agcas.org.uk, www.tes.co.uk and the ICG. But boo hiss to online applications which allow no space anywhere for free text to explain a non-standard situation in three slick sentences.

'The past is another country. They do things differently there.'
Things move on. Many of the big issues in university careers work are the same as when I left - teaching & learning in an innovative way, supporting clients to get good quality experience to position them well in a difficult market, outperforming the rivals, entrepreneurship, employer engagement, good guidance skills, every last measure to help people get those jobs - but things which were twiddly add-ons four years ago - providing services and workshops online - have become major parts of the job.  We do things online at BigCorporate too (unlike in much of Kenya), but of course the 200 word competency questions don't allow for the fact that my clients  in the main can only afford phones after they've been at work for several months, and that none of them have laptops. It doesn't mean that I don't develop & market innovative services in an innovative way if I can't answer a question like:
'And can you tell us about a time when you used social media in an organisational context to meet a training need.  What did you do and how did you know it was successful?'
But you need the self confidence to produce a more homespun example.

Its a risky business for managers hiring staff. They want to feel assured that you get and can perform in the context. Have skills which add value. Specialisms where you can lead the team.  But, beware pitfall, also, where you can lead the team in directions they want to go. Its hard applying from a different context. Much of what I've learned in Kenya has been about how to be creative, resourceful, develop twin-track approaches which cover belt and braces both, and to lead in a difficult, different, insecure environment where I'm in a tiny & very visible minority. And judging by the body language in at least two of the interviews, even toned down magnolia examples can throw the panel, demonstrate the yawning chasm of LifeElsewhere, get interviewers feeling deeply twitchy and insecure, - not what you want.  Yes panels want interesting examples, but all too often, I fear, they want interesting examples which hit IN their comfort zones. And that's the gap too for transition between field and headquarters. On paper the competencies look the same. In practice the realities and skillsets don't overlap, never the twain shall meet.

Friends of mine were catching up recently about a third friend who has become a consultant based in an idyllic but non-metropolitan far-flung part of the UK.
'Yes yes, its great on one level, but the problem is he is too far away, he isn't bumping into potential clients at donor meetings or coffee shops, - and out of sight is out of mind.'
And return is a bit like that too. You can affect nonchalence on the form:
'I will be in UK between x and y [carefully covering the dates of the interview] should you wish to shortlist this application.' No one wants to shortlist a candidate who might be asking for international fares in the current climate, better to meet this one head-on. You also don't want to sound that too much is hanging on this lone application lest they get cold feet.
'It would be helpful to know as far in advance as possible to help me to cluster appointments. I would be unavailable on x and y.'
On the other hand you can make it sound too easy. I heard of one Kenya-based Deputy Head who flew back to UK for interview at his own expense four times when each time the job went to the internal candidate, before he netted his own catch.  If you know in advance that the internal is the front-runner, don't use an overseas candidate as the makeweight.  For me, at one interview recently at a burgeoning university in the North East it became clear that all the other candidates already lived within two miles of the institution. They already had permanent contracts in precisely this role in rival institutions, just wanted to move closer to home. Had all attended the same regional conference on the previous day. Again, the body language of the manager - who failed to give me any eye contact in the hour long pre-briefing of four of us - made it very clear she thought I was the outlier. And that wasn't overcome through the interview, when two of the panel of three sat, arms folded, for 45 minutes.
'I'm quite nice really,' I wanted to say. Though by the end I was feeling more feisty, wanting to lean over and tap them on the chest.
'I've flown 5000 miles, at my own expense, to come for this. I'm not a gatecrasher. You invited me. I've done the preliminary (free) consultancy project you asked for, designed the workshop and the presentation, been observed giving guidance to one of your students. You might at least pretend to put me at ease, or to consider I might have something of interest to share.'

Not that its much easier when the panel has the bright idea to interview remotely.
'Skype doesn't work very well here,' I email, trying to combine proactive solution-finding with realism.
 'Can you send me a mobile number so I could text if our power goes, so you aren't left waiting without contact.'
'Oh it'll be fine,' they replied, secure in the knowledge they skype their governors in Clapham and Droitwich without incident. 10 minutes into the interview - which I'm holding outside for the best reception as it isn't raining, be-suited to get in character but with our free-range chickens pecking my toes, - the headteacher broke in, weakly.
'I really can't hear a word you're saying. I think what you're saying sounds interesting, but I really can't tell.  Can you send me an email of what you were saying...'
Or my client who had an interview by videolink in a booked internal meeting room. When seven colleagues bustled in, loud and self-importantly for an impromptu meeting in the double-booked room.
'Trying to have a job interview here' he hissed at them out of the side of his mouth so the far-off panel wouldn't notice his strident tone, as the gatecrashers opened their notebooks and settled down for the duration.  In vain. Had to decamp to the broom cupboard to conclude the interview by phone.

There are a range of difficulties for the non-resident interviewee. Not least the penchant to give a tour of the campus to the candidates. Which requires a coat, since this is generally conducted in the driving rain.  Thank you thank you my generous mate who has lent me her warm, toasty, appropriate Jack Wolfskin coat for each of the interviews of the last year, in lieu of the scraggy winter coat I binned when we left for Kenya, and have been too mean to replace while out here.  I'm sure it all helps.

Recruiters, consider how your rejection letters might be received. I know its the bit of the job no one likes, which gets delegated to the lowly admin assistant, but a thoughtful, intelligent one powers the downcast interviewee for weeks (thank you University of Warwick). Whereas this written feedback from a self-importantly Elite Institution got me outraged and spitting feathers:  

The panel 'agreed that while you do have substantial experience in counselling and careers, they considered that you do not have substantial employment experience in a sector to which our alumni and students aspire'.
Humph. Of course they see the field of candidates. Its a competitive process and its their right to make that assessment, - though I do find it perplexing as I've worked as a international consultant for three European Union agencies. Nonetheless it speaks volumes of their attitudes.  What I'd want to retort (but didn't) is:

'Maybe even more important than my professional experience, is that - not on the form - I've also worked in credit control, as a security guard, as a cleaner and waitress, a care assistant, a temp, in a children's holiday camp and as a language teacher and translator, - and realise that your students and alumni too might need to do this as stepping stones or interim to their professional aspirations.  And it might be helpful to have a member of careers staff who understands this and isn't demeaned by it, - because I do wonder what messages your students are getting, if this is what you say in written feedback to a fellow practitioner!'  Falala.

In the end I decided I needed specialist help. Career guidance makes a difference. It may be my field but you can't give yourself a massage. And yes, a short sharp specialist careers interview offered really helpful feedback, helped me up my game and I got the next job in a great institution, in a really interesting role. Hurrah.  But a longer, far more uphill process than I'd encountered before on previous returns from stints abroad in the EU, from postgraduate study or childcare, in previous recessions.

So which are the tips I wish someone had given me:

* Before you leave your home country, convert to a career break membership of your professional body.  They'll offer publications, newsgroups, maybe career guidance, maybe cheap professional liability insurance if you set up shop abroad. But getting in with them, from abroad, ain't easy.

* Keep your eye on the ball back home, keep up your CPD, check how regulations and issues are changing. What implications does this have? And if you're in a highly regulated profession it might be worth considering going back for a month each year to keep your registration up to date.  If you're in a sector where you need criminal records checks, - or have children in whose schools you might want - or be forced - to help out, even as a volunteer on a working bus or a reading mum - well make sure you get the proof you haven't been convicted/charged with anything in the host country before you leave.

* Plan at least 18 months in advance for professional return, to update your skills, revive your networks, receive and read key new books via very longwinded post, attend the national conference for networking if funds allow.  If you're moving to a third country, consider the needs there, the assets in your current place, the links and transferable skills you could develop or offer.  Could you take on a short project to demonstrate your prowess in the new field?  Its always easier to get good experience at the end of the previous posting, building on your understanding and contacts, than at the start of the new posting.

* Consider which additional experience abroad would add lustre to your case. In my experience, and that of most of my clients, experience abroad is very devalued in the UK context - unless Abroad is the key business of the organisation - so you're applying based on the experience you had before you left. Nonetheless confidence will out, and knowing you've achieved to your utmost in your current context has to help at some level.  But can you publish that research paper or run a free workshop for a prestigious client? How can you demonstrate the level at which you've been performing to a new market which can't read the signals of the brands you've been working with, the challenges you've overcome?

* Recruiters are conservative, especially with non-resident applicants where there might be some doubt about their claims, where the most recent referee, however acclaimed, isn't in the same networks, where you haven't seen the applicant in action. Initially I tried applying for a new sector (careers work in schools) based on the work I'd been doing in Kenya in this field. One headteacher was upfront with me.
'Yes you were the front runner, have very strong experience. We liked you, you would fit in. But your experience in university admissions was mainly abroad. In Africa. We can see you've had a national impact in an internationally competitive field. But Head of Careers is just too important a job for us to take a risk, however small. Sorry.'
Be realistic about how big a switch you can do. In general you aren't going to get a promotion on immediate return unless you're staying within the same organisation. Transitions to new sectors based on overseas experience will be tricky too.  Sadly UK-based experience is what counts for most recruiters in these risk-averse times, even when, as in higher education, its a global market.  Be willing to be flexible, to either better focus your message or to adapt where you target to feedback from the market, however wrongheaded you may think it.

* Save, hard. As a teacher at our kids' school said, tongue in cheek, when congratulated on her new job back home: 'Yes, we can eat again.'  But it adds up. Flights, hire cars, travelodge rooms and somewhere to hang out between stage one and two of the interview, ain't cheap.

* Articulate your needs in the application form. 'Our post takes six weeks. Communication by email is best.' I couldn't come back for interview during the six week period around Kenyan elections, as we were apprehensive there could be violence, and the family needed me here. In the end it wasn't a problem, but I felt I needed to be clear upfront. But be willing to be flexible.  Most universities are now selecting by two and three stage assessment centre processes - not ideal for a candidate hoping to fit it all into one or two days - and in the end I had to bow out of University of London's extended four stage process. Sadly just not viable.

* Think hard which achievements are the most relevant for the new context. Get feedback.  When you are transferring within the same context you can usually be clear that the examples you are most impressed by are those which speak most eloquently of your competencies. But into a new context it can just articulate dissonance.

My example of training and sending undergraduate mentors out into the bush to offer outreach guidance support and to talk high school teachers through how to write a university reference doesn't speak of creativity, innovation and resilience in the UK setting, but of do-lally failure to focus.  Why didn't they just phone head office or look it up on the internet?  Or ask someone local who knew how.  Hard, from the UK, to imagine schools which don't have phone lines let alone internet (or computers), where teachers are highly respected but lack professional networks or any contacts with anyone with experience overseas at all, even a week's holiday in the neighbouring country.  Just as other people's holiday photos are rarely that fascinating for public consumption, so too the highs and lows of your professional achievements abroad will likely need radical trimming and strimming before they hit the spot back home.

* Which is why career guidance helps, but guidance with skilled practitioners who understand the issues and the context, - and don't give cookie cutter answers, but think on the job and say when they don't know. I went to C2, the Careers Group, University of London's commercial careers service where they deal with streams of mid career professionals - and it shows.  Not cheap at £160 for a one hour session - but precisely the specialist support & focus I needed and couldn't have got in Kenya to help me get the job.

And what do you think, what were your experiences?

Fancy Dress and Fondant Icing: Skills for Expats 373

'What do you wish you'd known - and done to prepare - before you moved to Kenya?'
Well not first or second priority, but at some point I'd have welcomed signing up for an immersion course in housewifely arts of the 1950s at our local FE college. I'm not completely hopeless. I cook from scratch, can botch together a child's fancy dress costume overnight, know where to place the gaffer tape and safety pins so it will probably withstand the test till the end of the day.  But away from the safety net of a handy charity shop on the corner, a Tescos selling useful accessories and ingredients - well maternal support, fancy dress in particular, is all more tricky here.

It struck home on our first Book Day at the Kenyan school. First and SecondBorn were happy in their self-designed self-chosen homespun costumes. Until D-Day minus 30 seconds, when we passed a mini Gandhi walking past us up to school. White loin cloth, stick, glasses, flesh coloured swimming hat for a bald head. Why did no one tell us the standards were so high?  In Book Day Assembly I was bowled over by the collaborative effort of several children for Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator.  Tent poles, plastic sheeting, several burly dads shifting the creation - and one great glass elevator erected at the back of the hall, complete with a Charlie, Grandpa Jo and Willy Wonka. Culture shock has many faces.

Last night our vampire returned home enthused from the Halloween disco.
'Eric won the best fancy dress prize again! He was a robot, with cheese spray to spray from his arm and a real lit up light bulb on his head.  Can we do that next year?'

Or the Romans Dress Up Day, passing the centurion with helmet topped by a gold sprayed bootbrush turned upside down, crowning his glory.

This excess creativity seeps into other areas too. 'Make a 3D model of a specialised cell' (year six homework). SecondBorn and I were pleased, preening even, with our prototype labelled sperm cell.  Until he returned home bubbling over with details of his friend's baked, edible animal cell cum cake.

Our children, by thirteen and ten are kindly and accepting of maternal limitations, for example on party fare. So its a cake, Nigella's biscuits in the shape of numbers, chocolate fingers, hoola hoops and cheese and pineapple on sticks again and that's a signature family tradition.  Friends with five year olds have a harder time. Urgent messages placed on facebook groups betray a deeper anguish:
'Who is coming out from UK who could bring me six packs of fondant icing for me to make marks one, two and three of the bloody Barbie cake?'

This week at BigCorporate I was travelling down eight floors in a lift with the office rubbish. Quick as quick I sorted through it, purloining three pieces of (otherwise unobtainable) polystyrene packaging for this weekend's 3D contour model.  It's an everyday image, each week tattered men sort through our rubbish before the rubbish van comes, taking out the edible, reusable and resellable.  Only now I have joined them.

Transitions

It's that weekend when Mum, Dad, Granny, a beanbag, three new frying pans and a fresh-faced queezy feeling fresh-hatched student all squeeze into a car en route to university. A mate of mine here has just returned to UK to help purchase the potplants and shift the suitcases with their son en route for college. For us it marks three weeks since FirstBorn started boarding school in UK.  I'm back in Kenya, back Home, but home feels different. Something is missing. Someone. So I've been thinking on transitions, on tales from friends in the same space and of our experiences in the last few weeks.

As FirstBorn and I sat perched on the edge of our chairs at the lunch for new international students and their families on D-Day, H-Hour at the new school, a kindly soul told us of her grandfather, who had spent his early childhood in Eldoret, Kenya.
'And then, when he was seven, he was sent off to school, on his own, on a steamer to UK.  He didn't see his parents again for a year and a half.'  Poor mite. But it puts our anguishing into some perspective.

Several of our friends who grew up in Kenya a generation ago describe memories of traumatic arrivals at UK schools, of immersion into a very different reality. One described being given a five pound note in case of emergencies before being left. Described considering what to do with it, and doing what you do in Kenya. He found a handy tree, buried the fiver under the tree, left his marker stone so he could find it again.  Post office accounts or handy envelopes left with the housemaster an alien universe away.

A mate who was housemistress at an international boarding school in Kenya 15 years ago described their then reality.
'There was only one phone on the whole compound, for staff and pupils alike. You'd all queue up, - and the guard in charge of the phone would stay in the room with you while you made the call - even when you were a staff member! If you wanted to say something private you'd have to clear the queue from the room.' Aargh.

So yes, things are far easier now. There is email, skype, mobiles, texting. I do feel that she really is in good hands. But she's still a very long way away, and we miss her desperately.  But it helps to hear the experience of others. A mate last year described tapping on her son's bedroom door to wake him of a school morning, tapping as she'd done every other day for the last x years. But of course, he wasn't there. Another, in this her son's second year away, described counting suitcases at Heathrow as she returned. Recounting them. Something's not quite right. No, the problem isn't the suitcases, it's that its not quite right without him here with us.  For me its the empty space at mealtimes that sets me off. We've had to shift round the table, so everything is off centre, so none of us are where we were before. As we aren't.

FirstBorn seems to be settling. She's found friends and fun things to do.  She's sent enthusiastic texts and emails, - and now they are coming far less frequently, a good sign I feel. She claims to have practised her flute at least once. And, out of character, even to have gone on a voluntary run.
'Once. But not again. I haven't changed that much!'
But this isn't an experience for the faint hearted, child nor adult. Not as dire as for that tiny seven year old, but heart-wrenching nonetheless. Hearing of problems that you can't solve for them, of issues that you attempt to coach through in your laborious enigmatic text speak.  A mate here whose adult children are students in UK:
'Her boyfriend split up with her over the summer. Seeing her little face and downturned smile on skype and not being able to do anything much to help, being stuck here when she needed me, oh it was awful.' 
I heard at third hand of a Kenyan student studying abroad whose passport got put through the washing cycle once too many times.
'He couldn't get it sorted in time, couldn't get back, had to spend his first Christmas away from home.'

Others, outside the experience, say sweepingly
'Oh it makes them very resilient. You don't need to worry. They adapt.'
Yes they do, and so do we. But that is the armslength cliche, and this is the soft underbelly of the reality for now. Tables laid with one place too many. Favourite foods placed into supermarket trolleys and set aside at the checkout. Mums with bleary mascara hugging each other on the playground, 5000 miles away.

Things You've Imported to your Home Abroad

It's the holiday season and so the scene is being played out in airports all round the world. Flustered expats affecting to look nonchalent as they check-in seven bags over the limit, each of non-standard contents.  I remember checking in to go to Madagascar, bemused by the man trying to check in two kitchen sink units, not flat pack, as carry on luggage. Now I know better.

Before we moved to Kenya one of Tom's colleagues came to stay with us, six foot plastic slide from the Early Learning Centre under his arm. 
'Well you can't get them in Kenya, so it seemed the only way....'
His willingness to set out on a commuter train and two tubes in the rush hour from suburban Hertfordshire all the way to Heathrow with a six foot slide gave me an inkling of the expat urge. But only an inkling.

While Tom was commuting regularly between Kenya and London interesting parcels would be delivered to our doorstep for him to carry in. A Landrover engine on one memorable occasion. I bought three months' supply of babymilk for friends whose newborn would only tolerate one make of milk, a make they couldn't then get in Nairobi.  But many visitors don't understand quite how much it matters. A friend of mine still speaks bitterly of her boss who refused to carry in the black-out lining for the curtains for the newborn. 
'Six months we had to wait till someone would bring it. Six months of broken nights because she was too idle to check in her suitcase. Talk about support.'

A Burundian mate of mine extolled the virtues of fresh Burundian fish.
'My Mum gets them fresh the day I fly back. We wrap them in newspaper in the middle of my suitcases. As long as the cases don't get lost they're fine....'
My brother-in-law is a beleaguered cheeseaholic in Rwanda. Last stop for any family visiting both us and him is the trip to the supermarket, to stock up on a suitcase-ful of Kenyan cheeses.  And we aren't on the sidelines here. Friends of ours have imported out 48 mincepies, a Christmas cake and chocolate coins for stockings. Or five packs of marzipan, chocolate chips and some marmite.  I've brought back 300 extra-strong teabags to this tea-producing land.

As we've been here longer I've got more daring. In our first year a skateboard ('offensive weapon, not carry-on baggage') was my least traditional import, though Tom managed a whole electronic drum kit, without the accompanying nine year old for whom it was intended, realising.  SecondBorn has got into juggling this summer, and has been wheedling on the subject of a unicycle and juggling clubs.  This year I'll be hoping to pass off a bigger size cello (hold baggage on which excess baggage is paid, which also runs the likelihood of getting battered to smitherines) as a guitar (may be carried on if it fits in the overhead lockers, no excess baggage payable - spike in the suitcase.)  Together with the unicycle and clubs I'll look as if I'm about to busk my way round Africa.  Wish me luck.

What have you brought out, and how did you go about it?

Things You Do In Kenya You Didn't Do at Home

Some situations you just couldn't make up.  A good friend who lived for several years in a country with even more unreliable electricity supply than Kenya described the nighttime scene. 
'We'd read in bed with our headtorches on.  No, we stopped using candles after we set fire to the lampshade for the third time.  But the really key thing is not to turn and look at each other.' 
Stars before your eyes. It got me thinking about the things you do abroad - and get used to - which might appear a tad quirky in your homeland.

Wild driving. I don't take chances. But you have to adapt. Undertaking is the norm. Not infrequent for people to drive the wrong way down the dual carriageway. Commonplace to avoid the jam by driving on the pavement.  I've even evaded gridlock by driving for a mile straddling the drainage ditch. We did nearly shunt the car ahead when in Rwanda - two hours flight but a continent in road manners away - when all the cars stopped nicely at a red traffic light. Oops.

Supply chains and logistics planning.  Keeping tabs on the water and diesel and preordering a bowser before you direly need it. Stockpiling milk and the essentials. There was a month when Nairobi had no butter. I already know which packmule visitors are coming for work in October who could bring some of the Christmas Amazon parcels with them.

Giggling at people's t-shirts.  In our early days here I thought any t-shirt I spotted was worn by the original owner.  Ran after someone in the street wearing a t-shirt from Our UK Town's Second Scout Troop.  Gradually I wisened up. These were mitumba wares, the flotsam and jetsam of UK charity shops, on sale in Kenya. Tom described visiting a village in South Sudan where the whole village was wearing t-shirts from the (cancelled) inaugural marathon walk over the London Wobbly Bridge.  You see lots advertising the less successful charity campaigns. I saw one man wearing one promoting the presence of genital crabs. Not a frequent sight in UK.

Pretending to be a master plumber...electrician...cello teacher....doctor... bank manager.  Back in Britain we had a network of competent, kitemarked handymen. In cases of doubt we could turn to the Yellow Pages.  Here there are the bodies, but sadly, frequently the skills levels in even established firms are dire.  Or the people around us can't afford to buy a consultation with the experienced practitioners. In my time I've stopped electricians standing barefoot in a puddle of water from poking bare wires into the mains power.  Have explained about water pressure and where to site the stopcock to plumbers.  About loans, contingencies and how to stagger repayment. And my books and I have been the go-to-girls for diagnosis and treatment of chicken mites, and for our guards for management of diabetes and production of aids for arthritis at home.

Busking it. Especially with directions. I'm the kind of girl who turns up three hours early for a flight. I would never normally set out on a six hour drive without a clear, documented sense of where I'm going. But that's frequently the case here, because Kenyan directions and those usual in the UK are so different. Kenyan directions ignore all the possible turnings which aren't the right one. The speaker knows where he's going , you should too. None of this 'Take the third left by the drainage ditch.'  So I've adopted a certain unknowing, a trusting that It'll be Alright on the Night. Often it is.

Luxury.  There's a level of luxurious living - of Doing Things Nicely - as was never the case in a household of two working parents with small children just about keeping our heads above water in the UK. Not all the time, nor even often. But on occasion it can take your breath away.  On our luxury safari over the New Year, when they rustled up a full cooked bush breakfast for us with linen tablecloth on a charcoal stove miles from anywhere overlooking the river by the elephant crossing.  Quite quite different from a packet of Tescos scotch eggs in the drizzle in the local park.

And learning of the direst tragedies in people's lives in passing. That never happened in UK either. Yes dire tragedies are universal. But here they are common, are told and then buffeted by the next occurrence, so an incident which struck one hard on first telling is no longer the key magnet of attention, the raw scab to be picked at, by the end of the day.  Guards whose houses and all belongings are swept away in floods.  Newborn babes who die for lack of appropriate, affordable medical attention. Of incest disclosed in an open plan office. Students telling of their years out of school following their forced flight - seven day's walk - from the post election violence, of their mother dying in an IDP camp, of finally saving enough to get back to school by cutting 50kg bales of hay and carrying them 5km on their backs in the full sun, to eventually save 6000 KSh - £40 - for a term's fees.  Tragedies are unusual in UK. They get airtime and attention. We remember them. But here they weave into the human tapestry, not forgotten, but also not remarkable.

Invitations & Anxieties

 

 
 
It’s a Big Day for me. My first ever gig as a Guest Blogger on someone else’s site, the experienced and welcoming expat blogger, Very Bored in Catalunya.


But like every exciting opportunity there’s apprehension in the hour before it all kicks off. Like holding a party, and wondering, as you hover in the tidy living room alongside plumped up cushions and bowls of crisps, whether anyone else will roll up.

If you’ve got a moment, be a love and pop over there to show I have friends, relations, readers too. It’s called Being an Expat in Kenya. Click here to find it. http://www.veryboredincatalunya.com/2012/03/guest-post-on-threshold-of-africa.html  Thank you. And I promise next time you hold a party, I’ll be there early to hover next to you in those anxious first five minutes!

Parenting Abroad

Last night at a party, conversation chanced on parenting abroad. 

First there was the conversation about Other Parents. The major international school in Nairobi had to send out a very fierce letter to all parents a few weeks ago. 'If you and your partner are both out of the country in termtime please inform the school, and give us the contact details of a responsible adult in your absence.  There have been too many incidents where a child breaks an arm at school, and we then discover there is no one to take them to hospital or to take control.'

The issue here is about access to cash.  Many parents seem to go abroad leaving the homehelp and the driver in charge. Which may work for a routine week or fortnight, but crashes on rocks if you need access to a hospital, and therefore access to large amounts of cash via an ATM or creditcard.  One mum described how, when she needed to travel abroad, she always left her children's health books with the office manager in case of an urgent medivac. But you can't help thinking she is one in a hundred, and clearly many people don't think of this, or even more mundane emergencies, till far, far too late.

A grounded mum working in social development described her and her just teenage son's experiences in a country in SouthEast Asia.  How the girls in his class liked him. Alot. Would regularly arrive at their house en masse. At the mum's bedtime. And be very difficult to deter, deflect or dislodge, never previously having had people saying no to them.

How most of these young teens would have a car, driver and armed guard at their disposal.  Bedtime, and the arrival of a bevy of belles and their accompanying guards and guns. Not calculated to allow a restful slip into sleep. How the mum developed a new rule. No guns in the compound. Bodyguards and their guns wait outside. Please.

One of the tales of one of Nairobi's secondary schools is that 'the food is so bad there, students get their drivers to bring takeaway pizzas each day.' OK we did go and look at the school, did even like it. But that apocryphal tale buzzed round in my head. A good 40 minutes drive from our home I could imagine when it was FirstBorn's turn to pay back those sneaked slices of pizza. How her mulish driver (me) would be put under pressure. How my take-it-with-you in the morning homemade option would be assessed as Not Good Enough.  How any option would need to come, warm, in a cardboard wrapper to make the grade. How simple issues, fuelled by teenage hormones and the unrealistic standards made by others, could blight a mother's life. 

It's a Big Bewildering World out there, - and that's just for the parents.