The Beginning Part2

I’m in the living room surrounded by boxes, old newspapers, and things – lots and lots of things. It’s hard to move because nearly every square inch of floor space is covered with books, toys, clothing, packaged food.

I can’t believe this is the sum of our existence. At the airport it will turn out to be 13 boxes filled with necessities, nothing more. I tear up. This whole move has been a whirlwind.

Just four months back, in October of 2002, Peter came home more animated than I’d ever seen him.

“Just hear me out.” He started what would obviously be a well-rehearsed speech. “I found the perfect job.” He began. Great, I thought. He hates his job. Being an engineer has been the bane of his existence and as a result, a drain on our relationship. Being the breadwinner doing a job he hated was truly paying its toll on us. This is good news.

He continued, “I found jobs for both of us.” Hmmm…I didn’t know where this was going. At the moment, I had a pretty good gig at New York City Parks helping them to create conservation lessons for school children.

The job would utilize Peter’s managerial skills and allow me input in environmental education. Yes, the salaries were quite a bit less than we were used to, but it offered subsidized housing and gave us a car…the job is in Africa – Botswana to be exact which is the only place in Africa Peter would ever want to live.

Turns out, for years, Peter had been logging onto www.findajobinafrica.com. This month, he found a job, the perfect job, and it was in Botswana, his country of choice when he applied to the Peace Corps. The country he had left me for in 1983.

“Now hear me out”, he began again. He wouldn’t take our family, which at the time consisted of our 3-year-old son and our 8-year-old daughter, plus our dog, Oz, anywhere there without good schools, hospitals, safe water, blah, blah, blah. Not that I wasn’t interested, but my mind clouded over, short-circuiting for a bit. I listened without interrupting, something that has proven rare in our relationship which began a few months before he would ship out for Botswana in 1984. And here we were – full circle. Nearly twenty years since he’d left me the first time, he was making plans to return. I had to wonder, is this what his restlessness has been about? Is this what he’s always been missing? Were our fights and his lack of commitment to me, to this relationship, to our home because he longed to be in Botswana? Would this be the answer to saving our marriage?

As he spoke passionately about the game reserve, the animals, the accommodations, the international schools, the city, the country, our life, I saw in him the spark that had been missing since we first fell in love. This was the man I fell in love with. This guy looking for an adventure. Looking for a “way out of Jersey”. Looking for a way to define himself outside of his mother’s insistence that he be an engineer. This was the perfect job. This was a perfect solution to alleviate our problems, or so we thought.

Sure. I said. Write the letter. Apply for the job.

And so he did.

I read it over when he completed it a week later. I hadn’t spent most of my career as an editor not to have some sort of input. I tweaked his impassioned pleas. I filled in my bio. I read it and reread it, making sure it was clear and concise and well-crafted. It was a great letter.

Off it went. As he tells it, he went to the post office where directly in front of him, a nun was sending a letter to Botswana. What are the odds? In any case, he said he'd handed the parcel to the postal worker, dusted his hands off and said to himself, "Well, that was fun!"

But several weeks later, we got a call.