The adventure begins

For me it was a no brainer when Jane asked me whether I was sure she should accept the post in Mozambique.  I was working in a Glasgow call centre providing first line technical support.  My

Yes I know it says wireless - you still need to plug it in 

colleagues were fantastic, but the job was totally pants and was slowly but surely destroying my soul.   Fate had thrown me a lifeline.  When my colleagues started,only half jokingly, to discuss which of us was the most likely to crack and bring a shotgun into work I realised it might be a good time to move on.

The idea of being a house husband for three years appealed and I assumed would be a doddle.   I had a vague idea that Mozambique was somewhere in Africa but really knew little else.   Neither of us had done more than short working trips to Africa and really had no idea what to expect.  Most of my previous travel was in Asia and Europe.  Jane had previous postings in Barbados, Si Lanka, and Indonesia which is were we first met.  My head was filled with romantic notions of endless deserted beaches, wide African skies, and G&Ts on the veranda watching the sun go down listening to the distant laugh of Hyenas. 

Does me look big in this bum?

I accepted it would be difficult for me to get a job in Mozambique but could easily fill my time cooking stunning creations in the kitchen for Jane and cosy coffee mornings with my fellow trailing spouses.

Once Jane accepted the post things happened very quickly.  In less than two months we were on our way to Mozambique via Porto in Portugal for 2 weeks language training.  Our wordly goods had been packed to be shipped, we had several needles stuck in us and were given a shed load of anti-malarial tablets.  Monty had been re-homed without too many tears. Ours not his.  He just lives to eat and really doesn't care who feeds him. Apparently the neighbours had been feeding him which explained why he never lost weight despite being on a diet for three years. 

We were advised a four wheel drive car was essential so sold our cars and bought a Toyota Land Cruiser. From visiting Jane in Nepal I had my heart set on getting a Land Rover Defender.

Are you sure this is the motorway?

 Preferably UN white with all the accessories: window grills, bull bars, snorkel, huge radio ariel, roof rack and ladder.  Possibly with a pole to fly a Union Jack from in times of crisis or giving the High Commissioner a lift, and a Jolly Roger for trips to the beach or Somalia.  However the advice was to buy Japanese as spares would be easier.  I was also told that the Australians say if you want to go to the outback get a Land Rover - if you want to come back get a Toyota!

When the time came to leave it was a wrench.  Sadness and doubt hit me about leaving our home for the past seven years and Scotland which I had grown to love, but mostly about leaving our friends and families.  Having moved around all my life since childhood as an army brat and later in life with work this was unexpected.  I felt like we were standing on the edge of a high diving board.

  Once we stepped off there was no going back.  But now was not the time for wobbly bottom lips.  

We had stuffed as much as we could into our cases to survive the 2 months until our belongings turned up  (i.e one holdall for Jane’s shoes, two suitcases for her clothes and a holdall for my tshirts and shorts and a spare pair of underpants).  I had packed my trusty Swiss army knife and Tilly hat so was ready for anything.  My ex colleagues gave me a Scottish survival kit including whisky, oat cakes and Lorne (square sausage) so we were not going to starve.  

Our journey to Porto was uneventful apart from a small problem with excess baggage

and concern on whether we could import square sausage into Portugal.  The ladies working on the excess baggage counter at Heathrow were more interested in filing their nails and looking down their noses at everybody as if there was a bad smell.  They were competing to see who could be the most surly and obnoxious.  I can only assume they get a lot of grief from stressed passengers so get their retaliation in first.  All good training for dealing with officials and for honing our plucky Brit abroad skills.  We stepped of the diving board and belly flopped into Porto for our language training.