Two suitcases and the hang-dog barometer

Once upon a time, back in the ‘80s and 90s, South Africans were “packing for Perth”, set on escaping the challenges of Mzansi for the order of Oz. Nowadays, Saffers* can be found the world-over, having packed up their sunny skies and Chevrolet lives for any number of reasons.

The hang-dog barometerJoe, the Jack Russell, is none too pleased when the suitcases come out.

I swear I saw their lips quivering alongside their woe-is-us puppy-dog eyes as they plonked themselves down as the packing exercise unfolded

While the why for transplanting ourselves in foreign lands is often fascinating, it’s the practical realities of PACKING for a new life elsewhere that has my attention. 

In my case (pun intended), packing for Doha, to join my hubby.

Sidebar geography lesson

(Quick sidebar – let me stress from the outset that Doha is not Dubai or Abu Dhabi, and it’s not in Saudi  Arabia or Oman or the UAE (United Arab Emirates) … it’s in Qatar, a small peninsula that sticks out in Persian Gulf in the Middle East. It’s ok if you’re confused, I was too but this whole new chapter in my life is rapidly improving my geography – and more besides. Anyway, I’ve included a map in a bid to bring those international weather maps into focus). 

This is where Doha is, in Qatar.

Anyway, back to packing. Why the focus on packing? 

Simple really. It’s something we all face at some time in our lives – whether it’s stuffing a simple overnight bag or surviving a lock-stock-and-barrel evacuation and emotional rollercoaster of packing up a family home.

Squashing lives into cases

Having just completed the latter over a four-month period as part of our downscaling decision before moving on a temporary basis to the Middle East, I naively believed packing two 23kg suitcases destined for Doha would be a synch.

Wrong.  I mean, just how do you squash your life (and mine has been rather long already), into two suitcases?

All the favourites get packed, along with photos and other keepsakes from home.

Having never been to the Land of Sand, I was none-too-sure about the suitability of said content. I know it’s hot and that dressing in public should be modest. I know it’s first-world and there are shops aplenty. But I don’t know what they stock – so rusks, Five Roses tea, Mrs Ball’s chutney, All Gold tomato sauce and the like meant a coat and two books were relegated.

I did the same with lotions and potions (that’s cosmetics and medicines) and so face creams and Panados made the cut. 

A camera, a teapot in the Woolies packet, a calligraphy pen and more rusks (I suppose I’ll have to learn to bake them.

While packing comes down to personal priorities, it’s still a guessing game. I tell myself, this is not deepest darkest Africa, you can always buy what you have forgotten or couldn’t bring (albeit at four times the price).

Let’s just say packing up is never an easy exercise for me – or the dogs.

Hang-dog barometer 

The Derry dogs instinctively know when bags are pulled from cupboards that one of their precious humans will be missing in action for a day or three. So, when the two new large Takealot suitcases, alongside Dad’s well-travelled cases, and an assortment of other bags appear, the hang-dog barometer reaches new levels.

I swear I saw their lips quivering alongside their woe-is-us puppy-dog eyes as they plonked themselves down as the packing exercise unfolded. My own guilt barometer goes up another notch or three. But we’ve come this far having said our farewells to those nearest and dearest to us already, and I can’t let the Derry dogs deter me. Besides, they’re not going to be alone. Other family members are staying, it’s only us who is going.

Almost 100kg between us to start a new life in a new home in a new country.

The weigh-in

Emotional baggage aside, the practicalities continue with the weigh-in with a maximum of 23kg per suitcase and 7kg for hand luggage.  A handheld check-up sees additional transfers of items from one bag to another, but finally we’re done.

The his-and-her suitcases weigh-in at almost 100kg … and we’re off for a new life in Doha.

* Saffers – colloquial expression for South Africans

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