Measures are gradually being loosened here, and today the cleaning lady came back. I’d done my best to keep up with the cleaning while she was gone, sort of, on weekends, but there’s just no comparing to the job she did. My kid looked around in wonder and said “look, mama, this is how one should do it!” My husband had taken out the money to pay her, including the weeks she hadn’t been able to come; eight weekly wages. I didn’t realise we’ve been in lockdown for that long.
We are moving out of this country in less than 100 days. So are many of my colleagues. At this point, it’s not clear whether we’ll see each other before some of us start going to new postings, to other countries all across the globe. I hope we’ll get a chance to say goodbye. I also hope I get a chance to take pictures, to take our kids out a few last times to the places we’ve frequented over the years. Preparing to move out of this country without being able to say goodbye to it, is a weird kind of grief. Most of all, I hope the preschool opens back up, even if it’s just for a few weeks, so that our eldest has a chance to get his backpack and spare clothes and toys, and so that he can say goodbye to his friends, before moving far far away.
