When we leave, we are leaving behind trail of friends from all around the world, with the hope that somewhere in future we will meet again
My three and half-year-old calls me Ema, Hebrew for mum and calls my husband Aaba, Hebrew for father. He speaks Nepali, English and Hebrew haltingly and thinks that our apartment in Hayarkon Street in Tel Aviv is his home. He was born here, goes to a local kindergarten, his best friend is a blue-eyed curly-haired, deliciously chubby boy called Aari. He does not know about his “other” home in Nepal, neither does he seem to accept that we are soon moving back to Kathmandu after my term ends here. I have tried telling him that we are going to Nepal in a new home where his grandparents, he only sees in video-calls live, where his grandparents’ white puppy named Pelly lives. He cries when I tell him that and says in his mashup language that this is his home and he doesn’t want to move to new place. I am working on chipping off the resistance but the progress is sluggish compared to how soon the departure time is arriving.
I don’t hold him responsible for that.
He was born here. He does not know anywhere else. He confidently navigates his way around the streets of Tel Aviv in his tiny green bicycle, he calls motorcycle. He makes all of us stop at the red traffic light. Like a leading star, he shows us the way. A tiny tot, riding his paddle-less cycle and showing his mum around the labyrinthine streets of a bustling city is a sight to behold. He makes my taking-him-to-kindergarten most and least favorite part of day at once. He meanders making me wonder if the kindergarten will close its gate before we reach there but then again child’s curiosity at everything is joyful to watch.
Petrol bomb hurled at moving truck
He has his ritual of stopping by a ginormous L-shaped building, point at its elevator and yell, his latest fascination. Then he turns left, cutting across busy intersection, taking a graveled path with much lesser footfall, running parallel to his favorite park. The path ends up in front of wall that has several ATM machines installed to them. He has to pick one of the receipts strewn around the machines and carry it until he reaches his kindergarten. He takes a left turn, races to his kindergarten, parks his cycle, prances up the stairs, yells ‘bye Ema’ without as much glancing back at me and rushes to meet his friends.
I feel guilty uprooting him from his home, for this is the only home he knows.
We know it when we undertake the job at Foreign Service that we have to travel where our job takes us and the deal isn’t that bad. At least it looks great from outside. But like every job, it has its own pros and cons.
When I was interviewed for the job, and when I was still single I remember being asked by a female interviewer on how do I plan to balance between job and family once I got married. The 20 something me back then gave some generic answer. Only beauty pageants contestants don’t rote answers. Some civil service candidates do too. Now I realized that question was not just inappropriate it is deemed illegal in many countries as it shows intent to discriminate and demotivate potential female candidates. Interestingly, none of the male candidates were asked the question. I got through, got married, had a kid, and am raising a family. So I guess me 1, interviewer 0.
Apart from the life which is at constant move and never having the indulgence of a rooted life, we also work for the best interests of our nation while pushing for safety, security and protection of our fellow compatriots. The idea of living abroad is appealing but like everyone universally likes the idea of traveling but actually hates moving house, so do we. And when we have a child at tow, things can very quickly go south. But constant geographic mobility does not mean we cannot have meaningful relationship with people.
I have learnt to make small talks but then I have hours-long sitting down with like-minded diplomats where we discuss everything from our countries’ histories to our children’s health care. Regardless of gender, age-gap, geographical differences, I have learnt that temporariness does not preclude meaningful relationships. When we leave, we are leaving behind trail of friends from all around the world, with the hope that somewhere in future we will meet again. Moving is goodbye but it also holds hope for reunion. As for my son, I know moving causes him discomfort and anxiety but I also know he will somehow bounce back. Like I have pledge of allegiance to serve my nation, he has pledge of allegiance to his true nature of open curiosity and adjustability to new environment, or at least that’s how I would like to think with unfaltering mother’s optimism.
The author is a diplomat who recently served in Embassy of Nepal, Tel Aviv, Israel as Deputy Chief of Mission
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