Panicky Packing

Most of the time today I have felt an unhealthy tightness in my chest and a general feeling of impending doom and hopelessness. Packing tends to have this effect on me. Unformed fears about forgetting something vital, being stranded at airports, or just generally not enjoying the trip as much as I should float about my head in a cloud and bite me. It feels like I'm about to go out onto the stage for a six-week performance and no-one's told me my lines.

 In other words, I'm terrified.

 However, things improve dramatically when I ring Mrs Sayers in the evening. Mrs Sayers (or 'Mrs S') is the fabulous head of sixth-form at St. Mary's (that should be 'Director of Studies at Post-16 level'), and she has just spent a week at Mnyakanya, along with three other teachers.

 The brilliant thing about Mrs Sayers is that she can talk for England (or at least for Liverpool). Although she is exhausted, having arrived back in the UK on Monday night after a 36-hour journey, she launches into a detailed description of her time in South Africa, laced with satisfying amounts of advice, admiration and concern about my wellbeing. It is just what I needed. Hearing about the school which I visited nearly 18 months ago from someone still buzzing from the experience reignites my passion. Trepidation be damned, this is going to be an incredible trip. I attack my remaining packing with new energy.

 Halfway through supper, and not a quarter of an hour after our conversation, the doorbell goes. It is Mrs Sayers, bearing two 100-rand notes for me. She gives me a hug. "You take good care of yourself, now," she says again as she goes out of the door.