... Born in tell me a story about when you were...

The girls, especially Talaia, often ask me about my childhood. They start with the sentence “Tell me a story about when you were…” and finish with an age. I thought that this is what I could do with Nojomo.

My parents were living in a town called Keragoya in the foothills of Mount Kenya, their attitude to family planning was ‘let’s have another baby’ without thinking nine months down the line which, I think, is fabulous. My older sister had been born in the middle of my dad’s university finals, my brother, two months before they moved toKenya.

I was due in November 1970 which was a whole month before their return to the UK. My dad had handed his notice in at Kirinyaga District Hospital, he had accepted a job in Yorkshire, England and I was comfy, snuggled up in my mum’s womb. I wasn’t budging, I had everything I needed! After two weeks my dad started to worry - the nearest hospital that could do induction was in Nairobi, 80 miles away on a road that was full of potholes.

My nana had come out to look after my brother and sister, having only left England once before this was a huge thing. She had come alone and was faced with huge spiders, bats that flew through the gaps at the top of the walls (these were to help air flow through the house) and army ants!

Finally, on 4th December, at around 4 in the morning I decided to pop out, and boy did I arrive quickly. My dad delivered me and almost dropped me as I shot into the world.

Much to my mum’s annoyance, the hospital staff put her in a room of her own because she was white. She really wanted to share this time with the other new mums in the hospital but, it was what it was.

Within a couple of days mum was back home and my nana had a cuddle before getting ready to fly home, just ahead of us!

Our boat was due to sail on Christmas day 1970 but the Italian Seamen went on strike for a day. My parents had spent their last Kenyan shillings before boarding and had no money to buy food. Luckily breast milk doesn’t require money and I was happy.

The journey lasted about 3 weeks and mum was her usual chilled self - two children, a baby and her serene ambience. She swam in the pool with my older sister, relaxed and had her hair done.

The first stop was South Africa which was a shock to my parents. Apartheid was, of course, in existence and, coming from the relaxed atmosphere of Kenya, my dad felt sick when my sister needed the toilet. The two public toilet choices were doubled. Not just male and female but also black and white. Dad almost told my sister that he couldn’t take her but took a deep breath and took her in. She was only 4 and needed to pee!

The next stop was Gran Canaria. It didn’t leave much of an impression on my parents but they didn’t want to return. Apparently it was too touristy although it looks like a beautiful place now!

Finally we docked in Barcelona and disembarked. Although the boat was to carry on to Italy we had bigger things to deal with - getting back to England. We took a flight from Barcelona into London, then a train up to Newcastle so that we could stay with my nana and grandad before the move to Yorkshire and the start of my life as a northerner.