Miss-placed One thing about South Africa that is immediately apparent when you make contact, is that people look you in the eye, and smile. There is an instant connection. They smile with their eyes, they ask you how you are - even though it’s on auto greet. You feel cosmically at home, energised, tugged at the heart, to stay. Oxford was not like that. When we stepped out of the bus, we were greeted by the chilly wind – a hollow whisper that bit my nose and finger tips. The taxi driver spoke all but two words with a nod sufficient to last an entire 10 minute drive home. I breathed in the cold atmosphere, feeling the absence of the sun, as I gazed out the window. Taking in the rows of quaint English houses, trees lining the road, each turn mimicking the last. It was bizarre seeing the extravagant porches’ stamping each ancient door. Kids roller skating on the sidewalks, the laughter and chatter threw me in a daze. Distant memories of what that felt like when I was a child, devouring me. I love the feeling of starting fresh, after all it’s my fourth time. I am used to it. The strange-ness of it all is familiar, the knowing of being in an unknown place, the fact that each street corner will be a new fascinating mystery. The pain of remembering my way through the ice cold sparsely lit streets - especially with my navigation skills- the lack thereof. Cycling was always a dream. It was never this safe, so out of reach. But now, here I was, whizzing through the aged streets with nothing to fear except bumping a parked car. The cars driving past usually stopped just behind, slowed down, and or freed up the way for me. What a strange little town. Even stranger, were the lack of queues in stores, no one wants to speak to you. I was used to flashing my brilliant smile, and the auto-greet habit. So from then on, I would speak to every cashier, the taxi drivers, and cleaning ladies, wishing them a good day. To my astonishment, I was met with an echo of genuine surprise. People marvelled that I was smiling on a rainy day, the exercise actually made me feel warm inside. At the post office, someone said “ sure” to me and I jolted thinking I heard a familiar “ shup” - local slang meaning SURE often used back in South Africa. That led to a chatty conversation with suggestions on where I could get the best exchange rates in Oxford. Making a connection, is in the words. “ I don’t know, “ you give someone power to help you, make them feel good. Open. Consequently you feel more at home. As usual, in order to strike up a conversation. You have to be the first. But not when there is a storm hurling above you, with fierce winds taking control, and trees falling in submission. That’s when you will have the most liveliest conversations. People open up about their wildest adventures. Distant memories held captive by the weather unravel into funny tales of struggles. And what lies ahead. Making calls to engage with people they love, letting them know not to worry. All because they have the same complaint to make. How the unfortunate weather derailed them from their missions. But alas it gave them a moment to lift their heads and look around, make a connection. My family was surprised when I finally returned after a 7 hour journey pouring out tales of an army officer, the cool university academics who have a wilder life than most when they have summits, or international gatherings, a children's book author and the guy who missed his train in Shanghai. Despite the weather, progress is present. Moving up always requires sacrifice, and the one of minding one's business is always easier. I appreciate the hot chocolates, and I appreciate that my foreign passport gives me the right to not know, and investigate. And feel familiar in my own way. They all understand, when I smile and ask them how they are today. They immediately gather, I am not one of them. This strange gesture makes them feel warm and fuzzy on a gloomy rainy everyday, like I used to feel, when I used to live in South Africa.