The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2022

32 JULY-AUGUST 2022 | THE FOREIGN SERVICE JOURNAL us. She was white, English-speaking and matronly in appear- ance. Within minutes, she let us know that her children were grown, and she now lived alone. She asked where we came from in the United States. When we said Connecticut and North Carolina, she asked what the weather was like in each place. She showed us around the house. It was appointed with fussy furniture, glossy marble floors and sharp-edged stairs— not great for toddlers. Mary was still living in the house, too. She’d moved to the upstairs mother-in-law apartment, she said, noting that I’d have to fetch her if the phone rang, because it was downstairs. On the plus side, Mary showed us a master bedroom suite with a huge hot tub. I could almost feel the water warming my bones as she finished the tour. Baxter and I put the kids down for a nap and headed for the hot tub. We opened the tap and went into the bedroom to strip off our clothes. When we returned, though, the tub was full of cold, rank-smelling water. The hot water source was and would remain broken. b Baxter went off to work the next day. The kids and I stayed put, eating and playing on Mary’s icy floors. Whenever the phone rang, I sprinted upstairs to knock on her closed door, announcing that she had a call. Mary would come down at her leisure, taking her calls from an elegant chair in the foyer. She always stayed downstairs a bit too long afterward, too, pepper- ing me with questions about the United States while the kids swarmed around and clung to me. Apartheid was coming to an end in South Africa, and she was looking for the exits. The weeks crept by while workers at the consulate prepared our residence. The kids and I had no car. We were mostly stuck with Mary in her cold fortress, three miles from the nearest coffeeshop or playground. Her Black servant would arrive and work silently in the kitchen, slipping upstairs to bring Mary her food. Mary would come downstairs each night when Baxter got home, cheerfully asking about his work. Toward the end of our stay at Mary’s, the kids and I were running and sliding in our socks on the marble floor when things got too boisterous, and Stephanie chucked up her lunch. Pink-orange vomit flew out of her mouth, hitting the floor with a splatter. It dotted our socks while remnants dribbled down the front of Stephanie’s shirt. I froze for a minute, considering my options, none of them terribly appealing. I swept Stephanie up in my arms and had the twins follow me into their bathroom. I ran a bath, peeled off my now-goopy shirt, and stripped off the kids’ clothing. I plunked all three in the water and knelt down to lather them, in only shorts and a bra. Then, as in a bad dream, Mary appeared. She stood in the doorway, asking me when Baxter was coming home. I said I didn’t know. She asked about life in the United States, again. I pursed my lips and kept washing my kids. She asked if Baxter handled visas at work. She asked what I knew about the H-1B visa program. I said I was kind of busy at the moment. I hauled the kids out of the tub and wrapped them in towels. I herded them into my bedroom and shut the door. b Not long after, Baxter, the kids and I moved into a permanent residence and, for the next two years, enjoyed an exceptionally high quality of life. The kids rode their trikes under huge avo- cado trees. We explored Durban’s coast and tidal pools. Baxter and I tracked lions in Kruger National Park. None of this would have been possible if we’d stayed in the D.C. metropolitan area. I’d be doing myself and every Foreign Service family a disser- vice, though, if I suggested that everything was peachy after our bizarre temporary housing experience. I still had to find new schools for the kids, new stores and new doctors. Baxter and I rarely saw our parents or siblings, and snail mail was our only affordable means of communication. It took months to cultivate new friends. Even now, decades later, my heart does a backflip when I hear of a Foreign Service family packing out. I wish them fair winds, smooth sailing and courage on their passage. n The kids rode their trikes under huge avocado trees. We explored Durban’s coast and tidal pools.