More photos from my mother’s life in Africa, as promised…


My great-grandfather, grandfather, and mother (she could fit in a shoebox!)

My grandmother, aunt, mother

My mother and her sister through the years:

My mom, grandfather, and aunt… I really wish this one wasn’t blurry :/

My mom, aunt, and uncles at Estoril Hotel in Beira, Mozambique

So, the story goes, I was born in Zimbabwe and my parents were not missionaries - they were born there too. I am of the third (maybe fourth?) generation African-born. I feel very blessed to have lived the first few of my formative years in Africa. I feel an inexorable tie to the ‘mother country’ even though I did not grow up there. I like to think that four years was enough to soak up a good bit of the continent. I wonder to what extent being born in one hemisphere and growing up in the other (and occasionally traveling between the two) affects a person. I see hints of possibilities in my life (extreme behavior, indecisiveness, feeling out of place, experiencing a deep connection to nature and spirituality…)

How different would I be if I grew up in Africa, or anywhere else, for that matter? To what extent are we shaped by our surroundings?

I reflect on my African birth now because my father just sent me a DVD full of scanned slides and photos of my mother’s childhood and life in Africa. Throughout my life, it  has been regretfully easy to forget that my parents grew up in a completely different place and time. Looking at these old photographs has been nothing short of life-changing for me, so I am going to spend the next few days sharing some of my favorite images with you. From one life, time, and place, to another… enjoy…