If you had 24 hours to pack one small backpack with your most precious items, what would you pack? What would you take if you didn’t know if you were ever coming back, or if when you did nothing would be there? These are questions people have to deal with everyday – fleeing from war, persecution or natural disasters.
I wasn’t fleeing war, or persecution but an island ravaged by the worst hurricane ever recorded to hit land (Irma). I was evacuating, not only because the water in my cistern had turned foul and there was no power, or infrastucture, given that my beautiful island looked as if it had been the target of a nuclear bomb. I was leaving to lessen the burden on the island and to continue working so that I could help the island have a future.
I was also in the remarkable position of actually being able to choose what I could take, as my home was one of literally a handful that was virtually untouched by nature’s fury. And so, the emotions were different to most. Why me? Why my house? Why did I keep everything when my close friends only had the clothes on their back – survivor guilt is a bitch, but nothing compared to losing your whole world. I was lucky, luckier than I ever could imagine.
But, that’s where I was, looking at a lifetime and deciding what was precious. Into one bag went hard drives containing all our photos. There was a moment when I realised that my ‘gap yah’ photos were actual printed photos and I couldn’t pack the albums. It was only after my glorious husband offered to sit down and photograph every photo so they wouldn’t be lost that I realised I just had to let it go. Ditto my mother’s exquisite hand-made quilts, made with love. Instead, they were packed away and hidden – because in my state I actually thought that given the choice looters would go for the warm bedspreads, even in the middle of a Caribbean summer with no power for the foreseeable future.
So what did I take? After jewellery and children’s christening presents I found ‘Babbit’, my first toy and the source of my first word. Then wardrobe. Not knowing where we were going or for how long, this is what made the cut: 2 jumpsuits, a pair of shorts, a white T-shirt, 2 jumpers, 1 pair of jeans and a puffa jacket in a bag. Trainers were tied to the outside of the holdall. So, just your typical litigator’s wardrobe then.
And the handbag I chose? Not the sensible black bag, perfect for Court, or the little backpack to cart things around when travelling with kids. No, a bright pink tote with parrots on it. Yes, that’s what I took. I never actually used it when I finally made it to London and worked in the City, but I looked at it every day and it reminded me of home and made me smile.
And what did my children take? There was no whinging, no requests to take every single car or piece of cheap plastic tat left over from a party bag. All they chose was a blanket and a snuggly toy. And spare pants…..lots of pants….
I’m glad you took a sunny, bright tote that made you smile! I don’t really think there was much method to our madness when it came to what any of us packed! I took my wedding dress (!) I just couldn’t stand the thought of it getting further damaged by water and mold. It was worth the excess luggage! Thank you for writing it all down xx
I can hear your voice reading this. I remember you telling me your story when we were sitting in Bill’s at Westfield, and I remember most it word for word. You all were amazingly brave and honest in the face of terrible events. Xx
Such a heartbreaking time for so many families. I hope that I’m never put in the position of having to choose which of my most precious possessions and survival kit to fit in a tiny bag. You managed a truly horrendous time so efficiently and so well for yourself and the boys. I am so proud of you.