Independence Day

Yvonne Killean

It was the 4th July 2007. On the other side of the Atlantic the 4th of July is known as Independence Day and, in a way, this was his independence day too. My youngest child. My 17 year old son. He was off to Zambia, to Africa, and for 6 weeks. I'd have no contact with him at all. He'd be in a country I knew very little about, doing things I've never done, seeing things I've never seen.

It wasn't as if he'd never been away from home before. Of course he had, he was 17. There had been school trips, camping with his mates, T in the Park. A few years back he'd gone to Florida for a couple of weeks with his friend's family. But that was different. They have electricity in Florida, toilets, showers, running water, telephones, hospitals, probably a doctor on every corner. They wouldn't have these things in Mulamba, where he was going.

It's 7a.m and we're all in the grounds of Selkirk High School. The venturers, looking half asleep but excited, greeting each other with hugs, slaps on the back, laughter, squeals from the girls. The team leaders, looking efficient, organised, together. The coach driver, ready for the long drive to Heathrow. And the parents, hanging around our cars, nodding greetings to each other, watching and waiting. A few are asking last minute questions, 'are you sure you've remembered to pack your malaria tablets?' 'Have you got your sun screen?' Some of the mothers look like they're going to cry. Not me, I wouldn't do that to him. I'll just hang back, till the last minute, give him a hug and wave cheerily as the bus leaves.

Some of the parents are chatting to each other. We're all saying the right things; 'chance of a life time', 'it'll be the making of them', 'an experience they'll never forget', 'wish we'd had opportunities like this' but you can tell from the mothers' faces that there are quite different thoughts going through their minds. Thoughts about wild animals in Africa, poisonous snakes and insects, unhygienic food, accidents, muggings, white water rafting, homesickness, diarrhoea, sunstroke, tragedy.

They've been preparing for this trip for the past year and we've been part of it, helping with the fund raising, driving them to the training camps, getting all the gear together. But this is where our involvement ends.

They're ready to go, they've had a group photograph taken, they're boarding the bus. I hug him, 'have a great time son, see you in six weeks'. And I pray to a god I've never believed in to keep him safe and bring him back.

You see, it's not just about this day. This is just the start. He'll come back from Africa then there will be university, flat sharing, new friends, new social life. Later there will be work, travel, responsibility, a woman, maybe marriage, maybe kids. He'll be his own man, do his own thing. This is just the start of adult life with all its highs and lows, joys and sorrows, adventures and misadventures.

Go for it son. I love you.