Making pizzas on Friday nights with one of our student’s mums.
Stuffing our faces at the Nest Hotel because we were pretty poor and ate mostly rice at home.
The time Fiona and I took a road trip round the whole country and had no radio so had to sing to each other all day.
Our comedy dog, Diaz, barking at the kids at school or following us around or weeing on the floor.
The time we were stranded in the desert with no water, no money or bank card, no ID, no suncream and no keys to get back into our car.
The time Lucy and I were painting murals on the wall in the creche where we taught and the kids started singing Atomic Kitten to us.
When I used to jump in the freezing cold swimming pool every morning at the guest house where I lived and worked in Namibia.
The time we walked out to Diaz Point, which took hours and hours, and we had three apples between us.
The time I lost control of the car and went on a little spin off the road with Fiona yelling “Steer into the spin!” and clinging onto the dashboard.
Singing the Amarula song with the kitchen staff at Grootberg Lodge.
One of my students, Zara, saying “Thank you for teaching us,” after a class.
Bungee jumping, like a loony, over the Zambezi River during a stay in Livingston.
Sleeping through the most important day in the Namibian calendar, their independence day, then making a story up for the newspaper afterwards (we ran the local town newspaper and we had to make up the main story of the whole year. Shoddy).
Climbing into the big wardrobe in Lucy’s room with our friend, Andre, to look for Narnia. We were sober, by the way.
Packing a tent, some sleeping bags, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter and a knife and walking to the campsite just out of town, Shark Island, and camping for the weekend to get away from it all.
Flinging ourselves in the pool to cool down after a hot sweaty bus journey back from Victoria Falls to Windhoek.
Taking a load of disadvantaged kids away for an activity week in the desert and, among other things, teaching them how to swim.
Drinking cups of rooibos tea and watching the sun set over the Atlantic ocean and the clouds and sky turning pink and purple and orange.
Fiona and I going to the coolest bar in town, Rumours, and graffitiing our names behind the bar.
Cutting my own hair because I had no money for hairdressers.
Going out to an old abandoned town in the desert with our friend, George, and him giving us Namibian names. Mine was Naufiku, which means ‘born in the evening.’
Fiona chucking a glass of triple shot Jaegermeister and coke on a car.
Going to badminton club on Tuesdays and being rubbish at it.