ITime to sing a new song

It’s been a long time since my last blog.
A lot has happened.

I came home from work about three weeks ago to find my door ajar and noises coming from inside. Now, if I had been thinking clearly I probably should have walked away and called the police.
But I was mad. Stark raving, blood bounding in my ears, foot stomping, mad as a hatter mad. Whoever this was had shattered my dreams of an idyllic life in my new home. I had begun to doubt myself, believe that perhaps I was a little unhinged. What if I was actually a crazy drinking lady, consumed by stress, staying up at night downing bottles of spirits, smoking cigars and snacking on food, wiping every trace away by morning?

Or perhaps I did believe in Ghosts? Ghosts with keys who loves to spend Aussie dollars by the $50 note. Who knows why I avoided what I knew was the truth for so long but now I had my chance. I had him.
In my head I was fearless, I was brave and I planned to get some answers. When the young boy strode purposefully towards me he must have seen me for the shaking, quivering wreck that I was and he was not afraid. Not one little bit. As I threw questions at him, he skilfully backed me out of the door and was off across the field before I could say Boo! To a goose. Damn it!
I called the police.

About thirty minutes later, the police Troopy comes screeching up the drive and slams to a halt under the house. The doors are thrown open in a plume of smoke as three officers exit to the back. They make a show of finishing their cigarettes and disposing of their blood red spit before commencing their “investigations”. This consists of a masterful stride around the house, checking in corners and under bushes should the perpetrator be hanging around for a second attack. Two of the officers are in full police uniform but the third, a female officer, from the tips of her toes, to the large scarf bow she has tied around her hair, is covered totally in leopard print. Cagney and Lacey: eat your heart out. Finally, satisfied that they have saved me from a fate worse than death, I am acknowledged.

Taking my statement, I recall trying to explain (in terrible Pijin) the tattoo he had across his chest, likening it the same as Brax of River Boy fame. 
Unsurprisingly, my attempt was met with blank faces. I’m not sure showing them a picture on my phone was also a wise move as I’m pretty sure they now think he is a friend of mine. They jot a few notes down on a scrap of paper and they’re off.

An hour later I hear the chugging engine of the Troopy again and head downstairs. This time they all stand proud, pigeon chests puffed out and big grins on their faces as they parade a 16 year boy in front of me. It is the son of my security guard. I am made to look him in the eye and confirm that this is, indeed, the boy in my bedroom earlier that day. Despite my earlier anger at this boy, I am unnerved at this awkward ceremony and feel like, in some way, it adds to the violation and the intimidation I have been feeling over the last few weeks. 
The next day I left.
So that was a low low but in true Solomon Style, I am tripping on a high high.

It was only four days before I was moved into a new house. It is not as refined as the one I left behind but it has a great balcony, amazing views and is fenced with a security guard so I’m feeling much safer. 

I have a great house mate: a bubbly, energetic little pocket rocket teacher called Kate. On top of that are another two great volunteers (unfortunately one has already headed back to Australia with a broken arm. But that’s a different story), lots of guests from Honiara, visitors and dinner guest. The house is full and bustling, the kettle is always on, the fridge full of food, the beers cold and the laughs are loud

Gone are the dulcet tones of Bridget Jones “all by myself”. It is time to sing a new song: survivor? Beautiful Day? Stronger? I believe I can fly? Answers on a postcard please. 

I’d forgotten how lucky I was to live in such a beautiful, untouched place. It has been amazing to see it all again through other people’s eyes, to spend time exploring the rivers and the waterfalls, strolling through the traditional villages as if you were stepping back in time, naked children cheering and waving, feeling the sea salt spray on your face as you race past dug-out canoes into the lagoon and beyond, chasing fish and spotting coral. I’m pretty sure in a couple of weeks I’ll be complaining I can’t find a moments peace, but for now, life is good