Last days...

We spend our last days quietly, in talking, reading, discussing car repairs at great length and in admirable detail. My heart gladdens at these discussions: how thankful I am that Jonny has his dad’s expertise to draw on, along with Byron’s supportive presence just a short distance away. This is in Tanzanian terms: over one and a half hours’ drive on the other side of Arusha. At home in Guernsey, anything more than 15 or 20 minutes seems like a long safari – how quickly we adjust.

A nearby lodge – Rivertrees, the last convenient tourist stop before Kilimanjaro Airport – is a pleasant venue for an afternoon drink by the river. We marvel at the trees – huge figs sending their aerial roots down in search of water. I spot a ‘first’ – a black-backed shrike, its astonishingly bright red eye peeping out from the bushes next to us.

And, of course, there is the swimming pool. Bees perch busily on the lane dividers, some unwittingly taking dives into the water, swimming furiously to safety. Scarlet dragonflies swoop and dive across the surface, hitting it with a smack before zooming on. European rollers perch atop the tennis court fence, four of them, evenly spaced, waiting for the insects thrown up by the newly cut grass. Wahlberg’s eagles soar and call, settling in the fig near the entrance to the school. Mount Meru plays peek-a-bo behind clouds, thermals constantly forming and re-forming.

Half a dozen arrow-marked babblers invade the garden, chit-chattering, hopping around, venturing at times onto the verandah and into the living room. A couple of immature birds constantly ask for food, jumping on the others. Mouse-birds congregate on a young muringa tree, stripping the new young shoots. It’s a good thing that the muringa grows so quickly...

From the verandah early in the morning we watch a pair of white-browed coucals ponderously flapping on and off the hedge, catching insects and, in one lucky instance, a small toad which has unwarily ventured out on to the grass. Variable sunbirds, with their iridescent green caps and bright crimson breasts, flit around the acacia branches while a fiscal shrike constantly swaps between the lawn and the verandah roof. Never have I seen one for so long at such close quarters. To cap it all, we spot a tiny wren-like bird in the bougainvillea hedge: an African penduline tit. A first.

The birds have been fantastic – so many, such variety all in one place, up-country and dry country birds all in one environment. This, we think, is what Paradise will be like...

We prepare to go home with full hearts, countless happy memories, relationships renewed... and an inordinate number of tsetse fly and midge bites, with the odd small mosquito bite to add in to the mix.

Africa.

And then, it was time to leave. It had been the most incredibly relaxing time, our days filled with reading, swimming and enjoying the bird life.

Yesterday it had rained. Good African rain, first a drizzle then, under a black sky, a heavy downpour. The thunderous noise of raindrops hitting the tin roof brought back memories...

The air was fresh, the soil damp, the atmosphere calm.

Today, a cloudy morning gave way to sunshine. A last swim, while Jonny took his car to have new rear shock absorbers fitted - a somewhat stressful process, in that the wrong type had been ordered and so Jonny had to go back later. #nothingstraightforwardinAfrica

Packed up. Emma's house, where we had been staying, cleaned. A last lunch at Rivertrees Country Inn, on the way to the airport. So relaxed.

I thought I was ready to go home, back to 'normal' life. End of holidays.

But I wasn't. Oh, I had had a great holiday and felt ready for work, but I wasn't ready to leave Jonny and Adele.

Goodbyes could not be lingering. Quick hugs, then we were in the hot queue to get in to Kilimanjaro Airport and then through the long check-in and immigration process. Only an hour from start to finish.

The goodbyes were bad enough... but I was unprepared for what happened as I walked out of the terminal building to cross the tarmac towards the plane. I was overwhelmed by tears. Throwing myself down to claw at the ground, screaming to stay, suddenly seemed like an option.

I didn't, of course. I struggled to contain my tears, dutifully climbing on to the plane, quietly weeping unobtrusively as we took off past Kilimanjaro, the two peaks of Kibo and Mawenzi soaring above the clouds.

I don't understand why my heart is breaking again.