We’ve now been on the island for nearly 6 weeks, experiencing crop over carnival, first days at work and school, our first tropical storm and coordinating efforts to support those devastated by hurricane Irma.  It’s not been dull.

Life here is not the chocolate box pictures of the colourful chattel houses, the palm fringed beaches, the friendly welcoming service orientated locals.  This is not the real Barbados, these images are tourist Barbados.  A deception sustained for short bursts of time – enough time for visitors to get off and back on the plane.  Real Barbados is much more complex and far more interesting.  An island currently experiencing a seismic shift in its culture and attitudes, where hard decisions need to be made to create sustainable changes so as to reinvigorate a flagging economy and shift antiquated working practices.

The  first time I came to this island, many moons ago, was in the company of my boyfriend of the time – a  Barbadian boy who had flown to London to run away from the shadow of his successful twin brothers and the family name. He took me back home to meet his family and we lived like chirpy locals for a few weeks.  He drove his borrowed family car like a recklessly blind crazy boy,  we devoured flying fish, plantain, macaroni pie, chicken roti, baked breadfruit, rice and peas, in all the local spots.  We drank rum punch on the Jolly Roger even though I was teetotal and could barely stand at the end of the day.  It was here I had my first encounter with flying cockroaches who seemed to wait until I was in the shower before they would helicopter in and attempt to land in my hair  ( I still go weak kneed when I see one).  And it was here I was first bitten by mosquitos and directly applied the juice from the aloe plant to the bite.  Flying to Barbados was the first time I had been on a plane, the first time I had been out of the UK.

Although this relationship didn’t last, it gave birth to an enduring deep friendship.  Through the then boyfriend I met Jen, another Barbadian living in London.  A vivacious, intelligent,funny, bright and beautiful woman, we bonded straight away and have subsequently seen each other through many life traumas, joys and excitements.  I was delighted when Jenny agreed to be Roscoe’s Godmother and he loves her like his second Mummy.  And as a result of her gentle Bajan lilt and his relationship with her, he can decipher a lot of what is being said to him in town today.

When Craig was private secretary to David Triesman, Minister for Africa, Latin America and the Caribbean, we had the opportunity to join him at the end of one of his interminable trips away.  So I brought an 18 month old Roscoe on his first long distance plane trip,  to meet his Daddy in …Barbados.   It was in Barbados that Roscoe had his first experience of the sea, swimming with turtles in an ocean so clear that you could see each one bobbing and diving along side his chubby little toddler legs.  It was at the beach by the Hilton Barbados that he first stuck his toes into soft warm sand and paddled waist deep in the warm salty sea water.  It was Barbados that helped the sea seduce my child, where he first awkwardly jiggled his hips to soca music and where he first felt sun so hot that his skin now goes berry brown instead of Scottish raspberry red.

It seems obvious that we are meant to be here now; where in times of  crisis, Craig’s calm, clear and decisive decision-making provides stability, direction and stewardship; where my change skills and knowledge will help make a difference to people and organisations keen to do things differently; where our son will shift from boy to young man.

Barbados is threaded into our family story, where we take our past and weave it into our present. It’s a lesson that change is all about perception.  If we are open to learnings, connections and patterns, to growth and flow then what seems like big stuff actually turns out to be a continuation of our evolutionary story . Perhaps life is not about circles but adaptive figures of eights.