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At the end of 2019 I was 15 months into a contract working in Fiji. The project was coming to an end and I was ready to head back to the UK when Stef showed up and changed everything.
Working in international development, especially in more remote locations, means those in the sector tend to gravitate towards each other. Whenever a new crop of personnel show up, everyone gets together. It was Stef’s third night on the island when we all descended on a local curry house in Suva to welcome her and the other volunteers. I arrived straight from work in a rather fetching sulu (Fijian sarong) and sandals. I was seated next to Stef and sparks flew instantly. She was clearly super bright, very funny and matched me in stacking away large quantities of chicken tikka butter masala (it’s a thing and it’s very good). We made plans to meet the following day and quickly began spending a lot of time together.
We discovered we both loved hiking – which is excellent in Fiji – and not long after I met Stef, a group hike was planned. First though, I was off to a remote island for a week.
After seven days out of phone range on a far-flung island, I arrived at the designated meeting point by plane, with a bucket of fresh lobster I’d been gifted, only to discover that everyone but Stef had pulled out. Knowing I was uncontactable she’d decided to take a five-hour bus odyssey across the main island, navigating two breakdowns and four transfers just to make sure I wasn’t left in the lurch. She even showed up with leftover chicken palau. Being British I’m not always able to pick up on the subtle cues of romance, but being an Australian Stef isn’t backwards in coming forward. The effort she’d made to come and meet me, when everyone else had not, was a sign of affection even I could read. Everything about the trek flowed easily and we hardly stopped chatting the whole weekend. While watching the stars together that first night I had the distinct impression this was it.
That time together made it clear our connection was much more than just an aid-world fling. We’d hiked into the wilderness on Friday and emerged as a couple on Sunday. By New Year’s Eve I’d told her how I felt.
As Covid shuttered borders and nixed contracts, a few weeks later we were both sent back to our home countries. We were separated for nearly nine months. Our pandemic experiences were wildly different; Stef was working three jobs in outbreak response in New South Wales, while in the UK my main responsibility became drinking my way through the wine purchased for my sister’s Covid-cancelled wedding.
We spent hours on the phone, and as borders reopened, it was a no-brainer that we would find a way to be together again. By the end of the year we were reunited in Papua New Guinea and spent the next two and half years in Port Moresby. Last year we got married in the UK and thought we’d try our hand at a “settled” life in Melbourne, but it wasn’t long before our feet were itching.
We’ve recently relocated to the Republic of the Congo where, if everything goes to plan, we’ll spend the next couple of years continuing to affirm our love for each other, Test-match cricket and local curries.
