Ben’s on the phone at the dining table when I come out of my room. I grab the coffee pot in the kitchen and pour myself a cup.
“How do I know it’ll get there undamaged?” he’s saying, his pen scribbling furiously. The coffee jolts me awake, bringing back remnants of last night. The pizza, the beer I didn’t drink, the thought that I have to leave this apartment soon.
Which means I have a month to find a new place.
And just like that, you’re out on your ass.
The kitchen tiles are cold under my feet. I’d rather be back in bed, so I give Ben what I hope is a cheery wave as I walk back to my bedroom and close the door behind me. Coffee cup in hand, I sit down on the bed, pulling the covers over my legs.
Finding a new place is going to be a challenge. First, Ben and Sarah were generous enough to waive a deposit when I moved in. There’s no way I’d get that lucky again. I think of touching the money in my savings account and my stomach turns. And the thought of another house search—another meet and greet—makes my heart sink. More boxes and garbage bags to gather my worldly belongings. The stress of learning someone else’s timings, habits and life.
Or you could move back in with Mom.
I grab my laptop from the floor and type “room share Johannesburg” into Google.
I browse through the listings, the filters demanding selections. Area? Price? Dwelling type? I think of Ben, on the phone with the moving company right now, full of energy to make things happen. To get stuff done. Instead, I close the laptop, sinking back onto the bed. I try to remember the last time everything didn’t feel so exhausting. Was I always like this?
Maybe it’s because I’m sober now. Or maybe it’s because I’m living with a ghost.
Sarah’s words from last night echo in my ears. Once someone opens a door, it’s impossible to unsee what’s inside. Isn’t that the truth? We’re raised in bubbles, protected from things with thorns that could hurt us. Things that threaten to expose us.
I decide there’s only one thing to do. Do it all again. All of it. New home, new life. Because things are going to change, whether I like it or not.
But there’s still some control left.
I sit up again, typing into Google’s search box.
teach TEFL abroad
teach TEFL abroad south african teacher
I scan the pages of search results, all urging me to click through. Postings in China, Thailand, Taiwan.
TEFL certification. Check.
Previous experience. Check.
I imagine Sam hovering over my shoulder, questioning my loyalty. But I keep scrolling.
Police clearance certificate. Uncheck.
Income to cover expenses. Uhm, uncheck.
And suddenly I remember why I always stop.
This time, I keep going. I read testimonials from teachers around the world. My coffee turns cold as I dive into a rabbit hole of sites, forums and Instagram profiles.
There’s no place like home, one Instagram caption reads. It’s a South African woman living in Thailand. Her bio links to the website where I found her. But there’s also nothing like feeling safe in your own home.
It’s strange, really. The feeling of safety. It’s at the top of a pyramid of needs I saw somewhere. It’s a necessity, a right. But every time I double-check if my car door is locked at a traffic light, or pull my handbag closer to my body when I walk through the mall, I miss it.
I’m on a Facebook Group now: I’m Staying Abroad. One post catches my eye. Living in South Africa is like being a frog in a pot. As the water slowly heats, you don’t realise you’re boiling until it’s too late.
I’ve seen enough. I close my eyes, my mind fatigued by the information overload. I think of the classes I have today, the calls with Fred and Susana. I’m about to close my laptop when I see it. A banner. Rolling green hills and a clear blue sky, the sun shining gloriously.
Teach English in Basque Country. Now hiring international teachers.
I click.
A video pans across mountains and dramatic coastlines. I see phrases like Explore Northern Spain, A Different Teaching Experience. I Google Basque Country, and I’m met with pictures of the same majestic views. Between the nature shots are wooden houses that look just like they belong on a postcard. Old, enchanting, different.
Interested in moving to a foreign country? Teach English in Gexta, a coastal town in the heart of Northern Spain. Enjoy living with a host family whilst exploring the landscape and socialising with locals.
There’s a list of benefits, each more compelling than the last.
Teach and learn simultaneously.
Accommodation with a friendly host family.
Weekly allowance provided.
I read on, trying to find the catch. Anything that will crush the idea. But it doesn’t come.
I scan the requirements, and my heart races.
Our ideal candidate is keen to explore a country and a culture different from their own. You’re ideally under thirty years of age, fluent in English and holding a TEFL Level 5 qualification. Passport, CV and TEFL qualification required for application. All visa arrangements will be taken care of.
I read the testimonial, and I’m sold.
Gexta offered me the opportunity to see the world from a different perspective. It broadened my horizons and changed my life for the better.
I focus on that last sentence and hold my breath. How I wish I could change my life for the better.
The button at the bottom of the page encourages me to Apply Now. I don’t hesitate. I attach my passport, CV, TEFL certificate and a recent picture for good measure. I click Submit, my body burning with renewed energy.
Thank you for your application! If you’re successful, we will be in touch in the next 48 hours.
Shutting the laptop, I take deep breaths, imagining a different world. I’m a mole digging a new tunnel. One that’s far, far away from here. When I go to take a shower, the water feels lighter on my skin. I realise it’s me—I feel lighter. I dry off and walk back to my room, wondering when last I felt like this. Like there’s something to look forward to.
Bing. A direct message on Instagram. me_finds_you123 wants to send you a message.
My finger hovers over the pictureless profile. I click through to the message, preparing for spam or a simple hello.
I know you’re a fraud, Alice.
The phone drops from my hand, making a soft thud as it lands on the bed. My mind races. I want to pick the phone up again, but my hands are shaking. When the heat subsides from my face, I pick it up again, stare at the message. I read it until it stops making sense. I click on the profile name, but there’s nothing there. Zero followers. No picture.
My brain works overtime to find an explanation. Who did you tell? Who knows about InCheck? What about your clients?
I look at my phone again, willing the message to disappear. Who is this, I want to type, but I’m stuck, my inner voice screaming for me to hide.
I open Gmail, looking to see if I have any response from the teaching job I applied for less than an hour ago. I need this more than I thought.
Because I can’t change what I’ve done. Can’t stop Sarah and Ben from leaving. Can’t stop messages like these. Can’t stop the world from coming apart at the seams.
But I can do something else.
I can run.