In late 2007, my husband and I and our two kids left our home in North Luangwa National Park, Zambia, and set off on a six-month journey through southern Africa. We lived and travelled in a battered green Landcruiser which Frank had equipped with a roof tent for us, safer car seats and makeshift beds for the kids, and various nifty storage compartments. It was all pretty basic - we had to gut the car every evening to set up camp - but we did have a top-notch fridge. It took u

When people ask me where I’m from, I never know what to say. It’s complicated. What exactly do they mean? Where was I born? What nationality am I? Where did I grow up? Where have I lived longest? Where do I feel most at home? Where do I live now? Which country would I support in the World Cup? I was born in Bogota, the mountainous capital of Colombia. I almost died in Bogota but that’s another story. We lived in Colombia a short time. Was it one year, or two? I’m not sure. A