By Charné Meiring

Being a mother is never easy – but being a mother far from your people, without the familiar helping hands of grandmothers, aunts and friends, requires a different kind of courage. In a foreign country where your village is no longer around the corner, you quickly learn that old advice and old love are not always within reach. Honestly and with a touch of humour, Charné Meiring shares her experience as a mother abroad who had to build her own new village – one that spans borders, time zones and cultures.

People say: “It takes a village to raise a child.” It is true – Grandma brings dessert, Aunt Clarise holds the baby, and someone always brings lasagna.

But what if you move away from your village? What if your village now consists of a few WhatsApp groups and a smart bottle maker?

Many expat moms know that feeling. I am one of them. And believe me – it is not for the faint of heart. The grandmothers and aunties only see the cute photos you hastily post between diapers and colic. And when you complain about little sleep or a crying baby, they usually react with: “Oh shame, dear … yes, that is bad.”

It is the digital version of a half-hearted hug – without the cup of tea.

And there you are: alone, in a foreign country, with a little human being who believes you know what you’re doing – while you silently wonder if you will ever sleep again, or just feel like … you again.

I quickly started relying on “Grandma Google” for advice. She has answers for everything – except how to wipe away tears or rock a baby to sleep without crying yourself. And she certainly did not warn me about that three-o’-clock-in-the-morning silence, when you realise: you are an expat mom without your village.

The time difference does not help either. My worries start at eleven o’ clock at night, and by the time someone in South Africa reads my message, I have already been through a whole circus – a crying baby, cold tea and a husband trying his best to comfort me.

But then something beautiful happened.

My village started to grow – slowly but surely. A few wonderful expat moms with tired eyes and warm hearts. We shared stories, exchanged advice and searched together for that legendary “bum cream” that supposedly only exists in South Africa. We laughed about how the local versions smelled like abrasives, but at least they worked. And in no time, I had a bunch of new friends – each with a baby in one arm and a cup of cold coffee in the other.

Later, dear Tish, my son’s nanny, became part of my village – a gentle, patient woman with advice on everything – from diaper rash to toddler’s whims. And guess what? A fellow expat! She showed me that it is not where your village comes from that matters – it is the fact of having one.

Today I know: “It takes a village” does not mean your village has to be in the same country, time zone or even hemisphere. Some are in your WhatsApp group, some bring tea (or wine), some send you memes to keep you laughing on days when you just want to cry. And some simply become family – without you planning it.

Maybe that is the beauty of expat life: you build your village from scratch. With people from everywhere, each with their own ways of showing love. And amidst the chaos, homesickness and humour you discover something special:

You did not lose your village.
You just made it global.

Every mom abroad knows that it is not easy to be without your village – but it is not impossible either. You learn that community is not always physical; sometimes it lives in messages, smiles and shared stories. Charné’s story reminds us that, even if you sometimes feel alone, there is always someone somewhere who understands and that sometimes the most beautiful village is the one you build yourself, one cup of cold coffee at a time.

Also read: We remain friends, even if you just send a meme