Trisha

20th April is the birthday of my dear departed friend Dr Trisha Macfarlane. Since I started on this journey I have been thinking a lot about her, how she died and why, taking inspiration to carry on through troubles from the fact that she couldn't. Since I arrived in the Gambia I have sung her song ("For Good" from Wicked) a million times, using the words to scare away hassle as they give me an assertiveness, or more likely a woman singing defiantly at the top of her lungs looks a bit mad. I don't mind, as an aside looking mad is an age old and well researched personal safety trick for lone women. Another friend carries an umbrella to put up when it's not raining for the same effect.

There are so many regrets I have when it comes to Trish which, against the words of the song, still do matter. But more important are the many great memories of her, waiting in the rain in a London backstreet to congratulate Ruthie Henshall on a heartstopping performance in Chicago, becoming allies in choir practices as she held the answer to my burbling thoughts, arguing over an acceptable amount of mascara on her wedding day. Plus the fact that her name makes her wound like a heroine from an American crime series.

She remains my friend, her whole life guiding my decisions. When to jump, when to try against all odds, how to walk alone through strangers. Most importantly, as one who emigrated before me and sharing so many personality traits, her experience is a cautionary tale reminding me how to live and how to respond to an emergency. Thank you Trish, Penblwydd Hapus.