I watched as the air hostess pushed the food trolley down the aisle. The second meal was served on the 6-hour journey. The air hostess stopped beside each row of seats and handed out the professionally packed turkey ham sandwiches with a smile before asking for the passengers’ choice of drink.

When she got to my row, I asked if there was a vegetarian option. She paused and applied the brake to the food trolley with her feet before replying, “No” with her eyes hovering over me. She then asked, “Did you pre-order a vegetarian option?”. I was a bit puzzled not knowing there was a pre-ordering system in place as regards airline meals. I replied in negative both with my voice and facial expression.

The next question the air hostess asked left me unsettled. “Do you want me to pre-order your meal for when you’re returning home?” This question caught me unaware, I paused for a few seconds, millions of neurons connected in my head, and then I replied spontaneously, “I am going back home”. She cast one final glance at me and ruminated over my statement, she then released the break and moved on to the next row without saying a word.

I pondered on the word “HOME”. For whatever reason I didn’t understand what home meant for a brief fleeting moment. Where is HOME? I chewed on this question for the rest of the journey. HOME! WHERE IS HOME? Have I been labelling the wrong place as home? Is the place I called home a home to me? What constitutes home? Where is home?

The Nostalgic Feeling 

As our flight touched the ground of London Heathrow, I drew in a long breath and breathed out very slowly. This is home to me. This is the city I have made home for almost two decades now. This city has given me so much to think about and to be thankful for. I married my husband in this city and birthed my children in this city. Am I a self-deluded fantasist for calling this city, this country home?

The cold breeze of London brushed against my face as we made our way to the airport car park where our cab was waiting. My children and I just returned from a 10-day journey to Africa. This was the first time for my children and for me the third in 19 years. The modern city of Africa took my children by surprise: her vigour and beauty. They marvelled at the diversity of the continent. 

My children experienced the West African monsoon and the strong pitter-patter rainfall I had spoken about since they were little. They saw the large body of water which holds a strong history to their lineage. The busyness and the population of the metropolitan cities surprised them; the false narrations they’ve been fed became apparent. Their knowledge of the culture and language was tested. 

Nature endowed every child with intelligence. This saying came to life in Africa. My son came face to face with local lizards he’s always fantasised about and he had the rare opportunity to visit a nature conservation where he saw African animals in their natural habitat. Amid all the excitement and enlightenment, home was constantly mentioned. There was an unbiased comparison between the home they grew to know and the home their parents left behind. 

Heading Home

I felt at peace on the long drive home. The lushness of the sideway trees, the dark clouds underneath the clear sky and the cold misty air of autumn all tell tales of what home is to me. Once again, we are in the confinement of the familiarity and words couldn’t express the calmness I felt. 

The crusty sunset-coloured leaves danced to the whistles of the winds as they fell lifelessly. Autumn in all its glory. A wind-down season I look forward to annually has arrived. Gentle drizzle fell on the tarmac causing it to reflect tiny shines of light, I looked at my kids and I could hear soft snores. I smiled inside: This is home. The wetness; the cold and wet rain of Great Britain.

The English winter, spring and summer have their uniqueness. Cold and wet symbolise winter with limited daylight and plant growth. Spring sprout plants. Tree leaves unfurl and most flowers blossom. Spring cast lights on the darkness of winter. Summer is warm and sweaty. It has the most daylight and plants rush to its warmth.

It was dark when we arrived home. We scuffled in and enveloped ourselves in the intrinsicness of our humble abode. The cold air from outside had drifted in while away and we rushed to keep this space bearable. The children screamed with excitement as they ran to their rooms. “This is home”, I said to myself.

My mini indoor jungle sat at the very end of the conservatory as green as I left them. I let out a sigh of relief. These green babies are part of the family. I was overly worried about the safety of my plants while away despite the homemade irrigation system I put in place. They are part of my home.

A Place They Call Home

To me, home isn’t a place of birth. You could be born in one place and wander around the earth until you find a place that aligns with your being and purpose in life. Home is the place where everything seems right with tentacles pulling at your heartstrings. Home is where the bed is warm, rough and comfy. It is a place I returned to again and again.

My home has seen me at my worst; at my ugliest and it has covered up my shame. This is a place where I hurried in to fill my emptiness. I label this place as home because in my mind it represents home.

I described this country as home to my little ones. The place of their birth, the soil they walked on, the language they speak. A place that guides their comparison and imagination. A place that ticks all the conditions of settlement: hot meals, cuddle, love and compassion.

Home is where I tell tales of my sojourn, where I express my sorrow and search for new hopes. Although I am deeply rooted in Africa, my branches had widened far from the trunk of the tree I grew on towering above my ancestral roots 

To my children, home might depict a different spot on this wide earth when they spread their wings and fly out of the nest I reared them in, but at this moment in time, this is home; both in mind and sight! 

Until I get to my final home, where I lay helpless surrendered to the call of nature; with no breath, no voice and no movement: this is home for the time being.

…Travel throughout the land and see how Allah originated the creation…

Quran 29:20

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