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Many moons ago, I moved from Ghana to London, clad in my winter coat and a pair of new tights. I lugged all the books that could fit in my suitcases without being overweight. (I’ve long since bought an e-reader because this particular packing problem doesn’t get easier with age or travel experience).
I was on the cusp of young adulthood, leaving the country, the only home, I’d ever known. There wasn’t a tangible idea yet of what the future held, but the pie chart of my mind was already colour-coded. Hopeful. Unsure. Excited. Terrified.
Now, as a Ghanaian Londoner who has lived in a couple of other places while nurturing incurable wanderlust, I am often asked one question.
So, where’s home?
The answer is simple. They mean the geography of home; the spatial quality of a physical place. Sometimes this is triggered by something specific. Where’s your Blackness from. Explain this threaded hairstyle. What about this rice that kind of looks like risotto (it’s Ghana jollof). And so on.
Of course, these point to the obvious: I am from Ghana. It’s where I was formed. A sanctuary to love and cherish for the rituals, traditions, lifelines, sense of humour and inspirations that are part and parcel of how I navigate the world. Nevertheless, my idea of home has grown.
Home is more than a place.
I am home wherever I feel connected and welcomed. Home has become a revolving door which brings me to another version of myself. It is embarking on a long journey only to wind up in the comforting familiar. Home is unreservedly letting out the full decibels of my big belly laugh. It is the warmth of close family and friendships.
Home isn’t always elaborate displays, but also fleeting moments. It is the chance encounter with a Ugandan woman in Bath, bonding over a shared Africanness. The afternoon spent chatting with an elderly Greek tavern owner in Kefalonia. The warm clasp of a Turkish grandmother in London. The spontaneous gyrating of hips to Premier Gaou at a South London pub.
Many moons ago, I didn’t fully grasp this; that moving somewhere new would lead me to expand my definition of home in a million different ways and forms. Moreover, that being away would make me look at my first home afresh, extra thankful to always have it in my heart.
It is in me to look at the horizon and wonder what’s beyond. But I know now what I didn’t know then. That whatever the horizon, we can always find home not only in places, but also in people, moments and meaningful connections.
What does home mean to you? Share with me in the comments below.
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Had to comment because I completely agree. I let go of the idea that home can only be the place of your birth. I don’t even acknowledge my birth country (and I will not say what it is cause I will not have the entire nation come for me, they are fiercely patriotic) and it’s not because I hate it but it’s because I just don’t care. It doesn’t feel like home.
I am still seeking my perfect place and I know that is a laugh as perfection…on earth…with humanity? Right. But I know one day I’ll find MY place. Until then, home is where I pay rent and wherever there is anime.
Your comment has me nodding, finger snapping and laughing at the same time. It feels like the moment you leave your “first” home, the entire idea of home upends, is challenged, expands and probably everything else inbetween. I quite like the idea of home being where a few of your favourite things are (the anime part. Not rent – that’s never fun 😂).
Oh I love this! So simple and yet so powerful. You just put into words the way I feel being me in Madrid. Love it 🙂
I’m so pleased to hear that, Kristina! Thank you for reading and commenting 😊.
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