A Place Called Home

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?

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It Was Never Easy Leaving My Home Country

Photo by Artsy Solomon from Pexels

I have left my heart in so many places.

I stood at the balcony of my two-bedroom flat gazing into space. The air was a bit musky and I was unsure of how to channel my thoughts. This was the last night I spent in my home country before leaving for gleaming life the United Kingdom promised

The night market underneath my flat was alive as always. The street lights high above diluted the thickness of night.

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The slum I grew up in.

Picture of my niece

” You live in a slum”. My friend suddenly blurted out as I walked her home. I looked at her confused not knowing what to say and then she said it again, ” Sheri, you live in a slum”, this time with disgust expression.

It was her first time at my house, what she found out about me was below her expectation. She couldn’t merge my personality with the reality of where I live. The two were contrasting episodes with a wide gap in between.

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