I woke up present to the fact that I leave in one week from today.
Though its only been 8 weeks, this feels like what I’ve known for so long. It is my “normal,” my departure a break in what is now routine.
As I walked to our morning meeting, the familiarity enveloped me. A bicyclist clicked its bell and I did not even glance behind me to know where in the road they’d pass, and where to step so not to block the path.
A chorus of my name (“Si-tacey! Si-tacey”) chases my every step.
I stop at the usual places: Egide’s shop to greet him, Mama Obama’s to say hello and receive a hug from local Obama- a 4 year-old whose smile alone matches the charisma of his namesake.
I glare at the angry cow who eyes me this way every morning.
People ask eagerly, “Ujia hehe?” (where are you going), though they know my answer never varies, and they’ve likely asked scholars who already passed.
As I let the normalcy soak in, I am struck by my blog title and initial post.
What is home? The locale where you experience this feeling of normalcy? A place you know intimately? A space you call your own? A sense of belonging? Community? A source of comfort? Where you find yourself surrounded by love?
Whatever the definition, it seems as if I’ve found [another] home.