When I thought about writing a title for this article, my first instinct was to agree with a panel that had themed the blog along the lines of ‘what’ home is. On second thought, I figured ‘who’ home is, is what would resonate with me more and the panel did seem to agree that this would be an interesting approach. However, I believe they were right in first saying ‘what’, so that we would make sense (new Kenyan idiom, lol). The technical why, what, who, where and when aspects of this subject make for very interesting conversations about the idea of home, and eventually lead to very eye-opening experiences about the things going on deeply within us.
I grew up in a neighbourhood that really had no name. It was in between two well-known areas in Nairobi – one quite affluent and the other very popular, but I didn’t quite seem to fit in with the kids from either one. Some were too posh while the others seemed too “with-it”. In both cases, I felt like I would have to play catch up to even be heard, let alone be understood, by either group. To make matters worse, I did not (still do not) have an everyday name I could use to introduce myself with. My first name is new to 90% of the people I meet and my second is synonymous with a few estates in the city. So it just made more sense to use the second.
However, when I was 9 years old, just a few years ago (pun intended), I met a young fellow, who had just moved to Nairobi from Bomet, who seemed to have a much harder time fitting in than me. Being able to relate to his troubles, I swiftly swung into action to help him acclimatize. However, even with his rich complexion, marathon-runner accent, hardy build and bright new uniform causing him to stick out like a sore thumb, he did not seem to care. In fact, within no time, my tour-guide self became completely useless as Walter, his name was, seemed to fit in rather well.
Within a year, I actually began to feel envious of his social skills, which at the time I didn’t know were based on, among other things, sheer grit. Grit that he had probably developed from growing up in what I considered tougher conditions than I had. Grit that enabled him to overlook the things our Westlands-based school culture valued and bring his best self to the table regardless. I then subconsciously began to wish I had been through tougher conditions in life myself. Maybe the resilience Walter had made it easier for him to be bold and face relational challenges more head on, based on what home had been for him. Though often teased initially, Walter turned into a star-athlete and fierce fighter A.K.A ‘first-body’. Everybody (read me) wanted to be Walter, but nobody wanted to grow up in the tough home conditions we imagined he had.
A few years later, my admiration for Walter’s grit would morph into a fully deliberate desire to find places that would toughen me up. I ended up frequenting what I felt were more real parts of town, and feeling an immense sense of pride every time I said to someone “nimetoka base shughuli moja, mbili”. Needless to say, I ended up in a lot of trouble trying to make my own way in life in an outrightly rebellious manner. What I didn’t know at the time was that at the root of this admiration I had for Walter, and other more resilient peers, was a deep seated envy for people who had what I considered to be from “better” homes. A lack of appreciation of what my parents had done to set us up for a better life than they had. I was seeking what I thought would be a better home and on many occasions, nearly ended up being “called home” (kutumwa kwa Baba), getting arrested and eventually, almost ending up in a half-way house. All this to try and run away from the war-zone that was a seemingly quiet home, based in a somewhat peaceful neighbourhood.
As I dart back and forth across the decades, I am reminded that home looks like different things at different times, if location is what we should go by. However, I will wrap up this long line of thought by answering the question on the title; what is home? I recall saying something about this a year or two back, which might seem contrary to this “looks like different things at different times” bit. I said “home is forever”. I still believe this, especially now that the dust has settled on what was about two troubling decades of strained relationships with others in my childhood home setting. I now know, more than ever, that home is the people (not places) that stick around no matter what, through thick and thin.
Do you agree with my admiration of Walter’s background? What do you think I could have done differently to appreciate my own? Is there something about your home setting or experiences that you wish was different? Feel free to share your unique thoughts on what home is. Welcome to this conversation.
Yours truly,
Another Writer
🖊️(…………………………………..)
