"Home"

(And finally I have something I want to post!)

I've been doing a lot of thinking and watching over the past few weeks here in Africa. It's been interesting, because I'm one of those people that likes to just sit and watch others. There are times I'll even sit in a crowded spot in school with my headphones on without any music playing just to look occupied (and there's a lot to be learned that way!). One of the many things I found myself questioning ever since coming out here (much less my first time ever leaving the country at all!) was something I wrote down in my personal journal and shared with Dr. Barton, who said it'd make a good blog post. Just as a preemptive note, this is all just a lot of wondering in general, NOT some kind of attack on any opinions or reality. Please don't take it as such.

I have a slightly different subject/observation to make here, from what I’ve seen. It’s more of a question I’ve come to ponder after living almost a month here in Guinea. That question is this: What is “home”? This isn’t a question I plan to find an answer for. There are tons of definitions, and I hate that I don’t have a dictionary handy to find an official one. For me, it’s hard to say. As a kid, home was with my parents, as it seems to have been with most people. And as with most people, that changes when they finally get out of the house for extended periods of time. After college orientation, the city of Cleveland, MS became my home, even more so now that I’ve lived there for so long. It's the city rather than a particular building. Even still, I question what “home” is. Going to Paris was an interesting thing, because it’s been one of my goals to get there one day, and we just recently had that two-day layover (which seems like it was years ago, now). I remember stepping out of the plane and thinking, “Wow… This is it.” It felt right just being there. I’ve heard several people on this trip say the same about Guinea. It all, in this case, seems to come from the feeling of satisfaction in where one is.
I found another statement I heard interesting (“I’m beginning to call this place home”) because it sounded as if the person was speaking of the compound we’re staying at. So now, rather than a city or country, it’s a specific building, or maybe it’s the fact that we’ve been staying here so long or the activities that have been going on here. So could home be a specific building?
“You’ll wake up in America and wish you were in Africa.” That was one quote our drum teacher, Amara, has said that stuck with me when writing this. As far as I know, Amara was born and raised in Africa. In this case, it seems to be the place or country of birth. Tradition, upbringing, culture… Definitely one of the many things we can see as part of a home.
Aside from my observations of the people around me, there’s one question I can’t help but raise. What about the population/citizens of Guinea? Some people would quickly question, “How can you call a place like Guinea home?” It’s certainly not unheard of, because Conakry alone is a city thriving of 2,000,000 people (or so I’ve heard). Is it a matter of WANTING to live under these kinds of conditions that people like myself aren’t so accustomed to? Not to mention how many people have been telling us how they want to go to America. On the other hand, to those that are here in Africa or have been to such a place, notice how many people are happy and welcoming. Never in America have I been welcomed to an island by a trio of musicians and singers. People will come up with a "Bonjour! Ca va?" and a handshake. How often does that happen in America under the circumstances of just passing by? And who here can forget the enthusiasm and support for the country's football team? There's energy everywhere, and it's not like any I've felt much of in America.

There was a conversation I’d read that I’m going to post at the end of this, but let me wrap this up with what I think on this: Home is what and where you make it. Comfort and safety are most likely the main focus. The very well-known phrase, “Home is where the heart is” comes to mind. Corny, but true.

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“…people underneath are sufferin’! And the city…is full of polluted air. …On top of that,…”

“Then why doesn’t everyone move…?”

“Dunno. Probably ‘cuz they ain’t got no money. Or maybe… ‘Cuz they love their land, no matter how polluted it gets.”

“I know. No one lives in the slums because they want to. It’s like this train. It can’t run anywhere except where its rails take it.”