I’ve just got back home from going home for my Grandpa’s memorial. Confused? Now you have a glimpse of what it’s like to live somewhere other than where you grew up. Zimbabwe will always be ‘home’ to me. Specifically my parent’s house in Harare. Where the one floorboard squeaks and I still expect the kitchen to be shades of green with the stove by the door instead of the smart new wood and granite counters after the renovation. Where, without thinking I curl into ‘my’ couch to watch TV and my body moves with a subtle hip sway through the dining room into the passage. The most efficient route honed through the years so that now it’s subconscious.
Spending time with the family was great. Yes it was a sad occasion but a good sad. We sent Grandpa off in fine style. Lots of family, lots of ‘remember when…’ stories which usually brought belly laughs and fond reminiscences. Lots of whiskey. Some deemed unfit to drink and thrown into the pool unopened. The fished out again when all the rest had been drunk. Aunts & cousins not seen in many (far too many!) years. Catching up, sharing, laughing, crying but above all, celebrating and remembering I think Grandpa would have loved it.
Then leaving Harare, peering down through highveld haze trying to spot the Limpopo and note the exact moment we pass from one home to another. My sister and I saying goodbye in the airport, preparing to fly to opposite ends of our adopted country. Spooky landing in the typical Port Elizabeth mist*, the road home familiar even in the the dark. And finally, home.
All photos from my Instagram. Click for more!
*More on that in another blog post-I’m still finding the words. It was magic and scary and spooky and ever so interesting!