I miss home

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I miss home..

I miss the shouts of welcome that greets me as I enter my father’s courtyard. My mom’s silent and yet proud gaze, speaks to me, telling me she approves of what I am becoming.

Her child.

The one who likes to push boundaries.

I miss my her.

I miss the familiar hustle and bustle that tells of a city that doesn’t sleep.

I miss home, home is in Africa.

I remember the way the harsh sun heats up my skin, with beads of sweat forming on my face, almost blinding my eyes, reminding that I am back where I Should be.

My mind remembers the humidity that comes with being home.
The air is poignant with it.

I remember.

I miss the meals, the oneness, the feeling of rightness, that comes with sharing family evening meals, our bonding time, all of us in a circle, sat on the floor, trading banters, voices raised in excitement as story after story, rolls off the tongue of each member of my family.

The nostalgia hits me, the longing hits me like, covering me like a blanket, I am sad, irritable, cranky, and filled with yearning.

I miss my home,

I miss me, you see, home is me also.

I miss the feeling of completeness that creeps in subtly in an All too familiar way that isn’t invading.
This is what home gives me and even more. I can’t explain it.
You see, it’s just there.

These feelings.

Oh. I miss the scent of musky sweaty bodies of kids playing in the open, the innocence played on their faces as they run along in careless abandon. No care in the world.

I would give anything to see that right now, but I can’t. Not just yet.

I miss home.

Home calls to me.

My Africa,
my land,
my birth place.

What wouldn’t I give to be home again?

Home beckons..

Soon.. I can’t wait.