Home: When shall I see my Home?

Home can be anywhere you feel safe.

This is my second input with me throwing myself into the writing challenge. There is no growth without a beginning, hence the thought of the source in from cradle - Telling the African story. Nobody lives forever, but while we live, we require a place to call home.

A home is a place where we feel safe, it can be anywhere, the school, dormitory, lavatory, or the four walls of the room, for women sometimes it is the Kitchen, for some, it's their children, while some it's the Walk-in-closet. Looking at the history of nomads, who move from place to place, at every resting point they make the environment their home, and as the journey continues, a new home is formed.

The excellence of this was later known in the film-Jumong. Some nomads were called in to fight the cause of the invasion. Jumong assured them of a resting place, a home, and they agreed. No matter what we do in life, we will always want to have a rest. The Yoruba proverb writes "A home is a place we go after the farm works."

Home is where the stool waits for the bottom to come to sit on 

For a newborn baby, the Yoruba tradition will say " It is the home will look into, before naming a child". What can we do without a home?

If a person has an outward attitude, the elders will ask "from whence he comes, who is the father?" The things in life center around home.

Home, When shall I see my home? My home is a place where I have to trek to and from a farm not because there are no other softer means to use, but because the athletic life of my father will not allow him to go the other means. This made me 100% nature of my father. A home is a place where I cant take what does not belong to me home. The eagle eye of my father will fetch it out, and be punished accordingly. A home is a place where no other food will be eaten once it starts raining, except roasted and boiled maize in the absence of same, it's hot Eba and Okra soup or Egusi or Efo-riro with coiled fish, Ponmo and orisirisi (variety) that will do justice.

A home is a place where we are taught not to pick anything, especially money on the ground, once we don't know who dropped it, or we are not told to pick it. This singular act made me lose some money someone threw at me, while I was on my way to school. Upon getting home, I was told, I was the one who threw you that money. So painful! It was a journey of no return. What is home for you?

Home, still was for me a place of transformation, transforming the unlikable habit into the good. It was a place where I received the most sincere applause. After every term is an end-of-the-year party, where I am being called out for a gift, and another is on the way for my name. This was my home, it made me who I am. Yet, I long for a home more special.

Home is where there is freedom

Clocking adulthood, home for me was a chest to rest my head, it was the love for natural milk of the rib taken away from me, the home became the freedom to have and to bring anyone I hunt, it became a night of enjoyment, the home became the beginning of my first date at 17, the home became a place I could go out to watch the champions league at an odd hour and still have a place to rest and a mother to ask me who won. Where can I call home more than this?

Yet, I have not reached the exact home, Home later became a place where I shared a bed with a friend in the hostel, soaking Garri and spaghetti and my heavenly cherished homemade meals. Home became the table I rest on while thinking, daydreaming about the next design, the upcoming text, and the fasting and prayer activities in the church.

Home became the Architecture studio where a lecturer comes to get his assignment around 2 am, the home became a place where I go to pray at night, a mountain a secluded place where I cry my heart out to the Lord.

Home later became a place, I wish I could be home. When shall I see my home?

Then I sing;

Home my home *2

When shall I see my home

When shall I see my native house

I will never forget my home.

As I pen this, I hear my mother's voice calling, the summer is gone, and all the road is falling, and if you must go, and I must pipe. I whisper to her, when the valley is white as snow I will be here in sunshine or shadow. Oh mama, I love you so.

The mother's breast is sweet, together will we take of it, together we came, together we will go.

Home. The journey won't be sweet to extent that, the house owner won't return home.

Home sweet home,