My Real Home

The smell of egusi soup (Eh-gu-si soup) flowing from my kitchen always reminds me that home is more then just walls, its warmth and comfort. Home is like a beautiful portrait made from threads of America, Nigeria, Canada. Born in America, raised with discipline in Nigeria, and now calling Canada my home. When I think of these navigations, I feel lost and always ignore the fact that I never knew where I really belonged. The blend of Texas birth, Nigerian roots, and Canadian life yet still whispers voices of uncertainly. Is home the wide skies of Texas where I was born? The noisy vibrant markets of Lagos that shaped me, or the coastal towns of New Brunswick that I now call home? I question myself lost in transition. Is it the “Y’all” that made me? The “kni” (key-nee) that brought to where I am? Or the simple “hey” that I live in now? Memories snap to me in the speed of light. My first night in my room. Me dropping my bags immediately after school to go play outside with my friends. Our family’s devotion brings warmth and connection. We pray, share scriptures and express love. Finding peace is as quick as a cheetah. Then I realize from every loved one around me that home is a place where I can get that feeling of belonging, joy, and moments to cherish. Anytime I feel lost, I can say to myself “home is not just a building it’s a feeling, and that feeling will always come with me.” Anyone can tell themselves that even you. Thank you, Habitat for Humanity, for letting each kid across Canada to write and express their favorite place, Home.