Home has a meaning

Home can feel like its own little world when you’re eleven, especially when you’ve had to start over somewhere new. When I came here from Nigeria two years ago, everything felt strange at first. I didn’t know the streets, the weather felt different, and sometimes I felt scared and lonely because nothing around me felt familiar. But slowly, home started to grow around me, not just as a place, but as a feeling. It became the spot where once a month we have hotdog night that I wait so eagerly for, and everyone gets excited like it’s a tiny celebration. Everyone has their own unique way of making theirs exactly right. Saturdays turned into something I looked forward to because movie night made the whole house feel warm and full of life. Blankets everywhere, someone calling dibs on the best seat, and everyone arguing in a funny way about which movie to watch. Even though we’ve seen it before, it still feels amazing because we’re watching it together. And then there are the Uno games—loud, chaotic, hilarious moments where someone always ends up with a mountain of cards, someone else is laughing so hard they can’t breathe, and everyone yells “UNO!” like it’s a championship match. Those little traditions made the house feel less like a new place and more like somewhere I belonged to. Home became the place where I could be myself, where the sounds and smells felt familiar, and where the people around me made me feel safe. It’s where I learned that even after moving far away, you can build new memories that make you feel strong and brave. And now I know that home has a meaning. Thank you, Habitat for Humanity, for restoring hope to those without safe homes.