Coming Home

“Where are you from?”

“Where’s home?”
I never had a quick and simple answer. My West-African parents settled in Alberta by the time I was born, therefore I am a dual citizen of both countries. To top it all off I lived in the Middle East for 10 years before leaving for university.

There I was, a Canadian-born West African raised in the Middle East - talk about an identity crisis. I had always felt more Canadian than anything else. My earliest whimsical childhood memories had all taken place in Canada and those experiences were my most basic points of reference. Despite living nearly half of my life in the Middle East, its conservative nature was a frequent contradiction to some of my Canadian ideals. The blatant differences made me distance myself from the idea of ever really calling it home.

Our family had always been nomads of sorts. My entire life, my parents had never lived in Ghana. They had literally lived all over the world. I was unaware of the extent towards which this mobile lifestyle had affected me. Although I had travel and movement in my bones, my gypsy tendencies slowed and I began to feel tightening pull back towards a comforting familiarity.

In May 2006 I graduated from high school in Kuwait I was ready to “broaden my horizons” and move on to university. From day one, when the topic of university came up I had lined up Canada as my location of choice because simply put, it was home.  I would go back to this magical place where the air was clearer, the seasons completely altered the landscape and where you could always count on the best maple syrup.  Oh Canada! How I had missed you!

I faced my first roadblock on the journey during the university application process. I technically couldn't apply as a Canadian because I didn't have credit for the typical provincial grades. Because I attended a school in a foreign country and based on a foreign curriculum I had to send in grades as an international student. This inconvenience, however slight, should have been early evidence that I was not returning the same way I had left.

Eventually, I got accepted at a Canadian University, but that turned out to be the easy part. It only made sense that there would be a fair share of hiccups and challenges in making a physical and mental transition back to Canada.  But a short summer later I was slapped with a bitter reality during my first semester at university. Classes had started, my family had left, and the smallest storm cloud of uneasiness began to form above me.

Moving any distance from family can be a difficult adjustment for most people, myself included. This was compounded by the fact that my brother was studying on the other side of the country in Alberta and my parents were still living in the Middle East. The deep loneliness, frustration and apathy I was suddenly feeling were intensified by classmates’ complaints of having to drive an hour to see their family when I literally went years between visits. There was no one to bring soup when I was sick, no one to make sure I got to class on time, and no one to brighten a bad day with a good joke.

So much for coming home. Ironically I had returned to a host of strangers and a new social order where I was the architect; responsible for the construction, design, stability and endurance of a new life. For the last decade I had lived in the same house, gone to the same school and had the same circle of friends.

I had been a chameleon for so long; constantly adopting customs and traditions that weren’t mine. All of my cues taken from my parents and now that I had to rely on my own instincts I wasn’t sure which way was up.

I had to press the restart button and balance newfound responsibility with an innate childlike approach. From creating a new network of friends who eventually turned into family to reclaiming a curiosity for the unknown, I am slowly learning how to bridge.

 Although it was never obvious at the time, I can now reflect and understand the subtle ways my parents tried to help me prepare for a life of independence.

“What would you do if I wasn’t here?”

This was mom’s classic response anytime I asked a question that I was too lazy or apprehensive to figure out by myself. I always rolled my eyes in response but now I frequently find myself grinning in memory.

I’m still becoming more comfortable with a new idea of home. ‘Home’ to me is a place, concept and a feeling. Just like you and I, ‘home’ changes; it doesn’t always stay the same. Home to me is more than the place I had first memories. It is a collection of pivotal moments, triumph and loss alike, shared in a safe place.

“Where are you from?”

“Where’s home?”

I’ll never have a quick and simple answer as I continue to live, work and travel all around the world - but that’s okay. Even now, on the heels of graduation, I’m itching to move somewhere new. I’m planning on taking a year off to discover beauty and wonder of South America, but also to explore my roots in Ghana. For now I’ll say that “Home is where you lay your head” – at least until I come up with a better answer.