Home is encircled by an ocean. The air is salty and dense, the wind is strong and chilly. When the sun shines, it permeates every cell in my body and makes me want to stretch and expand so that it can cover me completely, paint me over. When it doesn’t, it calls Sister Rain down on us to drench us in unpredictable showers. Sometimes, it calls Sister Rain regardless. Sister Snow never visits when I’m in town.
Home is dotted by evergreen trees watching children playing in the cold, dim streets until it is too dark for either to see.
Home is a tin-roof sitting comfortably next to a brick-roof lying comfortably next to no roof.
Home is a kaleidoscope of colours. It anchors a kaleidoscope of memories.
But for today, home is where my heart is and my heart is with my mother.
So I will cast aside evergreens for greyscale streetlights and skyscrapers. I will sacrifice the shades of the township for the monotony of the city. I will rebuke the call of the coast in favour of the faint fake forest.
Fine. Give me the thin, predictable air of Johannesberg, where children know not the names of their neighbours for they are told not to talk to strangers that live behind high, towering walls.
I’ll take it.
I’ll make the trade.
Just let me see the face of the woman who warms my heart, come rain or shine.
Mama, I’m coming home.


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