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“they have no idea what it’s like

to lose home at the risk of

never finding home again

have your entire life

split between two lands and

become the bridge between two countries”

first generation immigrant - rupi kaur

I have been homesick this week. Perhaps it’s as simple as acknowledging that when things get hard I want to go home. Or it could be that the things keeping me rooted in this foreign country - the kids’ schools, my husband’s work, our roles in the community - are no longer the stable anchors we have relied on to justify our staying. It seems that with the pandemic changing the very things that tie me to this country, I am left wondering why I’m still here.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not too naive to think that home is either failsafe or free of suffering - I have only to call my sister in South Africa to be reminded that this is a global pandemic and hard things are happening everywhere. I also recognize that home may just be the memory of a place where there was someone to take care of me for a change - but with mom gone, that just adds insult to injury. However, I cannot deny the comfort I feel when I’m back in my homeland. It goes beyond the familiar foods and recognizable places. It’s the people and the unseen things like shared humor and ubuntu spirit that make me feel known and uplifted. It’s what makes doing hard things more bearable.

I know I’m not alone in feeling this way.

As an incidental immigrant I know I’m not alone in feeling this way. There are many of us the world over living a life of high mobility that is no longer limited to refugees, diplomats, missionaries, or the military. As the doors to the world have opened over the past few decades, global cultural mixing has become more the norm than the exception. There have been many benefits: an expanded worldview, cross-cultural enrichment, and adaptability to name a few. There have also been challenges and it’s these that I am feeling most acutely now: the rootlessness and restlessness borne out of living between worlds.

The realization that home might not be tied to a geographical place or defined by the relationships that made it so, has come to me slowly over the years of living abroad. What has changed, however, is the sobering fact that even if I wanted to go home, not only am I restricted by the roots my children have grown here but now I am also prohibited by a pandemic. Feeling like I have to ride out this storm without the tangible support of my extended family and the comfort of my culture, requires a new level of courage I have to dig deep to find.

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve found comfort in a song called Jerusalema, by South African DJ Master KG. As the rhythm connects my heart with my roots, my mind mulls over the words roughly translated below.

Jerusalem is my home

Guide me

Take me with you

Do not leave me here

My place is not here

My kingdom is not here

Guide me 

Take me with you

Perhaps we are all on a journey of returning home - a universal longing for a place free of suffering where we are known and feel like we belong. This gospel inspired song reminds me of the hope I have that such a place exists, and it is this hope that gives me the courage I need to navigate this unsettled world. So, as my children prepare to return to school next week, I will bravely put my roots back down in a foreign land to make it my own again.