Third culture kid! Nomad! Beast of no nation or whatever phrase was apt to describe isolated souls like me. I’ve had most tossed my way. You see, despite a moderately structured life, a large chunk of it has been spent completely disassociated from my immediate family. I started the year with hopes of changing that. I was going home – to the land of my father.

The very concept of home is one I have spent a sizeable part of my life trying to come to terms with. Does it need to be brick and mortar and stuffed with musty piles of hopes and fluctuating memories or the sum total of love and affection you give and receive from those you hold dear for it to have any significance? Truth be told, I had no idea, but it would be a step up from the periods of isolation that occasionally drifted in on these shores of numbing greyness.

Home, and most especially family, has over the past few years begun to take a more prominent role in talks and aspirations I strive for, because having lived in thirteen different countries (most of them alone), I have desperately sought a place to unwind, disrobe and let it all hang out without judgment or fear of reprisal. As a black man having to live in and live up to a myriad of perceptions, home was a chance to unmask and just be me. The key question for me was ‘would I even know or understand its significance when faced with it?’

The short answer is yes! With over a decade since my last visit, I was filled with equal parts trepidation and cautious excitement. In truth, I didn’t know what to expect, but I know what I hoped for.

The first thing to hit was the heat and the thick kaleidoscope of fragrances that assaulted my nostrils as I stepped off the plane. However, what became noticeable to my 110kg frame was how light I was on my feet as the weight of perceptions and inquisitive white gaze faded away. I felt free and that was before I noticed the group of wailing forms running towards me. I was home.

I could talk about the blast of colours. I could wax lyrical about the sweet sounds of my not too distant past and the future of my kids. I could expand on the many and deeply enriching and revealing talks and time spent with family, but I’ll leave those much more personal accounts for another time and place.

What I will say is that the trip back home was freedom and a chance to reinforce my sense of identity. Despite our ease of connectivity with the rest of the world, many of us from the diaspora lose what makes us who we are. Returning to the place of our forefathers helps in our unburdening. Even more so as need our strength for the inevitable trials and tribulations to come.

–VIC BASSEY, words and images