The Real Meaning of “Home”

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As I’m sitting on a breezy veranda just outside the border of Accra, Ghana, the capital of my husband’s native country, I’m pondering the real meaning of “home.”

(Actually, we all enjoyed this lovely, breezy veranda while in Ghana, including my oldest son).

Early July 2023, my husband and I, with our three teens in tow (well, two teens and one 11-year-old who looks like a small man-child) headed to the airport to board a direct flight to West Africa. This vacation had been in the works since prior to the pandemic, when January of 2020 we decided we would spend some time that summer in hubby’s homeland. 

This was one missed opportunity where procrastination actually worked to my favor. Because weeks after discussing the idea and making half attempts to check for flights, the world shut down. And I heaved a financial sign of relief that we weren’t $8,000 in the hole for flights that suddenly felt like Russian roulette: board a plane; lose your life to COVID. (At least, that’s what it felt like).

Fast-forward to Summer of 2023 and we were finally comfortable with the idea of spending 3-weeks (gulp…..21 days; nearly all of July) galavanting around The Motherland, visiting family in the capital of Accra, perusing nearby plush resorts to capture that “vacation sensation,” and connecting with new friends and old family. 

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This was the trip where the kids would see the rich, beautiful side of their African heritage from their father, yet also see parts that I wanted to describe as “the suffering,” but who am I to interpret another culture or lifestyle as “suffering”?

The point is that I wanted my kids to experience glimpses of a different lifestyle, so as never to take for granted that which they are privileged to have and own in America.

But by even stating that I wanted them to experience a “different lifestyle,” and never wanting them to take their privilege for granted, I am recoiling at my words. Because to bring them and show them, “This is what Africa is like; aren’t you happy for what you’ve got?” sounds as if Africa is “less than…”

…that it’s inferior… 

…that “home” in Ghana, as we know it, doesn’t compare to “home” in America.

And that’s the problem.

When we imagine or experience what someone else’s “home” is, we draw inferences about the value and worth of their “home”:

• If it’s small, it must be inferior.
• If it’s on the “wrong” side of town (or the wrong side of the country), it’s undesirable. 
• If it doesn’t have all the “right” furnishings or look like the cover of House Beautiful, it’s hideous.
• It it’s big, the owners must never have to worry about money.
• If it’s in the “wrong” country/county/city, then it’s not as “worthy” as the homes in what is considered the “better” areas.

There are so many inferences we can draw from people’s homes based on our own biases. I’m sure there are many others that I didn’t even mention.

The Real Meaning of Home: Connection

But as I started to contemplate what exactly “home” truly means, I had a huge revelation:

Home is wherever you feel most connected to the people you love most.

Home is the place where your body and soul are nourished. 

Home is this place where you can’t wait to leave (21 day vacation, anyone??), but once you leave, you can’t wait to go return.

Home is the place where you could navigate in complete darkness because you know its curves and edges like the back of your hand. 

Home is the place you always return to, and open the door with a renewed sense of wonder and comfort.

And it doesn’t matter if your home looks like it was styled by a top designer on a popular HGTV program or if it has dirt floors.

Home is familiar. It’s comfortable.

The Real Meaning of Home: Pride

As I walked the steep hills of my uncle’s neighborhood before the sun rose, the sound of African brooms swish-swish-swished carried on the breeze. Before the day was started, homeowners (and for some homes, this was more likely housekeepers, since housekeepers are incredibly inexpensive in Ghana), tidied up their properties in the expectation of a new day.

While walking on an unpaved road near our uncle’s house, I glanced up an alleyway, flanked by dirt and rubble, and saw a young man swishing his African broom across the messy stones.

The word that leapt to mind was “pride.”

 

The Real Meaning of Home: Respect

I realized that no matter what your “home” or “space” is—it’s a place to be treated with respect and love. It deserves to be tended to carefully, because your home is a part of you. You should care for your home the way you care for your own body. Our home is an extension of our bodies.

 

 

When it’s clean and tidy, we feel mentally free and accomplished. We can think again. We feel happier and lighter!

Our home is a representation of our life’s happiest, saddest, most bittersweet, and joyful memories, too.

The Real Meaning of Home: Memories

Take a look around your own home and survey the stories behind the rooms, the objects there. What pieces bring your joy when you look at them? Do you remember bringing your children home from the hospital, or meeting your grandkids for the first time in your home? Or the place where your late spouse used to sit and watch the news?

Do you remember the moments you had there with the people closest to you?

(One of my most fond memories is when my kids were little and would toss themselves around the laminate kitchen floor in a heap of giggles with their siblings—a floor which has since been tiled over and is now only trekked on by size 10-13 teenage feet making repeated trips for snacks).

Those are memories that I will always cherish and remember when I walk into spaces of my home.

Our homes are an intimate space that hold the collection of stories about the things and people we love the most.

When we open it to accept friends and family, we are offering up a piece of ourselves to those we love.

When we change it, we are adding a bit of whimsy to our “familiar,” which feels exciting, yet still comforting.

This feeling of loving and pride and intimacy with our homes doesn’t matter if we live in the America or Africa.

Home is where your body and soul are nourished by the people who love you most.

As we walked through the rocky, unpaved roads through neighborhoods and markets, I saw million-dollar-esque mansions, and within 100 yards (or miters, if we want to be internationally correct), I saw impoverished homes.

I saw children imaginatively playing in their yards with discarded items.

I saw teams of boys, some with copious spectators, crowded around a field on a Sunday afternoon, engaged in thrilling games of football (aka soccer). 

These were communities of people coming together for connection. 

These were their homes; their neighborhoods. Likely the only home they’ve known. And the smiles of joy on their faces in no way signified that their experience was any less valuable than the experiences of my own family and community.

Who are we to judge someone else’s home as “less than” because we feel we are more privileged?

Take a look around your own home and community. Do you feel a connection? Do you have stories about its landmarks, its furnishing; its residents? Of course you do; we all do.

The Real Meaning of Home: An Intimate Experience

“Home” is part of the collective human experience, and it’s a very intimate experience that should be honored, no matter your geographical location.

The lesson we should be teaching our children is not that our home in America is “better”; but rather, it’s different. There are importances like access to clean and plentiful water for drinking and bathing. Or that we have central A/C that cools our home in the blaze of summer. 

But what we should be teaching our kids is that, in spite of how different our homes and environment may be to one another from America to Africa, what matters most about a home is about the love inside that home; the familiar surroundings; the connection to the community. 

Of course we want clean drinking water, stable electricity, and the ability to maintain our home. But outside of those things, humans are resilient and can live in different conditions without feeling like they’re being deprived.

My job isn’t to bring my kids to Africa and point out how their home is “so much better” in America, because it’s not. My job is to point out that there are different ways of life, and different cultural practices, and all are cherished and should be respected. 

 

At the very least, now that my kids have experienced a different way of life, that “home” and life (and even school) looks different for people in a whole other continent, perhaps they have a more worldly view other than the American view they’ve grown accustomed to.

Coming Home

After a wonderful 21 days connecting with our extended family, it was time to come home to America, to my suburban home in the DMV (the District, Maryland, Virginia metropolitan area).  As the plane made its final decent into Dulles Airport in Virginia, we exited the walkway, and the excitement emanating from me couldn’t be contained, despite the 10 hour red-eye flight.

We were home!

I had a new-found appreciation for consistently paved roads, traffic laws, well-cooked pizza, suburban homes in quiet neighborhoods, and plentiful hot water for showering. The list goes on.

Despite being happy to have finally arrived home and getting back to the coziness of my routines, there is also a bittersweet longing for the experiences we had in Ghana: the warm familial connections we developed and nourished…

 

I’ll miss the exquisite beach-like Ghana breeze while sitting outdoors on the veranda overlooking the capital…

I’ll miss our 4:30 a.m. morning walks on these super-steep hills…

…I’ll be craving the delicious street donuts and peanuts… 

…I’ll miss seeing numerous street vendors where I bought peanut butter, shea butter, vegetables, and more…

Although I’m not a big drinker, I’ll definitely miss bottles of wine I devoured, along with Ghanaian local Club beer. Every family we visited, they offered beer. I didn’t resist. 😉

…I’ll miss the delicious family dinners we shared at the table with Uncle Sandy as a family…devouring Auntie Pat’s authentic Ghanaian meals…(even the kids loved it!).

…And I’ll miss getting to know family and friends on a deeper lever through conversation, over food and drinks…

While this wasn’t a cheap vacation by any means (the airfare alone for 5 direct flights via United Airlines was just over $8,000, not including the resort and hotel fees outside of the time we spent at Uncle Sandy’s). 

But what we got in return was a deeper connection with our family and with my husband and children’s roots. This is a trip that they won’t ever forget.

It was worth the cost.

And as I recollect on my experiences in Ghana, a poignant thought has formed: Ghana has now become my second home–the place where I felt connected and loved.

In fact, my husband’s family starting building a “family house” in Ghana years ago, and we had an opportunity to go see the red brick house in its current state. The shell of it has been done, along with the wiring. 

Next up will be a plaster of paris ceiling and tile flooring. One day, perhaps next year, this house will be fully livable and–who knows–could get a Thrift Diving makeover. 😉 

But regardless of what it looks like, what I know for sure is that we will all have a “family home” to call home in Ghana.

I’ll be looking forward to returning “home” in a couple of years. 🙂

Have you ever thought about the real meaning of “home” and what it means to you? Leave a comment down below and let me know your thoughts on the meaning of home.

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