Take me home, country roads
I’ve been home from Togo for a week. But home feels different now.
On my last day in Togo, I sat in the lobby of our hotel, waiting for the van to arrive. Our luggage was piled waist-deep around us, and a live band played in the restaurant just next to me. They played a repoirtoire of jazz and American music, and I couldn’t help but laugh as the immortal words of John Denver floated through the humid air.
Take me home, country roads, to the place, I belong…
And here I am, a week later, home. But every night I wake up, thinking I’m still in Africa. I panic and leap out of my bed, feeling in the dark for the lights, the windows, anything. Nothing is where it should be.
And when I finally find the switch, I stand in the middle of my room, squinting at the bright light, my heart pounding. Part of me is relieved–I am in my safe, comfortable house, in my safe, comfortable neighborhood where everyone speaks English and I don’t have to worry about drinking the water.
But the other part of me feels–I don’ tknow. Sad? Disappointed? Empty?
Soon my heart slows, my breathing evens out. But there is still that ache, in the center of my chest. It stays there as I turn off the lights. As I crawl back into bed.
I know I am home.
But home will never be the same.