Each time I was away from that house, be it at boarding school or at university, I would feel homesick – as most people do – because the familiarity of the house and its grounds, my family members, and everyone else who made up the hustle and bustle of family life, provided me with a sense of security and belonging which I couldn’t find anywhere else. More than anything else, what made this place ‘home’ were the memories that lived and breathed through its walls.

As time went by, the house I once called home lost its prestigious status. One by one, its inhabitants moved out and moved on until nothing was left of it but the ghost of memories trapped within its walls. For the past couple of years, I’ve seemed to float about like a nomad with no notion of a place called ‘home’ and I remember how, ten years ago, fantasizing about going back to Kotto at Christmas or during the summer holidays to hang out with my family, would have brought me a sense of peace. Now I reflect on those times with a longing that cannot be satisfied. And like a thirst that must be quenched, I am relentless in my search for a new home away from home.

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