There’s just no place like home

THE holidays are on their way out. Thousands of fortunate people who had the means to travel, some far and some near, will return with some interesting but varied stories of the weather conditions, quality of accommodation, the places visited, the people they met, food they either enjoyed or hated, airport hassles, etc.

No two individuals, even travelling together, will report identical experiences.

But every one of them, almost without exception, will return home, whether from abroad or locally, with the same sigh of relief, expressed as: “Phew, I am so glad to be home!”

This sentiment is a common one regardless of whether one is returning to a classy mansion, a humble home or even an informal dwelling.

The feeling is not very easy to analyse. Familiar people, friendly surroundings and a sense of belonging all contribute to some semblance of security.

We are self-imposed aliens, strangers and foreigners abroad, and even while travelling within the same county.

Modern modes of transport allow return tickets to be purchased easily, accommodation to be pre-booked, and all arrangements made online.

Very little is left to chance. But we finally still yearn to get home and feel safe! Which brings me to the point of reflecting.

What courage did it take for our forefathers in, for example, the villages of India, totally seeped in poverty, illiterate, etc, to venture to take this extremely bold step to leave their homes without much hope of ever returning, during a period of world wars, depression, British slavery, lengthy travel, poor health and overcrowding?

Did the idea of “home” ever have an opportunity to enter their minds? Is this concept of “home” only meant for the fortunate few, even during present times, when hundreds of thousands of refugees are constantly on the move?

EBRAHIM ESSA Durban