One evening of fall, I was walking from school to my house as the sun was falling asleep behind the unmoving rows of trees and the lake. It was a smooth silky symphony of reds and yellows calming into the dark. A dark shapes of cows and people on the field next to lake created a canvas paint look to the whole scene. I was usually one of the last people to leave my elementary school. I spent a couple hours doing extracurriculars and another one or two doing my homework in the small school library. I could not take my homework home because there was always something going on in my house and it was loud and crowded. We had either a relative visiting from somewhere, or our neighbors’ kids making food and playing in the house. More often than not, we had people from church that gathered in my house after they finished their work day or whatever they did during the day. I had to help out entertaining them and praying and singing. Do not get me wrong, I loved doing all those things but I always prioritized school, which meant that I had to stay behind in school.
As I was getting closer to my neighbour, I saw Aunt Mulu from far standing outside her front yard as she always did, gardening and surveying every person that passed by. Right across from her house was Tesfu, a university dropout who spent most of his days surrounding himself with teenagers and teaching them philosophy. He says he was too smart for school and that he is better off transferring his knowledge to the younger generation. There were kids running around; doing cartwheel; playing mancala on hole dug on the ground and pebbles collected from lake shore. I said “hello” to everyone and stopped to chat with some of my classmates. The younger kids helped me catch up with I had missed while I stayed behind in school, what is happening in my house and any major news in the neighbourhood. I knew everyone by name, and everyone knew me.
As I approached Aunt Mulu’s house, she couldn’t help it smile her perfect twinkly smile. “How is my baby girl today? Did you show the boys what women can do?”. I smile and say “Yes, Aunt Mulu I am still the first in my class”. That was how our conversation always started. She took a personal interest in my school performance and my becoming a doctor. Sometimes I thought she saw her lost dream of becoming a doctor in me.
She offered me to come inside for snack.
“Aunt Mulu I am okay, thank you!”.
“I made freshly baked bread and I have some honey my sister brought from her backyard. Come, I will make you your favorite snack.”
“Aunty, I really don’t want to interrupt your gardening.”
“Silly, come in. You know, you like my daughter.”
I went inside. She makes the best toasted honey-peanut butter sandwich. She is the only person I have ever seen make this recipe. She might have invented it.
I left her house around eight. Very late. As I was walking towards my house which was only two doors down, I saw my neighbours trying to unload something of a trunk. I run down and helped take it inside.
I finally got home a little past eight. The walk from school to my house should be less than fifteen minutes but it usually takes me more than thirty minutes with all the stops I make and sometimes even hours and it is dark before I got home – like today. I loved it. It is my favorite memory of my childhood.
When I think of home, it transcends beyond the bricks of the house I grew up in. The culture I grew up in very community oriented and open door. Home for me is where I feel connected to the places and people outside of my house. It is a place where I feel safe and accepted outside of my house. Your neighbour and community is home for your house. Home is community.