Where I previously worked, the head of office would sometimes come by our wing (Program/Operations) in order to chat with us before he’d call it a day. In one of these, he asked what language we were using to swear with because that would indicate where our true home was. For several in the group travelling abroad in order to train or attend training, speak or participate in conferences, and visit successful projects, and for the few, secondments, adapting while there to social implications of language and dialect, has been a fixture in our calendars over the years so that the concept of home has blurred.
Understandably then nobody gave an immediate reply. We were stumped for the answer. We were trying to see the connection that language which one uses it to swear with has with home. In short, we were over analyzing the question and so failed to see the joke if any, and though we wouldn’t openly admit it, searching for a politically-correct response. One expects that from development workers. Then I broke the impasse and told him offhand, home is where my heart is and my heart is in the world. So then it was his turn to think, providing us more time to work out the right answers.
So where is home? I realized just recently that one also finds it around the dining table, among companions, kin or not, who are partaking of the same meal and together form a fellowship wherein each finds a home away from home.