I grew up homeless. I did not live on the streets or anything like that, but we never owned our own home. We always rented the homes of others to live in. I grew up with my maternal grandmother (mama), my mother, an older aunt, my youngest aunt (maame) and later a cousin and my younger sister. To my grandmother’s credit, she did everything she could to make these spaces resemble homes and to a very large extent she succeeded. We never missed a meal, my grandmother was the most creative when it came to that. I am sure she would have been an avid competitor in modern day cooking challenges that require the level of creativity that mama effortlessly conjured up at meal times. My tuition through elementary school and that of my youngest aunt were paid usually in parts but they were paid. I did well in school and would occasionally be a representative for the school at competitions. I remember a time or two I was graciously spared because of what I did for the school when names of students were called to be sacked for unpaid tuition and my name was called. The following day, mama would of course conjure up the money somehow to settle the arrears. Despite all mama’s efforts, there was always this sense of impermanence that pervaded the transient experience of having to move every few years.
My childhood to teenage years were filled with simple disciplines and experiences that have become the foundation of the way I live even now. I remember waking up in the morning to pre-assigned chores, mama making us breakfast or maame and I having to go purchase Koko (porridge) depending on what day it was. My favorite was when my grandmother would make a jug of a beverage we would refer to as “tea” regardless of what it was (milo, ovaltine, lipton, or other) and would distribute it as evenly as possible around the table to avoid anyone crying foul. The homes we occupied were usually two bedroom homes and usually the spatial distribution was such that I got the floor to my grandmother’s room as my sleeping place. I can see the mats I used on different occasions and can smell and hear the sounds of those days strangely still. I am referring to these spaces as homes and not houses because for me those are arguably interchangeable. I know people have the opinion that house refers to the structure and home refers to the sense and I completely agree, however, I find it hard to think of home without the structure itself. So grant me the permission for the sake of this story to use the two interchangeably.
I was very close to my grandmother, she loved me and I her. She was borderline overprotective and guarded me with the fierceness of a wolf. I always felt safe when she was around and thought less of the harms of the world because I had an advocate. Once there was a robber in the neighborhood who in an attempt to escape in the middle of the night jumped the wall between where we lived and the neighbor’s home. The section of the wall he chose was where my grandmother’s room and mine was. That night strangely I had barely slept and so when I heard the sounds of “Ewie Ooh!” (meaning thief Ooh!) being resounded through the neighborhood my eyes quickly opened and saw the man climbing the wall. I cannot remember exactly what time it was but I could see the guy through the window climb up the wall and jump into the neighbors yard. As if my grandmother had awoken instinctively before me, she spotted the same and started the neighborhood reprise of “Ewie Ooh”. The incident fueled an even more unsettling feeling about security and a sense of home. What if the thief had made where we lived the target. I could not imagine the implications of that thought. Interestingly, I did not feel any less safe with mama, however I could not help wondering, “If she is protecting me then who is protecting her?”
I was also very close to my mother and loved her very intensely and she loved me. My mother was one of the kindest souls that walked the face of the earth. She knew how to make anyone feel included and had a nickname or a joke about everything. She was the queen of nicknames and everyone had one. My mom and Grandma did not always see eye to eye but their love for each other was extremely intense. If they had a disagreement it was often intense but you better not be the one to take sides because they can equally jump on you together for interfering with their quarrels. Say what you must, but I believe their immense love for each other and strong bond is what subconsciously caused a lot of their rifts. I believe each wanted the other to be something they considered the best that the other did not see. As a child their rifts often bothered me but I learned to navigate them by trying to stay neutral. I desperately wanted to see them both happy but my mother always seemed happy anyway because I think she found joy in seeing others happy. She was great at making friends which is evidenced by the number of people who still remember her from the different places we lived. Some of the characteristics that allowed her to navigate new spaces came naturally to her but I could also tell that having to create new bonds in different area codes was in some ways exhausting for her, and that having a permanent home would have fostered some stability for her.
There are arguably no perfect situations in life and I am intensely aware of this truth, however I believe there are ways to make sure to strive to attain close to ideal situations and home ownership was one of those ways. Having your own home meant you could implement ways to secure it and a high level of security meant that my family would be safe. At the time, I was quite young and all I had were my hopes and dreams however I made a silent commitment that if it is within my power, I would make sure that my family had a home of our own.
