1. Where Exactly is Home?

Introduction:

“Where Exactly is Home?” follows the story of my parents, my two younger brothers and me, Susan, who emigrated from war-battered Britain, in the mid-late 1950’s, to Southern Rhodesia, Africa.

The effects of this move on our family were huge, as we struggled to adapt to such a different way of life. Only after further upheaval, and more long-distance travelling, did our family eventually settle in the city of Salisbury, Rhodesia.

However, we did not know then that we would not remain there for the rest of our lives, either.

When the family first went to Africa, I, Susan, was 9 years old. My two brothers, John and Peter, were almost 7 and 4, respectively.

Nowadays, as seniors, John and Peter live in England. I live in Canada. Throughout our lives, we have both benefitted from, and suffered because of, our somewhat unusual childhood.

I, for one, still sometimes ask myself which country represents home to me.

This is part 1 of a series of stories under the title “Where Exactly is Home?“.

1. Where Exactly is Home?

Where exactly is home? Did I ever have a home? Yes, of course, I did; several, in fact, but never for very long, since my parents and siblings, or just I, moved frequently, not only within one town or district, but also from one country to the next. I often think of the opening line of “Out of Africa”, written by Karen Blixen, under the pseudonym of Isak Dinesen: “I once had a farm in Africa…”, or the opening line, written by L.P. Hartley, in “The Go-Between”: “The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there”. I feel as if both could apply to me, except that we didn’t have a farm, nor did we live in Kenya, as did Karen Blixen.

The problem is that nowhere seems to be home to me. On 1st July, having lived in Ottawa for almost 35 years, I can sing as enthusiastically and patriotically as anyone else, “Oh Canada, my home and native land….” I am a proud citizen, and I love our national anthem. It brings tears to my eyes every time I sing it. Sometimes, though, I think to myself, “But this isn’t my native land, is it?” I wasn’t born here, a fact that anyone nearby can tell as soon as I open my mouth to speak, because I don’t have a true-born Canadian accent. I sound to this day decidedly British. But am I British? I was born in England, true, but have spent so long living in other countries. So often, if questioned, I find myself explaining that I have obviously copied my husband’s accent, since I didn’t have a British accent, when I first met him, in 1972. I had a very thick Rhodesian accent, which I have lost over the years.