Where is Home?

When we left our home on Valentine’s Day the sun was shining, our skins radiated a golden southern hemisphere summer glow. Twenty four hours later we were burrowed in a Chicago hotel room with the heat turned up full and snowflakes settling on our rented Camry outside. I crawled under the duvet mourning what we’ve left behind, hiding from what was ahead.

South Africa with its blue skies, open spaces, bright smiles and friendships that bind people like the gnarly thorn trees growing in the north was our home. Pastel sunsets across the Jo’burg skyline. White waves crashing on Fish Hoek beach. Dolphins visiting swimmers at the pier in Port Elizabeth.

The flat open spaces stretching across the Free State becoming more mountainous towards the coast. The Klein Karoo with its water retaining succulents thriving in the summer heat. The pale blue skies of the Langkloof with the smell of apple blossoms in the spring and ripe fruit at the end of summer.

The Knysna heads where the waves pulse and swirl around the rocks. The Outeniqua Mountain range and forests with ferns the size of trees. The Addo Elephant Park with its regal grey giants.

We left the heat behind for a wintery Chicago. Cotton wool flakes dissolving on bare hands. Red smudges on knuckles and blue digits. The cold was unexpected. Our windbreakers and tennis shoes did not prepare us for the ice winds. Fashion was snubbed for puff jackets and snow boots. Wool scarves and hats replaced flimsy t-shirts.

The airline lost our luggage. Our first priority was to find shoes. My husband refused to meet his new boss wearing sneakers and a t-shirt. The taxi driver suggested Oak Brook Mall, a ten minute drive from our hotel. The rand dollar exchange rate sunk in when we got to the till and had to pay three times more than what we would have ‘back home’.

Our driver didn’t re-appear at eight pm in front of Marshall Fields as promised and we sat just inside the door not wanting to wait in the cold, arguing about how we were going to get back to the hotel. We found an empty phone booth with a number for a taxi pasted on the side of the box. Later back in our room, we ate nuts and Pringles from the mini bar for dinner.

When the buzzer went off the next morning it was still dark and the white blanket had not disappeared from outside our window. First light brought a sense of wonder with it and we ran outside like children throwing snowballs. I cried all day in our room and had had a shower before my husband got back from work. I insisted on this move, the least I can do is pretend, I told myself as I spread rose red on my lips, patted concealer under my eyes.

We found an apartment in River North, on the fifty second floor with a balcony and a view of Lake Michigan and the Hancock building. A grey white city stretched out below us for as far as our eyes could see. Smoke spewed from the extractor fans on the rooftops around us and the cold settled into my bones.

A new country, a new life. I wondered where the sun had gone. Do these people ever see light? How can the days be so short? I hardly left the building. We had a business centre, library, gym, Wholefoods Store and a Blockbuster Videos inside. No need to set a foot out there, in the white unknown cold.

The days became weeks, the weeks became months. Daylight hours got longer and with it the heat and sun melted the ice outside and warmed our blood. Five months later we’d all but forgotten those cold dark days. We enjoyed free concerts in Grant Park, the Taste of Chicago festival, Lake Shore Drive’s L.A.T.E. Bike Ride, free Tuesdays at the Chicago Art Institute, lazy summer Sunday walks along the lake towards Navy Pier, lunch by the river and Yo-Yo Ma at the Ravinia Festival with stars shining from above.

I found other charms too. The grocery stores with nectarines in summer and whole isles dedicated to bread alone. Designer clothes on a budget at Feline’s. A library taking up a city block and stretching across seven floors with gargoyles protecting its four corners. Walking alone up State Street to where it crosses Superior after dark and not feeling any fear. Sitting in Borders on Michigan Avenue sipping on a latte watching the trees swaying and bodies rushing past the Water Tower.

Autumn came too soon but it brought a new world with it. One I’ve only seen in movies. Plastic pumpkins filled with sweet treats next to front doors. Children dressed up like they’re from another world. When Thanksgiving came we were invited into American homes to celebrate with families. Christmas shone bright with lights on Michigan Avenue and nativity scenes in front yards.

I realised then that home is not a single geographical place, but rather somewhere where you feel wanted, cherished and accepted. And although South Africa will always be my first home, I found another place to call home. For four years I called the city by lake home.