When you change your address very often, the word home loses its meaning. More even for the others. The other day, I was talking with my sister on the telephone. It was on speaker so my nephew took the chance to salute me. And question me.
‘Eme, where are you now?’
‘I’m at home.’
‘Where at home?’
‘In my home.’
‘Ok. But in what country is that???’
And so I realized that my nephew considers me a nomad. Could I be prouder?!
(Which reminds me of that time, almost two years ago, when before visiting me in Cluj-Napoca, my nephew asked my sister about the language spoken by the people living there. Serves me right!)