These young boys were driving their oxen home after a long days work farming along the Niger river. I can only imagine their joy arriving at their hut, eating a hot meal of rice and sauce prepared by their mother, followed by a welcomed night’s rest provided by a familiar mat strewn on the pounded earth floor of their home. Like most sedentary folk around the world, they would soon find comfort and peace in their familiar “nest”, surrounded by beloved friends and family.
This concept of “home”, which often includes a personalized physical location, feels alien to me. “Homeward bound”. What does this mean to those of us who belong to the nomadic breed? I am home in the unfamiliar, in the discovery, in the discomfort of the unknown. I am home close to God in prayer, surrounded by my children, as we take off on a new adventure to meet new cultures and novel lands.
Forever the vagabond, the untrampled path provides me solace.