HOME IS WHERE THE HEART SLEEPS

I have been asked, even by family, what it is I left in Africa for me to always think about. What could be so overwhelmingly enthralling that I wouldn't focus on getting a good job here in the States and just living a long life of luxury here in exile?
I have given this question more thought than people realize, and I have come to the conclusion that my heart, simply, is not here. I am here physically, but, spiritually, I'm sailing the vast savannah, scaling the beautiful peaks, and flowing with the majestic rivers. My heart's feet beat down on the dirt paths well-etched on the fibers of my mind, pounding on the compressed memories, each one reminding me of a giggle or tear of long ago.
The Africa I knew as a child was a paradise. It was charming but it's belly rumbled with overflowing venin. I can't claim it as the land of my birth, but it raised and nurtured me the way my birthplace would have done had it had the opportunity to. As it was in my personal life with my mother birthing me and not being able to raise me, so it was with the land. Africa, which had given its blood to me through my father, took care of me the best way it could.
It showed me its beauty and its ugliness; its charm and its repulsiveness; its head and tail. It bestowed upon me the ability to see beauty in all its ways. To see order in chaos. I learned to expect reward or chastisement with every action. All this was engraved on the walls of my heart.
Today, should you ask me what I like most about Africa, I wouldn't tell you that it's landscapes, nature, or even people; but rather the idea...its essence. Africa is an Idea that beckons, challenges, and brutalizes should you not be up to the challenge. It requires nothing short of a selflessness and humility that is often touted by foreign religions. It's a feeling that all will be alright even if you are not physically present to see it all well-aligned.
That is the hope that drives many in exile whose hearts, like mine, simply have not left that beautiful landmass. Soon, I hope to visit the land of my mother - the land whose ears felt the feeble first wails of my bewildered soul- but, even that, will not change the love I feel for my mother Africa. Every night, my heart leaves my body and sails on the night breath to the land of my ancestors to sleep and renew for the rigors of the next day.
That is why I say home is where the heart sleeps. Africa is where my heart sleeps. Africa is my home.