Residential Confusion

We are in New Zealand. We are in New Zealand. We are in...

I remind myself of this again, then again, and then once more. Occasionally I have to do it another time. If I was confused while leaving Niger, then what the heck am I now?

Where am I? Where do I belong? Where will I live?

I am in New Zealand. New Zealand. New Zealand. Home? Yes, home. But it doesn't feel like it. The countryside sure looks like New Zealand. But still I am not convinced. I know I am in New Zealand, and yet some part of me needs to be constantly reminded.

Sitting somewhere eating dinner: We are in New Zealand! It hits me like a new revelation, as if I didn't already know that. Many times since the same kind of thing has happened. When will I finally realise that I am home, in New Zealand, to stay?

I have been living out of a suitcase since at least a week before leaving Maradi. A month now. I have lost all sense of belonging. When do I belong, anyway? It will be another month before we can actually move into a house, to stay for a while. I am feed up with not having my own place. I don't have anywhere that is simply mine. And what's more, the house we move in to has only three rooms; I have to share with my brother who is 7 years younger.

Two months after we move into this house, we have to move again. After all, we are only house-sitting it for a few months. We have to find a house to live in. We have to move once more, into that house. Months will drag by with still not having moved into a house for good. I know I will not be able to settle back into New Zealand life without being moved into my own room in our own house. Yet that day is months and months away.

If I am confused now, if I am lost now, what will I be by then?