“Home is where I want to be. Pick me up and turn me round.”
Those are lyrics from an old Talking Heads song. They’ve been stuck in my head the last few days as my husband, John, and I have been driving around the greater Boston area looking for a new house. You see, when we bought our 800-square-foot condo four years ago, there were just two of us. But with the arrival of our daughter, Olive, earlier this summer we’ve quickly run out of room.
Now we’re looking for a place twice as big. And we’re debating what’s most important to us. Do we move to the suburbs for the schools? Or to stay in the city for the restaurants and shops? Do we want an old house with character? Or a gut renovation that’s move-in ready?
The more we see, the more confused we get. But yesterday, after looking at yet another place that was great but not quite perfect, I had a thought. No matter what type of building we choose, and no matter what the town or neighborhood, we’ll be happy. We’ll be together. And that’s what matters most.
That realization got me thinking about the many homes I’ve been invited into over the years while traveling for Oxfam. Whether tiny rooms or sprawling complexes, constructed of wood or tinder block, with tin or thatched roofs, they have all been modest by American standards. But each had a family that tended to it with loving care, hanging portraits of ancestors and gods on the walls, sweeping out every bit of dirt, and preparing elaborate meals for guests.
In southern Ethiopia, Loko dadacha built her house, with the help of neighbors. The latest fad in her village of Gutu Dobi has been to paint the outside walls with decorative patterns. Photo by Eva-Lotta Jansson.
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