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There Is Always A Lot More Than Meets The Eye, Time Surely Will Tell
I am hardly a person who talks about myself, so much so that I believe that during the eight years of my stay in Canada, my newly formed community knows almost nothing about me. Retrospectively, I think this is a cultural orientation matter, as I don’t recollect anyone, especially the community elders, talk of their backgrounds. For example, I did not know most of my cousin’s maternal family’s side until the Covis-19 rules called for funeral attendee numbers to close family members. In essence, the new norms translate into reviewing who belongs to which family and the intimacy of funerals to prevent the spread of a global epidemic. A saying that is true for this case is this “nothing stays the same,” as my recent WhatsApp conversations with my mom have evolved to studying family trees. For mom, this talk responds to her hurt and guilt linked to missing the opportunity to moan with loved ones at such a dark historical existence. On the other hand, we both have a realization that we may never meet, or if we do, we both will have survived the worst case while leading completely different ways. Listen, homesickness does not accurately conceptualize my reality.
Let us agree that I am deeply Swazi, a person who lives with others without introducing myself. Luckily, this character is changing now. My name is Nombuso Makhubu, I am from…
