Motherland.

A whirlwind week at home.

---

Walking through the airport corridors, well before I reached passport control, I started singing ♪Welcome to Cape Town! It burst out of me. Without meaning to, I found myself serenading the Europeans that deboarded the plane alongside me with a foolish smile plastered across my face. I involuntarily jived down the passageway, singing out loud, singing to my city, overjoyed to be home again.

My mom hardly waited for me to get through the arrival gates at Cape Town International before she ran to me and scooped me up in an embrace. Five months since she’d seen her boy, and eleven since he’d set foot in their hometown. Concerned that she (or indeed the both of us) might be carted away by security, I slung my bags over my shoulder and crossed over to my father, who stood patiently behind the barricades, no less eager to greet his son. Soon we were in their car. Despite the unyielding, frigid winter that has shocked Cape Town this year, I rolled my window all the way down to breathe in the air. South Africa is in my blood, but it’s been almost a year since I’ve had it in my lungs. I only managed to cobble together five days of leave to spend at home—the remainder of my allowance for my one year au pair contract in Berlin. Despite the one short week I had, I managed to see most of my loved ones face-to-face, get a taste of the ocean and pile my plate high with braaivleis (thanks to my uncle, who emptied his freezer of every steak he could find to give me what he called a ‘proper welcome’). Before I knew it, and before we were ready, I was on a plane again, waving goodbye.

This homecoming reminded me of the last notable one: returning after nearly five months abroad, working in New York and visiting a few friends I had made in the States in their home cities. My mom had barged past the queues to hug me then, too.

As a child, I fantasised about travel. I dreamt of visiting Scottish castles and Croatian coastlines. Dad and I often watched outdoor films and marvelled at the adventures on screen; folks surfing in Iceland or mountain-biking through Colorado. Before the U.S. trip, I had been to the UK twice to visit family and friends. Adventurous as those holidays were (flying a few thousand kilometres from Cape Town to London alone at eighteen), my time in America was an order of magnitude greater in every respect. Manhattan and the Niagara Falls and a thousand kids at camp and twelve seemingly endless weeks of summer and falling in love...Planting my feet on South African soil after a head spinning adventure of my own made me look back at that kid. I’d added a good few chapters to the story of my life that he’d never have dreamt of.

Shortly before leaving to the States, my ouma gave me some money. I put it towards a little Sealand sling bag, just big enough to fit my phone, camera, wallet and keys. I didn’t want to lug a clunky backpack around the city; not in the sweltering, sticky New York summer. I was really excited to get the bag, not only because of the images my mind conjured when I imagined wearing it abroad, but because I had drooled over the bag while window-shopping at the Sealand shop for months. The design, the rugged materials, the brand story, everything just grabbed me. When I showed her the bag, Ouma wasn’t very impressed. I think she had wanted me to spend it on lunch in NYC or to get myself a touristy t-shirt. I explained to her that the bag was much better than any of that. The bag would go with me everywhere I’d go, it wouldn’t just be indicative of one city, but of every city and country I set foot in. And, as a home-grown, barefooted Capetonian, I’d be bringing a piece of just-as-proudly-South-African gear with me to see the world.

I expected to take my little Sealand bag to a city or two in the States, but we went far further than I imagined. It was with me at Niagara falls and in Manhattan. It was with me in Ithaca and Cooperstown. I took it out West, to Yosemite and San Francisco. Though I planted my feet on the ground in Cape Town for a good few months after journeying across the U.S., they were soon in the air again as I started my next chapter in Berlin. I have been blessed with far more opportunities for adventure than I ever could have hoped for. London, Dublin, Edinburgh, Cologne, Munich, Paris, the list goes on. Though it sometimes stings that I’m not home, each new adventure I go on, I take a piece of it with me in the shape of my Sealand bag. I’ve started to embroider the flags of each country into the strap, to keep a record of all the places we go together. Quite miraculously, my collection continues to grow. I am beyond grateful. This kid from Cape Town and his little bag from Stellies are seeing the world. While I was down, I visited my ouma in Stellenbosch and showed her all the flags on the bag she had gotten me. I had a foolish smile on my face, then, too.

---

The coffee shop I met my ouma at was right across the street from Sealand, and (predictably) I returned to Berlin with one extra jersey than I’d packed. If you enjoyed this journal, please subscribe.