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People and Places

Tales from A trailing Wife - I have a home to call my own.

By Angela Barletta

The above heading sounds unimaginable at my advanced age.  But it has taken me many years to feel and believe it. I left South Africa in 1990, just after Nelson Mandela was released. Not to run away from a democratically elected new government that we demonstrated for in our student days; but to escape my mother-in-law. I happily followed my HH* around the world for all these years in fear of having my mother-in-law close by. But that is another story.

This morning when I woke up it dawned on me that my imminent move to Houston is not going to be as grim as I have been contemplating. The reason being that when someone asks me where my home is' I will have an answer.  No more hesitation wondering what life story I should tell them. No, just a simple short answer: Sanremo, Italy. Despite what my HH feels or thinks, regardless that this is not my nationality or language; irrespective that I had used this residence solely as a home base in recent years. During the past couple of months I was able to live in Sanremo for an extended period of time and thanks to the people I met locally, I have felt at home for the first time in years. For so long whenever the question arose of where I called home, I would stumble over my words; never knowing what to answer. I have been moving with my family every 4 years to a new country or continent even. My HH without hesitation mentions South Africa as his home and that his wish was to return there for retirement. For me SA was just another country I lived in. I had the best childhood anyone could wish for.

Cape Town enriched my life in so many ways. Who could not be influenced waking up each morning with a view of Table Mountain out of their bedroom window!  Who could not love being able to walk up the Kloof Nek Road, over the ridge with Signal Hill on the right hand side, and be at one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. Clifton Beach or Camps Bay Beach with its fine white sand  that I have not noticed often in other parts of the world. Who could not enjoy the weekly trips into the Harbour just down the hill to pick up your Harbour Pilot Dad from work, being surrounded by container ships, tug boats, sailboats or fishing boats with hardy fishermen calling out to you and seagulls dive bombing you in case you got to close to their catch. But I never felt South African. I always felt a foreigner. My HH and many friends cannot understand this. They keep forgetting that I was a first generation immigrant in South Africa speaking German as my mother tongue, that my early childhood was spent growing up in Namibia. I will never forget how the desert sand is as beautiful to me today as is Table Mountain.


~Table Mountain~

Due to this gipsy life we lead for the past 26 years I have felt homeless at times. Notwithstanding that we enjoyed the easy life on a compound in Saudi Arabia. Mansion living in Houston Texas with 5 en-suite bedrooms including palm trees surrounding a pool with a waterfall feature.  9th floor High-rise living on Victoria Island in Lagos Nigeria where the numerous power outages were heavy on the knees. Not to mention a luxury apartment complex called the Four Seasons Park in central Singapore on Orchard Boulevard. How then did I feel homeless, you may wonder?  We all know a house is just a building and a home is where the heart is, no matter where in the world it happens to be. This sentiment was shared on Facebook and I am sure that anyone who has moved numerous times will agree with it.

Yet somehow returning to Sanremo for the past 10 years, this bit of paradise became familiar. This town crept into my heart and under my skin. The fact that my happy hormones start jumping up and down the minute I take the turn off from the Autostrada towards Sanremo surely must mean I feel at home here? The cherry on the cake was being collected at Nizza Airport by my friend which was a new experience for me. Getting milk and bread before arriving home and having a cup of tea together was magical.  The fact that I received more than one offer of a ride home warmed my heart, combined with welcome back phone calls and messages this morning.  Gestures like these contribute to this feeling of belonging.

"So next time I get asked where is home I have a short and sweet answer. Sanremo, Liguria, Italy. I love it here and it is mine.  And when I get asked if I was Italian due to my German/South African/not so sure what kind of English accent  - I will just say SI - after all I am starting to feel Italiana."

*  HH  =  Handsome Husband

Monday, 1 February 2016    Section: People and Places
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