Back in college, I used to live in a tiny dorm room. No bathroom, no kitchen and thin walls which meant not much privacy. I had to walk downstairs to take a shower, and my neighbor knew when I was on the phone speaking 'that language'. It wasn't my ideal living situation, but at my budget, that's the best I could get.

At the end of the day, liked to say "I'm going home". One day a friend laughed at me, reminding me I only stayed in a room, and a small one at that. "That is not a home" he said. To him, such a place isn't worthy of being called "home". It has to be a house to be called home. Or at least, an apartment. What I had was just a room.

In my defense, I argued "home is where I live". What makes it home is because I live there, and it has nothing to do with the architecture.

The dictionary says,
home /həʊm/ noun
"the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household."

Permanent though? But we all know nothing in life is permanent.

What is "home" to you? Is it the place where you spend most nights, or where most of your property is? Is it the place where you feel most comfortable, or where your family is? And does it have to be a house to be called home? Perhaps it's the neighborhood where you grew up and made so many nice memories. I imagine home means different things to every one of us.

It's six months and two weeks since I touched down at Entebbe International Airport, when I came back HOME.

I have had a great few months back. Family, friends, food, fellowship… all the F's I love. At first, there was a high. Being back home for the first time in three years and after a total of nine years away. It was/is great. Although after a some weeks, the high faded, and my new reality started to set in.

So what happens when home is not home anymore? Or at least it doesn't feel like home? Things that were once all you knew well, don't feel familiar anymore.

That first week, looking around church, the Reverends, the choir, the wardens… mostly new faces to me. I went to the youth fellowship, but I found I hardly knew anyone there. It was not 'my fellowship' anymore. Walking around the neighborhood at home, all the people I met I didn't recognize.

I found that the time keeping of Ugandans was annoying (as if I'm not Uganda). Walking on the streets, I'm paranoid and suspicious about anyone who gets close to me as though they're targeting my phone or wallet. Loading airtime, and buying bundles… it feels like too much hassle.

For nine years, Japan was my home. When I was in there, we had a phrase we used a lot in the international community; "in my country…". Foreigners talking about how they do things differently in their home countries. For example when we saw someone in a restaurant place their phone or wallet on a the table to hold it, we'd say something like "in my country you'd never think to do that. Even in your pocket it's still not safe".

When grocery shopping and fruit and vegetables were way too expensive, "In Uganda fruit is cheap. Most times we don't even need to buy. We have mango, guava and avocado trees at home." When they served me straight tea with no sugar… "in Uganda we always add milk and a lot of sugar. If there's no milk, at least we add sugar."

Now that I'm back, it's not "in Uganda", it has become "in Japan". There's a part of me that's still stuck in Japan, and consequently, I find that there's no shortage of things to compare to how they were in Japan. Unfortunately, most times I'm complaining or wishing things were better. (I hope none of my friends or family has a list or is keeping a tally of whenever I say "in Japan").

I see traffic lights, and I want to talk about how everybody in Japan obeys traffic lights. Pedestrians won't cross even when there are no cars. Stuck in traffic jam, I wish there were trains in Kampala to transport the multitude of commuters in and out of the city.

More than five months after registering, NIRA hasn't produced my card yet. And I know people who've been waiting longer. When I first arrived in Japan, we got our (then) Alien Registration Cards within an hour, with no errors. Yes, in spite of our weird foreign names.

When I arrived, I thought I'd equate my academic qualifications, register with the society of architects, find a job or at least an internship, and get my hard earned degree to work. All before much time passed. Long story short, that's not how it's worked out.

I've been going through something I describe as 'expectation adjustment'. It's a major adjustment. Not expecting things to work the way they did in Japan, but to take Uganda for what she is. I have a friend, whenever I start complaining or start a sentence with "in Japan", she says "come back home, Jonathan". Yes, I did come back, physically, but I'm not yet fully home.

The thing is, there happened a lot of change over the nine years. In some ways, home changed, but mostly, I changed. Most of the frustrations I've had, many other Ugandans don't get frustrated by the same things. That is because we see things, not as they are, but as we are.

Now, do I change back? Some people have advised me to just get used. Does that mean I stop trying to keep time? When on the road, do I drive or ride crazy like everyone else? That I look for 'alternatives' to get past a system that's taking so long? That I don't act kindly to strangers? That I don't give up my seat to someone who looks like they need it? That I don't give back someone's money or property when they drop it on the street?

I hope not. I believe not. I think not. There is a lot I learned from my time in Japan. I refuse to concede that 'coming back home' means I give up the good I learned from the Japanese and in every way conform to Uganda. Or that I stop expecting people to be descent human beings. Yes, home might not be or feel like what I thought it would. But I can redefine it. I will make it what I want it to be.

East, West, home is best. And that's what I'll define home to be.

In case you're wondering… I did/still do struggle with some things, but things are now looking up, I'm adjusting better.