We were at the bar at a Japanese restaurant in Nairobi, half-listening to the live Kenyan band, pausing between shots of vodka and glasses of wine, when my friend D asked me how long I had lived in Mexico City. Almost two years, I responded. Wow, he said, clearly surprised. “So Mexico is your first home.”
“My first home?”
“The first place you lived as an adult.”
“No, that would be Kampala,” I said.
“How long were you there?”
“And when you were there you worked, made money, paid bills, had sex, made friends, had an apartment, did all those things?
“OK, yes, that was your first home,” he said, satisfied.
Photo via Ugandan Insomniac