What’s a place you visited that felt like home?
Moshi in Tanzania felt like home. That is strange, because it is nothing like my home in Australia.
Mount Kilimanjaro rises only about 30 kilometres away, so close that it seems to preside over the town. You glimpse it above buildings and along ordinary streets, its snow-capped summit part of the background to everyday life.
Calls to prayer from the local mosques drift through the air. Churches are packed early in the morning. The worship is joyful and energetic.
After one service, everyone gathered outside in a large circle for an auction. People who had little money brought goods or produce instead. Others bid for what had been donated, with the money going to the church. More than once, a successful bidder called out, “For the preachers.” Before long, we were loaded up with produce. There was far more than we could possibly eat, and of course we could not take it with us when we left. So we passed it on to the local bishop to distribute to people who needed it.
What stayed with me was the generosity. Some of the people giving did not have much. But generosity did not depend on wealth. People gave what they had, and somehow that created a sense of abundance.
The other thing that made Moshi feel like home was that the people did not disappear when the visit ended. Relationships formed there have now lasted seventeen years. People who were once strangers became friends, and they have remained part of my life. Perhaps that is what made Moshi feel like home.
Home is not always where things are familiar. Sometimes it is where people welcome you, live generously, and remain part of your life long after you have left.
The Afterword 
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