Home, where pain goes to rest

For Thulani Gqirana, home has taken on a whole new meaning.

- For Thulani Gqirana,

I lost my mom in November. 'Lost' makes it sound like there’s a possibility of her being found but it was so sudden that there’s no other way to put it. One day she was here - fine, dancing, laughing - then the next, gone. Lost. She was the last of her seven siblings, which means that on her side of the family, we looked to her for answers, for parenting, for family unity. My mom was home - to me, my sisters and our family. If one of us was going through something, we would come home. Just sitting on that couch was enough to make the pain go away.

Weeks before she died, we had an ongoing conversation about coming ‘home’ to the Eastern Cape for the holidays. The year before we had done a Cape Town Christmas, and in 2024, she wanted everyone home. And I cheekily told her I had a home in Cape Town because I have a house here.

She laughed, then seriously told me that inkaba yam (my umbilical cord stump) is buried in the kraal in Port Elizabeth, so that will always be my home, no matter where I go.