I’m sitting under a mango tree, staring at a cow. In none other of my homes could I do this. In this home, I walk through other people’s yards to get home. As I walk, I pass by smiling faces and joyful calls of, “Dienabu!”, my name in this home. I pass by families that just two weeks ago I had never met, and now feel like home. In none other of my homes could I have a family of 500, the population of this home, Temento Samba. In this home, I see a newly born goat every day. In none other of my homes could I do this. In this home, two boys on bikes have just stopped as I write and are pointing at various objects asking what they are called in English. In this home, I learn and teach simultaniously. I want to spend as much time with my family in this home because tonight is our goodbye party and tomorrow is our last day. Because of this fact, this yak about my home will be short. It is short, but I want to emphasize the fact that Temento Samba is home. Each house in this home is open and kind. Each family member in this home greets you with a smile. This home is like no other, and I know it is home because I love so much and feel so loved.