I was not born in Israel, but it is my homeland

When this year's Olympic fever infiltrated the hospital where I work, I didn’t think it would have an impact on me.  

Colourful streams of flags from various countries decorated the entrance to my ward. Each morning, new ones were added, as a shout out to the staff members from those lands. First the Zimbabwean, then the Chilean and the Nepalese flags, followed by many more.

“Is yours up there?” the ward clerk asked me, assuming that like most Australians, multiple flags flew in my heart.

“Yeah, Australia is up there,” I said. “And South Africa is up there too, that’s where I was born.”

As those words left my mouth, it struck me that I’m not truly from either of these places.

“Where are you originally from?” is a question I receive almost weekly. Perhaps my slightly darker skin shade, or the subtle differences in my accent, prompts the enquiry.

When I answer “South Africa” it never seems to satisfy them, and actually, it does not satisfy me. It is certainly a big part of me and I carry vivid memories of my childhood there. The vibrant, warm and rich culture of South Africa, its history and its spirited people have a place deep inside me. So do the beggars at each traffic light on the way to school. Their extreme poverty and indignity – the legacy of apartheid – were plain, even to a child. For the first twelve years of my life, their suffering shaped my thinking.  

Those formative years deepened my appreciation of life in Australia, and of the privilege of making this free and prosperous country my home.