The day had been long and hot, with the kind of heat that clings to your skin and refuses to let go. I had spent the morning going door to door, visiting households and checking in on families. The red earth clung to my sandals, my clothes were damp with sweat, and my legs begged for mercy from the long distance I had covered. By the time I finally returned to my host family’s homestead, I was totally spent and all I wanted was a bit of rest. My small room felt like an oven, so I left the door open to let in the breeze, stretched out on the bed, and quickly drifted into a heavy nap.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself face to face with a goat. Its horns sat majestically on its head and its big, calm eyes stared down into mine, completely unbothered by the fact that it had trespassed into my room. For a few seconds, I thought I was still dreaming. Then it bleated loudly and I screamed. The people that were seated outside rushed over, only to find me wide-eyed and pointing at a goat. They burst out into laughter as they opened the door for it to come out, and just like that, I had become that day’s highlight. I laughed along, embarrassed at first, but eventually, I realized something beautiful: I was no longer just the new person in the community, I had become part of its stories. From that day on, every time a goat wanders around the compound, someone calls out, “Faith, your friend has come for you!” And every time, we laugh together.

Integration, as I have come to learn, doesn’t announce itself. It happens quietly, through dusty walks, shared laughter, and small moments that catch you off guard. That “baby in the manger” moment with the goat reminded me that belonging often looks like chaos, comfort, and comedy all rolled into one. You stop trying to fit in and simply start being there, sharing in the heat, the dust, the humor, and the life of the people around you. It’s in the greetings shouted across the road, the shared cup of porridge, and the gentle teasing that means, you’re one of us now.

Now, whenever I think of that day, I smile. I can still feel the warmth of the sun, hear the laughter, and see the goat’s face staring back at me. That was the moment I realized that I wasn’t just visiting anymore. I was home; goats and all.