It's not possible "to pass through" Angola

I’ve “passed through” and even “stayed” in many countries, many towns. Today I live in England, a place my husband and daughters consider “home”. What about me? For 17 years I’ve been trying to convince myself that I’ll get used to it - and I have, no doubt. However, I can’t really call it “home”.
I love going to Portugal to visit my parents. I prefer the milder climate of Lisbon to the cold weather I get here. However, I can’t call Portugal “home” either – no surprises there, I never really lived in the country.
Sometimes I wonder whether I would feel “at home” if I went back to Luanda. The town has changed a lot since I left in 84 and it will go on changing thanks to the amazing economical growth it’s going through. If I went back, would Luanda be a stranger to me? Or would my heart recognize it as one would recognize a first love after many years despite the age and the wrinkles? After all, it was not the political regime I loved, or the buildings and monuments, but the land, the people. The land is terribly scarred by all the spilt blood but it’s still the same land. What about the people? Has all the suffering changed them?
I didn’t “pass through” Angola. And when I had to leave, a piece of me remained behind, and I brought a piece of her in my heart. It’s not enough, but it helps to keep me sane.