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The last time I visited London, it was on a British Airways flight from Nairobi to Toronto. The flight got delayed—by more than seven hours, I think. I planned visiting Hamid and waiting at the airport for what felt like an eternity. That memory gave this trip its name: The Eternal Days of London.

This time, it’s been eternal in a different way—endless sunshine and long summer days (4 is to 9 30 pm). We arrived last Friday, and now, eight days later, I find myself reflecting on everything we’ve experienced.

Each year, I feel the world shifting, cooling, evolving—and this visit to London has only confirmed that. I’ve seen parts of the city I never explored before: the Greenwich Line, museums, even glimpses of NATO helicopters—giant, expensive Boeing Chinooks—circling above the city. A subtle reminder that the world is bracing for something. Maybe war. Maybe transformation.

Relationships have shifted, too. As we wandered through these extended summer days, we kept a fast on last Saturday for Eid e Ghadeer.We broke the fast at 9:30 in the morning with them. There was something grounding about it. Something real. Sanaa made a friend at the hub named India. Her parents, a warm couple who split their time between Italy and Liverpool.

London, of course, is expensive—especially when you’re converting from Canadian dollars. But more than my wallet, it’s my intention that’s changed. Travel has a way of reshaping your soul, reorienting your focus. This trip has done that for me.

There are nearly 9 million people here. That density brings an energy, a kind of chaos, but also moments of connection. And the highlight? Sakina, their eldest, just completed her undergraduate. She’s been able to spend real quality time with our daughters. That has been priceless.

Sadly, Sarah and Malik have been busy and we haven’t seen much of them. Still, I learned that UK is the sixth country on our current worldschooling journey. That alone is a reminder of the life we’ve chosen to live—a life of rhythm, resilience, kings and queens, and a growing understanding of who we are.

Today, we visited the National Gallery. One of the paintings—a haunting one—told the story of a woman not from noble blood, beheaded just nine days after ascending to power. The old world can be brutal. Yet here it is, preserved in art and stone, as if still breathing.

It’s beautiful. It’s brutal. It’s history.

And with each step across this city and across the world, I’ve come to accept something: I don’t really belong here. Not in London, not anywhere specific. And maybe that’s okay. Because in not belonging, I find freedom.

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