Thursday, March 21

Home For Christmas By Ada Ibe

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Some would say that the air in Calabar changed at Christmas, becoming fresher, smoother, and happy. You could almost taste it. Unfortunately none of those happy thoughts reached Sarah Henshaw in the back seat of the beat up taxi that had picked her up from the airport heading home.

Sarah sighed heavily; the taxi’s torn seat and the familiar scent of Calabar soothed her raging nerves…… How would everyone react to her sudden visit after five years? She wondered, cursing under her breath as the driver swerved dangerously…. She had forgotten how annoying taxi drivers could be, having had to drive herself to work every day in Lagos.

A memory popped into her head, causing anger to rise up her throat, heavy and bitter. The taxi swerved again narrowly missing a tricycle. Sarah cursed again, yearning for a stick of cigarette. Home for Christmas, she thought looking out the window. It had better be good.


Ingrid adjusted her hair for the hundredth time since the journey from Akwa Ibom. Her boyfriend had suggested she travel by air, but she declined, insisting on using his slick black limousine. She couldn’t wait to see the look of jealousy on her sisters’ face. She almost wiggled in glee.

She glanced to the front of the limousine spying in the driver. He was a dark handsome man with perfect cheek bones and almond shaped eyes. He was her kind of man except….. he wasn’t rich.

Why dont you Read  Revenge: A Story By Wilson Ezama



Sarah had her stories, Brian his brain, Esther her computer whiz. All Ingrid had was her face and she used it well. The limousine took a right, turning into her father’s compound. Ingrid had always been in awe of it. It stood tall, looking grand and important. That was what she wanted for her life. Growing up she’d never felt like she belonged there with her half siblings, being illegitimate. Well now she had what she wanted. If only she’d just be happy….




About Author

I’m Alara Karis, a writer and blogger who simply loves living each day at a time. Some call me a nerd, some call me a professor. But if you ask me, I’ll simply say I’m an artist who enjoys painting the world in words.


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