Evi Edna Ogholi - No Place Like Home Now

And there is truly no place like it.

Ebiere wept. Not sad tears. Tears of recognition. This boy had nothing, yet he had the one thing she had lost: the belief that home is not a place of comfort, but a place of belonging. Even broken. Especially broken. Evi Edna Ogholi - No Place Like Home

She looked out at the children playing in the red mud. They were laughing. Their feet were dirty. Their bellies were full. And there is truly no place like it

Ebiere told her boss she was taking a week off for “mental health.” He laughed and said, “You? You’re the strongest woman I know.” She didn't correct him. Tears of recognition

“ Ebiere! The little one who ran away to the white man’s school!” “I didn’t run away, Mama,” Ebiere said, her voice breaking. “I just… left.”

She left the blazer behind. She wore a simple kampala dress and rubber slippers. The flight to Port Harcourt was short, but the road to the village—Kporghor—was a battle. The asphalt ended three hours in. Then came the red mud. The driver, a young man named Tamuno, kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror.