The Ifedi's live in the serene, affluent neighborhood of Independence Layout in Enugu, where tall mansions lined the well-paved streets and the hum of generators filled the air at night. As the second daughter and fourth child in a family of five, Kaima often found herself navigating the middle ground between her older siblings' expectations and the carefree nature of her younger ones.
Her family, devout Christians, placed a strong emphasis on discipline, education, and faith. Her father, a well-respected businessman in the oil and gas sector, and her mother, a successful lawyer, ensured that their children had everything they needed—top-tier education, luxury vacations, and access to the best opportunities Enugu had to offer. Despite their wealth, their home was one of order and modesty, where morning devotions were a strict routine and Sundays were spent at their large, prestigious church.
Life at home for Kaima was a delicate balance of expectations and self-discovery. Her older siblings, especially her eldest brother who was already making waves in the family business, set a high bar for achievement. Her mother expected her to follow in the footsteps of her older sister, who was pursuing medicine abroad, but Kaima had chosen pharmacy instead—still within the health field, but a more independent and flexible path.
Despite the structure and discipline, the house was not devoid of love. Her family had a way of gathering around for dinner, sharing jokes, and reminiscing about their trips to Dubai or their summer holidays in Lagos. Her father, though stern, had a soft spot for her, often indulging her love for books and supporting her academic ambitions.
However, growing up in such an environment also came with its challenges. The pressure to excel was constant, and the need to uphold the family's reputation meant that failure was not an option. Kaima often found herself caught between wanting to meet expectations and yearning for personal freedom. It was this internal struggle that shaped her personality—reserved yet determined, ambitious but cautious in matters of the heart.
Despite the comfort of her upbringing, Kaima longed for something deeper—something she couldn't quite define. And when she got into Forcados University, it felt like a chance to finally step out of her family's shadow and discover who she truly was.
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The soft hum of the air conditioner filled Chikaima's spacious bedroom as she lay sprawled across her bed, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. Outside, the evening breeze rustled the curtains, carrying the distant sounds of honking cars from the main road. She barely noticed when her sister, Adaora, waltzed in without knocking—something she'd been doing since they were kids.
"Kaima, what are you doing?" Adaora asked, flopping onto the bed beside her with a dramatic sigh.
Chikaima smiled without looking up. "Thinking of how to escape Mum's constant talk about marriage."
Adaora chuckled, tossing a pillow at her. "Join the club. She's been on my case too. 'Adaora, when will you bring home a serious man? Your friends are getting married o.' It's like marriage is the only thing that matters to her these days."
Chikaima rolled onto her side, facing Adaora. "Honestly, it's getting exhausting. I mean, I'm just in my second year of university, and she's already planning my future husband."
Adaora, five years older and working as a medical doctor in Lagos, smiled knowingly. "You know how Mum is. She means well, but she's old school. In her mind, wealth, faith, and family are everything. It's not enough that we're educated; we have to 'settle down properly' too." She made air quotes with her fingers.
Kaima groaned. "But what if I want more? What if I'm not ready for all that? Sometimes, I feel like I'm just ticking boxes—get good grades, find a nice Christian boy, get married, have children... is that all there is?"
Adaora sat up and placed a reassuring hand on her sister's shoulder. "Kaima, there's more. Trust me. But you have to find your own path. It took me a while to understand that. Remember when I wanted to go into public health instead of medicine?"
Chikaima nodded. "Yeah, Dad nearly had a heart attack."
"Exactly. But I stood my ground. They came around eventually. You just have to be patient and firm about what you want," Adaora said with a small smile.
Chikaima sighed. "You make it sound so easy."
Adaora smirked. "It's not. But you have me, and I'll always have your back."
Chikaima grinned. "You better. Because I might need you to fake an emergency call next Sunday to get me out of another matchmaking lunch with Mum's church friends."
Adaora laughed. "Done. I'll make it sound dramatic." She cleared her throat and mimicked a frantic voice, "Doctor Ada, come quickly! It's a matter of life and death!"
They both burst into laughter, the warmth of their bond filling the room.
"You know I miss you when you're in Lagos," Chikaima said softly.
Adaora pulled her into a side hug. "I miss you too, baby sis. But don't worry, I'll always be just a phone call away. And whenever you need me, I'll be here."
Chikaima leaned into her, grateful for her sister's presence. No matter what challenges lay ahead—family expectations, university stress, or even matters of the heart—she knew Adaora would always be in her corner.
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The soft hum of voices and clatter of plates filled the Ifedi family dining room as Chikaima scrolled through her phone, half-listening to her younger brother, Tochukwu, argue with their eldest sister, Adaora, about who was in charge of the Christmas playlist. The air was still thick with the festive warmth of the holidays—faint traces of fried rice, jollof, and grilled chicken lingering in the air.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Chelsea.
Chelsea: "Babe, school is calling us back o. When are you traveling?"
Kaima sighed and replied. "Monday. Not ready for this stress."
A second later, her phone rang. She picked up, smiling. "Chelsea, what is it?"
Chelsea's voice came through, excited. "You're seriously going back on Monday? I thought you'd delay till Wednesday."
Kaima groaned. "I wish, but my mum has been on my case. She says I should get back early and 'settle down properly.'"
Chelsea laughed. "Typical Nigerian parents. Anyway, I'm leaving Tuesday, so at least we'll have some time apart before school wahala resumes."
Kaima smiled, twirling her fork absentmindedly. "True. Have you started packing?"
Chelsea sighed. "Not really. I've just been eating and sleeping. And you?"
Kaima glanced at the half-filled suitcase sitting in the corner of her room. "Same, but I'll finish packing tonight. I just can't believe the break is over already."
Chelsea groaned. "I know right? It feels like we just got here. Anyway, let me not disturb you too much. We'll gist later."
After hanging up, Kaima leaned back in her chair, watching her family laugh over some old joke. Leaving home always came with mixed feelings—she loved the independence of school life, but there was something about home that made it hard to say goodbye.
"Kaima," Adaora's voice broke through her thoughts. "When are you going back?"
"Monday," Kaima said, pushing her plate aside. "Mum says I should go early."
Their mother, sitting across from them, nodded in approval. "Good. You need to start the semester on a strong note. No last-minute rushing."
Tochukwu rolled his eyes. "Kaima, abeg don't forget to bring suya from Port-Harcourt when you're coming back next time."
Kaima laughed. "I hear you."
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That evening, as Kaima packed the last of her things into her suitcase, Adaora walked in and sat on the bed.
"You ready?" she asked, watching Kaima struggle with zipping up the bulging suitcase.
Kaima huffed. "Almost. Why does it feel like I'm taking my whole wardrobe back to school?"
Adaora chuckled. "Because you probably are." She paused, then added, "I'll miss you, you know."
Kaima softened. "I'll miss you too."
Adaora handed her an envelope. "A little something to get you through the first few weeks."
Kaima opened it and gasped. "Ada! You didn't have to—"
"Shush," Adaora said with a smile. "Just use it wisely."
Kaima hugged her. "Thank you."
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Monday Morning
The day of departure arrived too soon. The car was packed with her suitcases, and her parents stood outside, offering last-minute advice.
"Remember to focus on your studies," her father said firmly.
Her mother hugged her tightly. "And don't forget to call often."
Tochukwu waved lazily. "Don't miss me too much."
Kaima rolled her eyes. "I won't."
As she settled into the car, Adaora leaned in through the window. "Have a great semester, Kaima. And don't forget to have some fun too."
Kaima smiled. "I'll try."
With a final wave, the car pulled out of the driveway, and just like that, the Christmas break was over.