THE FAX
Christine Momoh sat cross-legged on her bed, her hands trembling as they held the faxed letter. The paper’s crisp edges bit into her fingertips, but she barely noticed. Her eyes darted over the words again, trying to convince herself she’d misunderstood.
Kenya.
Her parents wanted her to move to Kenya.
“No way,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “This has to be a joke.”
But it wasn’t. The letter bore the unmistakable signature professional tone of her mother, Mrs. Amaka Momoh, and her father’s warm farewell at the end of the fax an intended consolidation for her mothers communication style filling the crisp white sheet—a perfect blend of their shared efficiency. It was as if they had written it together in their boardroom instead of a family home.
Christine’s gaze swept her bedroom, her safe haven in Enugu, where she’d grown up. The walls were adorned with ribbons and medals from countless debates, swimming competitions, and academic accolades. Photographs of her and her friends from St. Pius International School smiled down at her. The one in the center, taken during last year’s Debate Club championship, showed her holding a trophy nearly as tall as her. Beside it hung her General Secretary sash from the Student Council. All her hard work, her years of striving to be the best, her plans for senior year—everything was here.
And they wanted her to leave it behind.
“Kenya?” she said again, her voice rising. She flung the letter onto her desk, her hands balling into fists. “What were they thinking?”
Her parents weren’t even home to explain. They were, as always, in the farm house, a home-office resort in The Momoh Farm Estate at Ebonyi supervising their multi-million-dollar farm enterprise—likely deciding which crops to export next or signing contracts with foreign investors. That was their world, and Christine had long accepted it. But now, it felt like they’d decided their business wasn’t just their priority—it was all they cared about.
The letter claimed it was for her benefit:
“Embrace it?” Christine snorted, pacing the room. Her reflection in the mirror showed a girl whose carefully polished composure was crumbling. She swiped at a tear that escaped down her cheek.
She’d worked tirelessly for the life she had. St. Pius International wasn’t just a school—it was where she’d built her identity. The thought of leaving her place as General Secretary, President of the Press Club and Swim Team, and Vice President of the Debate Club was unbearable. She was on track to graduate as valedictorian, a title she’d earned with sleepless nights and relentless determination.
And now, this.
“They’re ruining everything,” she muttered, slumping into her chair. “How could they?”
Her phone buzzed on the desk, jolting her. It was a message from Adaeze, her best friend.
Christine’s throat tightened. How was she supposed to tell Adaeze she wouldn’t be there for the Send-Off or anything else? The thought of breaking the news to her friends, her teachers, and everyone who’d supported her filled her with dread.
Her parents’ letter didn’t say why Kenya specifically. Just that it was *a golden opportunity.* She couldn’t understand why they’d make such a drastic decision without consulting her. It wasn’t like they couldn’t afford a better school here if that was the issue.
For the first time in years, Christine felt powerless. She’d always been in control—of her grades, her activities, her future. But now, she was at the mercy of her parents’ plans. Plans that didn’t even seem to consider what she wanted.
Her gaze fell on the trophies again. They were proof of how hard she’d worked to carve out her place in the world. Would any of it matter in Kenya? Would anyone care who she was or what she’d accomplished?
Christine picked up her journal and flipped to a fresh page. Writing had always helped her make sense of things. She scrawled across the top:
**Things I’ll Never Understand About My Parents.**
1. Why they think business is more important than family.
2. Why they didn’t talk to me before deciding to ship me off.
3. Why they chose Kenya of all places.
She stared at the list until the words blurred. A knock at the door startled her. It was their housekeeper, Auntie Clara.
“Dinner’s ready,” Clara said with a kind smile. “You okay, my dear? You’ve been in here all day.”
Christine forced a smile. “I’m fine. Thanks, Auntie.”
But she wasn’t fine. And as she followed Auntie Clara downstairs, one thought looped through her mind:
How do you start over when you never wanted to leave in the first place?
---
Christine’s dinner sat untouched on her plate. She picked at the edges of her fried plantain with her fork, her appetite drowned by the storm of emotions swirling in her mind. Auntie Clara watched her from across the table, her usual cheerful chatter muted by the girl’s silence.
“What’s on your mind, eh? You’re not yourself today,” Clara finally said, her warm voice breaking through the quiet.
Christine hesitated. Clara wasn’t just their housekeeper; she was family in all the ways that mattered. If anyone could understand, it was her.
“They want to send me to Kenya,” Christine said, her voice barely above a whisper. “For school.”
Clara’s eyebrows shot up. “Kenya? That’s far, my dear. Did they explain why?”
Christine shook her head. “Just that it’s for my own good. But how can it be? Everything I’ve worked for is here.”
Clara reached across the table and squeezed Christine’s hand. “Sometimes parents make decisions we don’t understand. But they love you, Christine. That much I know.”
Christine sighed. Love didn’t make this any easier. “What if I can’t do it, Auntie? What if I don’t fit in there?”
Clara smiled gently. “You’re stronger than you think. And no matter where you go, you carry who you are with you. Don’t forget that.”
That night, as Christine lay in bed, Clara’s words echoed in her mind. She didn’t feel strong. She felt small, like a tiny fish about to be thrown into an unfamiliar ocean. But maybe Clara was right. Maybe she needed to focus on who she was instead of what she was leaving behind.
Still, as sleep eluded her, one question lingered:
What would Kenya hold for her?