<p>In a cozy home tucked away in a bustling neighborhood of Lagos, Mama Nkechi stood by the stove, stirring a pot of jollof rice. The rich aroma filled the air, mingling with the scent of fresh pines and cinnamon that lingered in every corner. Christmas was coming, and despite the heat of the season, the house felt warm, brimming with memories of old traditions.</p><p>Her husband, Papa Chuka, sat in the living room, holding a cracked, well-worn phone in his hands. He glanced at the screen with a soft smile, eyes glistening with pride. His children were scattered across the globe—Chijioke in New York, Adama in London, and little Kemi now studying in Toronto. Every Christmas, they promised to come home, but the realities of life—work, school, and the growing distance—always seemed to pull them away.</p><p>"How many more sleeps, Mama?" little Kemi had texted earlier that morning, her message still fresh in Papa Chuka’s mind. The excitement was palpable, even from thousands of miles away. "I can't wait to be with you again," she'd added.</p><p><br></p><p>It wasn’t just the Christmas lights or the music that made this time special; it was the call to return to one another. Mama Nkechi always said, "Christmas is when the hearts of those who are far find their way home." And she meant it—no matter where her children were, Christmas had a way of pulling them back into the fold.</p><p><br></p><p>The phone rang, and Papa Chuka answered, hearing Chijioke's booming voice. "Dad! Can you believe this? We're all coming home!"</p><p><br></p><p>Mama Nkechi rushed into the living room, her hands wiping on her apron. Chijioke, in his usual animated way, described how he had convinced his boss to give him two weeks off. "I’ll be there for Christmas dinner," he said, and it felt like a promise woven into the fabric of their family.</p><p><br></p><p>Adama was next on the line. “I'm already booking my flight!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with laughter. The sound of her voice, sweet as it was, made the house seem less empty. She mentioned her colleagues’ disbelief when they heard she was leaving London for Lagos—“But why would you go back to Nigeria? It’s so far, so chaotic!” she said, almost teasing her parents. But for Adama, it was the very chaos that made Lagos home.</p><p><br></p><p>As Christmas Eve neared, Mama Nkechi set the table for a family of four, even though only two of her children would be there physically. The others would join by video call, their faces lighting up on the screen like stars in the night sky.</p><p><br></p><p>In the early hours of Christmas morning, the sound of footsteps outside echoed through the gate. Chijioke had arrived first, followed by Adama’s voice calling from a taxi outside. And Kemi, true to her word, was on her way, a short distance from her school.</p><p><br></p><p>Mama Nkechi hugged each of them as if they had never left. "See? What did I tell you?" she whispered to Papa Chuka. "Christmas brings them home."</p><p><br></p><p>They gathered around the dining table, the familiar sight of palm wine and jollof rice, the laughter of shared memories, and the scent of Christmas filling the house. Though they were scattered across the world, at that moment, they were home.</p><p>//////////////////////////</p><p>Growing up, it seemed like as though there is a Spirit of Christmas that brings families that have been a part for the rest of the year together. </p><p>This is what the above story depicts</p><p>Such moments are known for wide smiles, laughters, food, hugs, outdoor cookings, and so on.</p><p>I wonder, why can't we have Christmas everyday???</p><p><br></p><p><br></p><p><br></p>