In the quiet village of Umudike, known for its red earth roads and mango trees that bowed heavy in harvest, there lived a man named Papa Ikenna. A respected elder, farmer, and father of two boys, Obinna the firstborn, and Ebuka, the last child, full of dreams and restlessness.

From early on, it was clear that Obinna had his feet planted in Umudike soil. He farmed with his father, attended community meetings, and already had eyes on Adaku from the next compound. But Ebuka? His eyes were always far. Lagos. Abuja. Even Ghana. He wanted more, money, adventure, life beyond the village.

One morning, Ebuka came to Papa Ikenna. “Papa, give me my share. I’m ready to leave.”

The request hit like unexpected thunder. Not because Papa was unprepared, but because no father prepares his heart for that kind of goodbye.

Still, he gave it. Quietly. He called elders. Split his lands and savings. Gave Ebuka his portion. And just like that, Ebuka left, his footsteps eager on the red road that led out of Umudike.

At first, there were stories. From Owerri, they said he was living large. From Onitsha, they said he was running business. But soon, the stories stopped.

What Ebuka didn’t tell anyone was that life in the city was not a Nollywood movie. It ate his money with no mercy. Bad deals. Fast friends. Club nights. Cheap promises. One month became six. Six became two years. Then the money ran out. And so did the people.

He found himself doing menial jobs in Asaba, sleeping behind a mechanic workshop. One day, after going without food for two days, he stared at his reflection in a puddle and whispered, “Even our houseboy back in Umudike eats better than this.”

So he decided. “I’ll go home. Even if I’m no longer a son, I’ll work for Papa. At least I’ll eat.”

The journey home was long and heavy. Not just the distance, but the weight of shame. He rehearsed his apology every step of the way.

But here’s the thing about fathers like Papa Ikenna. He had never stopped watching the road.

That evening, as the sun dipped behind the palm trees, a shadow appeared on the familiar red road. Thin. Dusty. Limping.

Papa Ikenna didn’t wait for him to arrive. He ran. Old legs and all. Tears streaming. Wrapper flying. He embraced his son before a single word could be said.

“My Ebuka! You came home!”

He shouted to Obinna: “Kill a goat! Bring clean clothes! Tell Mama Ebuka her son is back!”

And just like that, the compound came alive.

Some murmured. Some judged. Even Obinna didn’t understand at first.

But Papa Ikenna said, “This my son was lost, but now he’s found. He was dead, but now he lives.”