Ngozi, the Wisest Mother in Umuihe

"When mother-cow is chewing grass, its young ones watch its mouth," echoed the wisdom of ages, and in the village of Umuihe, this adage resonated deeply in the lives of Ngozi and her son, Kene.

Ngozi was a woman of grace and patience, known for her kindness that rivaled the warmth of the African sun. Her days were a symphony of actions—she taught at the village school and tended to their modest farm, all while nurturing her son, Kene, with unwavering love.

Love with Direction, the African Parenting Model

"There's a saying, 'Too much hand dey spoil pikin,' and no truer words echo across Nigerian homes. Let me tell you about Obi and Chioma, two kids growing up in the heart of Lagos.

Obi was raised like a prince, showered with gifts and never denied anything. His parents believed showing love meant indulging his every whim. Chioma, on the other hand, had a different upbringing. Her parents hugged her tight, but they also steered her, teaching her the value of hard work and discipline.

He Found True Love. Does True Love Still Exist?

In the dusty embrace of an evening in Lagos, as the sun dipped low, I found myself wandering through memories of a time when youth painted the world in vivid colors. My mind often retraces the path to my first discovery of love—an enchanting tale woven into the fabric of my past.

Her name was Adanna, a young Nigerian beauty whose radiance could challenge the sun's warmth. Her skin was a canvas kissed by the sun, smooth and rich like the finest cocoa, adorned with a glow that seemed to illuminate every corner of her being. Her eyes held a depth that mirrored the vast expanse of the Nigerian sky, sparkling with an untamed spirit and a wisdom beyond her years.

Crossing Cultures: A Love Story Defying Tribal Divides

It was a very breezy evening in Orlu, a quaint and friendly town in Imo State. The enchanting African sunset was painted with exciting, flirting colors, casting hues of gold and crimson across the sky. It was an evening that etched itself into Gbenga's memory, an evening that unfolded at a bustling intersection known as "Equator Junction."

Amidst the bustling crowd, Gbenga, stood at the junction, taking in the sights and sounds of this new place during his NYSC service year. He was struck by the harmony in the chaos, the vibrant energy that seemed to pulse through the air. As he paused to absorb the scene, his gaze inadvertently fell upon a figure that stood out amidst the throng.

His gaze rested on a girl with an aura that seemed to radiate warmth and grace. She was a vision amidst the hustle and bustle, her laughter ringing like a melody in the evening air. Her eyes held a sparkle that mirrored the brilliance of the setting sun, and her smile, oh, her smile seemed to light up the world around her.

SHORT STORY: Love Beneath the Surface

 

"I had seven distinctions in my WASSC, I was the best science student in Queen Amina College, Kaduna that year,” Mrs. Okoye proudly bellowed. Her voice, though tinged with a hint of melancholy, echoed with the pride of past achievements that time couldn't erase.

She was supposed to be a very pretty young woman, her features hinting at the allure that once defined her. Yet, the burns etched upon her face bore witness to a harrowing past, a haunting reminder of a life marred by neglect and unforeseen tragedy. Despite this, her shape retained an elegant grace, her eyes sparkled with an innate intelligence that transcended the scars, indicating that she was much more than her present appearance suggested.

SHORT STORY: The Prostitute and the Pastor

On Sunday night in Allen Avenue was a day set aside by God to bless us, one can have as many as four to six customers to make your pay fat. 

I was out as usual on this particular Sunday night when a Mercedes Benz car parked to see what I've got. He was my first catch that night. To start with a Mercedes Benz means nothing but a promising night. He came out of the car; he was a tall handsome man. His mustache was neatly carved around his sexy mouth. His eyes, bright with an unusual flame that matches the dark jacket he was wearing. His height and his broad shoulders could pass him easily for a Hollywood star. 

SHORT STORY: Deflowered By My Cousin on GrandMa's Bed

It was a black night. The sky refused to spark with its usual flames, the moon lost its glory, the stars were cold and spit no colour. It was a night of thunder. The clouds were sad and ready to pour down rivers of tears. It was a night made alive in my soul forever.

The thunders came clashing, at first, it was like the rains it heralds will split the earth in two. But there was no rain, it was all thunders. Thunders in a night full of nightmares. My nightmares, terrible tales I have dreamt of since I first heard about my hometown. Dark tales, created out of my own fears. Lines I could trace but couldn’t see the end, whether it be tragic or comic. However, the beginning is nothing but nightmares.