Public Awareness Stories & Experiences

Story

In today's digital age, social media platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook have become integral parts of our lives. While they offer unprecedented connectivity and opportunities for self-expression, they also come with a significant impact on mental health.

Take Sarah, a 22-year-old university student. She starts her day by scrolling through Instagram, where she sees images of friends traveling, influencers flaunting perfect bodies, and ads promoting an ideal lifestyle. Although she enjoys staying updated, Sarah can't help but compare herself to these seemingly perfect lives. This constant comparison leads to feelings of inadequacy and low self-esteem.

Sarah is not alone. According to recent studies, a significant number of social media users report experiencing anxiety, depression, and loneliness. The highlight reels presented on these platforms often create unrealistic expectations and pressure to conform to certain standards of beauty, success, and lifestyle.

On the flip side, social media can also offer support and community. For instance, John, a 30-year-old freelance graphic designer, found solace in an online group for individuals dealing with anxiety. Through shared experiences and support, John was able to manage his symptoms better and feel less isolated.

Experts suggest that the key to a healthier relationship with social media lies in mindful usage. Setting boundaries, such as limiting screen time, curating your feed to include positive and inspiring content, and engaging in offline activities, can help mitigate negative effects.

Moreover, platforms themselves are starting to take notice. Instagram, for example, has experimented with hiding like counts to reduce pressure and promote mental well-being. Despite these efforts, the responsibility ultimately falls on users to navigate their social media experience consciously.

Social media is a double-edged sword. While it connects us and provides a platform for self-expression, it also has the potential to harm our mental health. By being mindful of our usage and prioritizing real-world connections, we can harness the benefits of social media while protecting our mental well-being.

I was on my way from the street of Maryland down to Timberland New Market. My main goal was to buy essential foodstuffs, as I felt the nearby shops had been raising their prices unnecessarily. I settled into my seat, ready for the journey ahead.

To my surprise, I was delighted to run into some old friends on the bus. We had lost touch for quite some time, and it was a pleasant surprise to see them again. Eager to reconnect, I engaged them in conversation, but it seemed they were too occupied with their phones. I decided to put my phone aside and focus on the reunion. However, my friends were glued to their screens, only lifting their gaze for a word or two before returning their attention to their devices.

Observing this, I couldn't help but ponder the role of technology in our lives. It seemed that everyone was tied to their phones, keeping themselves occupied with what appeared to be very important tasks. I wondered what it would be like for a person to go without their phone for an extended period. Would they feel lost, disconnected from the world? Would they feel useless without their device constantly at hand?

In my view, a phone should be just a part of our lives, not the center of it. If people were suddenly stripped of their phones for weeks on end, would they be able to adapt and find meaning in other aspects of life?

Last evening, feeling the weight of the week's stress, I decided to take a walk around my neighborhood. After about 20 minutes, I passed by an uncompleted building that usually stood silent. But this evening, I heard the low murmur of voices coming from inside. Curious and a bit concerned, I decided to investigate.

I quietly approached the building and saw a shocking scene right before me. Three men were standing around a young girl, demanding that she tell them her bank PIN. They had a POS machine in their hands, clearly intending to rob her. The girl looked confused, almost as if she were in a trance. Realizing the urgency of the situation, I didn't think twice and shouted at them with all the force I could muster.

Startled by my sudden intervention, the men immediately fled, dropping their POS machine in their haste. Once they were gone, I hurried over to the girl. She seemed disoriented and frightened, barely able to comprehend what had just happened. It became clear to me that she had been hypnotized or controlled in some way, as she had no recollection of how she ended up there.

I quickly called a friend who lived nearby, asking him to bring his car and take us to the nearest pharmacy. While we waited, I tried to comfort the girl, assuring her that she was safe now. She slowly began to relax, but it was evident that she needed medical attention to fully regain her senses.

When my friend arrived, we carefully helped the girl into the car and drove straight to the pharmacist. There, she received immediate care and gradually regained full consciousness. The pharmacist confirmed that she was likely hypnotized and suggested she rest to help clear her mind.

After the girl regained her composure, she expressed her deep gratitude. She couldn't remember much, but she was thankful for the timely rescue. I was relieved that she was safe and hoped the authorities would catch the men responsible. The world is not safe, pray for God's mercies each day, He will keep his people safe.

Chinedu woke up to the sound of heavy rain pounding on the roof of his small apartment in Yaba. As a third-year engineering student at the University of Lagos, he had a busy day ahead with an important lecture on Thermodynamics. Glancing at the clock, he realized he only had an hour before he needed to leave.

He looked at the overflowing basket of dirty clothes in the corner. His mother’s voice echoed in his head, reminding him of the importance of cleanliness. He knew he couldn’t put off the laundry any longer. Just then, his roommate, Ifeanyi, walked in.

"Nna, this rain no get joy o. You sure say you wan wash these clothes today?" Ifeanyi asked.

"I don't have much choice, Ifeanyi. I won’t have any clean clothes for the rest of the week," Chinedu replied, determined to stick to his plan.

Ifeanyi suggested, "Why not use the new laundry service? I hear they’re very reliable and can even deliver back to you on campus."

Chinedu, however, was set on doing things himself. "I can handle it," he said, grabbing the basket and heading for the washing machine.

As the machine hummed and churned, Chinedu quickly got ready for his lecture. The rain showed no signs of stopping, and he was already worried about his clothes drying in such weather. But with no time to waste, he dashed off to campus, hoping for the best.

The lecture was engaging, but Chinedu found it hard to concentrate fully. His thoughts kept drifting back to his laundry. He imagined his clothes drying perfectly despite the rain. But deep down, he had a nagging feeling that things might not go as planned.

When the lecture finally ended, Chinedu hurried back home, his heart pounding with anxiety. As he turned the corner to his apartment, he saw the aftermath of the heavy rain. His clothes were nowhere to be seen on the drying line.

Rushing to the backyard, Chinedu's heart sank. The wind had blown his clothes all over the muddy ground. Shirts, trousers, and socks lay scattered, soaked, and dirty. Some pieces were even missing without a trace.

Chinedu stood there in the rain, feeling a mix of frustration and regret. If only he had listened to Ifeanyi's advice. Slowly, he began to pick up the clothes, mud clinging to his hands and clothes. The reality of the situation hit him hard.

Just then, Ifeanyi appeared, holding an umbrella over both of them. "Nna, I warned you," he said, trying to lighten the mood with a smile. "Come, let’s gather these clothes. We can wash them again."

Chinedu couldn’t help but chuckle despite the mess. "You were right, Ifeanyi. Next time, I’ll be more flexible."

Together, they collected the scattered clothes and brought them inside. Ifeanyi helped Chinedu wash the clothes again.

As he prepared for another day at the University of Lagos, Chinedu knew he was not alone in his journey. He had friends who had his back, and sometimes, listening to their advice was the best course of action.

As a youngster, I was infatuated with wrestling matches. The world of WWE and its larger-than-life characters enthralled me, and I eagerly devoured every match, buying CDs and spending a small fortune on my devotion to the sport. I was captivated by the dramatic plots, the acrobatic stunts, and what I believed were hard-hitting punches; it was my ultimate form of entertainment.

However, as I grew older, a realization slowly began to dawn on me, and it was a tough pill to swallow. I came to understand that what I had thought were bone-crushing punches were, in fact, meticulously choreographed maneuvers. The entire wrestling spectacle was meticulously planned out beforehand. It was a revelation that shook the foundations of my passion for wrestling, and I could feel my fervor fading away.

With each match, my interest steadily waned until I lost all enthusiasm for wrestling. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of pity for the younger fans who still believed in the authenticity of it all, unaware that the thunderous blows and awe-inspiring stunts were nothing more than smoke and mirrors. I longed for them to see through the manufactured ruse, to recognize that my beloved sport was more performance art than genuine competition.

Despite this disillusionment, I still maintain a respect for the wrestlers and their incredible stunts and strategizing. Their athleticism and showmanship are undeniable, and I can appreciate the talents and hard work that go into their performances. It's just that I wish others would come to see wrestling for what it truly is.
But I must add that wrestling was my favourite sports until I looked closer.

When I was in nursery and primary school, there was a period when I struggled to understand anything being taught. I couldn't read, write or even spell my name. My teacher at that time was a young man who frequently beat me, leaving me with cane bruises every day. The fear of his punishment made me dread going to school. My parents believed he was doing the right thing by disciplining me this way and even hired him as my tutor after school. This only intensified my fear, making it impossible for me to learn.

Everything changed when a new school opened in our compound, and my parents enrolled me there. I started in Primary 3 and met a kind and caring female teacher. Unlike my previous teacher, she never used the cane. Her gentle approach and encouragement helped me to feel comfortable and safe. Within one term, I learned to read and write, something I couldn't achieve under my former teacher's harsh methods. This new environment allowed me to thrive academically.

I soon became the top student in the class and took first place that term. The moment my name was announced in the assembly as the top student was incredible. My parents stood at the back, smiling proudly. I stood up, faced the school, and smiled back at them, knowing I had made them proud and that their efforts had paid off. They gave me a gift to celebrate my achievement, marking a turning point in my academic journey.

And since then my life changed because of that one teacher who made me love studying, and even till today, I haven't forgotten her and can never forget her. I hope to visit her in the nearest future and repay her for transforming my life. She laid the basic foundation of education for me. The thought of how my life would have looked like by now if I never met her terrifies me.

This experience taught me that children learn best in a supportive and loving environment. My previous teacher's harsh discipline only instilled fear and hindered my learning, while the kindness and encouragement of my new teacher helped me to excel. My story shows that with the right support and care, any child can succeed academically.

I had a important business deal to attend to at home, so I boarded the first bus to get there as quickly as possible. But, little did I know, the journey would be a challenging one. As soon as we hit the road, we got stuck in a traffic jam.

After several hours on the road, a heated argument broke out between two men. Their loud voices and angry words made everyone uncomfortable. I hoped it wouldn't get out of hand.

Just as the argument started to die down, the bus was pulled over by a police officer. He boarded the bus, searching all the male passengers for anything suspicious. I held my breath, wondering what was going on. The search felt like it took forever, but eventually, we were allowed to continue our journey.

The road itself was a nightmare. Potholes made the bus sway throwing us around. I held on tight, praying the bus wouldn't break down or worse.

After what felt like an eternity, we finally arrived in my hometown. It was already 9 pm, and I knew my parents would be fast asleep. I let myself in with a spare key, not wanting to disturb them. I crept into the house, exhausted but relieved to be home.

That was when I realized my ATM card was gone! I desperately searched my room, but it was nowhere to be found. I must have lost it while I was sleeping on the bus, but I had no idea if it fell out on the bus or outside. There was nothing I could do than block it to avoid story that touches the heart

I went straight to my room, collapsed onto my bed, and fell into a deep sleep. The journey had been exhausting, but I was safe and sound at last.

The next morning, I woke up refreshed and went to greet my parents. They were surprised to see me, not knowing I had arrived the night before. We hugged, and I told them about my eventful journey.

Late last year, there was a digital craze that took some people by surprise - coin airdrops had given lucky individuals a little fortune. The concept of coin airdrops involved distributing cryptocurrency tokens for free to holders of a particular digital currency. Little did I know that it would become a significant opportunity for those willing to invest the time early on.

When the opportunity to join in the coin airdrop presented itself, I had the chance to get involved early, but I hesitated. I used to belittle the idea of spending time tapping on the phone screen just to accumulate a few coins and points. It didn't seem worthwhile at the time, and I dismissed it as a trivial pursuit.

However, one of my friends decided to take part in the coin airdrop and ended up reaping significant rewards, earning up to 400 thousand naira from the project. Upon learning about my friend's success, I realized the missed opportunity and regret quickly set in. I vowed not to pass up on any coin airdrop that had a promising perception of success from then on.

Fast forward to this morning, and here I am, making sure I don't let another profitable coin airdrop slip through my fingers. I've already claimed my coins - diligently tapping away on my phone to accumulate the tokens. Despite my initial reluctance, I've come to understand the potential value that these airdrops can hold.

But here's the catch - no one needs to know that I'm tapping away for these coins. It's my little secret, my personal journey to ensure I don't miss out on the next budding opportunity. Whether it's out of a sense of missed opportunity or simply a newfound appreciation for the potential rewards, I'm determined not to let another chance like this pass me by. Who knows what the future holds? I'll be ready for it.

I went to my favorite store to stock up on some provisions. I picked up a chocolate drink that I loved, but when I got home and tasted it, something was off. It tasted rotten! I thought maybe I was just being paranoid, but the taste was really bad.

I went back to the store and told them about the problem. But instead of apologizing and offering a refund, they told me that it was a new recipe and that's how it's supposed to taste! I was skeptical, so I decided to buy the same drink from a different store. It tasted like it used to - delicious!

I thought maybe it was just a one-time mistake, but then I noticed that the custard I bought from the same store had gone bad. It was all lumpy and smelly. I took it back to the store and they told me it was still good to eat! I couldn't believe it.

I was starting to get really frustrated with this store. How could they be so dishonest about the quality of their products? I decided to avoid them from then on. But then I went on holiday and forgot all about the issue. When I got bacm, I heard some shocking news - the store had been shut down! Apparently, they had been selling expired products left and right, and someone had finally reported them to the authorities.

At first, I felt a little bad for the store owners. I mean, losing your business is a big deal. But then I remembered all the times they had tried to pass off bad products as good, and how they had put people's health at risk just to make a quick buck.

It was a hard lesson for them to learn, but it's an important one. Honesty and integrity are essential in business, and if you compromise on those values, you'll eventually pay the price.

I'm just glad I was able to avoid any harm from their expired products. And I'll never forget the lesson I learned - always check the expiration dates, and never trust a store that tries to pass off bad products as good!

remember last November when my roommate came back home very sad and anxious. He told me that his phone had stopped working earlier that day. He was really worried because he was almost late for an important exam and he had to put his bag down quickly. He didn't realize that his iPhone 11 was in the bag.

After the exam, he looked for his phone in the bag but it wasn't there. He asked people if they'd seen anyone near his bag, but no one had any helpful information. His phone was gone. It felt like something you'd see in a movie, and he started crying again as he told me the story.

He felt really upset and gloomy after losing his phone. His parents got him a new one, but it was different - it was an android, not an iPhone. He started to feel a bit better, but he wasn't as happy as before because he really missed his old phone. The change to an android phone made him feel a bit sad, even though he tried to feel better. The memory of his iPhone 11, and the switch to a new phone, made him feel a bit sad for some time.

Well, I don't blame him too much for having felt that way. IPhones boosts a person ego and status and I know what it feels like to use an android after being known as an iPhone user.

I still remember my first time in Port Harcourt like it was yesterday. I had just arrived from Lagos, eager to explore the city and start my new job. As I stepped out of the airport, the warm sun hit me, and the humid air enveloped me. I was struck by the lush greenery and the vibrant sounds of the city.

My colleague, Chijioke, was waiting for me at the airport, and we set off towards the city. As we drove, he pointed out landmarks and shared stories about the city's history and culture. I was fascinated by the mix of old and new buildings, the bustling markets, and the friendly people.

We stopped at a local restaurant for lunch, and I was introduced to the famous Port Harcourt dish, pepper soup with catfish. The flavors exploded in my mouth, and I was hooked. Chijioke laughed at my reaction, "Welcome to Port Harcourt, my friend! You're in for a treat!"

As we continued our journey, I noticed the city's unique blend of traditional and modern architecture. We passed by the beautiful Rivers State Government House, the bustling Ariaria Market, and the scenic waterfront.

Eventually, we arrived at my new apartment, a cozy place in a quiet neighborhood. Chijioke helped me settle in and introduced me to some of my new neighbors. They welcomed me with warm smiles and open arms.

That evening, we explored the city's nightlife, enjoying the music and laughter at a local bar. I felt like I had finally arrived in Port Harcourt, and the city had already stolen my heart.

From that day on, Port Harcourt became my home, and I embraced its vibrant energy, rich culture, and warm people. My first time in Port Harcourt was a memorable experience that set the tone for an incredible journey in the city.

Returning to school isnt something someone could say he/she is so happy returning, nothing about its stressful schedules was appealing. But all the same, meeting back with friends, the fun and the jokes was comforting.
So, we decided to ditch the day and hang out. As we walked to our department, we decided to take a break at a nearby shop to grab some sachet water.

We asked for four sachets and received them. But the unexpected happened when one of us handed a hundred naira note to the seller, who reluctantly took it and then asked for an extra hundred naira, claiming that each sachet cost fifty naira.

We were utterly speechless and puzzled. "A sachet of water now costs fifty naira?" I asked to confirm what I had heard.

Somewhat reluctantly, we handed over the extra hundred naira and left, feeling slightly cheated. The price of water had left us genuinely astonished and deflated at the same time.

At this point, water is not a life saver anymore, buying sachet water now could cause you a post traumatic stress 😂

As I stood by and watched, three men were hard at work, each with their own task in the daunting mission of bringing down this towering presence in our community.

One of the men was fervently digging out the soil around the roots of the Palm tree, his face contorted with concentration and effort. The second was perched up on a higher ground, cutting off the root branches that extended further. Meanwhile, the third man skillfully tied a sturdy rope around the base of the palm tree's stem, making sure it was secure and tight.

At first, it seemed like a straightforward and easy job, with the men methodically and confidently going about their tasks. But as the minutes turned into an hour, it became evident that this was no easy feat. I found myself drawn closer to the scene, curious as to what was causing the delay.

Upon closer inspection, I discovered that the stubborn roots were putting up a fierce fight, bouncing back the blades of the tools and resisting the men's efforts to sever them. It was a testament to the resilience and strength of nature, and I couldn't help but be startled at how stubborn the tree was.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the men dropped their tools and gathered around the rope. They began to chant in unison, their voices mixing in unison of ridiculous and determined phrases, as they pulled forcefully on the rope at intervals of three seconds.

The tree began to sway, and for a moment, it seemed as if it was taunting the men with its refusal to fall. But on the seventh pull, with one final heave, the giant palm tree yielded to the relentless efforts of the men. With a deafening crack, it crashed to the ground, shaking the earth and filling the air with the scent of freshly severed wood.

I awoke to the commotion with a start, the sound of screeching tires and slamming doors reverberating through the neighborhood. Jumping out of bed.
It was up the neighbourhood, a team from the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) had swooped in, surrounding a grand three-story building where some individuals had been residing. It was barely past 4 am, and the whole scene was both surreal and unnerving.

Out of the chaos, two figures managed to evade the authorities, each using their own methods of escape. One of them, probably possessed by a fleeting moment of courage, made a dramatic leap over the fence at the back of the compound and dashed into the night. The other, more cunning and resourceful, chose to hide out in the building's ceiling, skillfully covering his tracks. It was a scene straight out of an action movie, and despite the seriousness of the situation, a part of me couldn't help but marvel at their audacity and quick thinking as I listened to people who were present during the live action recounted the incident.

The ensuing chaos saw some of the residents' cars being seized while the male occupants were escorted away and loaded into the awaiting vans. The building, once aglow with the energetic hum of life, now stood as a graveyard after they zoomed off with the victims

I couldn't help but wonder about the individuals who had been taken away and the events that had led to this dramatic and unexpected turn of events. The neighborhood had been forever changed in the blink of an eye, leaving in its wake a palpable sense of unease and uncertainty. As the day unfolded and life began to return to its normal rhythm, the memory of that intense morning lingered, a stark reminder of the fragility and unpredictability of the world we live in.

Just as I had settled in the sitting room to take a rest after preparing a particularly demanding meal, a sudden burst of gunshots pierced through the air. The troubling sound seemed uncomfortably close, prompting my father to recall some rumors. He mentioned the whispers circulating about the safety of our neighborhood following the completion of the second hotel along our street. I was quite fond of the new hotel project and had eagerly watched its progress.

I swiftly interjected, dismissing the unsettling rumors as baseless conjecture. In my view, development should always be welcomed, and my father eventually agreed. To lighten the mood, he began to recount the story of an old, now-demolished motel that once stood in the neighborhood during the '90s. Although the tale had a tragic undertone, I always relished listening to stories, and this was no exception.

As my father spoke, I appreciated that the arrival of a new hotel was a testament to progress and growth within our community. While the sudden disturbance had been disconcerting, I found comfort in the knowledge that the neighborhood was evolving, and I was hopeful that the new establishment would bring positive changes.

The crowded Idumota market was in chaos as people rushed to escape the flames engulfing the nearby stalls. Iya Oja stood amidst the chaos. It was not her stall that went down in flames with fully loaded goods. If she had one, it was an empty space where market levies are counted. Adeola, her 14-year-old maid, cowered beside her, trembling with fear. The fire outbreak was so sudden that everybody had to scamper for safety. Picking up her iPhone 13 that her son recently sent her from the US along with a few other valuables, Iya Oja fled from her seemingly empty office. Sadly, her purse was not luckily in sight at the moment. That was not too much of a problem. Adeola will fetch it even if that would cost her life.

"Iwo babalawo yi, lo gba apamọwọ mi fun mi!" She yelled at Adeola, her voice piercing through the chaos. The fire had overtaken her empty office where she ran out from and where the purse was supposed to be. Adeola hesitated, her eyes wide with terror, but Iya Oja's glare left no room for disobedience. The young girl crept towards the burning stall, her small frame trembling as she tried to lift the heavy wooden beam that pinned down the purse. Flames licked at her face, and she screamed as the wood fell, trapping her beneath its weight.

Iya Oja's face contorted in rage as she realized her purse was gone, but her anger quickly turned to concern as she saw Adeola's limp body being pulled from the wreckage. The market crowd gasped in horror as Adeola's charred and battered body was revealed. Iya Oja's eyes welled up with tears, but they were not tears of sorrow or remorse; they were tears of anger and frustration.

For seven long years, Adeola had toiled in Iya Oja's service, a slave to her whims and fancies. She had been denied the joys of childhood, the comfort of a warm bed, and the solace of a loving embrace. And now, she lay broken and burned, a victim of Iya Oja's insatiable greed and cruelty. The market crowd murmured among themselves, their voices a gentle breeze that carried the whispers of condemnation and disgust. Some dared to approach Iya Oja, but she warned them off with a fierce glare, a lioness protecting her den.

Adeola has met tens of other girls that suffered a similar fate in the hands of Iya Oja. Some were 16 years old girls that looked like 10 years due to constant heavy weight they carry that stopped their growth. When they are too weakened by hunger and useless to Iya Oja's service, they disappear without traces. Nobody has dared to ask her the way about of the little girls she successfully turned into dummies but whispers are in the wind that they alway end up in the hands of organ harvesters.

PS:

@blvck_boy
@paschaline
@huways370
@rally
@damselbabe
@nekkybella
@sewhento
@brownshuga
@maxeinstein
@mindseth
@chimatexlamboonu
@guru01
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@ugocc
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@okafor
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@darling
@chuks
@adaugo
@jumbo
@ninad
@lydia
@love1
@emma44
@surd

Kindly read and tell me what you think. I like using my story to relate real life issues. Scenarios of this nature is happening in Idumota as we speak. Pls don't forget to like and share the story if you like it. Thanks

Title: The Forgotten Key

In a small town nestled between rolling hills, there was an old, abandoned mansion rumored to be haunted. Locals whispered about its eerie past, but few dared to venture near it. One day, Sarah, a curious young girl with a penchant for adventure, decided to explore the mansion.

As she stepped through the creaky door, Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. The mansion was filled with dust-covered furniture and cobwebbed corners. Ignoring her growing unease, Sarah pressed on, determined to uncover its secrets.

In the dim light, Sarah stumbled upon a locked door. Intrigued, she searched the mansion until she found an old, rusted key hidden beneath a pile of debris. With trembling hands, she inserted the key into the lock and turned it, the door creaking open to reveal a hidden staircase leading underground.

Heart pounding, Sarah descended into the darkness, her footsteps echoing off the walls. At the bottom, she discovered a vast chamber filled with treasures long forgotten – jewels, artifacts, and ancient relics glinting in the faint light.

But amidst the riches, Sarah found something unexpected – a diary. She dusted it off and began to read, discovering the tragic tale of a young girl who had once lived in the mansion. The girl had hidden away in the underground chamber, seeking solace from a world that had abandoned her.

As Sarah read on, she realized that the girl's story mirrored her own feelings of loneliness and isolation. Moved by empathy, Sarah vowed to uncover the truth behind the girl's fate and give her the closure she deserved.

With newfound determination, Sarah embarked on a quest to uncover the mystery of the forgotten key and the girl it once belonged to. And in doing so, she found not only answers but also a sense of belonging she had long been searching for.

During my early teens, my family and I had a familiar path that we often followed, lined with a towering breadfruit tree. The tree's sprawling branches cast shade over a considerable stretch of the path, and it was common knowledge that people would always hurry through this part of the route to avoid the peril of a breadfruit falling on them.

Over time, countless tales had circulated about unsuspecting individuals getting struck by falling breadfruits, resulting in serious injuries. Despite this, on one particular day, my family and I decided that we would not succumb to fear. "Why should we run today when we never had a breadfruit fall on us before?" we reasoned.

As we ventured down the narrow path, we watched another person take a leisurely stroll beneath the breadfruit tree and felt a surge of anxiety and unease. Moments later, a loud crash reverberated through the air, and we all turned to see a breadfruit plummet to the ground. Terrified, we screamed and sprinted in every direction.

In the aftermath, as we caught our breath, we pondered the narrow escape. "What if we had merely walked as we had planned?" we mused. It was a valuable lesson learned: sometimes, heeding warnings and being cautious is more than just an old superstition.

I went to Onitsha on a hot, sunny morning, ready to install some light bulbs in a fancy two-story house. The journey was supposed to be smooth, but it wasn't. The roads were rough, full of bumps and holes, and the traffic was crazy tight.

Getting bulbs in the market was another headache. It was packed with stalls, people shouting prices, and everyone trying to get a deal. It felt like being lost in a jungle.

After ages, I finally got the bulbs and made it to the client's house. It was impressive, standing alive and proud despite the chaos of the city. But the job wasn't a piece of cake. Trust me, I came there prepared for wiring and installation, so no dulling.

Despite the mess, I stuck with it. Slowly, the house started lighting up, and it felt good to see it come to life. Finishing up, I felt proud. Despite the rough journey and market madness, I got the job done. At the end of the day , I was happy, knowing I'd made someone's home a bit brighter.

I needed to visit the bank today to sort out some urgent issues, and I had planned to leave before 11 am. However, as luck would have it, I found myself running late and scrambling to be ready to leave by 1:23 pm.

I hurriedly made my way to where I could get a tricycle (keke) to transport me to the bank. Although I had to pay a small fortune for the ride, it was the quickest option at the time.

Upon reaching the bank, I was surprised to be welcomed and attended to promptly. Despite the initial hurdles, the staff worked efficiently, and I was able to resolve my matters in less than three hours. It was a relief to have everything sorted, despite the time it took.

However, the cost of transportation back home was another blow. I couldn't believe that for a 15-minute journey, I had to pay another hefty sum to the keke driver. It made me reflect on the fact that these drivers, often underestimated, earn much more than many government workers. It was an eye-opening realization.

Finally, I returned home safely, albeit with a pounding headache, the result of the stress and the long hours out. All in all, it wasn't a bad day.

The madman on sallah day
So, just yesterday I got off from bed filled with joy and happiness all because it was sallah and I was to rest and not attend lectures or even bother about anything.

So I quickly got up prepared like I had a whole year to rest, after which I ate and slept off. After a while, my friends visited and after some fun filled moments playing ps4 they had to go and I escorted them.

On our way, we saw how kids who normally look dirty and not well catered for where properly dressed for the sallah celebration. Just immediately my eyes caught a madman with a stick chasing the children because they were making fun of him, you know how children play with madman, they like being chased by them. So with his big stick he will chase them and stop until he saw a cow that was tied nearby, so he went straight to the cow and he was talking, what he was saying didn't even make any sense to me and then he seemed like he was getting angry and then he used the big stick to hit the cow and immediately the cow reacted and the road with which it was tied snapped and it was about to use his horn on the madman and I thought the madman would use the stick on it but to my greatest surprised the madman run away, I was surprised oh, so mad people can be scared to die too, no wonder it rare for you to see them being hit when crossing the road