Emeka Anike @inkon

I still shudder at the memory of that fateful day. I had gone to vote with my friend, Ede, in Lagos. We were excited to exercise our civic duty and have a say in our country's future.

But as we approached the polling unit, we were met with a scene from hell. Political thugs, armed to the teeth, were terrorizing voters, snatching ballot papers, and destroying voting materials. The police were nowhere to be found, or perhaps they were complicit in the chaos.

Ede and I tried to flee, but we were caught by the thugs. They beat us mercilessly, leaving us for dead. I remember seeing Ede's bloody face, her eyes pleading for help that never came.

Somehow, I managed to crawl to a nearby house, where a kind old woman took me in and nursed me back to health. But Ede was not so lucky. She died a few days later from her injuries.

That day, I lost my friend, my faith in the system, and my hope for a better Nigeria. But I gained a resolve to fight for justice, to ensure that no one else suffers the same fate as Ede.

I now work with a local NGO, advocating for electoral reform and an end to political violence. It's a small step, but I know that together, we can create a Nigeria where votes are not met with violence, and democracy is not a blood sport.

In a small village, a prophet's wise eyes gazed upon a young mother's swollen belly and declared that her unborn son, Lai, would achieve greatness. But with a twist - his greatness would spring not from his honesty or integrity, but from his extraordinary ability to spin intricate webs of deception. The prophet's voice echoed through the years: "Lai's lying tongue shall be his greatest asset."

As Lai grew up, his words dripped like honey, sweet and enticing. He wove tales of wonder, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and people hung onto his every word. Sometimes, the devil himself peeked over Lai's shoulder, marveling at the young man's skill. Lai claimed that his mother's steaming pot of ewedu soup had resurrected couples slain by Fulani herdsmen in Ogbomosho, and people nodded in awe. He described a giant cat strolling across the moon's surface, its whiskers twitching with delight, and villagers gathered 'round, their faces aglow.

Lai's lies earned him praise, recognition, and eventually, great power. He boasted of inventing a machine that could turn thoughts into reality, and people begged him to build one, their eyes shining with hope. He claimed that the Queen of England had once sent a royal carriage to whisk him away to Buckingham Palace, where she begged him to marry her, but he refused, his nose tilted in mock humility. Soon, people addressed him as Sir Lai, their voices dripping with reverence.

He lied and lied and lied, his words painting vivid pictures in the minds of his believers. He began to wonder if he was actually lying or saying the truth, so convincing were his tales. His lies became his reality, and he lost touch with honesty, like a traveler losing their way in a dense forest. He rose to prominence, his greatness built on a foundation of deception, like a castle constructed on shifting sands. People called him "Lai, the Great Deceiver," their voices a mix of awe and trepidation. His name became synonymous with lies, his reputation preceding him like a herald.

Yet, despite the warnings and cautionary tales, many still believed his lies, entranced by his silver tongue, like bees drawn to