Mindviewers Stories

I just woke up from the dead,
My body cold, eyes turning red.
I looked around, all was dark,
The silence felt like a stark.
But then I heard a faint voice,
Calling out with a soft poise.
"Hello there, it's me, your friend,
We'll never part, our bond won't end."
I felt the warmth, the light so true,
I knew then, it was you.
My heart was beating, back to life,
With you by my side.

A story I heard from a friend. I'll try my best to put it in his own words, thus:

"While in a public transport today, a woman came close to our bus and started begging people for financial assistance.

"The man sitting directly in front of me dug hand in his wallet and gave her N500, then others followed, she eventually got over a thousand naira within that short period.

"Not long after that, the same man that gave this woman N500 then wanted to buy a bottled water, and the hawker had to run to catch up with us because the man wanted to give him N200 and he had to collect his N50 change first before handing him the N200.

"The scenario touched me!
Immediately, I requested for a bottle too and gave the guy N200! A woman beside me shouted: "'Ahh, let him give you your change first before giving him money oo"'. She looked at me as if I'm a 'mutula', a new person in town wey dem never show.

"As the guy was struggling to run and give me change, I bade him good bye not to worry!

"The most touching part of the story is, even when I thought we've left this guy far behind as the traffic had moved, he ran to still cacth up with the bus and prayed whole heartedly in show of appreciation!

"You know why? He knows the value of that money, he knows how much bottle or satchet of water he would sell running from bus to cars before getting that amount.

"The woman who saw me as mutula eventually went speechless! Lesson passed in the bus! Simple."

In a tune of encouragement and advice, Demy added,

"We all feel comfortable giving beggars big money but find it difficult leaving small change for genuine hustlers.

"We unconsciously encourage begging at the expense of those who work so hard, that's why you see corporate beggars increasing on a daily basis on the streets.
"Please, I want to use this opportunity to start a:
#LeaveTheChangeForHawkersCampaign. Let's spread love and encouragement for the street hustlers." He concluded.

Please, next time you buy something inside traffic or anywhere from street hawkers, leave the change if you have more in your pocket.

This is the year of no 'gree for anybody'. Abi no be so?

EPISODE SIX


Rita was now 27 years old and I propose marriage to her and she accepted and her parent were really happy for they have been expecting this for a long time now. Mr. Ogah wanted my parent available for the marriage so, I took Rita with Edward and headed for Abuja.

10 years had passed since I saw my mum or even came to that area. But, I was able to locate the house but things were not as good as they used to be 10 years ago. Mr. Olaniyi had serious stroke and for five years now, his left side had been useless. The family was practically living off Nike who was now happily married with children. She was the only one who did not believe that I impregnated Vera and was so furious when she learnt what her father had done.

There was joy and sorrow at the same time on my mother’s heart as she narrated to me how Vera came to clear my name. Vera gave birth to a baby girl who fell ill two weeks later and needed blood transfusion which can only be given by the father or the baby will die and so Vera had to plead for blood transfusion from the real father of the child, her sister’s husband; the man we all thought was Vera’s father. And so the whole truth came out, Vera was impregnated by her sister’s husband and this made her sister really angry that she killed the man and was arrested and sentenced to life imprisonment. Vera was then left alone with her sister’s children and hers so, she came to my mum and told her the truth before leaving for the village. My mum also told me how my real father now called Moses, came to her to plead for forgiveness for what he did years back and wanted to see me but there was no hope of seeing me as no one knows where I was or what had happened to me. She forgave him even Mr. Olaniyi also forgave him and they promised him to call him whenever I showed up. I also narrated to them all that happened to me, how Mr. Ogah became my father and took good care of me up to the level I was and now I want to marry his daughter. Two months later, Mr. Olaniyi recovered from his ailment.

A year passed, Rita and I got married. Our wedding was a remarkable one and never to be forgotten. Lots of friends and well-wishers were present and most of all I had three fathers on that day, Mr. Ogah, Mr. Olaniyi and Mr. Moses.

The End!!!!!!!!!

I will post a quiz on this story tomorrow.....
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In a Nigerian neighborhood, there lived an introvert named Biodun. This individual cherished solitude more than a fish cherishes water.

One day, Biodun's friends decided to take him to a party with a plethora of loud music. Upon arrival, Biodun, with his earplugs firmly in place and a serious expression, informed them, "May I abstain from dancing? I am an introvert, and excessive noise could disrupt my inner peace."

His friends chuckled but insisted he join them inside. The music, as loud as an irate generator, hit Biodun like a slap. Undeterred, he wore his earplugs with the precision of an astronaut preparing for space.

As Biodun moved through the party, he spotted a quiet corner. There, he pulled out his favorite book from his pocket and began reading. While others danced the shaku shaku, Biodun engaged in the dance of "read and nod."

A guy carrying a speaker on his shoulder approached Biodun. He shouted, "Sir, why are you reading at a party? Join the dance!"

Without looking up from his book, Biodun replied, "One can dance within the pages of a book, but a book cannot dance within a person. Please, allow me to groove in my unique style."

Laughter ensued, and Biodun continued his reading dance. He became the party's introverted superstar. Henceforth, whenever Biodun was spotted at a party, he was hailed as "The Bookworm Groover."

And so, in the vibrant rhythm of Nigerian parties, Biodun, the introvert with his book dance, demonstrated that introverts can find their groove amid the noise, as long as they have their own quiet corner.

Ah, Makurdi nights and questionable decisions, eh? Let's rewind to last night, shall we? I, fresh from a generous helping of "Tashi" (heavy beer), was stumbling home like a lost agama lizard after a dust storm. I took a shortcut through a dirty path. Now, I remember how Mama Catherine had warned me about the "abuku" (big snake) lurking near the stream. Fear, though, had taken a siesta in my beer-addled brain.

Suddenly, my foot snagged on something long and scaly under the moonlight. My heart, already doing a jig for Tipsy McStumbles, went into overdrive. My mind, fueled by fermented barley and paranoia, conjured up visions of fangs dripping with deadly venom. I let out a yelp that would've made a hyena envious, "Abuku! Abuku!"

I scrambled back, eyes wide enough to rival full moons, only to trip over a stray goat (those things are everywhere in bushy paths at night, I swear). Landing face-first in the mud, I saw it – the source of my terror. A coconut branch, bleached white by the moon, lay innocently on the ground, looking vaguely cobra-esque in the dim light.

Laughter, at first nervous and choked, then full-bodied and unrestrained, erupted from me. I lay there, tears streaming down my muddy cheeks, howling at the absurdity of it all. The goat, ever the opportunist, nibbled on my shoe while I cackled like a deranged hyena.

The "abuku" snake incident became legend in my circle. Mama Catherine would recount it with a chuckle, shaking her head at my drunken antics. My friends would use it as ammunition for friendly teasing, forever reminding me of the night I tangoed with a phantom serpent.

And I, well, I learned a valuable lesson – heavy beer and bad lighting are a recipe for hilarious misunderstandings. But hey, at least I can say I faced my fears, even if those fears turned out to be a long-dead coconut branch. I must remember, next time I stumble home after a night of heavy beer, stick to the well-lit streets and maybe consider skipping the scary stories before bed. After all, Makurdi has enough trouble to deal with without adding drunken hallucinations to the mix.

Cheers to my (mis)adventures! May our nights be less boozy and our encounters with snakes and/or evil (real or imagined) be far less dramatic.

Once upon a time in the vast expanse of space, the Sun beamed with pride, knowing that it was the brightest and most important figure in the galaxy. The stars, who were always twinkling and trying to outshine each other, were always causing a ruckus. Moon, on the other hand, was a gentle, calm and reflective soul who lived in the night sky.

One fine day, the Sun decided to throw a party in honor of its shiny rays. All the stars were invited, and they danced and shone their brightest in an attempt to out-sparkle each other. The Moon, known for being a little shy, was hesitant to attend but, feeling left out, finally decided to join in.

As the stars showed off their twinkling abilities, Moon played hide-and-seek behind the clouds, casting shadows and making funny faces to entertain everyone. The Sun, basking in the attention, was pleased with the glittery spectacle all around.

But the stars soon started arguing about who was the brightest and most important, forgetting the main reason for the party: to celebrate the Sun. The Sun, growing tired of the bickering, called out in its booming voice, "Stop your squabbling, my dear stars! This party is about me, the most radiant and dazzling one of them all!"

At that moment, the Moon, usually quiet and reserved, decided to come to the forefront. "Hey, Sun, don't be so full of yourself! We might not shine as brightly as you, but we all have our own special qualities," Moon chimed in, making everyone pause and listen.

The stars and the Sun looked at Moon in surprise. "What do you mean, Moon?" they asked, eager to hear what the usually shy celestial being had to say.

Moon continued, "Well, I might not have your brilliance, but I can create beautiful moonlit nights and inspire poets and dreamers. And as for you, my dear stars, each of you holds a unique place in the sky, creating wonderful patterns and making wishes come true. We are all special and worthy in our own way."

The Sun, humbled by Moon's wisdom, nodded in agreement. "You're right, Moon. Let's not keep fighting. Instead, let's appreciate each other and celebrate our differences."

The stars, realizing their folly, twinkled with understanding, while the Moon shone with quiet contentment.

HOW I SURVIVED!
Once upon a time, in a small town, I found myself facing the most challenging and heartbreaking circumstances. Life had thrown me into a whirlwind of adversity, testing my resilience and strength in unimaginable ways. However, with unwavering determination and the support of a few kind souls, I managed to survive against all odds.
It all began when I lost my job due to unforeseen circumstances. As the sole breadwinner for my family, the weight of this setback was crushing. With bills piling up and the fear of eviction looming over us, I had to make some tough choices. I decided to sell our belongings, piece by piece, just to put food on the table and keep a roof over our heads.As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the situation only worsened.
The local job market was saturated, and opportunities seemed scarce. Desperation started to consume me, but I refused to let it define me. I knew I had to keep fighting for my family's sake.In the midst of this struggle, a ray of hope emerged. A local community organization, dedicated to helping those in need, reached out to me. They offered me a lifeline—a temporary job that would provide some stability while I continued my search for permanent employment. Grateful beyond words, I embraced this opportunity with open arms.
However, life had more challenges in store for me. Just as things were starting to look up, a devastating natural disaster struck our town. Our humble abode was reduced to rubble, leaving us homeless and shattered. It felt as if the world had turned its back on us, but I refused to succumb to despair.With the support of the community organization, we were provided emergency shelter and basic necessities. They rallied the town together, organizing fundraisers and collecting donations to help us rebuild our lives.
The kindness and compassion we received from strangers renewed my faith in humanity.Determined to rise above the ashes, I embarked on a journey of self-improvement. I enrolled in online courses, expanding my skill set and knowledge, hoping to increase my chances of finding stable employment. The countless hours spent studying, often late into the night, were fueled by the love and determination to provide a better future for my family.
Months passed, and finally, the tides began to turn. Through sheer perseverance and a stroke of luck, I secured a job interview with a reputable company. Nervous but hopeful, I poured my heart and soul into showcasing my abilities and determination to succeed. Miraculously, I was offered the position, marking the end of our long and arduous journey.
Today, as I reflect on the trials and tribulations that tested my spirit, I am filled with gratitude. Gratitude for the unwavering support of the community, for the strength and resilience that carried me through, and for the lessons learned along the way.
I have emerged from the depths of despair, a survivor, ready to face any challenge that comes my way.My story serves as a reminder that even in the darkest of times, hope can be found. With determination, support, and a belief in oneself, we can overcome the seemingly insurmountable obstacles that life throws our way.
Thank you for reading through, please ensure you survive!
@seyimola

Once upon a time, there was a young couple named Jack and Lily. They were deeply in love with each other, but they had no money. They lived in a small apartment and struggled to make ends meet.
Despite their financial struggles, Jack and Lily were happy. They would spend their evenings talking about their dreams and aspirations, and they would often take long walks in the park, holding hands and enjoying each other's company.
One day, Jack decided to propose to Lily. He knew he couldn't afford a fancy ring or an extravagant proposal, but he wanted to show her how much he loved her. So, he took her to their favorite spot in the park and got down on one knee.
"Lily, I don't have much to offer you, but I promise to love you with all my heart for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?" he asked.
Tears welled up in Lily's eyes as she said yes. She didn't care about the lack of money or material possessions. All she wanted was to be with Jack, the man she loved.
They got married in a small ceremony with just their closest friends and family. They didn't have a fancy reception or a honeymoon, but they were happy just to be together.
Years went by, and Jack and Lily faced many challenges. They had to work hard to make ends meet, and they had to make sacrifices along the way. But through it all, their love never wavered.
They grew old together, still holding hands and taking long walks in the park. And when they looked back on their lives, they knew that their love was the most precious thing they had, and that was worth more than any amount of money.. Thank you!
@seyimola.

In the heart of Naija, there lived a notorious night thief named Chijioke. This guy, chai, him get talent pass cat when e come to sneaking around.

One night, Chijioke decided to target Chief Ogundipe's compound. Chief, with im big belle and plenty grammar, thought say e house dey thief-proof. But Chijioke, the night ninja, na so e decide to prove Chief wrong.

First, Chijioke wore black from head to toe, even paint im face like masquerade. As he dey waka towards Chief's compound, im footstep dey soft like chicken feather.

Just as Chijioke dey about to enter Chief's compound, na im phone decide to ring. Loud music burst out from Chijioke's pocket. E shock am! Na so e begin dance like say na party e dey. Thief dance o!

Unknown to Chijioke, Chief Ogundipe dey look from window. The chief shout, "Ole! Ole! Thief! My security! Come catch this one wey wan dance for my compound!"

Security men rush out with torchlight and cutlasses. Chijioke, still dancing, begin run like say na sprint competition. The security men pursue am with everything dem get.

But the funny part be say Chijioke, instead of running straight, dey zigzag like person wey chop too much jollof rice. E be like say na dance steps e dey use escape.

After a marathon wey fit win Olympic gold, Chijioke finally disappear into the night, still dancing. Chief Ogundipe, vexed, shout, "Make e carry im dance go another compound! We no dey host dance competition here!"

And so, in the comedy of Naija nights, Chijioke, the dancing night thief, became a legend. Nobody fit forget the day thief turn dance instructor for Chief Ogundipe's compound.

Uncle Mike sent words to my mother while I was at the playstation gaming center that I have been admitted into the University of Calabar.

I could feel joy hugging her as she beamed with smiles walking up to me with her arms spread wide like the wings of an airplane and her steps like that of the river goddess, I opened my arms to receive the warmth of her embrace, when we were this close, she fell to her epileptic crisis.

In her room, when she has regained herself, she smiled at the ten heads surrounding her – her ten children.

Myself being the last of them all and the only son, sat close to her, holding her hands very close to my heart in pain . She coughed and tried to sit up and my eldest sister and myself who were closest to her helped her sit up. She reminded us of how our father had always wished for a baby boy that he kept on trying every year, eating lots of banana and consuming so much dates and burukutu as it was rumoured amongst his age grade that it makes the semen thicker, after which he was to meet my mum at the first crow of the cock during her ovulation.

This made my sisters a year older than themselves and when mama finally gave birth to me, he was so happy. He shed his first tears in years after he lost his only brother, this time, it was the tears of joy.

This story I’ve heard countless times on my birthdays that it seemed like a rhyme to me and now mama is repeating it even when it wasn’t my birthday. She became epileptic after papa died when I was two. It was said that papa was killed with “otumokpo” by his childhood friend who happened to court mama but left for the city without a word for mama or her family only to return years after to find mama with ten children for papa. They further said that “eka abasi” (mother earth) had to punish mama by making her epileptic after papa’s death and burial.

I find these to be superstitious and I was determined to put in my best to learn a lot and change the unfair and unjust beliefs in my bush village that is situated close to the Cameroon border, faraway from where lights show up and cars blared horns and release fumes of carbon. It is a place considered as the educationally less developed place and my average score of 260 granted me admission into a school I admired just because of the way our village community school principal spoke about it because it was his alma mater.

Mama admonished us and asked we be like the head of a broom stick that cannot be divided from itself while trying to break it all at once. She said it signified unity. She embraced us one after the other and asked me to sleep beside her.

My elder sisters moved back to their various husbands’ house in the cool of the evening, leaving me with mama and the remaining four of my elder sisters that were unmarried, though Imaobong my immediate senior has a child out of wedlock for Asuqwo. He denied it at first and escaped by night after the child was born because everyone said the child was his replica. “There is no big ear and bulgy eyes in your father’s lineage or mine” mama said while affirming that the Child belongs to “eka abasi, (mother earth). They called my little nephew Ekemini to mean at the right time.

I arrived at Etta-Agbor, just in front of the University of Calabar big gate and beamed with those smiles that said “I have arrived”. The place was littered with hawkers of different wares, people and cars moving in and out of the gate randomly, beggars at one side of the entrance using their ailments – most of which I’ve never imagined existed – as a means to ask for money and saying God bless you more than often. So many billboards littered on the streets with different advert placements and some students taking pictures at the big lantern scene that serves as a roundabout for the junction.

I got into the gate and boarded the school shuttle that is headed to, the male hostel, as directed by Okon, my mother’s aunt’s grandson who happens to be a student here also. I was to stay with him while I got my own hostel space. I called Okon with the Nokia torch phone that was given me by my first in-law as a parting gift to keep in touch with the family. I so much appreciated the phone not minding the green rubber band tied severally behind it to hold the back from falling off. At the moment, it was my most prized possession.

I arrived in Malabor and Okon came to pick me up. I haven’t seen him before, I knew him by the description on the phone – a blue shirt with a write-up behind and a black khaki with little designers on it. “You’re Gershom right? Welcome to Unical and here is Malabor”. He shook me and helped me carry my bag to his room. There was something about him I couldn’t say, his neatly grown beards, his cornrows that looked like the well dug ridges in Ekpri-Ekpe farm, his cologne made me breathe in twice and the way he walked high spirited made me think of models.

I noticed the way he greeted people as we walked down to his room and the way guys in the walkway said “malabite welcome o, I dey come collect welcome otomycin (garri) for your room”. Later I was made to know that otomycin is a name for raw garri – the richest food in the campus.

We got to his room, it was sparsely arranged which was a first indication that the boys don’t cook. He introduced me to his roommates – five able bodied guys – and one of them came out from the wardrobe holding a brown paper rolled with stuff inside which emits smoke from the red end.

His eyes were red, his hair had patches that looked like thorns and he looked fiery. He said “ma man welcome to the cartel, if anyone wan kpi you, tell am say you dey room 135, say Tupac na your brother. Here na jungle o, on how you razz you go collect but no razz, meanwhile be careful. Welcome again”. I said thank you, with a mixture of fear and happiness.

Something about them said they were cultists but Okon looks responsible – except for his cornrows which he said he did because of the just concluded MTN show of which he performed – and is a medical student; from what I heard, medical students don’t even have time for themselves not to talk of being cultists but what do I know, I’m just a fresher. That night, Okon said he was going to need a library to read his book in preparation for his MB (an exam written by 300 level medical students) which is coming up in a fortnight. I said I’d join him because I was afraid I might get choked up from the smoke of brown paper that wafts in the air in room 135. I picked up a novel I had come with, “how to survive in a jungle”, my electric lantern and an umbrella because it was drizzling.

Okon was so loving and treated me like an elder brother would to his newly admitted Junior brother. He got me meat pies and malt from a shop with the billboard hung above the entrance boldly written “De-choice, '' which I testified to his assertion that it would be the best I have tasted”. He asked us to pick up his friend from Hall 3 – the female hostel – according to him, she is his study mate. I wondered how a beautiful girl in Theater and Media, Film and Carnival Studies will be a study mate to a College student but like I earlier said, what do I know? I’m just a fresher.

Eyoawan was so welcoming and hospitable, she hung her hand around my neck as we trekked down to pavilion 1, parked cars apparently waiting for someone and boys and girls in their pairs in dark and hidden places, sitting or standing like lovers. Okon and her discussed things I didn’t hear and laughed out loud at intervals, there’s something about these two I said to myself and deep down, I wished I was the one making Eyoawan smile. We got to pavilion 1 and it was densely populated by medical students, majority were Okon’s course mates because he had this rapport with them. I sat with Eyoawan and she asked me some questions about myself and how I’m finding Unical to be.

Not too long, there was a gunshot by masked guys who ran out after aiming their target. Everyone took the hills through the scene including myself and Eyoawan. The Surveillance arrived at the scene with their hilux van with siren like the Mobile Police. They had rifles with them, they went to the scene and found a student that had been hit, he was shot dead on the spot. Eyoawan took me to my hostel in Okon’s absence. His roommates weren’t around so I was all alone. I couldn’t sleep that night, I was so scared but sleep still had it’s way in the early hours of the morning.

I woke up and there was still no one in the room but I heard noises outside. I got up wearing the clothes I arrived with as I had slept with them without bathing or changing. Everyone surrounded a scene and it was Okon lying dead with his mouth ajar and eyes widely opened. It’s true he was a cultist but a harmless one who helped people recover their stolen phones free of charge and was the very social one. I couldn’t believe my eyes, he died when my Unical dreams just began.

Wake up the bus is leaving soon” mama tapped me. We slept at the park so as to meet up with the early morning bus down to Calabar. She prayed for me, and gave me a bangle to always wear for protection. My nine sisters came with me alongside my uncle. As the bus left, they waved me goodbye and I was in tears, suddenly missing them as I began my journey to my unical dreams.

EPISODE FIVE

By September, we were all used to our new locality. Rita was finding it difficult to cope with Mathematics especially having changed her school, so, I began putting her through. I became more like a coach to her. The children were so used to me that they began seeing me as their brother. November, I asked Mr. Ogah to stop paying me as a house help for I still feed and live in their house. He agreed even his wife to.

At the dawn of a new year 2003, Mr. and Mrs. Ogah decided that I should register for WAEC, but I would need all the necessary Certificates, declaration of age, state of origin, first school leaving certificate, etc. They promised to work them out for me so I could register for WAEC. So, while acquiring all these Certificates I was also preparing for WAEC together with Rita. I began bearing James Gbenga (Gbenga was my middle name). Rita and I wrote WAEC examination that year and had a very wonderful results especially Rita.

We started preparing for UME against 2004. Rita wanted to study accounting and become an Accountant while I wanted to study mathematics education and become a Teacher. Things moved from glory to glory for the Ogahs. God’s favour was upon them and upon me too. I realised that they were the helping hands for me. Rita and I got admission into the University in 2004 which made Mr. Ogah very happy and he tasked me on keeping his daughter safe. Rita and I became really bounded and in school, we were always seen together. Soon, it was Peter’s turn, he wanted to become an Engineer. He also got admission in the University and came to join us. Rita and I graduated with first class which brought delight to Mr. Ogah. Luckily, we were both posted to Ondo state for our service. We were together again. After our service, we got job offers but decided to go back to Niger State. We got very lucrative jobs and I began to settle down on my own. With the help of Mr. Ogah, I was able to build my own house and for my 30th birthday, he bought a car for me.

to be continued......
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"After the last episode tomorrow, I will do a quiz on the story on Friday!!!"

The night had been sultry, the air still and muggy, and I had finally managed to drift off into a slight, dreamless sleep. But just as the tendrils of slumber sought to envelop me, the sound, the incessant, high-pitched whine of mosquitoes, rudely shattered the quiet of the night. It felt as though the tiny winged pests were mocking me, knowing it was their annoying buzz that kept me from the rest I so desperately craved.

My room was shrouded in darkness, broken only by the gentle glow of a small nightlight. I could hear the faint rustle of leaves outside, carried by a soft, warm breeze that offered little solace on this stifling summer night. The mosquitoes, however, were relentless, their whining growing louder and more insistent with each passing moment. I slung an arm over my eyes, hoping to drown out the sound and will myself back to sleep, but it was no use. The persistent buzzing danced in my ears, a maddening chorus that echoed through the stillness of the night.

Finally giving up on the prospect of sleep, I sat up and fumbled for the bedside lamp. As its soft light illuminated the room, I caught a glint of movement out of the corner of my eye - a lone mosquito, darting through the air with purposeful determination. I swatted at it with a vengeance, but it eluded my grasp, disappearing into the darkness once more. The frustration began to gnaw at me, and I knew that sleep would not be visiting me again tonight.

I rose from my bed and padded to the window, drawing back the curtain to let in some fresh air. The night was still and heavy, the sky a blanket of velvety darkness studded with stars. I leaned against the windowsill, my mind drifting as I gazed out into the night. And then, as though on cue, an idea struck me like a bolt of lightning.

It was pure luck that the sound of those mosquitoes had roused me from my sleep, for in that moment, inspiration had seized me. I reached for a notepad and pen and began to write, allowing the words to flow from my mind to the page. As I scribbled furiously, the story began to take shape, weaving together the restless night, the maddening mosquitoes, and the unbidden inspiration that had blossomed from the chaos.

Once upon a time for inside Naija, two friends, Tunji and Amina, decided to buy their first cars. They had big dreams but small pockets.

So, they went to the car market where cars of all shapes and sizes were doing fashion parade. Tunji, with his eyes shining like headlights, pointed at a sleek car and said, "Amina, see this car! Na the one wey go fit fly without wings."

Amina, laughing, replied, "Tunji, no be 'fly without wings,' na 'drive without wings.' We go fit fly if traffic dey, though."

They finally settled on two cars that looked like twins separated at birth. Tunji's car was red, and Amina's was blue – they called them 'Romeo' and 'Juliet.'

On their first drive, Tunji revved Romeo's engine like it owed him money. Amina, trying to keep up, accidentally pressed all the buttons in Juliet, and the windshield wipers started dancing to a beat only they could hear.

As they drove through the city, people stared at the spectacle of Romeo and Juliet – one revving like it had a date with the moon, and the other with wipers dancing the salsa.

At a traffic light, Tunji leaned out of his window and said, "Amina, our cars fit be celebrities. Na only them dey do show for this traffic."

Amina, still figuring out how to stop Juliet's spontaneous dance party, replied, "Tunji, na true talk. Our cars be superstars for road."

And so, in the busy streets of Naija, Romeo and Juliet became the talk of the town, their owners blissfully unaware that their cars were the stars of a daily traffic show.

I never chose the way I met you
Your smile beams like the rays of Sun
I never chose how I loved you
Your aura soothes like
Watching a cosmos

Now that you're here
I can make a choice to be and to become

A piece of your mind.

The story revolves around a young woman named Maya, who grew up in a small village.
Maya was a talented artist, but due to her lower social status, she faced discrimination and limited opportunities.
Maya's struggles were deeply rooted in the systemic injustice and discrimination that existed in her village. Despite her talent and passion for art, Maya faced constant barriers and prejudice. She was denied access to art education and opportunities that were readily available to others in her community. Maya's artwork was often dismissed or overlooked because of her social status, leading to a lack of recognition and support for her talent. This constant marginalization took a toll on Maya's self-esteem and made her question her worth as an artist. However, Maya's resilience and determination pushed her to continue creating art, even in the face of adversity. She used her creativity as a means of self-expression and as a way to shed light on the injustices she and others like her experienced. Maya's story serves as a reminder of the strength and resilience that can be found in the face of injustice. Despite facing numerous obstacles, Maya never gave up on her dreams. She fought against the injustice she experienced and used her art as a medium to raise awareness about the struggles of marginalized communities. Through her determination and courage, Maya became a symbol of hope and inspiration for others who faced similar injustices. .
This story highlights the importance of standing up against injustice and using one's voice to create positive change

EPISODE FOUR

At age 19, I had to start thinking of how to survive on my own. In tears I fell asleep under a mango tree. I had a dream, I saw a building very beautiful well furnished. It was demolished right in front of me and I was asked to rebuild it to a better structure with better furniture and house hold equipment in it. I wasn’t giving any tool to work with just a shovel. So, I started digging and as I dug, more hands appeared and helped me digging. Then I woke up. I knew that was God answering me.

When morning came, I left the city and walked to the next city and the next looking around for a job vacancy. I saw one which read “house help needed”. I went in to the house immediately, I met the mother of the house at home who interviewed me. I narrated my story to her though reluctant to give me the job, she asked me to wait for her husband to be back from work. So I stayed their till evening when her husband returned. He agreed that I should be given the job after all I could do all the house chores and cook. It was a family of six, four children with the father and mother. My life took another new turn as I became bounded to Mr. and Mrs. Ogah and family.
Two weeks passed by the Ogahs were happy with me. We moved along like a family. Mr. Ogah was transferred to Niger State, so we all had to move to Niger State. Getting transfer for his children was not a big problem as they were on holiday and were to enter a new class by September. Rita the first child, was 16 years and was going to S.S. 3, Peter, 13 years old, was going to J.S 3, Edward, 10 years old, was going to J.S.1 and Victor, 8 years old, was going to primary 4. I went with them to Niger State and I was really becoming a full member of the family.

to be continued......
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In the heart of Naija, there lived two friends, Efe and Ahmed, who believed happiness was the most priceless treasure. One day, they set out on a quest to find this elusive happiness.

Their journey led them through bustling markets and quiet villages. Along the way, they encountered a wise old man who, upon hearing their quest, pointed towards a nearby "Laughter Festival."

Efe and Ahmed, curious and excited, headed to the festival. To their surprise, the festival featured not gold or jewels but a stage filled with comedians, musicians, and dancers, all dedicated to spreading joy.

One comedian, with a mischievous grin, cracked a joke that had everyone rolling with laughter. Ahmed turned to Efe and said, "This happiness thing dey sweet well-well!"

As they laughed, a musician started playing a catchy tune. Efe couldn't resist; he grabbed Ahmed, and they started dancing like no one was watching.

The festival turned out to be a treasure trove of happiness, proving the wise old man right. They realized that happiness wasn't found in grand castles or hidden treasures but in the laughter of friends, the rhythm of music, and the joy of dancing.

With hearts full of laughter and dance moves to remember, Efe and Ahmed returned home, knowing they had discovered the most priceless treasure of all — happiness.

And so, in Naija, where laughter echoes through the air like music, Efe and Ahmed cherished the true value of happiness, a treasure that can't be bought or sold but is found in the simplest moments of joy.

I woke up with the intention of having a productive day. However, the universe had other plans to keep me bound. The day unfolded lazily, with each passing hour feeling heavier than the last.

As the clock ticked on, I found myself immersed in a sea of utter laziness, battling the fatigue that clung firmly to my body. My room remained untidy, cluttered with clothes and books that longed for my attention.

With a rumbling stomach and a sense of surrender, I decided it was finally time to eat. The kitchen offered a limited selection, but I managed to shuffle together some peanut butter and bread for what can be called breakfast-for-dinner. As I sat down to enjoy my belated morning meal, a mixture of exhaustion and accomplishment washed over me.

The lazy and rough day, though challenging, taught me to find an aligned way to kickstart the day before unexpected twists come at me. As I sit here feasting on a very late breakfast, I can't help but appreciate the resilience it took to navigate the hurdles of a day that started with lofty goals but ended with a hearty breakfast in the evening.

God's not dead He sees and sure knows too.... that's why He is Ominiscient. An attribute that can only be attributed to Him🙇🙇.
He see each tear that falls cos you're the apple of His eye🤭..... This is His eyes we're talking about here.
Would you see your eyes getting teary all the time and not want to do something about it?🤔
He cares ...... what a caring Father🥰🥰
He listens...... what a loving friend🥰❤️
He loves....... the best Lover you can ever have😍❤️
Though there's something special about this Lover(God)..... He has always loved , is still ever loving and will ever be loving🥰😘❤️
We, The Church are His Bride👰👰😊❤️
What would you say to Him if you should see Him now?..... what can you boast of?😢
Did you keep to your commitment of love or you broke His Heart.😭😭🥺
Oooooooh when we all get to Heaven🙇🤗💃💃
What a glorious day.... a day of rejoicing💃💃💃
One last question though food for thought😊
If Christ should come now; if the trumpet is to sound now ......... where will you spend eternity????