NEW YEAR GIFTS FOR THE POOR (By Simonhabby)

The Baale of Alapoti village collapsed on New Year day. That wasn’t the news. The news was that Madam Kofoworola Alade, the wife of the State Governor was at Alapoti on New Year day. She wasn’t there to celebrate, she was there to fight.

The poor have many things to look forward to in this New Year. Governor Alade had promised to focus on them.

“Next year will be all about the poor.” he had promised. “There will be unemployment allowance, homeless people’s home……”

So everybody that considered himself poor had reasons to look forward to the promises of the New Year with excitement.

Firstly, Alade would donate gifts to the poor on New Year day.

The gifts were purchased with funds from the state’s treasury to be donated to the people of Bodija village. Nobody asked why Bodija. Everybody knew why. Bodija was the homeland of Kofo, the first lady.

Kofo was Alade’s representative, and when it involved women, it involved glamour. The Bodija Chief was informed. The town crier went out. Kofo and her entourage arrived in customized ankara, with journalists, cameramen, paparazzi….

Bodija women put on aso-oke, the girls wore adire. The hunters were to have a gun dance. Everybody was excited.

As usual, something would always happen to delay events - African time. But what happened here was terrible - the gifts hadn’t arrived.

Prince Ademola, the Director of Operations, who was leading the team bringing the gifts got lost at Alapoti village. The GPS in his car had stopped working; it had never worked anyway.

“Please, where’s Bodija?” he asked a woman.

“Next village,” she replied, putting away her crying baby.

The boy was crying because he was hungry.

“Bring food for this boy,” Demola ordered.

He wasn’t the only hungry boy. Several eyes stared at them. They carried the same expression - hunger.

Demola satisfied them all. More came.

“Must we go to Bodija?” Demola asked. “These things are for the poor and the poor are plenty here.”

Nobody argued. They started distributing the gifts.

Bodija villagers were still dancing when they heard that their gifts had been distributed in Alapoti. Kofo got there furious. Confusion started. She slapped the chief and he collapsed. But Demola insisted he was right. The gifts were meant for the poor and he had given them to the poor. End of story.

whitemosquito:
divepen, somethings wrong with your file. It aint opening.

can I post it here

Title-GREATNESS BY ROYALER.

"Nneka,nneka" he yelled
"were have all this kids gone to" he asked no one in particular. Coming out of his obi, he saw his second daughter Nneka making clay pot.He smiled at himself. He recalled when his late wife chidimma normally held her hands and taught her how to mould pots.
Looking at his right,he saw his youngest son obinna,who was just 12 years old making mats.
"i know my children will make me proud" he said beating his chest. He knew that it's what his late father
passed unto him that he and his late wife passed unto their children. It has been the culture of the ezenagu family to pass skills to their children which they believed would help them to sustain life someday. His first and second son had gone to haunt for their visitors. His eldest daughter adanna had gone with her aunt to get them. She was so hardworking both at home chores and in school. She won the last ukulu dance festival & won. This was a trait adanna got from her mother. He smiled to himself a

Yes divepen.

By kingnoel

Summary of my dating life….….I’m cursed .Every attempt to get a girlfriend ends in disaster.
Though just 19, i’ve had one girlfriend, Aminat....and that ended badly, she caught me with her Cousin. And since then,I've never successfully dated anyone.
I've visited countless native doctors but they keep saying nothing is wrong with me….but i believe aminat cursed me ,I would find a girl who would be attracted to me,but when i try to make a move,it'll end up in failure.

A nice girl in my department started giving me the green light, she would ask me for my
pen,touch me....you know,the works and all.

One day i decided to pedal to her hostel's gate to see her, make my move.
As i reached the gate,i saw her in the midst of about 10 girls,but because of fear,i don't know what happened to me,i suddenly grew afraid,my hands got shaky,eyes got dizzy,and i fell off my bike and flew to the floor,landing right in front of them
Mehn,see laughter,the way i was laughed at was beyond comparison, her friends kept laughing and no one even made a move to help me,I had to walk away in shame.

What about that other day mom and i were in a bus.

I was in the front chatting with a girl called magii, while my mum was at the last row
As we drew closer to the bus-stop I decided to use a sweet bass voice to finish her, i said to the driver "owa oh".
I said "owa oh". And expected him to stop at the next bustop,but he immediately hit the brakes and stopped by the road.
Me I kukuma came down because I didn't want to embarrass myself in the presence of Ifeoma... at least we could trek to the next bus stop and go home,afterall, I wasn’t far
That was how my mum just shouted
"Solomon,what are you doing,come on will u get back inside?

Mehnn,I gave her eyes,I was trynna tell her to just go with me like that but she no gree,she was still shouting
“u want to kill me bah?"

I had to get back into the bus

The driver was complaining,

Mum kept on shouting.

And when i turned to see magii’s face, she was shining her 32 and trying her best not to laugh…

Mehn,it was really bad sha,Though 2015 will be a great year.

Blinded by Clarity by adjain

The cruel humor of life is barely scratched by the conjectures of mankind, and in Oshodi market on the 31st of December, life cracked another joke, to the resounding smattering of applause from the onlooking cosmos.
Everybody who knew him called him ‘Mopol’ because whenever he stepped into the market, people scampered. He had a leisurely ‘Americana’ gait, sashaying this way and that, his dirt-caked wrapper dragging in the hardened dirt like a parodied toga. His unwashed, crinkled face cracked into a smile – directed at no one in particular – and he picked at the day-old discarded tomatoes and fish before he turned, without ceremony, returning to his ‘base’ behind the general refuse dump.
Today however was different. Mopol had staggered into the market as he was wont to do, and people had fled – as they were wont to do, but today the market was jam-packed, as buxom mothers clutched their children about them and an equal number of New Year shopping bags. I was shopping with my mother that day, and there she stood, back turned to Mopol as she priced the pepper, tatashe and tomatoes.
He crept up to her and said (in English so perfect I was momentarily dazed) “excuse me, please, but do you know where I come from?”
My mother’s reaction: she dug her hand into the bag of powdered pepper, spun smartly around, and flung it his eyes.
I still remember his shrieks, a day later, as I watched my father say the New Year prayers. I remember how he stumbled away, crying loudly, breaking into stalls (where he was promptly kicked out). I wondered if the pepper had blinded him permanently.
I remember what he had asked. Excuse me, please, but do you know where I come from?
Was it possible that a man who had been insane for the better part of his life had suddenly come to his senses on New Year’s Eve, and had asked the first person he could find to point him home?
His new year’s resolution was to return home, my mind whispered to me.
“Chidi,” my mum called sternly. “Finish your soup.”
But it was already cold.

The New Year Resolution
Kunmi still felt the pain of the beating
his mother gave him a day
before because he was trying to steal
Mama Agba's( his paternal
grandmother's) money.
So he decided to change his ways
and,therefore, made a new year
resolution of not stealing again.
After the crossover service, he went to
bed and slept till a loud noise
woke him: it was a noise from the gong of
the town crier.
He said nobody must move into the street
after 10pm that day because the
king, and his pregnant wife died
overnight. The Ifa priest had, therefore,
planned to ward off death from the land
by carrying the 'Oro'( a ritual).
Kunmi had heard rumours that the 'Oro'
was always carried by naked men,
but that was not his concern at the
moment; food was his concern. He went
to meet his mother for food, after taking
his bath.
' Take the rice in the kitchen', she said.
He was tempted to steal meats from the
other foods Mama Agba's neighbour
had brought, but he fought against the
urge and he was happy that he could
control himself.
However, in the evening, he saw a big
meat lying beside a bag in the room.
'Someone must have dropped this', he
said as he ate it, later went to bed
with a feigned stomach pain when his
mother started overworking him.
' Yehhh...', he shouted severally from his
sleep at 11.00pm, holding his
stomach. It was paining him.
His mother and Mama Agba ran into the
room.
' Shh... Don't you know the 'Oro' carrier
are passing?' Mama Agba warned.
' My stomach', he cried, wriggling on the
bed.
' Let's take him to the hospital', his
mother said.
' Have you forgotten the priest are
carrying 'Oro''?'
' Ehhh...' His mother lamented.
Mama Agba, whom he and his mother
had gone to visit from Lagos went to her
room to bring 'Aporo'(a native drug that
makes any poisonous thing
ineffective).She gave him some of it, and
he relieved.
' What did you eat?'
He mentioned all he had eaten that day,
including the meat.
' Ah..Kunmi', Mama Agba whispered,' I
had dropped rat poison in it to kill
the rats in this house'.
Hurriedly, she poured more 'Aporo' into
his mouth.
After that day, he learnt how to control
his appetite, and himself.
Submitted by Divepen

Therock5555

The Masquerade

"Damnmit, why won't this guys take this useless carnival celebrations to a safe place like the National stadium instead of allowing cars pile up behind their slow charade" Tunde complained as they moved slowly behind various colourful dressed dancers on new years day.

The trio of them were returning back from an all night party and were eager to get home quickly only to encounter a major traffic hold up, caused by the dancers and some Masquerades claded in white flowing robes and terrifying face mask which depicted various ugly faces. The Masquerades were the major cause of the slow traffic, they gyrated around the road and chased frequent passers-by and spectators, no car dared to overtake them because the consequences might be dire.

"There is nothing we could do about it, let's just be patient" John the driver advised.

"Patience? Impossible, that word is not in my dictionary. I have to tell those road blocking touts a piece of my mind" Tunde countered back.

"I would drop five thousand Naira to watch you try" David yawned out jokingly at the back seat.

"That's the spirit dude, let me prove to you guys that am not scared of youths like us dressed in dirty costumes, I know it's part of traditional celebrations but it's becoming stale. Watch me guys, just watch me" He replied and went out.

His friends watched expectantly, their hearts pounding and fists clenched in fear and maybe careless admiration for their ignorant colleague.

Tunde walked majestically towards the Masquerades, some people tried stopping him but he was adamant, he tapped the closest Masquerade who turned to see the fool who had the gust to tap him.

"please can you and your friends leave the road, it's causing a cruel traffic" He shouted above the noise.

"You say?" The bewildered Masquerade said, corking his ears with his fingers.

"I say make una comot from road... Arhhh" He screamed as the Masquerade cane landed harshly on his cleanly shaven head.

Like on cue, the others turned on him, raining him lashes upon lashes, he ran like his life depended on it, almost passing their vehicle in the process. His friends were bent double in laughter at the sight of his new designed body.

"Happy new year" The Masquerades chorused as they left him to chase more targets.

The End.

THE CHRISTMAS THAT CHANGED THE NEW YEAR by kuzaku

Your parents are Jehovah Witnesses and so your family never
celebrated Christmas. The Ojos next door did - they attended a
Protestant church down the road - and every year you watched the
celebrations through your room's window.

You wished your parents would celebrate Christmas or hang up
glittery decorations like the Ojos so you would have something to tell
your friends at school when everyone chattered about their Christmas
and New Year holidays, but there was something about your parents'
demeanour that made Christmas a taboo, an unspeakable topic. Your
father called it 'an idolatory festival', your mother twisted her lips
self-righteously and refused to accept Christmas meals from Mrs Ojo.

On the Christmas of the year you turned 11, you went to play at the
Ojos. Mrs Ojo smiled and served you jollof rice and you could not
resist. Halfway into your meal, there was a knock on their door. Even
before Mrs Ojo went to open the door, you knew it was your mother, and
a chilly fear enveloped you and made you drop your spoon with a loud
'clang' before you ran through their backdoor to your own house and
climbed into bed like you were fast asleep. When your mother stood
above your head, arms akimbo, the fear doubled and you almost shivered
when you thought of your punishment. Later, your mother told your
father - you knew because they had a long talk in the living room -
but he did not ask you in his rumbling voice why you ate 'idol food'
at the Ojos, he did not even punish you. Instead, he stared at you for
silently for long minutes before he asked you to go back to your room,
his lips stretched into a small bemused smile.

The next year, you turned 12, and two days to Christmas, your mother
hung a glittery decoration in front of the house. It read 'MERRY
CHRISTMAS & HAPPY NEW YEAR IN ADVANCE'. For a moment, you stared at
it, fascinated, and then you began to smile because you knew your
parents, like the Ojos, would celebrate Christmas and the new year
would no longer be spent at home emptily. All of a sudden, you had a
sudden to jump happily because you knew you would join your friends in
the conversation about Christmas and New Year holidays.

Monicker: rawjunc1
Tittle: right of passage

A rather lone howl raged on in my belly then an abrupt surge ensued, within seconds the "anal right of passage" eased through and I felt relieved. It was a silent nuke the sort that would awe any nasal observer and it sure awed the kid seated next to me, the kid reacted promptly by trying to block the skunk like smell from gaining passage into his nostrils but the stealth nuke eased through with every sense of urgency and deposited itself into the inner confines of the kids nasal corridors, I felt pity for him as his eyes popped out and his limbs got numb all in reaction to the smell of my lovely fart.

With a sudden and stern look the kid dashed me a wholesome "waka"(iya e) with all five fingers widely parted after which he said "e no go better for u", all because of one small mess I thought to myself. I dipped my fingers into my pocket and handed him a stale five naira note as a reprieve for sucking the acrid smell, I begged him to swallow back the curse but instead he reshaped the curse from "severe" to "less severe" by saying "e go better for u small" the little todd told me that was all my five naira could do for me. Since what I really wanted was a complete overhaul of the curse I offered him the last bleached five naira note with me, he took it and reversed the curse by saying "e go better for you" and I said a big amen to it.

I attribute my financial staleness,woes and troubles to my evil stepmother who practices an unpecuilar craft known as "witchcraft"(aje), she trailed me all the way to lagos.

I snapped a branch from a tree, stroke my head with it and threw it over my head, this would ward off my stepmother's curse or so I thought. I felt good in my well starched but low end white guinea fabric, then headed out to celebrate new year with the thought that my day would be awesome, right before me a tyre screeched, delved into a muddle and left me drenched in dirt, right then I knew my stepmother is still very active in my misfortunes but in the spirit of the yuletide I smiled and told the driver happy new year.

WHEN WE THINK WE ARE RIGHT by Lionize

Nduka stretched himself on the floor, in the loop made of yam tubers in his room; with only roka leaves to feed on for the next five days. That was part of the initiation rites into the arovu cult. In Lokpa, only the members of the Amaeze clan are bestowed with the privilege of joining the cult. Nduka, though educated, did not alienate himself from his heritage.
The arovu cult bequeaths a member the powers to transmute into any form of animal whenever he wishes. Men get initiated into the cult as soon as they come of age. A man may decline being part of the cult when first offered the opportunity, opting out for a later year- which was Nduka’s case. The initiation rite was a way of welcoming the New Year.
At the end of the fifth day, Nduka, still in the circle of yams, which was big enough to accommodate his bodily displacements while asleep, made some incantations which the chief priest had taught them. He chewed some roka leaves and, as he washed it down with a cup of water while sitting down, saw himself falling asleep.
Next, Nduka saw things in his room being bigger than they originally were. He saw his face very close to the ground. He did not burden himself with what had happened to him for he knew he had changed into a Grass-cutter, which was what he thought of before he drank the water after chewing the roka leaves. That would be his first foray into the animal kingdom.
Nduka traced his paths through the woods till he found himself in the mbara, where other man-animals had gathered. The group consisted of herbivours and rodents. They could all communicate as they used to, as humans. One of them was briefing them on an assignment- going to cause havoc on his enemy’s farm.
Suddenly, he heard the roaring of a lion, everyone heard it. Every animal was alert, the Hares stood on hind legs with ears raised. When the direction of the intruder was established, all but Nduka scattered in all directions. Nduka quietly crept into the safety of some big saprophytic roots of an obolobo tree and squatted. He did not want to risk being chased around by a lion; it was too dangerous for him on his first day as an animal. Daylight eventually caught up with him.

New Year’s Bazaar

By

ezicat




“It’s important to look your best for the Bazaar,” Kelechi’s mother declared, fretting over her daughter’s dreadlocks. “Oh God, this hair! No wonder you can’t find a man. I pray to God that this year will be different.”
Kelechi rolled her eyes at her reflection in the mirror; her mother was too busy messing with her hair to notice. Who said I was looking for one, she thought, choosing instead to say, “I thought boys were bad, Mom.”
Her mother looked up briefly, a quizzical frown on her face. “What rubbish. Whoever told you boys were bad.”
Another eye roll. “You did, Mom - you and every other adult female. ‘No boys. Keep away from boys. Focus on your studies,’” she parroted.
“Well, obviously, as a young student, there’s no time for romance. But you’re old now. Over thirty, and still unmarried.” Her mother looked completely scandalized at the thought.
Third eye roll. So you have an unmarried adult daughter. What was the big deal? Honestly, old people and their outdated traditions.
Kelechi knew better than to say anything out loud. She dare not say that women no longer needed to have men take care of them. Not when they could get an education and a well-paying job, or start their own business. If the woman wanted a child, there were so many orphans in need of a good home. And as for being cared for in old age, that was what retirement savings were for. But, if she was being completely honest with herself, her greatest reticence to marriage, by far, was the way too many men treated their wives – as a cook, cleaner and brood mare for their children. Ugh. How many were faithful? How many were respectful? What exactly were the pros of marriage? Honestly, there were some traditions that she could really do without.
“There. All nice and prettied up!” her mother stated.
Kelechi slowly looked up, ready to cringe at whatever hairdo her mother had foisted on her. Hey, not bad! Her locs had been grouped and coiled tightly so that they flared around her head, accentuating her high cheekbones. Not bad at all.
“Ok, let’s go. There’s a nice young man I’d like you to meet.”
Kelechi heaved a long, suffering sigh. Here we go again.

AN ENCOUNTER WITH THE MASQUERADES BY martin92

In Abeokuta, there lived a teenager,Eze who has never been to his village before. The masquerades he was accustomed to at Abeokuta exhibit only their dancing skills and were not interested in chasing people about. He has been hearing stories of how the masquerades (the most feared in Nigeria) popularly known as ‘Mmanwu’ at his village in Awo-idemili,Imo state chases people up and down, he even heard a myth that the masquerades came from underground and retire back to there and his joy knew no bounds when his parents told him that he was going to the village with them for the Christmas and New year celebrations.
It was on the 27th of December, sons and daughters of Awo-idemili (even outsiders where not left out) gathered from home and in diaspora to witness the masquerades perform at the village square. Eze watched in fear from the females’ stand as the masquerades chased people about, as soon as he left there, a masquerade gave him the hottest chase of his life. As he kept on running he saw a meanly looking masquarede ahead - it was now a case of being between the devil and the deep blue sea, but luckily for him he saw a house by the side of the road and used his last ounce of strength to enter the stranger’s compound, Narrow escape!.
As the activities went on, he watched in astonishment as the otiaba(tall masquerade) hit his head twenty times on the ground. Then came the female masquerade(mmanwunwaanyi), she was hardly seen as she was being surrounded by other male masquerades, Eze was determined to at least catch a glimpse of her so in his quest to achieve that, he climbed a tree from afar but could only get an obscure view of her. When it was time for the masquerades to retire, Eze decided to stalk one and confirm if it was really going to go underground, little did he know that there was another masquarede following him at the back, Eze’s ‘third eye’ was activated instantly and as soon as he looked back he was already on top gear for fear of the unknown.
It was now time to leave for Abeokuta, Eze was so happy of his adventure at the village that he reproved his parents for denying him this opportunity for so long.

The Wedding Test by drachel.

Usman Danjuma felt weak, his strength almost zapping out just by the
sight of town flesh and blood, every stroke of the large bamboo cane
on the backs of his rivals made his throat sore. Their cries, pains
and tears gave out the feeling of death, one could easily be deceived
Into thinking it was a burial ritual or cleansing or even a thief been
punished but the sight of a beautiful damsel seated in a colourful
canopy with maids around her disclosed that it was a marriage
ceremony.

The men being flogged were not thieves but suitors to the damsel
seated with maids, it was a common ritual that a suitor most prove his
worth to marry her by receiving twelve strokes of cane without
standing up.

Hence the reason Usman and six other able-bodied handsome young men
were there, Amina was the village most beautiful damsel and any man
could gladly give his life for hers. She stood tall among her peers,
light skin, about six feet tall, pointed noise, small lips and long
hair which many girls envied.

Usman needed a wife because he was planning to move out from his
father's house in the new year, he had prepared fully for what ever
cause, he promised himself to win Amina's hand in marriage.

"Usman Danjuma" His name was called out, he walked out unsteadily,
Amina smiled at him which gave him reassurance. Five men had all
failed, every one waited to see if he would succeed.

Legend has it that the bamboo cane was soaked in poisonous venom to
enable a cruel sting on its victim. When the first stroke landed on
his bare back, he whimpered, biting the pain in. The second hurt more,
driving him to insane Heights, he thought about getting up to run,
then the gentle sobs of Amina flirted into his ears, she could not
bear the thought of him losing.

He diverted his thoughts to the future, he and Amina bearing kids
together and taking care of their cows, drinking cow milk, he would
gladly lay down his life to protect her.

Not until people began screaming in joy did he realise that he just
won a wife, he had collected twelve strokes of the cane without
fleeing. Tears welled up in his eyes when he realised his dreams had
come to pass.

He finally had a wife

THINGS A GIRL SHOULD NOT HAVE BY GODWINGODSON

Many years ago in ancient Calabar was situated a small village called Aram close to the great sea, the people of Aram served a water god called Aramne and his place of dwelling was a river called Iri.
Every first day of the new year, was regarded as a sacred day hence nobody went to the Iri river on that day as it was reserved for their god.
One faithful new year, the daughter of the king ; princess Ora who was known for her pride and stubbornness decided to go swimming in the Iri river.
Aramne had heard of Ola’s pride and stubbornness and so decided to punish her as she approached the river, the river god in rage spread out his waters ashore and swallowed her not stopping there, he went on and flooded the whole village destroying their house. Since then the people of Aram have been living in tents because they never know when someone like Ora would arise again and make them lose their homes so if you are ever in Calabar and mention the name ‘Ora’ to a man from Aram, he would shake his head and bitterly say ‘’Two things a girl should not have; stubbornness and pride.’’

The White Mosquito Flash Fiction Challenge

Submitted by Mobsync (nairaland.com/mobsync)


Faceless Enemy

"All my enemies; DIE," Simi screamed as she sprinkled water from a small plastic bottle round her one-room apartment.

Within the past week, she had been haunted by a faceless enemy, or so she thought. The enemy came every night in the form of a bat which she always killed, only for another to appear the next night.

"This is unusual." Simi had thought to herself. Finally, Iya Oshogbo: the old woman in her village she refused to greet the other day had decided to put good her threat.

She reported the 'attacks' to her pastor who confirmed her fears. He prayed for her and gave her a bottle of holy water acclaimed to have been blessed in seven folds by Angel Michael himself. She was to sprinkle half of the water round her room and dilute the remaining half in a half-filled bucket of water which she was to use to bathe half of her body, before bed.

After sprinkling half of the holy water round her room, Simi undressed and walked into the bathroom. She poured the remaining half into a half-filled bucket of water which she used to bathe half of her body in half a minute. She then stepped out of the bathroom half-naked to see half of a bat dangling from the ceiling fan.

She reported this latest development to her pastor who declared an all-out spiritual war on the witches and wizards in her village, Iya Oshogbo in particular. He also recommended a 40-days marathon fasting and prayer for Simi.

The marathon fasting and prayers soon began. Simi was forbidden from leaving the church premises while it lasted. Everyday followed the same process: a quick light meal at midnight and serious prayers for the rest of the day.

After 40 days, the marathon fasting and prayers ended. Simi, thinner and paler than usual, left for her house. With her were a drum of holy water and a 25-litre jerrycan of olive oil.

The moment Simi stepped into her room, she got the shock of her life; for flying about her room were 40 bats, one for each night she was away.

Simi fainted.

Title: THE HOTTEST DAWN by Ruffhandu

It’s been twelve years since we last saw daylight. Scientists called it pathomiscue-eclipse of the sun, which they described as resulting from an orbital shift of the sun. There was incontrovertibly widespread panic initially, but calm had returned after many weeks in darkness. Thereafter, we did everything in the night. There was no more divide between night and day; no check by time. Every energy we used came from electricity and the moon.
In my village, the New year is heralded by genital circumcision of males eight years old. It is a big ceremony held on the first market day of the year, never later than the fourth day of January. The ceremony is presided over by the village head, with lots of guests, friends and well-wishers from far and near in attendance. Usually, there is plenty to eat and drink, only that the Initiates scarcely participated in the fanfare, as they endured excruciating pains.
It usually starts with the circumcision, followed by jubilations if no death occurs, while the circumcised are taken home to endure pains. But this year, just as the circumcision was about to start, daylight crept in like a thief, quickly, with an attendant burning sunshine. The change threw people into confusion. What used to be part of nature became abnormal. The worst hit were children who only heard of daylight in stories, it was totally strange to them.
At the village square, Men, women and children were seen scampering for safety in all directions. The lenses of some people’s eyes went out of shape in the process of quick accommodation, causing blindness. People screamed like vampires vulnerable to sunlight. Even the Village Head ran with only staff in hand; his crown and sceptre nowhere with him. People did not wait to get home, but took shelter in the nearest shade of darkness.
Okoso, the madman, smiled as he walked majestically towards the heaps of food and fruits at one corner of the square. He took a bite out of a fruit and that made him feel good within. He settled to feast on some eba and egusi soup, which he had served himself, after luridly gesticulating to an imaginary waiter. He had not had a good meal in a while. ” Foolish people, I thought you said the ceremony is a tradition that cannot be broken.” He muttered as he savoured his meal.

Grief of a Zulu Muse (398 words) by OMA4U

It was twilight, when the sun was travelling along the firmament to pass the baton of day to the moon, Mbali squatted behind the rows of grassy strips of basket materials. She packed the artistic baskets she had made and sat down to weave another set of designs. Her keen eyes focused as they were chanting creativity and breath into the baskets. Her fingers were busy weaving baskets of various decorative bands, intricate triangles, diamonds, and zigzags motifs. Under her thatch, she watched the group of spectacular maidens who were rehearsing Bull dance; they were clad in short grassy skirts embellished with beads, while their full grown hair stood proudly on their scalp. Mbali, too, was smartly dressed in a thick cowhide skirt. Her bosoms were covered with attractive beads and on her head was hat made of grass and cotton that is sewn into hair. She had meticulously taken care of her calves - the fleshy part at the back of her leg below the knee; it was the cynosure of attraction for Zulu men. She loved the ambience, the gentle wind as it caressed her, the ways trees surrounded her hut like sentinels. She had woven enough baskets that would fetch her much money. She couldn't wait to see her husband; her visage brightened as she anticipated another wonderful new year. She smiled and picked another crosswise strips and conjugated them with lengthwise ones.

Earlier years in Zululand, weaving of artistic baskets was accustomed to men until the British stormed the land, they took the men to work in the mines, then women began to find it necessary to learn to weave the traditional African Zulu baskets. In the city where they worked as diamond miners, the men often hired prostitutes, and they incidentally contracted HIV. Their working conditions were often dangerous and prone to short life spans, and however, their meagre pays did not compensate for it; so the man rarely had any money left after paying their rent, upkeeps, and prostitutes. Mbali's husband soon became a victim of HIV. The fatal disease had mutilated his immune and his breath was hanging in a place between life and death. It was apparent he would succumb to the underworld. Mbali had always prayed to the gods to protect him, but her prayers seemed to return unanswered. When her husband was brought home, her anticipations turned sour.


Note: Weaving of artistic basket is a Zulu culture, Bull dance is a culture, and also women taking care of their calves to attract their men is a tradition in Zulu.

THE THOUGHTS by fabiano09

He swung the wobbly axe with careless abandon. His lean muscles contracting as the axe fell repeatedly on the piece of wood. Many times he missed, but still kept at it. Tired and sweating profusely, he stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow. He was a hardworking young man,poor,but he had a cheerful outlook about life.
His eyes darted to the far end of the compound, where the dying glow from the fire still shown like nocturnal fireflies. Dusk was fast approaching, and he had to go to the stream. The stream would be quiet and undisturbed, he thought, just the way he loved it. He also rememberd his fish lines,a quirk smile formed at the edges of his lips. ‘I hope it catches something,fish peppersoup would be lovely tonight’,he mumbled to himself. This was one of the things his father had taught him,to be friendly with nature,so that his daily bread would come from it. He knew nothing else. Occasionally he would set wire traps in the bushes behind the river,but he seldom caught anything worthwhile. His best hunt was a scary eyed bush rat,that kept squealing until he released it from its misery. He relished the feast that day,which he enjoyed with his closest friend Ajani. They had roasted the bush meat and ate it with peppered palm oil,washing it down with fresh palmwine.
He smiled to himself,continued axing the wood. When he was done,he gathered the spliterred pieces and carried them to the fire. Arranged the wood in the dying fire,and blew it with powerful spurts from his lungs. Then he sat by the fire,enjoying the warmth it gave him. The harmattan this year was very harsh. He could hear the distant faint sound of music,wafting in from uphill. The city people had started coming back. It was always a nice time in the village this period,they brought happiness and good tidings. And most importantly gifts. The new year was only days away. He thought about going round the village visiting them. It was an important custom. Maybe someday his children would dwell in the city too. He wondered why he had not been keen to leave the village. He loved it too much infact. It was the land of his father,and his ancestors. His umbilical cord was buried here.He shook his head and let out a wry smile.He looked up to the heavens. Hope alive.

INJUSTICE AMONG US by diamondwriter

“This jury finds Fatima Abdul guilty and hereby sentences her to life imprisonment.” The judge pronounced just before the circolo burst into spontaneous murmur. As I was whisked through the aisle of the court room, I caught a glimpse of my parents. I saw their eyes as they saw me, they felt nothing.
As I little child, I loved everything. The ones I couldn’t get mostly and education was one of such. Every morning I would peep through my window as the fortunate kids passed by my father’s house looking smart in their uniform. I always wished it was me in that white top and black shot. My dad and mum cared less about education. For them, the success of a woman was measured by how well she was appraised by her husband. My uncle also stayed with us. He was different from my parents and would buy little books for me and though I couldn’t read them, owning a book made me feel smart.
My life was status quo until Alhaji usman came into our home and changed it forever. You are going to become a woman, my mum said to me. My uncle was sent out of the house that night after a fight with my father. I knew sorrow was imminent.
My wedding day was like a funeral to me. Every dream I had nursed were murdered in cold blood. I tried to accept my fate, I couldn’t. Suicide seemed like a more pleasant option. As I pondered on how best to kill myself, Alhaji came smiling like he won a trophy. I didn’t understand his intentions at first until he touched me where no one has before. Mom never mentioned this. I tried to pull away. He forced me. I cried.
He did it again the next day, the next day and the day after that. I was in hell. After breakfast on a Monday, he came at me, shredding my clothes like a monster. It happened so fast, I had a knife and I stabbed him. He fell and I ran. My parents wanted nothing to do with me. I was a disgrace.
I had a lawyer, NGOs came. They all gave me hope until I was judged. I thought I was the victim, Society thought differently. My name is Fatima and I have met injustice.

THE REBEL by IGITee

BANG! The pistol let out a loud cry. Just like a rehearsed fall, Musa's lifeless body fell with a thud. His hands were bound but from his facial expression he looked free. Shocked as I was, I motioned to reach for him but a terrible slap brought me back to reality. Instantly I lost visual coordination in my left eye but as my sight slowly returned I realized I was surrounded by men who I clearly knew, all looking down at me with disdain. Shagari or Oga as we usually called him faced me and with the same husky voice he used in pronouncing Musa's judgment started "These ones think they can stop our fight for freedom, they have forgotten about loyalty to the brotherhood. Thank God for Aminu here (tapping Aminu on the shoulder). Today we will show you how we treat rebels...""REBELS" I smirked at the thought. What do you call rebels amongst rebels? (cynical indeed). He went on but I was done listening, I shut my eye as firmly as I could (for once I wished my ears had lids).

It’s funny how the whole world seems so little when you are peering down the barrel of a loaded pistol. I know I have done some awful things in the name of freedom fighting but this was just too much. I remember my childhood days when we looked forward to the new year with so much gusto (the new clothes, celebrations in the street and Oh my God! the New Year’s white rice). I couldn't imagine being the reason for tears to innocent souls on such a day. His words were shrill when he gave the order; "Plant the bomb in the park so we can hit them where it hurts". What crime have these little ones committed I wondered. No! I couldn't, it was time for change. We were apprehended on our escape but our plans didn't totally fail because we succeeded in disposing off all explosive charges.

As I kneel here, I can't help but wonder about the fate of my mother who has no clue of my whereabouts. I planned to set things right come the New Year (my only resolution) but now all I fear for is her safety. I know I might not survive this but I feel fulfilled because we just saved another New Year celebration… BANG!

...IGIT!!!

PICTURE IN THE FRAME by mrfils

It was riotous to say the least, a free for all feast with singing and dancing or better described shouts and gyration. I had barely arrived in the village when Tunji my closest pal or "padi" as we fondly called ourselves dragged me off to the village carnival. It was an event that we often looked forward to but this year; I lost interest due to my bitter break up with Asake in the city.

The festival was characterized with songs and dances of different kinds. We young men were particularly elated when it came time for the famous AGIDIGIDI dancers. Every hair on our skins was usually on edge and our senses alert as we all looked forward to seeing it firsthand. Its common lore in the village that Yekini the palm wine tapper actually jumped down from a palm tree, broke his legs and disc but still dragged himself on hands and knees just to catch a glimpse.

I held on to my cup of fresh palm wine as though it was a medal of honor, gazing from side to side as I observed the events of the night with less abandon. In an instant everything went from commotion to the trademark slow motion famous in the matrix trilogy movies as I made a shape so perfect and a face so fair make way towards me. A broad smile plastered on her face as though professionally drawn. She stopped a foot from me, leaned in and whispered in my ears "Can I have a dance?" and at that moment it happened; my crazy tongue stuck to my palette, she guessed I meant NO and so circled on her heels to leave. I could swear I grabbed and pulled her back but on a second look, my free hand was glued to my sides like a soldier at attention.

It’s another new year's eve and I can't get the thought out of my head. Standing on the same spot even after ten years still gives me the same chills from what I lost but one thing I will forever cherish is this picture in the frame; HER FACE THE PICTURE, MY HEART THE FRAME!

...MrFils!

Yepala’s Price by eillo

“By the New Year, you could be playing in Europe. Leftie, you have to win this thing!” Coach prodded once again. “We can’t take chances.” The year 2015 would be the year I break into the international sports scene – if I won the national championship. I’d dreamed of this all my life.
I sighed.
We went immediately.“The deity usually takes something personal”, Coach explained. “Only things that you can live without, though.Yepala isn’t greedy. When I couldn’t father children, someone introduced me to Baba and Yepala solved my problem.”
“What did the deity take from you?” I asked
“Just one of my testes.”
“Sweet baby Jesus! Please stop this car. I’m not interested.”
“Yepala only took an earlobe from Abass.” I remembered Coach’s friend,Abass indeed was missing an earlobe. “Sometimes, it’s just a toe, a tooth or fingernails.”
He caught me looking at his crotch. “With my one testis, I fathered six sons. Leftie, don’t try me with your girlfriend o, I’m a Bulldozer!” He winked.
Yepala’s shrine was miles from civilization.She was a clay statuette painted black, red and white, sitting in a corner, wearing a crooked, sly smile.
Baba explained that first he would put me to sleep and then consult Yepala before proceeding to take from me what she wanted. “Your issue is a very small one;she may require just your pubic hair.” He asked Coach to wait outside as he brought a large clay pot to my face, smoke billowing from its insides.“Baba, ba-ba-ba, wait, wai…” I passed out.
I woke up slowly. It wasYepala’s sick smile that reminded me of where I was.I became aware of exquisite pain shooting through my arm.A cloth was wrapped round where my hand should be. I unwrapped it quickly. The hand was there.
But the thumb was gone.
Baba appeared through the door, Coach in tow. “Congratulations! All Yepala wanted was a thumb. I took the left one. The right one will be more useful for you.”
I screamed! “Nooooooo!”
“What’s the problem?” Baba asked.
“He plays table tennis with his left hand, that’s why we call him Leftie.” Coach said.
Yepala’s smile seemed a little broader, a little sly, like she was mocking me. I dealt a kick to her head, beheading her swiftly. Her head smashed into smithereens as Baba screamed, “Abomination!”

YOU WIN SOME... by shugaryme
The afternoon was going as planned. Trembling with excitement, Taiwo pushed the small wooden gate and hurried in after Kehinde.

He knew this was forbidden territory, but his ever persuasive twin had coaxed him into it. It was going to be quick and harmless, and they had dedicated their precious last banger to the mission.

The afternoon had seen several pranks each of which Taiwo had enjoyed. He particularly relished the memories of the young girls shrieking and scampering away. Except Sola. The disappointed look in her face, had made him feel silly and mean. The regret had drowned Kehinde's laughter, though not for long.

"What if it's the fowl?" Kehinde had asked, and another mission was born.

The white rotund bird was pecking hungrily at the ghosts of rice grains long eaten, oblivious to the fact that it would not survive the day. Mama said it's appetite meant more meat for everyone. How long it had been since they last ate chicken at all, much less one as big, Taiwo could not even recall. It was to mark a new year of prosperity, papa had announced. Beside the stake to which the chicken was tied, papa's scanty yams, almost indistinguishable from the sticks to which they were tied, did not quite agree.

"Oya na," his brother urged. Kehinde could barely use his right hand. He had broken the wrist years ago after a bad fall.

Taiwo lit the banger and threw.

His aim was perfect. Too perfect. It landed on the spot where the chicken had been pecking. The restrained bird tried in vain to wobble away from the fiery missile.

The banger exploded. The bird shrieked, flapping it's wings wildly. Then it fell, and with it, silence, till it shattered like ice against his mind and the chill ran down his spine. It stopped moving. The chicken.

"E no move again" Kehinde whispered the obvious, his voice as subdued as he looked. Taiwo knew who was as good as dead. It did not matter that the one with the two good hands did not bring the idea. If mama got to know first, maybe she could beg for them. If the chicken was dead or if papa came first...

Heavy footsteps interrupted his thoughts.

"Taiwo what is that?" The voice did not belong to mama.

Taiwo gulped.

The afternoon was not going as planned.

Obiajulu by iamsegsy


It was only few days from the new yam festival, Queen Akunna's beauty contest was the talk of the town, the village square would be filled once more.

The gossip that Ojuigo was doing everything to win competition was also trending amongst her peer. 'her mother had gone to the dibia' Chika had said, as she sighted Ezeugo, Ojuigo's mother coming from the same direction as with the Shrine. Ezeugo had bought the best attire and decoration for her daughter to mark the event.

Obiajulu wanted to participate, but her mother was too poor to buy her, decorations for the event. Ojuigo knew she would win, Obiajulu had just told her she won't be participating in the contest. Ojuigo knew Obiajulu to be prettier than her and a better dancer. She made a face and guise sympathy.

The contest began, the sound of music filled the air, the girls danced after the other, Ojuigo danced the best of dance she knew, her dark skin did well to radiate in the afternoon sunlight, as she move her waist to beat of the music. She was indeed beautiful.

The music stopped and all the dancers retired to there various positions. The Queen summoned the town crier.

The girls thinking it was to declare the winner, had their hopes high.

Obiajulu wouldn't have came out if Ekwefi had not pushed her out, after the town crier had delivered the Queen's message, 'giving room for any one else that wants to dance.'

She grotesquely reeled out the crowd only to be gawped at by the myriad spectators. Ojuigo gnashed her teeth, 'how did she get here?' she thought.

Music filled the air again, Obiajulu whose legs were trembling tripped and almost fell, in swoop she was back on her feet, the crowd yelled thinking it was a new dance step. She swerved through the dance arena, moving her waist in rhythmic manner to the heard song, the crowd could not help but let out loud cheers which shook the ground. Though she was not princessly adorned, her mother's old beads and jigida which flopped around her waist did much to disinter her beauty in the afternoon sunlight. She shone and reflected like the Crystal of beauty she was called.

The prince must have loved her performance, he was on his feet clapping, 'Obiajulu' he muttered, 'the mind at last is at rest'.

BIODUN by Awesomeb1783

DEAD!? He can't be. I frightfully shuddered at the thought. All I remember was being woken by a loud shriek followed by sounds of struggle. I raced out to behold a yard in total disorder, wares scattered all over and a trail of fresh blood was ominously visible. Scary thoughts raced through my mind. Ah! The village ritual I thought. Fear gripped me as chills flowed down my spine. I was numb and confused.

It was customary for youths to gather in the village square every 31st day of December or crossover as we now fondly called it. On one such day years ago, we had been so involved in the usual festivities that the night offered; the dance competitions, song renditions, feasting, jesting and the unavoidable flirting. We were in the thick of the action when we heard screams. We rushed to the source and saw a girl visibly shaken with fright pointing in the direction of the bushes. It was hard seeing in the dark but from what we could make out, we think we saw men in white carrying what seemed to be a body wrapped in white walking into the bushes in a straight file. That marked the end of that night's activities as we all headed home as fast as our legs could carry us. The next day, I had naively asked my grandfather for an explanation but his answer didn't go down well in my head as he told me a long tale that ended with the village ritual.

In an instant, my grandfather's tale flooded my head. Could it be true? Could he have been taken? Where was Biodun?! My mind was clouded in terror but I just couldn't shake off the thought that he could be gone, as in DEAD! What was I going tell my parents as they had left me in charge of my siblings. I fearfully followed the blood trail toward our gates that was brightly lit by the full moon and in terror I screamed as my gaze met the sight: there he stood with jean torn and elbow bruised, frantically panting with a headless chicken clutched tightly in his right fist. There and then I recalled it was his turn and first time killing the NEW YEAR chicken... the feeble Biodun at last was reborn a man!

...Awesomeb1783

CHIAMAKA'S DILEMMA by spacefreak


The "udu" sounded loud and sweet in the air, the music and cheering continued. Mazi Okonkwo's gaze now rested on his daughter with happy thoughts of becoming a grandfather this new year. Chiamaka was still semi conscious of the villagers cheers and her father in front of her with a huge smile. "what am I going to do?", "do I tell him?" She thought. She had already accepted the "mpi" filled with palm wine from her father. "what will he say?" What do I do?" Her thoughts raved on. She gripped the "mpi" with both hands while trying to dance to the music. Her task remained finding her husband-to-be from the crowd. She knew exactly where Okechukwu seated in his white and blue "agbada" but she was still unsure of her step. She had caught Okechukwu's gaze severally with her eyes shying away. Her steps remained shaky. She dragged her feet while feigning a dance. The cheers and music was getting louder. Her heart pounded and she was already crying silently. "please the gods should help me" Chiamaka said silently to herself as she caught Okechukwu's gaze once more. She was getting closer to the love of her life. Few inches now separated she and her husband-to-be. He was wearing the biggest grin ever and was flapping his legs without care."oh, I am so sorry!" she thought. She was overwhelmed, her body fidgeted. The "mpi" fell. Shouts echoed. The music stopped. She ran.

Title:My Marriage. by Olusharp


Forever will i remember the the day David came to add the "Mrs" to my
name. Our house was full to the brim as guests arrived from my
paternal and maternal's family. The preparation for the Marriage had
began as early as 5:30am, my mom was busy ordering everyone here and
there and dad was doing his own preparation, my friends had also
arrived to help as they teased me at the slightest oppurtunity.

My Dad had insisted on having a traditional marriage, by 10am the
groom,my love David and his family members had arrived, i was quickly
taken to a room where i stayed with my friends, as was our tradition i
was not permitted to set an eye on my husband until the two family had
finished their discussion.
After hours of waiting, the excitement, the tension was all over me, i
was summoned, i walked in followed by my friends,my face was partly
covered, my husband-to-be sat on the chair admist his family beaming
with smiles. I knelt down before my father who started praying for me
using all the gifts that were brought as a source of prayer, my
husband was also later called to join me, he knelt down before my
father and we were both blessed, His parent did likewise.
It was time to go to my new home,my mom couldn't control it again she
burst into tears i couldn't help it, i joined the "crying race" which
my siblings also joined, it was only dad who refused to cry but i knew
within he was fighting hard to keep the tears away. I was soon led
away by my husband family followed by my friends, my husband family
were singing hapily, i got to my new family house by 9:30pm, i was not
allowed in,the women in the house hurriedly went to get a bowl of
water with which they washed my legs,blessing me in the process, After
this ritual i was allowed in, i went straight to my husband's room, he
had been waiting, he couldn't curtail his excitement as he carried me
to the bed,where we dance to the sweet tunes of sex. It was a pleasant
memory.

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RUNNING FROM THE PAST(The story of an Osu) by Pureivory (moniker)

Lola kept asking for answers I feared giving. This has been on for years now. We fight about it often but today, it shall end.
I was about recounting certain events of my life, saddest, darkest ones.
"This must stop Emeka. I won't let your heart suffer it alone any longer. Please, tell me why we cannot visit your village."
She stood by my side, I turned away from the window to face her. Her gentle fingers rested on my cheek, only then did I realized that tears stained my face. I felt pain in my heart, like bricks rested there.
I could see her own pain in her eyes, pains I caused.

"Lola, I'm an Osu, an outcast." She stared at me as if I made no sense. Then, I told her.

I told her how we from Umuode were ostracized by other villages in Enugu state.
I told her how passersby didn't come to my father's aid when he fell off his bicycle and hit his head on a stone. How he bled to death.
Mother's vegetables taken to the market for sales would all spoil because, nobody buys from an Osu. We indeed suffered in penury!

I told her how an inferno burned down our house, claiming the life of my younger brother whose screams a nearby farmer heard but wouldn't help, because my brother was an Osu.
Shunned by the society and her family for marrying an Osu whom she loved and lost, mother died of heartbreak.

I married from Yoruba because, hardly will any Igbo parent allow their child marry an Osu. For all I know, Deacon Okwuka dissolved marriage arrangements between my sister and his son the pastor on grounds that she was an Osu.
These aren't peculiar to my family alone, most Osu families in various parts of Igbo land suffer the same if not worse fates as no Diala (son of the soil) will want anything to do with smelly servants of deities.

Lola was shocked to the marrow but her strength equals none. She smiled sadly at me. "That phase is passed. Your sister is getting married to Ayo this January."
"Not forgetting our bundle of joy." I said, rubbing her baby bump. Lola laughed at that.

Finally at ease, I thought " 2015 will be a good year!"

Name: Christopher Oleh!
NL Monicker: Chrisviral.
Word count: 399
Story Title: All in one Day!

‎Tunde is his name, Handsome, 28, works at shell and kept inviting me to come visit him.
One faithful saturday Morning, Dad was off on his travels to win souls for christ, My twin brother was no where around the house, I remembered Tunde, at last the opportunity to see him had presented itself, I called him, gave him our house address and he came with his Toyota Corrola Car and we drove to his house!
Oh his House was beautiful, well furnished with leather cushions and nice flower vases, he gestured me to sit, he started making advances at me, It felt good, I wanted him to touch me more, he must have read my thoughts for he intensified the movements of his hands round my young bosoms, before I could say J-A-C-K, we were naked, I stood with mouths agape, as I stared at his huge manliness, I was filled with curiosity, he must have read my thoughts again, for he assured me that everything will be fine, he pulled something that looked like a white ballon from his wallets, slided his Manliness into it and he took me to places I never knew existed!
Mid-way into it, we heard a Gun shot, I startled, which resulted into the balloon like thing on his maliness to make a tearing sound, he pulled out and said "it's just a minor cut at the tip, don't worry" of course I need not to worry, I wanted him to continue!
When we finished, as we were driving out of his house, we saw crowds gathered at a corner, he pulled over, I saw a lifeless body lying on the floor, I moved closer to see who it was... Ahmed was shut dead! I slumped!
Days later, I leant Ahmed and some boys were seen peeping into Tunde's house, when the security was alerted, they tried running, a shot was fired and unluckily for my twin brother the bullet caught him, he died on the spot, I had led him to his death!
Three Months after Ahmed's death, I started having rashes all over my body, early Morning fever and Nausea, Dad had to force me to the hospital, several test were ran on me, the Doctor handed me a life changing piece of paper.
My Name is Chidimma Amina Adeleke, I am HIV positive and Three Months pregnant, all for Tunde and this is my story!

By funmo

The deafening sounds of the fireworks and "knock-outs" aka banger wouldn't let me enjoy the latter part of my sleep. Just the day earlier, our neighbour's cousin's friend's nephew that just came in from the States ran for his dear life when he was welcomed by these sounds. "Everybody run for cover, run for cover" he kept screaming, people couldn't hold their laughter for long, especially the naughty kids that took turns tormenting Bryan with the striking of the bangers. This morning, 30th December 2014, it should be known to the whole world that the once-upon-a-Banger-fearing Bryan is the one not letting me enjoy my sleep to the maximum. He won't stop throwing these bangers everywhere. Can someone get me Obama's whatsapp line?
8 year-old Bryan has never been to Africa, his first trip here would forever be a memorable one, both to him and us-the occupants of Unity Estate, Molipa, Ijebu-Ode. The night he came in was even more dramatic; the power holding company seized the power according to schedule. "Help! I think I've gone blind, the world is coming to an end, world war 4", we didn't even know which one to believe of Bryan's rants. An American kid doesn't see electricity supply for a few minutes before the generator gets switch on and he goes on throwing endless tantrums? When he calmed down, he looked at his temporary-housemates with surprising eyes, " wh a t on ea a rth j j ust happened?" he stuttered, they made him know this is Nigeria and people get blind most nights and only generators restore sights, that the world comes to an end too, only to be recreated via sounds of i-pass-my-neighbours and that world war 4 has been fought countless times in this part of the world.
Bryan had no choice than to fall in love with his mother's land as soon as possible, he made funny eyes anytime he ate the local dishes, eba made him puke the very first time he ate it. He learnt a few words in Yoruba and would prostrate almost to everybody that came in contact with him. Bryan's going back to his father's land wasn't a sight to behold; he shed tears and swore to come back again. My Facebook updates filled with Bryan's doings came to an abrupt end, but I had learnt few lessons on perspective, adaptation and overall, love.