₦airaland Forum

dolapoesho:
Hello there,
Interesting tips. I found one that discuss writing your blog with style.
Here is the link to the article.
https://wsiaxon.com/writing-blog-posts-style/

just commented on ur site

hello people
I just joined the tread
here's my blog link
www.diekola..com
food, fashion and fiction

I hope to attend.. But by attending the seminar, will the participants be taught how to put up their stories on e platforms like okada books. what I mean to say is that will the participants automatically be allowed to publish their stories on okada books?

As a young lady, I have always had this strong aversion for men who battered their wives. I know you’ll try to say that this is a general thing, that everyone hates them too. Well, for me it goes way beyond the common hatred. Mine was an unnatural loathing. I don’t know why, perhaps I was beaten to death in my past life. That proposition could be true because I was born with a dark scar across my forehead. So maybe that could explain my contempt for these set of human beings. It was this weird ideology of mine that landed me into serious kasala one day.

I had just finished secondary school then and I had to live with my grandma in a very remote area in Lagos. There is a saying that a hungry man is an angry man. This was so true because most people who lived around there were mean broke therefore wives endured frequent beatings from their angry husbands. So, just like you guessed, I hated most of the men that lived around that area. However, there was this particular one that caught my attention. I liked to refer to him as Mr Evil XY chromosome. His wife was usually pregnant every year. They never missed a year of piling up so many unhealthy looking children. They had to be unhealthy as they could barely have reasonable meals each day. That was not my own concern o. I am just telling you that part ni o. My concern was that this man smokes and drinks everyday then comes home to beat his baby making factory. He beats the poor woman so much that every time, the woman had to lie that she had hit her face on the wall. Until one day a neighbor finally had the guts to say “Mama XYZ shey na everyday u dey knack your face for wall?” You’ll notice I couldn’t say the name of the woman’s child. Hmm by the time I finish my story you will understand why o. Like the Oyinbo people will say, prevention is better than cure.
So, in a nutshell I hated this man. I used to wish that he would die.(Father forgive me for I have sinned. Amen). I never said a word of greeting to him. Ever! Anyways the hatred was mutual because he always had this wicked disposition whenever he saw me. In my mind I would be like, “Ogbeni, who you epp?”

That was how that on that fateful day, I was having serious akproko with my friend when Mr Evil XY chromosome walked past. Make I no lie you, I confuse. But what he said afterwards was that I had stepped on him. Hmm blood of Zechariah! It felt like the sun did a catwalk across my face. The slap had resonating effects that lingered in my ears for several seconds. While I was still recovering from the sting of the slap, with my other clear eye I noticed Mr Evil XY chromosome was preparing to download me several series of slaps.

As humans, there are several unharnessed inherent talents that we possess and because of their obscurity, we ignore them. So they just lie in us dormant. Most people discover theirs later in life or in the face of challenging situations. Worst still most people die with theirs never knowing and never using them. That day I discovered that I was such a fantastic runner. I ran like a thief, faster than a flash even Usain Bolt must have felt intimidated. Before one could say, God-punish-devil I was already miles away from my assailant.

It was this memory that popped up in my head as I sat listening to the woman with a swollen lip and a half shut eye who narrated her ordeals to me at my station. With the memory of that dirty, rather dangerous slap, I knew exactly how to with that case of domestic violence now that I was in the police force.

www.diekola..com

Ok. Let’s get serious. Let’s talk about girl power, beauty stereotypes, feminity. In a nut shell, let’s talk about who we are.
Well, if you know me well enough, I say it without shame, remorse or a tinge of guilt, “I am a foodie! Unapologetically gourmet.” Being a foodie doesn’t mean I over eat or consume things that are detrimental to my well being. Don’t get it messed up there. Being a foodie simply means having the ability to eat what you want to eat because you want to eat it and not because you are afraid or trying not to get fat by starving. Simply put, freedom!
“Eating is about many things, but it is also about power. To a majority of the world, which goes to bed hungry involuntarily, this is actually not a choice. Approximately seventy percent of the female population is on a diet at any given time. More women diet than vote.” Susan J Gilman
Whoever said it was only skinny that was beautiful? Oh yeah, the skinny models say so, the magazines say so, celebrities say so and even we ourselves are not left out of the saying list. God, the originator of beauty says, all things were wonderfully and fearfully made. Oh yes, it includes the plus size lady too. Sure, it is good to be in shape and to eat nutritiously but with the obsessive calorie counting that goes on today, young women are opt to lose our sanity along with the pounds.
Maybe if girls would stop focusing so much on our looks and start redirecting that energy towards our minds instead, we’d create even more serious competition in the world politics. The women who have truly influenced the world have done so because of their ideologies and smartness. Chimamanda Adiche, Oprah Winfrey, J.K Rowling, Jane Austen… None of these women are making history because they are going unclad in a bikini pose or singing naked.
Carla Barton has impacted the world saving lives through the Red Cross society than a naked Beyonce singing to thousands of Hot men will ever do. Margret Sanger, who pioneered birth control has done more to liberate women sexually than those nudists our young girls have as their role models will ever do. These women were/are people who weren’t so obsessed with physical beauty they were people who invested in their minds. For Pete’s sake even Cleopatra wasn’t stupid she could speak seven languages! Physical beauty fades. Invest on your mind so as to be able to influence your world positively.
Real girl power is not the boobs and the butts but the brains! That’s true beauty. It is not a post modernist craze for perverseness but a decision to decency.
Have a Positive Day,
Dieko.
www.diekola..com

My name is Adepoju Grace. I'm in need of your votes for the Etisalat prize for flash fiction 2016. Pls, I feel so sad knowing that I have a good story with less likes. E joor e epp me. Kindly click on the blue like button in the link. Thanks. https://prize.etisalat.com.ng/flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=693

Krystalzkris:
It's not easy being a writer in this part of the world, where most prefer other activities that is far from reading. It's paramount we help ourselves out

Please vote for me copying and posting the link on your main browser. Not opera mini or Uc browser.

You will see my story, then you can decide to vote. Click on the blue stuff with a thumb on it.

The link is https://prize.etisalat.com.ng/flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=651

Don't forget to copy and paste it in your browser.
Thanks

Just voted for you kindly vote back

HelenaG:
It really isn't easy, so let's support each other by trading votes. I vote for you. And you vote for me. My link is https://prize.etisalat.com.ng/flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=2454

Let me know after you vote so I reciprocate. Thank you

Just voted for you. Kindly vote back

HelenaG:
Hi Diekola. Iv just voted for you. Here's the link to mine. I'd appreciate your vote.
https://prize.etisalat.com.ng/flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=2454

Thanks

Just voted for you too

HelenaG:
Would you like to trade votes?

Yes

Hi everyone. My name is Adepoju Grace Toyin. My short story was approved for the Etisalat prize for flash fiction 2016. I am in dire need of votes. Pls help a budding writer by kindly going to

https://prize.etisalat.com.ng/flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=693
Pls press the like button and share God bless you

Gimmehear. Never knew you were a nairalander o. Good to have you here from Blooggers and webmasters.

I don't think so. @Vicrown how did u get the link?

She watched as trickles of sweats dripped off the young man's body. She noticed he wasn't really looking at her rather, he looked through her. The room was poorly lit with a green bulb which was practically the only source of light that permeated the place as the windows were covered with thick black curtains that resisted any other form of luminance in the room. Her eyes traveled slowly to the small wooden table where the man had kept his things. Items which include; a pair of cuff links, a shinny gold wristwatch and a big black book on which the words, 'HOLY BIBLE' were emblazoned on its side.
She wondered how one could even dare bring such a book into an unholy premises. She turned to look at the book again to be double sure. It was it, the book. She had been right the first time. She remembered the story of a major character in the book. A certain man named Jesus who sacrificed himself for the sins of the world, as someone had told her. Tentatively, she felt connected to this character. Somehow, not in an exact way, they were both on the same course of action. For instance, she was there in that room being sacrificed for those she loved; her three siblings and her old mother. She hoped that her name one day would be written in some book too. It all came rushing back to her, the process, how it all began. She had made sure she traveled far far away, to a place where no one could ever know her. She had come with a new identity and a new personality as well f
termittently shut her eyes as the man jerked harder. He felt disappointed as she refused to give in to the requited response. She just lay there like a log of heavy wood, frigid as death itself. It wasn't that she didn't feel the hormonal surge of the moment but she was too lost in the cocoons of her big dreams that she felt practically disconnected to the world of that room. She knew nobody could tell her otherwise, she was an hero, a sacrificial lamb and for that milesecond she felt connected to piety. The glimmer of the band on the man's finger as he brushed through her hair brought her back to the room. 'Oh, she thought, he was married? ' She conjectured he was married to some pretty young lady just like himself. The lady with whom he felt a deeper connection, a communion of the soul not particularly of the body. Something deep, something beyond superficial, something she could never explain because she had never felt it.
What she felt instead was a regular wave of deep depression as she constantly saw how miserable she was, as she had never , in men, connected to anything other than their wallets or pockets and they, to her body. The man jerked faster than he had been doing and began to moan. When he was done, he wore his clothes, handed her a slim wad of cash, picked up his things and left the room. As he opened the door, a beam of light flooded the room. She in turn, wearing her birthday suit as she lain on the bed opened her arms wide as if she were embracing the light.

Culled from, www.diekola..com