₦airaland Forum

stardomberry:
sorry prisca!!! pls more update

Lol. That's the end of the story. Or are you asking for another story? Thanks for reading

stardomberry:
sorry prisca!!! pls more update

Lol. That's the end of the story. Or are you asking for another story?

'I love you,' he said, over the phone. 'It is you that I love.' Prisca could hardly believe her ears. Osazee had just confessed love to her. Osazee... the charming Osazee with the bronzed complexion, the muscular build, the disarming smile, the soothing baritone voice. She was carried away, lost in the euphoria of the moment till Osazee's elfin voice jolted her back to reality. 'Are you there?' he asked.
'Yes, Osazee. I'm still here,' she said, with a lame attempt at hiding her glee.
'So, will you be my woman?' he asked, in a rather calm tone. He was sure he would get a yes. No woman had ever turned him down. Prisca wasn't going to be the first.
'Osas...,' she said in the sweetest tone of her musical voice. 'Let me think about this,' she told him, although she wanted to say yes right away and become Osazee's woman. She would proudly show him off to all her friends as she would do a gold trophy.
'All right, darling. I'll be waiting. Please, make sure it's a yes.'
'Just hold on to hope while you wait,' she said.
'I love you, Prisca. Please don't break my heart,' he cooed. 'We'll talk tomorrow. Bye for now, darl.'
'All right then. Bye,' she said, with a blithe smile on her butterscotch face. He hung up and on hearing the beep, she said, 'I love you too, Osazee. With every part of me.' Prisca was overjoyed. She had met Osazee three weeks ago at a picnic hosted by a mutual friend. She had been full of admiration for the tall hunk. Osazee was all over the place with his rich sense of humour. The ladies were hoping to catch his attention, to get him to shoot his smile at them, to notice them. Calm Prisca had just sat with a friend or two watching and chatting. But she was a captivating beauty and Osazee could not help but notice her. I have to get this one, he thought to himself. So he walked over to her, talked and flashed his enchanting smile at her. She willingly gave him her phone number at his request. And that was it. It had been three weeks of phone conversations and lunch dates. Although, she was crazy about him all the while, she could not dare to raise her hopes. But, things just got brighter. He had said, 'I love you'! She fantasised about their future together, a lavish wedding, the three cuties they would have for kids. Her life was finally taking shape.

'What?!' she screamed, shaking hard. 'How could he do this... to me?' A tear trickled down her spotless face, and then her eyes were soon clouded by the liquid streaming down with ease. She put her phone aside, and sat on her mattress, her head in her hand. She had just come across photographs from Osazee's engagement party on Instagram. The voluptuous lady looked proud and content as she stood beside Osazee. Prisca was torn apart. It all came clear to her now. She cried as she reminisced his mushy words that easily cajoled her, the flings they had at XY Hotel, the love she had poured on him. Now, the big guy was suddenly unreachable. She had been unable to reach him on phone for one week, his house where they met was deserted. He had tricked her, mercilessly fooled her. Osazee had used her to his satisfaction, and was now done. This realisation that dawned on Prisca broke her heart into shreds.

Here's my text-on-photo fiction. Give yourself a treat! More episodes coming soon after this. Enjoy!

Here's my text-on-photo fiction. Give yourself a treat! More episodes coming soon after this. Enjoy!

My Love,

  I don't know how to begin, but I'm sure the words will flow, as my thumb rests on the screen. Sometimes, I hold my life in retrospect and feel a tinge of sadness. I compare how closely connected we used to be in the past to the present. I miss those times when I felt your wind of love, the warmth of your embrace saturate my being. I miss those times when my excitement knew no bounds as I learnt about the depth of your love for me, the worth you place on my very self and the plans for our future together. And, oh where's the me who was smitten with or by love... who was lovesick- an illness I ought to never recover from? What's happened to the version of me who thought only of how to please you, and present my soul and my body to you?

I still remember the day I fell head over heels in love with you. I had been down in the mire of depression, frustration and... but then it hit me. I must have heard you loved me before then but that day was different. The reality of your love- so pure, so amazing- dawned on me. Tears of joy streamed down my face instead of tears of deep sadness. At the point of realisation, loving you too was irresistible. You changed my life, gave me a reason to smile and a cause to sing in sweet melody, with childlike excitement.

I know you still love me, I know you hang around, waiting for us to get back together and more closely knit together this time. I know you never left me, you've been here all the while looking on at me. But I neglected you, My Love. I was distracted by stuff not close to being worth our tranquil, priceless relationship. You're calm and would never force yourself on me... you just patiently wait.

So now, here I am, wanting to crawl back into your waiting strong, yet comfy arms. I want to feel your breath over me. I miss you, My One True Love. Please, help me. I know I don't need to plead to come back to you 'cos you want me back too. So, Sweetheart, I'm telling you that I'm coming back. I want us to be lovey-dovey with each other again. I'll find my way back, back with you, My Love.

Your Sweetheart.

So, dear friend, Jesus is waiting for you. His arms are wide open, ready and waiting to receive you to Himself. He's standing by. It's high time you went back to your One True Love. (1 John 4:19, John 15:13).

www.electaalen..com

Hey buddies! I did a joint-post with a fellow nairalander, my friend, remenzack. Here's my part of our story, `Freed`(hers will be out soon, wait for it!).

FREED
Nina... Nina Peters. That's who I am. There's nothing special about me, really. Or is there really something? Some say I'm beautiful, some others claim I'm brainy. They may be right, but still I'm not deaf to the verbal venim constantly hurled at me. The stigma hovering around me is almost suffocating. In the eyes of my immediate society, a woman's worth is based on her ability to keep and hold a man; a husband is what makes you a woman, it's what makes you whole. I once owned a man, or a man once owned me but not anymore. So I'm a loser. A big loser. I wish things were different. I wanted things to work out between us but we were too incompatible. Eric was some sort of sex addict but I had virtually no interest, and so he satisfied his wanton desires with numerous chicks around, anything in skirt until one of them, Lilian finally had him to herself. Sometimes, I feel betrayed and think, 'What a devil Eric is'. At other times, I wear the garment of guilt, I feel it's my fault. I just wish I wasn't a victim, and not just of failed marriage. There's something more. I wish I wasn't so abused and brutalised by those dearest to me.

I can still remember the day I was cut; it's impossible to forget a thing like that. I couldn't understand why I had to be treated that way then.
*
Many years ago, I was outside, a little far from home, playing with other girls of my age-group when a middle aged woman came to get me. She claimed she was taking me to Mother, so I followed her subserviently. After a short walk, she stopped at a little mud house. 'What could Mother be doing here?' I wondered. I followed my Guide into the small room. I got a little scared when I saw three other little girls sobbing silently at the other end of the room. I could read the pain on their faces, deep and heart-cutting pain. Before I could take any actions, another woman, younger than the one I came with, grabbed me by the arm and lay me down on a mat set on a bamboo bed. My instincts immediately told me that danger lurked. I fought hard, and screamed. A woman nearby quickly tied a piece of cloth over my mouth. Two other women held down my 8 year-old body with their relatively strong arms. My heart beat so fast and vehemently that I thought I heard each heartbeat clearly. Then the middle aged lady who doubled as the local midwife brought closer those tools I dreaded, as another woman put off the wide clothing tied round my tiny waist. I screamed! A surge of fear overwhelmed me as I wondered what was going to happen next.
'Be calm, my pretty child. It wouldn't take long,' she said, smiling. I pleaded, but the words didn't come out, thanks to the gag over my mouth. Then, it happened and very fast. With a sharp knife in her hand, she quickly cut off my clitoris, taking part of my labia with it. The pain was indescribably excruciating. I thought I was going to die. As my blood-thick and red-flowed profusely, one of the women who had held me down released me and reached for something close to her. She then took off the gag, making my piercing cries audible. The same woman placed some pieces of dried leaves over my wound. 'This should stop the bleeding and make your wound heal fast. Be strong, little girl,' she said. All I could do was cry, my tears flowing down my face as blood flowed down my thighs.
**************************
I didn't know the term used to describe what had been done on me till many years later. They call it 'washing' in my community. Actually, I had gone through excision, a form of Female Genital Mutilation.

I kept asking Mother why she allowed them to do it on me until one day she gave a reply. 'It's a strong part of our culture and a mark of purity. Any woman who doesn't go through 'washing' is filthy and would most definitely become sexually immoral. We wanted you to have your pride of place amongst us. We didn't want you to face rejection. We didn't want our daughter to be an outcast,' she calmly explained. Although Mother couldn't bear to watch the process, she had given her support because she thought it was for my good. In my birth-community, going through 'washing' was something that evoked a deep sense of pride and purity. The tough experience made you a real woman, so we thought. I remember how proud my family had been when I finally returned home after undergoing herbal treatment for two weeks. Not every girl survives the 'washing' rites, but I had survived. So, they were proud. But soon, I left the place where I was born and bred into the larger world. Then, I saw that what had been done to me was in no way a necessary good but a grave evil that mustn't be allowed to live on. What they-including my family-thought was a shield of protection was actually an open pathway for woes. The sheer truth is there's absolutely nothing good about FGM.

I've struggled with low self esteem and depression. I often feel incomplete, like a vital part of me is gone. I face fears of various kinds. A minor cut on my skin throws me into panic as it reminds me of the day I would readily describe as the 'worst day of my life'. I fear the thought of child birth. Two of my friends, Anne and Lucy had died during child birth due to either prolonged labour or excessive bleeding, and these were consequences of FGM. I even fear the thought of a second marriage. Aren't all men the same? Who, amongst men would lovingly and patiently help me weather through the storm of dyspareunia. Who would cope with my asexual tendencies, as I-hopefully-will gradually overcome them? Who would understand me, and not be like Eric who was totally insensitive to my struggles? I wish I wasn't born into such a culture. It didn't make feel like a woman as intended, instead it was an insult to my dignity as a female human. Now, I only felt betrayed, abused and injured. It didn't give me any sense of pride, instead I felt the wind of humiliation blowing over me. I feel cold shivers running down my spine anytime I reminisce that horrible act.

Martha Gold, my friend is a victim too. The story is the same. FGM has done us no good. Her story is pathetic too. But the truth is we are among the less unlucky ones. Some other victims lost their precious lives, there are those who suffer from one short or long term health condition, all because they were subjected to such a gruesome practice. Martha is
Click on http://electaalen..in/2016/05/freed_34.html for the remaining part.

BUT... GOD, WHY?
'Why?! Why?!! Why?!!!' I cried profusely. 'But God...' I broke into sobs so intense that my heart ached sharply. Yes, I felt the physical pain but I still couldn't stop crying. The emotional pain I carried was much more overbearing. 'They were Christians, devout Christians. How could you have let this happen to them?' I had just lost my Mum and my elder sister to the cold hands of death. They were raped and shot by some touts. Just like that? Where was God when all this happened? Then I concluded with hot tears streaming down my teenage face, 'God doesn't care a bit about human race... Or He just doesn't exist!' That was the only explanation I could find. He must be only a mythic personality. 'There's no God!' I cried. I wept loudly as the reality of my losses hit me. I no longer had a family. Hepatitis had taken Dad away six years before. Now, my sweet mother and my only sibling were gone. The flowers in the garden behind the house that was once home to me seemed to mourn with me, for they looked pale, and their beauty had waned. 'I've lost everything,' I screamed, the wind blowing over me. 'There's no God!' I concluded as I looked up at the pregnant sky.

That was the beginning of my atheistic journey. I pursued scientific knowledge, and with the help of my foster parents got into medical college. I excelled so well that I was awarded a scholarship to complete my studies abroad. My dedication to the pursuit of knowledge is paying off, I thought to myself. I totally embraced scientific principles that opposed the theories in the Bible I believed in as a child. However, there were times when I encountered confusions. Some theories in Science seemed to contradict one another. As I studied more anatomy, I concluded that an intricately perfect design such as that of the human body couldn't have come as a result of chaos or disorder. 'It had to be the work of a master Artist. There has to be someone out there,' I admitted quite reluctantly. But then I chose to continue to believe and live as though He was nonexistent. 'What do I need an uncaring and insensitive God for anyway?'

So, I was abroad-in Ontario, Canada actually-studying more of Life Science and getting more and more antagonistic towards my Creator. I had many friends and a whole load of respect, thanks to my intellectual abilities. I kept on acquiring knowledge especially because I was an erudite reader. I read voraciously and had great understanding of scientific principles. But all the knowledge I acquired didn't fill the void in my soul. I tried even more to find relief in the books I read, books on different scopes of knowledge such as Medical Science, Literature, Philosophy, Psychology, and just anything bookish.

One summer evening, this tall lanky guy walked up to me as I relaxed outside my hostel within the compound of NorthWest University. He told me he had good news for me. But to my chagrin, he ended up preaching the gospel to me, telling me of Jesus and of His great love for me that made Him submit Himself to a most gruesome death. 'Another myth! I've heard that a thousand times,' I said in my heart. But I listened to him anyway. Maybe because I was always polite. But I was drawn to this young mulatto. Jeremy had this glow in his hazel eyes that seemed to draw me; he had the brightest smile too. He was a student just like me; he studied Petroleum Engineering. He became a close acquaintance and at any opportunity he got, told me of the love of a God I didn't want to believe in. He was always calm and seemed to understand that I had some deep-seated emotional problems I hadn't overcome. He sure was deeply concerned about me but tried not to get too close. He was a christian, and I a die-hard atheist. I understood. I wished to have him for a close friend though. One day, I asked him out on a date. He said in his usual calmness, 'All right. But, first of all, I want to ask that you read this book, and after that you talk to God. Just tell Him what's in your heart. When we meet again on our date, we'll discuss the outcome.'
'Well, okay. It's just a book after all,' I said as I reached for it. It was the gospel according to John in a little book.
'Deal?' he asked with a suppressed smile.
'Yay! I'm in,' I replied casually.
'Very good,' he said with glee in his voice. It was exciting to see him so cheerful.

The next day, behind the closed doors of my commodious and gorgeous room, I settled down to read the little book. For me, it was just one more book I could get busy with. Well, I enjoyed the literary devices, the figurative expressions and all that. I concluded it was a good book with interesting fables, some sort of amazing literary work. Then, it was time to talk to God, as requested by Jeremy. I started, 'God, do you really exist? If you do, and you're so powerful, then You're most uncaring and callous. You let bad things happen to good people...' After my emotional outburst, I immediately fell asleep.

I woke up a totally different person. I had had the realest dream ever. I had been to paradise. Yep, I saw Jesus. He spoke to me. He said, 'Kathy, why have you been avoiding me. I've been there all the while watching over you and helping you succeed. I love you. I care, Kathy.' Almost suddenly, I saw Dad, Mum and Gloria behind Him. They looked so happy, and were more alive than they were on earth. Their faces shone with the purest joy ever, beyond human comprehension. Heaven was even more real than earth. The indescribable beauty of Paradise, the tremendous peace and joy that saturated it... I didn't want to return to earth. As if Jesus heard my thoughts aloud, He said, 'You're not ready. You must go back to earth and live for me. You will fulfill My purpose for you. At the end of your life, you'll come here and be with Me for eternity.'

I couldn't wait for next week before telling Jeremy about my experience. I texted him just after I rededicated my life to God.

I graduated from medical school with very good grades and I'm currently practising as a christian doctor. I'm happily married to my love, Jeremy McDonalds and we have two lovely boys-Dan and Benjamin- together. So, here I am, years later living my life for the One who loves me more than I could ever imagine, whose ways are always the best. Life can't be any better. I'm looking forward to the day when I'd join my Master in paradise. Till then, I'll keep touching the lives of people around me.

Author's Note:
God loves you, yes, you. You're on His mind 24/7. Although things may seem to have gone haywire, rest in His love for you, knowing His thoughts towards you are indeed thoughts of peace, and not of evi...
Click on http://www.electaalen..co.id/2016/04/but-god-why_97.html?m=1 for more.

'You don't know how lucky you are, Risikat. Many girls your age yearn for the opportunity that has come your way. You have to take hold of this chance unless you want to die in poverty. Danladi is wealthy. He's a good man too. So, we stand to gain if you accept his proposal. In fact, you have to, for the good of this family'. Those were the words of Risikat's father, Musa who was all too willing to marry his 14 year old daughter off to Danladi. He hoped that would end their sorry tale of abject poverty. He(Danladi) had come to his house three days ago, and expressed interest in having Musa's eldest daughter for a wife. Musa gleefully told his daughter's suitor that he'd get back to him in three days' time. From the day, Danladi came seeking her hand in marriage, he started discussing it with her. It was clear she didn't want to be given away yet her insensitive father thought he shouldn't let this opportunity pass without grasping it with both hands. Poverty! Her father had let poverty affect his mind and sensitivity to his daughter's plight.

Despite her pleas against getting married, she was married off at the age of 14. The traditional wedding was a lavish one. Musa must have been so proud of his new in-law. Everyone seemed to be happy, except two people- Danladi's beautiful bride and her poor mother. It was with much effort that Risikat kept the tears from trickling down. Her mother could not hold hers, as the salty liquid flowed profusely from her eyes.

Madam Basirat was married off early, but her case was a bit better. Musa was only five years older, but in her daughter's case, her daughter would be thirty years younger than her husband, for Danladi was 44. Madam Basirat knew the effects of early marriage herself: she never had the chance to enjoy her childhood. She was married off at the age of 13, the age children were still children and fed at their mothers' hands in some families, in some communities far away from Risikat's homeland. She became a mother at the age of 14, and it was tough. She knew next to nothing about motherhood when it pounced on her. Worse still, her first child was unhealthy from babyhood. He suffered from what medical doctors would call sickle-cell anaemia. But they didn't know. They had no knowledge to know nor enough understanding to seek medical help. They tried to cure him with traditional medicine. However, he could not be saved. That was how she lost Nuhu. She was young, and immature psychologically. She almost lost her mind when he died. She carried a heavy burden of guilt. It wasn't her fault he died, yet she couldn't stop blaming herself. Now, she feared history would repeat itself in her daughter... her daughter whom she loved so dearly. She had big dreams for her. Dreams that seemed far beyond the reach of her precious daughter.

Risikat had goals and aspirations. She wanted to continue with her education, and be like Aunty Sarah, the Corps member. She wanted to be like Mrs Zainab Haruna, the Minister of Education. Her tender heart had great dreams locked up in it, but now her world came crashing down. Goodbye to school!

Epilogue: One year after the traditional wedding, Risikat became the mother of Aliyu. Then, six months later, the symptoms came in full force: ...
Click on http://electaalen..com.ng/2016/04/a-child-for-wife.html for the remaining part of the story.
#ISayNoToChildMarriage

You know how it feels when you fail at something while some others succeeded or when you are yet to have something your peers have. Then, you feel worse when these people flaunt their successes, their latest achievements... you feel left out. You're not jealous. No, it's not that wicked emotion called jealousy but you can't really be happy for them. Sometimes you try, and you are sincerely happy they made it but sometimes the success of others dancing in your face while you're down there surrounded by your many failures can cause you depression if you let it.

You just wish people would mind their business and stop asking to know if you made it. Some people could really be annoying with their careless statements. You know what? You don't have to listen to it all. Sometimes, you have to walk away to protect your self-esteem. It's not disrespect.

There are also people who would encourage you just as there are those who would aggravate issues in a negative way. But the choice is yours. Choose who you listen to!

When you feel like God has forgotten you, almost directing your anger towards Him, remember that there are those who have been/are in worse situations but remain thankful. Also, remember that His thoughts towards you are thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end(Jeremiah 29:11). It may seem like He has failed you; the devil wants you to believe that. Don't succumb to his black lies. He is Devil, The Deceiver! Hang on to God's promises, don't lose faith, and soon, you'll get there. You'll have a happily-ever-after-story to tell, darling. We all will!

Have a great day!

amicable09:
Beautiful piece, Electa!
You are the one lady who puts me in eternal suspense on NL... From diary to Literature, you leave me expectant.

I hope you are good? Keep up the good work.

Oh, thanks a lot Ms Amicable. I admire your
writing style too. You've got the power of
expression that I almost envy. I'm good. I'm sure
you are too, with your gleeful and ebullient spirit.

Stay blessed!

Oh, thanks a lot Ms Amicable. I admire your writing style too. You've got the power of expression that I almost envy. I'm good. I'm sure you are too, with your gleeful and ebullient spirit.

Stay blessed!

As I stood there in the living room of my shack of a house looking through the window, I was overcome by an emotion I couldn't readily describe with words. I reminisced about the past and saw how empty my life had become. I lost something so precious, and now I felt a desperate desire to get it back. 'My life with him was so beautiful, I felt pure ecstasy but oh, no that intimacy is gone now. Ooooh, I lost him,' I said as tears threatened to flow. I wanted him back, but really it goes even beyond that. I needed him! Since I let go of him, life has hit me with so much: depression, frustration, loneliness and heartbreaking disappointments. When we were together, it was heavenly bliss. I swam in his love and he was always there for me. I shouldn't have listened to Gary. I thought he could do all Jes did for me, and even more. 'I shouldn't have fallen for his subtle words,' I blurted out in deep regret. 'Tracy!' I screamed out my name, and continued, 'You were stupid, damn stupid! How could you have let go of Jes?' My mind went further into memory lane and, I remembered how much love he gave me so freely, expecting nothing in return. I recalled how his strong protective arms dispelled every fear in my heart. I remembered his patience, his tolerance, his calmness and his sacrifice for me. My tears flowed unabated as I remembered that Friday, yea, the Friday when he bravely and lovingly took the punishment that should have been mine upon himself.' I never deserved him. Jes was a Prince, and I a LovePeddler but still He loved me with every heart beat of his. He took me out of my whoredom and put royalty on me. It's a pity I was quick to forget what he had done and so, I left my first love without thinking. I walked away and launched out into the wild. I left the safe haven where my one true love had placed me to be with Gary. It wasn't until Gary put off the facade he wore all the while that I saw my silly mistake. While Jes had loved and cared for me, Gary did the opposite. He used me! Jes treated me like a Queen, Gary used me like a toy, a valueless plaything. He oppressed me, almost ruining my life. Jes made me feel like the only woman in the world. But Gary killed my self-esteem. He injured my very soul. I was in dire need of all round healing- emotional, physical and spiritual. I longed to go back to the one who loved me to bits, I wanted to retrace my steps but my heart was troubled by the question, 'Would he take me back?' I had turned my back on him, I let him down, and I didn't deserve pardon. 'Would he take me back?' What I had done was beyond pardon. 'Would he forgive me and free me from my captor whom I willingly surrendered to?' The suffering, agony and oppression was too much, more than I could bear. I longed for his tender touch, that touch that gave me goose bumps,...
Click on http://www.electaalen..in/2016/03/come-home.html for the remaining part of this exciting post.

Love,
ElectaAlen

These are amazing works by a skillful and talented Nigerian, Oresegun Olumide. I'm held spellbound by these beautiful artifacts. Who wouldn't be? But I'm also impressed with what Nigerians have done for their fellow compatriot. They not only appreciated his work but also made sure it went really viral. There's been so much Facebook spotlight on this man and his marvelous art. Kudos to Nigerians, and hearty congratulations to Mr Oresegun.
Well, as an artist myself, although not a drawing artist, I'm happy with all these. I'm encouraged to up my game, and I know that soon the spotlight will shine on me and my written work. I'll just continue doing what I am DOING.
'Seest thou a man diligent in his business? he shall stand before kings; he shall not stand before mean men.' (Proverbs 22:29).
Click on https://mobile.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=1698360700380489&id=1665982953618264&_ft_=top_level_post_id.1698360700380489%3Atl_objid.1698360700380489%3Athid.1665982953618264%3A306061129499414%3A2%3A0%3A1459493999%3A3035243709589961028&__tn__=%2As to see the photos.

Abraham Lincoln. You know that name. Don't you? That's the name of one of the 3 greatest presidents that ruled America. He's indisputably a powerful force to be reckoned with. Over 150 years after his tragic demise, his name still rings a bell. And why not? A man's work will always speak for him.
        But there's another important person who gets less than half the attention Abraham Lincoln garners. It's Mary... Mary Todd Lincoln. Her story is outright tragic. But still, it's indeed worth sharing. I'm not really setting out to write a biography on this amiable woman. This is only an attempt to gist you a bit about the 16th First Lady of America and by extension Mr Lincoln's family life.
    Mary Todd was born into the wealthy and prominent Todd family on December 13, 1818, and grew up in the midst of plenty, personal servants and refinement. She was well educated as befits a lady of her class. She was also very pretty with beautiful fair skin and blue eyes. So, she got the attention of gentlemen. Mary was lively, sociable and intelligent. She was a good conversationalist and so, she charmed Abraham who was melancholy and deficient as a conversationalist.
        It's amazing that these two, despite conflicting backgrounds and the odds against them, fell in love with each other and after a tempestuous courtship were eventually joined as man and wife. Mary was this rich girl with the world at her fingertips. Her father was really wealthy, her sisters married into prominent families and led very comfortable lives. She lived some years of her life at the luxurious mansion owned by her sister and her husband, Elizabeth and Ninian Edwards, the son of a former governor. Abraham at the other end was born to a farmer/carpenter father(probably illiterate), was largely self educated, melancholic, tall and strong with a good sense of humour. In their first years of marriage, he was just a struggling lawyer but he was ambitious. Their very first accommodation as husband and wife was at a one-room apartment and they took their meals in the common dinning room. This was different from what Mary was used to, there were no personal servants, no private room and no comfort. But she didn't complain. Her sisters who were not satisfied with her choice for a husband 'largely dropped her from their social circle'. For the love she had for her husband, she endured it all. They moved into a three-room frame house after the birth of their first son, Robert in 1843. While there, Mary's father paid them a visit. Robert Todd really liked his son-in-law. He was touched by the condition in which he found his daughter that 'he dropped a gold piece into her hand' and afterwards, put her on an allowance of $120 a year. He also gave the Lincolns 80 acres of land as he did his other daughters and their husbands.
      To cut the long story short, in 1861, Abraham Lincoln became the president of America. As First Lady, she visited hospitals to give flowers and fruits to injured soldiers. She also wrote letters for them to send to their loved ones. Interestingly, as a young lady, she jokingly said she would marry a man who would become president. Indeed, her words came true. Even in her days as a young girl, she had an unlady-like interest in politics. Her husband had her firm and ardent support. She was proud of her husband and when he was compared unfavourably with Stephen A. Douglas by someone (maybe before he was president), she said, 'Mr Lincoln may not be as handsome a figure... but the people are perhaps not aware that his heart is as large as his arms are long'.
       Her pitfalls, however included fierce temper(many of her relatives had this character trait too), public outbursts after which she was ashamed, and excessive spending habit.
      Unfortunately, the life of Mary Lincoln is very pathetic. She suffered migraines and depression all her life. She had four sons and only one, Robert outlived her. Eddie, her second child died at the age of about 3 or 4, shortly after the deaths of her father and beloved grandmother. Mary's own mother had died when she was 6. Her third son, William died at the age of 12. She was with her husband at Ford's Theatre when he was assassinated by Wilkes. Her last child, Thomas died at the age of 18. Her husband's death was almost more than she could endure. She began to behave irrationally to the extent that her son, Robert doubted her sanity.
     Her last years were marked by ill health. She was a
Click on www.electaalen..com for the remaining part of the story. Thanks.

Dear Diary,
     What a day I had yesterday. I finished with my little chores and got my little sister ready for school. Then it was time for my hair. I had my hair washed at the salon just opposite my house and spent some time under the hairdryer. What a relief it was to finally have my head out after a fairly long time. I hurried home to get myself ready to hit the road. I had a breakfast of noodles and a cold bath making me regret not heating up some water. I dressed up in my newest dress- yea, my newest dress- for a reason which I'll reveal later. So, off I went, at about 10:30am, making my way to the National Library. About 30 mins later, I reached my destination. I walked in, took my seat, prayed a short prayer and business began. My special friend was there already. I called him earlier when I was still yet to get there. I'm tempted to give you some gist about him but I'll just exercise some self control. I read. And the time seemed to go by slowly. Then, he walked out. I opened my Whatsapp to meet a message from him saying it was recess time. Soon, I was out. We talked, and talked. We could go on talking for hours in fact. Then, it was time for round 2 and we were back in the library building.
I was losing concentration even more this time. Soon, it'd be time to move. Move to? Not straight home. But to see his friend, a barrister. Maybe my lack of concentration was due to anxiety to meet the man I had heard a lot about, courtesy my special friend. I was the first to come out of the library building. I quickly bought sachet water which I drank and used in washing of my hands. I went back into the compound, powdered my face, and soon he was out too. We began the journey. We got there but the Man was not on seat. My friend called him on phone and told him we were there. He told my friend to order something for me-anything-that's before he gets back to his office. When my friend asked me what I wanted, I refused the offer. The major reason was because my bladder was almost full and I wouldn't be releasing its content soon. Consuming something in this condition would aggravate the present situation. Even if my bladder was empty, I doubt I would have accepted. He begged and begged, even offering to share with me, saying the lawyer wouldn't be happy but I remained unyielding. I waited but soon, I had to go.
Oh, after getting my hair washed that morning and dressing up in my newest gown(because I loved how I looked in it), I didn't get to see Barrister. He'd have been really happy to meet me. My friend felt some pain in his heart with the way things turned out. I wonder what the Barrister would feel. And how do I feel about the failed rendezvous with the Barrister?

She once had it all
At her beck and call
Her loving parents made it so
Till misfortune came calling
Indeed the misfortune of death
It's cold hands had no mercy
Cruelly, viciously were her parents taken down
Snatched, never to be given back
A sweet life turned gloomy
Beautiful existence now ugly
Optimism giving way for pessimism
Sunny days were over
For cloudy days came to stay
Profusely she cried day and night
Love, care and compassion became nonexistent in this damsel's world
For she became an object of abuse
A punching bag
A toy for sexual gratification
Her very own relatives made it so
Oh, her tears flowed
Till it ceased to flow
High spirits turned blue
Her soul languished in turmoil
When will this end?
When will I live again?
A little while I'll wait
If my anguish, my abysmal agony lingers
I'll end it all
The hangman's rope is there to aid
Torn apart, embittered, sullied, violated, dejected became her definition
Her exact description
Her sheen beauty had waned
Only a shadow of it was left
Then came the day
The day she promised to cast her tender life away
She silently, quietly pondered on her planned action
Soon she'll be gone from this wicked world
But suddenly a new thought crept in What does the other world hold for me?
That I don't know
Certainly it can't be as awful as this world
I'll now proceed to bade the earth goodbye
I'll ignore the raging fear
Just then the light shone on her
The Hand reached out to save her
Swiftly He came to her rescue
Life was infused into her
Hope reawakened
A new joy overwhelmed her
She drowned in nascent peace
She released her fears
Her pains, and indeed her life to Him
So, she was whole.

She once had it all
At her beck and call
Her loving parents made it so
Till misfortune came calling
Indeed the misfortune of death
It's cold hands had no mercy
Cruelly, viciously were her parents taken down
Snatched, never to be given back
A sweet life turned gloomy
Beautiful existence now ugly
Optimism giving way for pessimism
Sunny days were over
For cloudy days came to stay
Profusely she cried day and night
Love, care and compassion became nonexistent in this damsel's world
For she became an object of abuse
A punching bag
A toy for sexual gratification
Her very own relatives made it so
Oh, her tears flowed
Till it ceased to flow
High spirits turned blue
Her soul languished in turmoil
When will this end?
When will I live again?
A little while I'll wait
If my anguish, my abysmal agony lingers
I'll end it all
The hangman's rope is there to aid
Torn apart, embittered, sullied, violated, dejected became her definition
Her exact description
Her sheen beauty had waned
Only a shadow of it was left
Then came the day
The day she promised to cast her tender life away
She silently, quietly pondered on her planned action
Soon she'll be gone from this wicked world
But suddenly a new thought crept in What does the other world hold for me?
That I don't know
Certainly it can't be as awful as this world
I'll now proceed to bade the earth goodbye
I'll ignore the raging fear
Just then the light shone on her
The Hand reached out to save her
Swiftly He came to her rescue
Life was infused into her
Hope reawakened
A new joy overwhelmed her
She drowned in nascent peace
She released her fears
Her pains, and indeed her life to Him
So, she was whole.

Dear You,
        How are you today? I hope you're hale and hearty, and most importantly cheerful. You deserve to be happy of course. That's sheer truth.
         My dear, I know someone has hurt, disappointed or betrayed you lately. Maybe, you even cried. Everyone around seems to see nothing good about you. You're constantly hurt by their biting remarks about you. People despise and treat you like you're worthless while others are held in admiration. Your self esteem has been ruined and you believe what they say about you. You believe you're useless, incapable, unworthy, awkward or even ugly. 'There really is nothing good about me. Ms J is a gifted young lady but I have no special talents. I'm not useful in any way. I have nothing to offer. I'm meant to watch others shine; I have no light for shining,' you may say.
       No, my dear! You're priceless, you're beautiful, you're amazing and you're a bundle of talents. You're just yet to discover yourself. There's a lot of beauty in you. Your value is inestimable, and that's why the Prince of Peace suffered terribly for your sake. He loves you, and His thoughts towards you are countless as the grains of sand on the sea shore, even more. I love you, and I'm telling you that you're so special and beautiful. Please, believe me.