₦airaland Forum

donstan18:
Social media opinions cannot change tradition, we should stop deceiving ourselves with these bride price blah blah blah.

If as a man,you are charged higher than you can pay to marry, you simply back-off since you can't afford it, not ranting because of your inability to meet up the needed requirements, afterall some tribes don't charge high.

And as a woman, once a man pay your bride price to wife you, have it in mind that your submissiveness isn't negotiable.

Tradition is tradition and social media can't change it.

Any tradition that is immutable dies eventually.... Ask Latin or many african mini cultures.

Story One: First came the Ice- Cream Man

With shock I was ripped from my peaceful dream.

Ice Cream Music Jarred through the quiet of the tree lined estate that I was forced to buy a house in. I've always hated this estate but my wife thinks its the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Flipping aside the duvet, I walked to the window facing the street and exhaled rapidly.

A van throttled along the avenue , I can hear its sputtering exhaust lending the ice-cream sing-song a creepy undertone.
I stole a quick glance at the clock. The bleary blue numbers spit out a weak 2 am.
Who in his right mind would play ice-cream music like that at 2 AM!?

As I stood at the window, amazed at the sight of kids streaming to the blood-red ice cream truck and climbing into it , I heard a familiar sound. Our porch door slammed shut.
With horror I saw my 4 year old princess walk through our front yard, towards the truck. The helm of her night gown fluttering around supple ankles.


The man at the Van's entrance, clean shaven and dressed in what appears to be a mismatch of pyjamas and agbada, beckoned her to enter the truck. Her little legs began to run towards him.

My daughter was not wearing her special glasses (She inherited hypermetropia from me), but she was wearing her hearing aids (I don't know where she got that disability from). I can’t move. I’m frozen in place. She’s picked up and set inside the van.

It was only when the Man deliberately shuts the Van's door and slowly walked back to the driver's side that I can move again.

I shouted “NO!” The man looked at me and smirked in a vile, sinister way.

Our House was a semi detached duplex and for some architectural reason, which i think was a very stupid one, the estate developers did not fit burglary proofs to the first floor of the housing units. I had always pinned it on my mind to find someone to fit iron grids but some reason I kept postponing the arrangement.

This night, the very night that a stranger was luring my daughter into his dark ice cream van, I considered it fortunate . First story or not. I opened the window and jumped. I couldn’t afford to risk him getting away while I strolled down the stairs. I felt my ankle crack as I hit the lawn and crouched forwards, clenching my throbbing foot. When I raised my head, a fraction of a second later, the truck was gone. I looked everywhere, but there was no sign of it.

I hurried back inside and dialled the security post. The operator assured me that there was no ice-cream truck passing through the Estates' gate but they would send some guards to my house anyway . They told me to stay on the line until the officers were with me.

My wife had awoken from all the noise and commotion and asked what was the matter.
“They took her!” I said. She frowned.
“Took who?".
"Chioma!" I screamed. “He took Chioma! He took our little girl!".

My wife took a few steps back and looked at me in complete shock..
“But. . .” she started. “But. . .b.but. . .we don’t have children”. . .