To the boy I loved

Couldn’t come out, couldn’t stay
Surrounded by four walls I grew up in
No one else I knew but my father and friend
The reflections of the sun an alien feeling to me.



Longed to go out, yearned for freedom
Surely death was better than this caged freedom
Limited only to midnight walks
Music my solace and connection to the outside world.
I yearned to feel it
But feeling was death itself!

I met you I fell in love
You made my days blue
And my nights gay
Suddenly it didn’t matter
That I never got to feel the sun
For you were the sun who lighted up my world.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/25/midnight-sun-xeroderma-pigmentosum/

My favorite things were three—flowers, green leaves turned yellow by autumn, and travelling. Once, I saw a dead man in front of my school, somehow I found it interesting. I squatted on the floor playing with his chest and face till people saw us and began to shout. I didn’t cry or shudder.

One man mum brought to see me told mom I was emotionally detached from things like death, love, anger, hate. Well, I didn’t care. I didn’t understand.

I was made to see really funny movies where people were shot in the head, or where people cried. I was made to look at really gory stuffs for reasons best known to mum and the man.

Mum never allowed me see a scene in the movie where there was a dead person after all that weird phase had passed.

Another thing I loved? Holidays. Mum always obliged. For as long as she could. My first holiday was in Paris. I was eight, mother took me, and my little brother.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/25/eiffel-tower/

Ajoke seemed to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning as her mouth felt sour. She sat on the edge of her bed supporting her mentum with her fist. Globules of tears could be seen dropping down from her cheeks.

“No! I can’t take it anymore,” she mumbled. A cold wind from the balcony moved the curtains against the empty room. The room was cool but Ajoke sweated profusely. She fixed her eyes on the mirror using her left hand to feel the texture of her breast. It looked swollen and protruding. Its the second week of Valentine and I’m yet to see my period; it now confirms the doctors test that I’m pregnant and HIV positive. He said I still have a chance to live. No, that’s not true. I can’t take it anymore, I can’t bear the pain any longer.

Read more:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/25/valentine-gift/

I remember the dusty red roads of Nsukka and the beauty it was in my eyes. Nsukka was my home, perhaps even more of a home than my real home was.

I was seven when I was sent to a boarding school in Nsukka, I hardly visited home because The parents discouraged it. They hardly visited me as well and so I became used to staying alone that loneliness became my comfort and solitude bliss.

I was always the weird one, I could never fit in as a result I almost always got punished by irate seniors who tried to prove their seniority over me. “Kneel down there! Lie down flat!” They would bark and proceed to beat me silly if I so much as let out a sound of protest. They were our seniors, they were small gods and there was nothing we could do. We just had...

Read more on:


https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/24/pain/

Many years ago a large mass of land and its individuals whom Mrs. Lugard will preferentially call ‘Niger Area’, were victims of the Lugard’s phenomenon called ‘Amalgamation’. Amalgamation of different cultures, values, beliefs, religions, interests, and priorities. It was like gathering a dog, cat, wolf, tiger, and lion into an airtight chamber, and forcing them to coexist.

So, over 250 tribes had been merged in broad descriptive terms called protectorates. These were the Northern and Southern protectorates. And like every other phenomenon, the effects have been syndromic. Maybe Lugard wanted to provide a wider surface area for extortion. Maybe he needed a larger territory for a more effective practice of the Indirect Rule. Maybe he wanted to bring civilization to the uncivil. Maybe we were finally expelled from our territory by visitors. But we stood up for ourselves, we clamored. And we clattered, we flapped our gongs, and our voices were heard.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/24/unity-in-diversity/

Indeed they're important. That's why this story tells about their woes at the hands of the slave traders.

Shinjitsu:
Igbos Are the Most Brilliant Black African

The poem is about a paedophile talking about what he does to his victims. It was presented as a confession but it was an attempt to detail how a victim's life is affected.

I have found Lydia my servant
And with my hoe-ly oil
Have I anointed her

Bless me Father
For I have sinned
Pray for me
But I won’t repent

I thirst for fresh blood
Green vines I can twist round my spine
I am pedofile per-defile
An obscure record in my file



Malleable minds, breakable bones
In their weakness I shall show my strength
Soft skin, budding breast
Fragile figures I sink underneath my weight

I have cum
To cleanse them in my filthiness
Purify in my impurity
Baptize with bad ties
Sanctify insanity

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/23/confessions-of-a-paedophile/

How the chance came to take our freedom back seemed like the works of our Chi. The sea winds blew and the delight was great as we hacked our captors to death. Some jumped into the blue unending sea in a bid to save their lives.

The vessel was ours but none knew how to control it. It was the part of the plan no one had thought about so we allowed the vessel roll with the wind until we got to the Dunbar Creek.

Father sighted the white men from afar. Reality hit us with a shard of its brokenness. It dawned on us that our fight was far from over. No one knew how to wield the shooting sticks—we only knew hand combat and it was no match for their sophisticated weapons.

He turned to us all and began the water song “Orimili Omambala bu anyi bia, Orimili Omambala ka anyị ga-eji la (Omambala River brought us hither and it will carry us home.” Father looked at me straight in the face, eyes unblinking and that instant, I knew what was expected of me. I wore no fear but the full regalia of defiance and strong will. He smiled and one after the other we plunged into the sleek creek, all chanting same.

Read more:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/23/igbo-landing-blood-and-water-part-4-the-great-purge/

I remember when you couldn’t do without me
A touch, a kiss, a wink
You never failed to give me
You said I was the only one
While there were a dozen of Chioma’s claiming one
How was I to know that the same smile which shattered my defences
The same touch which set aflame my senses
The same hug which oozed safety and comfort wasn’t meant for me alone



I tried to overlook your flaws
knowing it would open your heart doors
You made me do things I only dreamt of
Making me a stranger to myself thereof
Sex doesn’t keep a man they say
How late that warning came in pain
Body, Money, Time I gave
Willing to believe you were a better male
Not knowing I was setting myself for a fall
with eyes wide open like a cub


Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/22/played/

We were dragged to the village square where more horror awaited us. I could see our homes up in flames, children were crying, corpses lay on the floor. I could recognize some of them—they were boys of my age grade and some men I’ve known all my life.

I felt muscle spasm hit me. My thoughts froze with fear. “Mama! Where is Mama?” I searched frantically among the human beings laid to waste but she wasn’t there.

Everyone in the community was made to kneel down, hands tied to their backs. Some men bled profusely, others hardly scarred. The fight which had taken place in our absence told themselves on each men.

I saw white humans for the first time in my life, they each carried a long stick around their necks and long blades. I was awfully confused! I remember thinking they were beaten by the sun to become white.

They were like a paradox in which I was given but little time to begin to comprehend and truly a deep source of confusion. I have always thought there was only of our kind. I wondered what else was out there—outside the boundary that separated our world and what may truly exist.

Then I sighted Mama, she knelt among the women, crying and searching for father. For a moment, my confusion was kissed by anger. I screamed and made to run towards her but a blow met me on my head. Mother’s mouth welled up tears as she closed her eyes as if that would take the pain away.


Read more:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/22/igbo-landing-blood-and-water-part-3/

This is insanely good. Would love to work with you.

Centino:
MEET MY NEIGHBOURS

They managed to squeeze the twenty four room storey building and two self contained and four shops of number 225 Katakata Street into a plot of land that was formerly a swamp. No one knows the exact number of occupants of this building. People stream in and out at all hours like it was a shopping mall, except that here you will see men in only boxers with stiff erections bellowing greetings at neighbors in the morning from the top floor balcony while still rubbing their eyes, women clad in only wrappers around their breasts washing heavy lather from the heads of their children close to the gutter, the privileged shop owners spraying holy water with incantations round their business premises, and many other people being supremely busy within the compound while people continued to stream in and out of the building.

I had since given up hope of knowing all my neighbors. Even with the endless throng of occupants and all the in and out movements all year long, there were still rooms that were secured with large shiny padlocks that were never opened for months. The owners were said to either be out chasing goods or visiting the village for the planting season or ensconced in some bush for religious reasons or even running from the police. There are however many with steady lives with whom I interact everyday and whom I will be telling you about.

My name is Ndifreke. I am a university graduate just arrived Lagos to hustle. I share a room with my thirty year old cousin named Mkpoikanna-Abasi, the pronunciation of which has set up many wrestling bouts down the years, due to his insistence that it be said to perfection, something people of other tribes cannot just wrap their tongues around. Someone had suggested that they simply called him Mkpo. That also drove him mad. So they just call him Calabar boy. He is a wharf rat and proudly so. His only passion in life is Manchester United. You’ll hear him say “This season we will win the league. Mourinho wins the league in his second season wherever he goes.”

For actual neighbors, I’ll start with my favourites. There is Irikefe, nineteen and timid looking but every mother’s nightmare as he is said to be the biggest threat to virginity this side of the equator. He is the son of the caretaker and an apprentice carpenter who everyone knows cannot handle a saw. You will always hear Irikefe say things like “Bros, I will be rich. Whether the devil likes it or not, my time will come.” Recently he has been saying “When I grow up, I want to be like Evans. I supported the free Evans hashtag on twitter. Why would they touch him when bigger criminals are roaming free in the Senate? Free Evans joor!” Then there is Mr Zubi, middle aged, impossibly dark with a knife scar one side of his face. He occupies one of the two self contained in the compound with his large family and we respect him because he does not have to share a bathroom with anyone. One day, his precocious ten year old son Willy-Willy came up to him and said “Daddy, is it true what bro Irikefe said that some of the Chibok girls refused to be rescued because of the rod of Moses they were receiving in the bush?”“Gerraway from here! Ewu Gambia!” he retorted with blazing eyes. The boy was lucky to duck in time as three menacing knuckles flew past his forehead”. The six sons of Mr Zubi always gave him cause to bellow “Ewu Gambia” about one hundred times a day. His wife is Mama Willy-Willy. You will hear her say things like “You see what I always say about those actors?! They are all promiscuous! I hear those two from The Wedding Party are getting married! How can they convince me it did not start on the set of the movie? Someone will now tell me all that kissing and touching and holding mean nothing. That it is just acting. Is a kiss no longer a kiss irrespective of the circumstance of administration? They started enjoying themselves from the movie set o jare! Today, they are husband and wife and nobody is talking about the poor boyfriend and girlfriend who were at home supporting their dreams while they were away fornicating on a ready-made excuse. Now those ones are brokenhearted and getting no sympathy.” She threw her right arm around her head in a wide circle and swore that thunder will fire any woman who would near her man in the guise of acting. Mr Zubi shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was regularly bedecked as a monkey in NTA’s Tales by Moonlight in the 80’s and once landed a 20 seconds cameo as a cripple in a 90’s drama series. He swears that it was he who should have been casted in the lead role with Omotola Jalade in Mortal Inheritance in 96 and not Fred Amata. “He got there through nepotism! The Amatas controlled the industry back then.” He secretly dreams of a lead romantic role with Mercy Johnson. “Thunder will fire you before it happens” his wife had said when he mistakenly said it in his sleep one night. If you like, don’t get up and go to your civil service work.” There is also the neighbor Akunna. You will hear him say things like “this is a calamity of a democracy. Wastefulness, imbalance in every facet, and a mechanism for corruption humanity will see no greater. I don’t blame President Buhari. If I were him, I will not return from that London. Even the messiah cannot fix this nation. Light skinned and freckled in the face and in his forties, his only other problem is his wife. Recently he said to her “Serena Williams won a grand slam with eight months pregnancy! But two weeks after you have conceived another bastard I will not be able to enter my own house because of your nonsense squirming.” His four children were all dreadlocked and bore more than a passing semblance to Talabi the tailor who was dreadlocked since birth. Akunna did not hide the fact that he had been saving up for DNA tests sometime in the future. He also likes Arsenal. Perhaps losing was in his DNA.

And then there is Talabi. He is regarded as a hero in the neighborhood. When Alhaji Sirika would not give any of his resident tenants occupancy of the shops as he did not trust them with rent payment, Talabi led the cry of injustice for many years. When the Alhaji would not budge, he planted faeces in front of the four shops every night for one month until all the occupants of the shops fled. He took the best one for his tailoring business. The other three were occupied by Lukman the one eyed barber, Josiah the carpenter and the oni rice they called Mama Cowbell, all of whom were also resident at number 225. Other than Akunna’s wife, Talabi loved Chelsea FC, and being reigning champions, his feet barely touched the ground since the close season. The last neighbor I must mention at this point is Mr Cosmas. He occupies the second self contained and also does not share a bathroom and would naturally have our respect. But he is weird and says very uncomfortable things. Whenever a discussion veered towards religion, he always had something different to say. He famously said that Jesus did not die for our sins but was murdered for the truth he preached. He said we would all pay for everything we do as God cannot carry the sins of one child and put on the head of another. The less I say about Mr Cosmas the better. It’s just that he is not one to ignore.

I will continue my story next week. For now, I have to go and hustle. Cheers friends.

I am she whom you fear
I am she whom you love
You have blamed me from many of man’s MIS-fortune
You spit upon me and curse me be gone
I have borne all manner of abuse and derogatory names from you
From Witch to LovePeddler to Bitch, I hear them all
Yet when lust holds you in its grip refusing to let go
You come to me to fulfill your desires
I was there at the beginning of creation
Yes I fed you the fruit that led to our exile
Yes I caused us to leave our heaven for this hell
And you have been blaming me for that ever since
But tell me why did you eat it?

When will you stop giving excuses for your actions?
And blaming me for your mistakes
You blame me for all the world’s problem
Even the ones I have no idea about

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/21/woman/

You're really good. I'm also a writer. I would love to work with you if you want.

CalciumB3:
Prologue

[I]Baellnar watched, as he always did. The hope in his eyes
was polluted by sadness. In front of him was a swirling
glass mirage. Inside it was her image trapped within a
crystalline-barrier that would evaporate in the next few
moments. He and Aagi could finally remove her from the
isolated kingdom of Earth and bring her home.
Aagi looked at him, a deep well of understanding within his
eyes. Their knowing glance lasted for but a moment, until
their attention turned back to the mirror. The transparent
barrier that had isolated her from their protection. They
could do nothing when he found her. They had to watch as
he destroyed her family and stole her away from her
home. He was a trickster and a fiend.
He was Scelestra's 'dog', and did her biting and bidding
without question. He held out his hand to Alyenna with the
devil in his eyes as he offered her 'shelter' and 'love.' She
was young, naive, and bereft; so, she took his hand and
followed him to her thirteen-year isolation.
It was time. Baellnar and Aagi could finally set her free.
Baellnar's mouth twitched with pride as he watched her
flee, once again, from Paul's house. He waited with tension
writhing relentlessly in his veins, each second felt like a
millennium. Baellnar's anxiety silently squeezed his heart,
until finally, relief swept over him, Paul did not emerge
from the house.
The portal's image followed closely behind Alyenna as she
fled through the forest. As the portal weakened he had
been able to send more and more magic through to aid
her. Fresh air filled her lungs and the northeastern wind
pressed against her back. Pushing her forward and in the
direction of the landing zone. He smiled with relief. The
clarity of the picture brought him joy.
It had been a while since Baellnar had been able to get a
clear vision of Aly, but yesterday that had changed. He was
not entirely sure what had caused the change; but, he was
grateful it had happened. He also knew that she had
something to do with it; because, despite The monster's
constant neglect and abuse, her spirit never failed her.
Good, hold on to that Aly. You will need it here.
Aagi patted him on the back. He was always obnoxiously
observant of those around him. Baellnar would try to hide
his anxiety behind a stoic visage. A mask that Aagi never
failed to see straight through. Aagi eyed his friend
knowingly. "Not long now ya knife-eared mama's boy." The
gruffness of his voice only added to the humor of his
statement. Which in all actuality was a lame attempt to
drive laughter out of him, but it worked regardless.
Baellnar couldn't help the laughter that escaped him. The
tension in the room had been insufferable, and as always,
Aagi had a knack for ruining the serious nature of just
about any situation. That apparently, included this one.
Baellnar turned his attention back to the portal. The anxiety
in his soul only shown by the twitch of his fingertips. Which
he attributed to years of experience as a general for the
rebellion. Baellnar had adopted a principle he called 'duck
on water.' No matter how much he was working or how fast
he needed to be pedaling. On the surface, he was relaxed.
It was an art that gave his troops confidence when he had
none. He used this principle so much It had become second
nature to him.
His attention was still hyper-focused on Alyenna's flight.
"Come on girl, give us this one thing." The landing zone
was three miles from the house. It was as close as they
could get given the protections that Paul had somehow
woven around the building. Despite Earth being barren of
magic that trickster had managed to slip some through.
Her foster family had done their best to keep her a secret.
No one was naive enough to believe Scelestra had not
found a way to Earth outside of the main portal. They had
moved Aly around to different states, and school systems
every couple of years. They had even done their best to
keep her identity secret, even from her. They had
succeeded; until her sixteenth year.
The day she had begun to show her latent abilities was the
day everyone had been dreading. The opening of the portal
was still thirteen years away, and with magic being so rare
on Earth, it did not take Paul much to detect it. It was
impossible to keep magic hidden in the Earth Realm
because humans there had lost the ability to wield it
centuries ago.
When he finally found her foster family he destroyed them,
and then snaked his way into her life. Typical demon scum,
he cursed inwardly as he noticed the fresh bruises on her
visage.
He smiled again. "The fates are smiling on us, my friend."
Alyenna had no concept of how fortunate her timing was.
Baellnar and Aagi had one shot and an exorbitantly finite
period of time to bring her home. The portal would be
open for only thirty minutes and then seal itself for another
one hundred and fifty years and they would all be trapped
in the bland world of Earth, and Tendaara would truly be
lost.
He felt his heart flutter as the glass of the portal evaporated
and gave way to a dazzling mist. "It's time." He said softly.
His eyes never left his charge's face.
"Readeh or not Aly 'ere we come!" Aagi roared as he
barreled through the portal. Once again laughter seized
Baellnar as he ran after his friend.
"Charge!" Baellnar roared his voice filled with amused
sarcasm while he held his sword aloft and barreled through
the portal. He felt the unfamiliar tingle of the magic around
him for a split second and then he felt soft earth
underneath his boots. He steeled himself fighting a spell of
nausea that came with the transference and looked ahead.
She was there in the clearing. Completely unaware of their
arrival, a weathered book clutched tightly in her hands and
she was yelling about the ending, again. Baellnar scanned
the area. This moment had to be a perfect surprise.
She did not know what she was and frankly neither did he,
but she bested Paul frequently enough to make her
dangerous. The current plan was to kidnap her. So he
hoped for the best case scenario, that she did not see them
coming. The concept of battling an angsty Aly was an
alarming one.
Baellnar's fears were quickly abated when Aagi took
matters into his own much less delicate hands. The fiery-
haired dwarf was in the process of surreptitiously sneaking
up on her, the hilt of his ax at the ready. In one swift flick of
his wrist, he struck her with the pommel and she collapsed
on the ground. "Grab 'er!"[/i]

[A/N] Thank you for reading! I love feedback and
comments they make my day! Get ready for an epic
adventure filled with sword fights, demons, fairies,
dragons, humor, love, and heartbreak!

[This section was built in after the original story was
crafted. This story is not linear it is circular. So, please
note that there will be a lot of mystery and
unanswered questions in this chapter and the other
early parts of this story, but it is on purpose.
You will walk with Aly on this journey of self-discovery
so you will be told clues as read as to who and what
she really is as well as the other characters. You must
read forward to have your questions answered.]

Oba, my father, lived deep within the interior of what was known as Nri Community of the Omambala Kingdom. A land where it was said the sun rose from the south and stood at the centre of the Village Market Square.

He was the proud husband of Oriaku; a woman whose foetuses had been tagged as Ogbanje because they were never born into the world, even after three years of their sacred Igba Nkwu.

I was born in the premature morning of Nkwo Market Day—when the spirits still danced, feasted and told tales of mortals, deceived by the glinting moonshine that it was still nightfall. My birth was acclaimed to have been celebrated for a whole week. My father, filled with immense pride and joy, had written on the walls of our hut, an oratory to celebrate.

“The aroma of ofe nsala salutes me.
The thumps of the mortars announcing
the entry of pounded yam.
The bowels of my woman shall receive hotness again.
The pain be drowned in the stockfish.
Her screams have disappeared in the savoury fresh fish.

Men and women up to the test!
Let’s herald this great bundle and drink in merriment.
Tonight is a night to be drunk,
not with palmwine
but with praises to our Chi.

Go, my child, fill the breasts of the
nwanyi who has longed for you!
Go, tickle her ovaries with joy unfathomable!
Go, give her goosebumps emanating from
the pleasure of your lips over her nipples!
Go, for our wake is over today and a new dawn bursts forth!

May you find comfort in the furs of my heart!
May your arrival be the beginning of happiness!
May your proclivity spring forth from positivity!
May your tender feet never be bruised!
Breathe for me, diokpara m, live for me and
I’ll show you the wonders of the world
and of great many things to come.”

As a child, I had always watched Papa’s stern face. He was a man of many worth and of his word. He had promised Mama never to take another wife even though his family pressured him to. I remember Mama being called several names including amunsu for failing to bear another child. Some said I had wiped her womb clean and that I was a selfish child, others said I was possessed with jealousy hence I would not allow my mother bear another child. Papa knew what I went through but he had always thought me to be a man of my own standing and thoughts.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/21/igbo-landing-blood-and-water-part-2/

By the trails of Dunbar
We all walked, including father
…chains rattling…
…death looming…
White, we walked
hungry and sore
Herons, pure and slender
calling to one another—our slaughter.
Mosquitoes probing their last drink from our flesh
As we walked to the marsh.
Our hearts racing fast,
ready to breathe its last.”

There was a time when children played in the kindness of the sunlight and sang to the coolness of the moonlight.

A time when the soil was as fertile as a young maiden; her sacredness was the yardstick for an unblotted union between nature and mankind.
A time when young men kept at bay the rod of fruition.

A time when old men and women ate in earthen pots with their bare hands and drank from calabashes abandoned to the rain’s blessings. A time when the manhood of a boy was tested by rites and crowned with facial scarifications.

It was indeed a time our world knew no form of ‘civilization’—we were mere craftsmen, farmers or traders; we were like no one else in the world.

It was also a time when our folklores, traditions, myths and beliefs was set to the time of fate to begin to fall apart, gradually.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/20/igbo-landing-blood-and-water-part-1/[img][/img]

There's a site that's also very good. I recommend ZenPens (www.thezenpens.com)

Divepen1:
The present dispensation demands that writers make themselves a great number of followers even before they publish. There is an upsurge in the number of Nigeria story website and forums available at the moment and it will be great to know the websites you can gather as much popularity that you want.
The following Nigerian websites should be a good help for you:

1. Nairaland: Nairaland Forum (Literature Section)
This is a forum own by Seun Osewa. Although the section does not support writers monetarily, it has helped many upcoming writers find their feet. Many writers have been birth out of this great forum. The readers of this forum are enough to spur you to keep writing. Many upcoming writers have been able to finish their books because they constantly write on this forum. Also, Literature Section’s Moderators, Obinnau and Divepen, are really trying a lot as they work hand in hand with the top admins, Lalasticlala and Mynd44, take stories to the front page and that helps upcoming writers get popularity. Of recent Writertain, Kinwanye and Wonderlustafrik concluded various competitions on the board which makes it a place to be for writers.
And the website has a regular N5000 monthly award for the writers.
Visit: Nairaland

2. Naijastories
This is a site own by Mine Whyteman. At the inception of the site, people got money from posting and commenting on the site but for numerous reasons, the money is not being paid any longer. Yet, the site functions to make upcoming writers have their stories on its front page. Naijastories has supported a lot of writers and would keep doing so.
Visit: Naijastories

3. Coolval22
With its consistency, this website has finally become a popular place to post interesting stories. The members can register and post their stories themselves. Although they favour other topics, they give a higher priority to fictions. You can check it out.
Visit: Coolval

4. Storried: Storried supports monetarily and popularity wise. This site was founded by a nairalander, Maclatunji (Abdulkabir Olatunji) and two of his friend Andy Akhigbe and Muyiwa gam-Ikon. The site was made to support writers and they have making Impact by giving out 20000 naira every month to a writer with the best short story. Also, they support a lot of upcoming writers by posting their stories on their blog.
Visit: Storried

5. Moskeda Pages: Own by Sally Kenneth Dadzie. With the website, a lot of writers have been featured on the website including her own stories.
Visit: Moskeda Pages

6. Ozilatales: Another interesting fiction blog that accommodates stories from different authors. Although the website contains stories from different authors, it is easy to conclude that the admin does most of the posting of the stories, which implies that you have to send your submissions to the admin.
Visit: Ozilatales

7. Ebonystory: This is one website that makes it very easy to post your story without being a member. All you need to do is to click on post a story and you a posting pane will open for you. Afterwards, the admin will scrutinize the story to see if meets their standard.
Visit: Ebony Stories

8. Ukwumango: a website that is as fresh as mango itself. This website has multiple writers but from the look of things, you will need to be a member of the group before you can get the opportunity to post stories.
Visit: Ukwumango

9. Penastory: This is another great story blog that has come into the limelight with their stories. You get the chance to be featured on their website if you can follow some of their rules.
– They love Erotic stories
– You can send flash fiction, short stories and series.
– Your series should be up to seven episodes
– You are ready to accept any editing done on your work.
-Their editor is the only one allowed to post on their website.
Visit: Penastory

Read scintillating Romance Stories
10. Stories.Ng: This is another beautiful website that accepts stories from different authors. All you need to do is to scroll down to the bottom of the page and click on tell your stories. The process is simple hence.
Visit: Stories.ng

11. Omenana: This website is all about fantasy, mysticism, paranormal. More so, they don’t post your stories on their website. It goes into their magazine and you will receive a laudable pay for your fiction.
Visit. Omenana.com

12. Madivas Story: this is an online magazine for women. So, if you’re a male and want to post your story on their website, you will need to make sure your protagonist is a Diva.
Visit: Madivastories

13. Tushstories: here is another website that provides the platform for creativity. They make it their mission to encourage the process of posting your creative works. To submit on their website, all you need to do is to click on the ‘submit’ link. Then, you will upload your work in the doc format.
Visit: Behind Stories

14. CFwriters: here is another beautiful website for writers. The submission process is also easy to use.
Visit: Cfwriterz

15. DNB: This is a site own by Daniel Ndako is one that allows upcoming writers to send stories to their site. It has helped upcoming writers to become better by popularizing their work on its site. Since not every writer can just post on the site and this makes upcoming writers do a thorough editing of their work before sending it for publication.
Do you know any website that has been helping writers? Hit us in the comment box.
Have you enjoyed any of them? Let others know how you felt about them.

http://writertain.com/2018/08/21/15-popular-nigerian-websites-to-post-their-stories-for-free/

Please can anyone tell me how I can download the book: 'Courtesan' by Diane Haeger?