Creative Writing

Marrying Wrong and the Truth It Reveals

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Marrying Wrong and the Truth It Reveals

Mum would often use her life as an example of the consequences of marrying the wrong person. She didn’t need to explicitly share her story for us to understand; her experiences spoke volumes. She lived in fear of our Dad, her husband, a fear that was so overwhelming it eroded her self-esteem and left her feeling humbled. Before all this started, Mum had loved Dad with all her heart, and she would often recall how she couldn’t wait to marry him when he came to ask for her hand in marriage. She was young and deeply in love, eager to spend her life with Dad. Whenever she shared this memory, her eyes would cloud with painful nostalgia. I could see the lingering longing in her gaze, a yearning to be loved by the man she married – a love she had only known briefly, a long time ago. I could see it too – the silence, the monosyllabic responses, the shouts, and even the beatings. At first, we thought that’s how married couples behaved; that wives should have a reverential fear for their husbands, and husbands should dominate the home with an iron fist. But as we grew older, my elder brother Ese and I began to notice the difference between other couples and our parents. We realized then that something was terribly wrong in our home. Our parents were unlike any others we had seen. Dad never physically abused us, but he did abuse Mum. He would hit her at the slightest provocation and was quick to shout at her if she made any mistake. He would storm out of the living room if she tried to join him and would raise his voice if Mum was running late getting ready for church on Sundays. He was hypercritical, finding fault in everything she did – the food she cooked, the clothes she wore, her initial joblessness, and even after she started a supermarket, he still managed to find fault in that too. He belittled her and rendered her voiceless, silencing her opinions and preventing her from speaking up when she disagreed with a decision. Mum lived in the shadows of her own home, constantly afraid and lonely. But whenever Dad traveled and she was left with Ese and me, a different side of her emerged. We would laugh and share jokes, watch TV until we were exhausted, and go on shopping sprees. We’d dine out and explore all the fun spots in town. She’d invite her friends over and even join them for nights out, staying out late and enjoying herself. She transforms every time into an entirely different person, and it’s that vibrant version of her that Ese and I adored. However, when Dad returns from his trip, Mum would retreat back into her shell, and the laughter and joy would be completely drained from our home. I’ve never seen Mum and Dad share a conversation or laughter together; they live parallel lives, each engrossed in their own world – Dad in his smartphone, Bible, family devotion, and church services, while Mum does the same. This created a suffocating atmosphere in our home. I often wondered how a man could once love and cherish a woman, bringing her close, only to leave her feeling isolated and alone after having children. It seemed like he deprived her of the very companionship she craved. I carried this troubling image of my parents’ marriage with me when I left home for university. ****** Now at 33, I still hesitated to commit to any man. What’s the point of following someone if it means ending up as desolate as my mum was in her marriage? I’ve witnessed enough to know that I don’t want to get married only to become heartbroken and afraid for the rest of my life. My brother Ese, on the other hand, was different. He had friends, including female ones, and eventually fell in love and got married. I was surprised at his decision but then I realized he was a man, and our parents’ troubled marriage had seemingly no impact on him, unlike me. I was wrong; just six months after his wedding, Nadia, his wife, called me one morning as I was driving to work. “He hit me!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling, “I accidentally spilled tea on his shirt, and he became enraged, slapping me and then beating me.” I froze on the wheels, unable to move as I listened in shock. When she finished speaking, I realized that Ese hadn’t escaped the patterns of our childhood after all; the cycles of violence and abuse were repeating themselves in his own marriage. READ ALSO: Silence is Not Always Golden

Silence is Not Always Golden

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Silence is Not Always Golden

Silence is not always golden, sometimes. It is plain yellow and it demands that one should speak up and not remain silent. Cheta was not silent after Anthony, her Madam’s husband, raped her repeatedly. This is her story. At the first thrust, Anthony froze, time seemed to suspend itself as he remained motionless, perhaps lost in thought, contemplating the intensity of the moment. He soon let it go and started moving. He went faster and faster and closed his eyes to savour her sweetness while Cheta’s cries and pleas faded into the background. He liked her, he had always liked her from the very first time his wife brought her in. Her innocent face was the first thing that caught his attention that cold Saturday morning. Her “Good morning, sir” while kneeling to greet him melted his heart and when she tried to stand up from the respect-induced position, his eyes rested on her cleavage. He nodded in answer and watched her follow his wife into the narrow passageway leading to the bedrooms. His eyes lingered on her backside, watching the swaying of her hips. Anthony wanted to resist the temptation like any other responsible man would, he told his wife to take her back to her parents but his wife went on and on about how useful she was, her ability to do house chores well, and cook good food. “Cheta is well-behaved,” his wife had said. His wife said “well-behaved” like those elderly people who know nothing else about you, just that you walk alone on the streets, dress properly and greet them is enough to earn the title of a well-behaved child. Cheta is indeed well-behaved, enough to beg him when he locked the door that fateful day after asking her to come in and pull her clothes. “Please sir, I can do anything you want but not this.” Anthony was taken aback at her guts, the ability to tell him what she could and couldn’t do, and well-behaved enough to add “please”. It infuriated him and he landed her a slap which made her fall, he wanted to remind her that she was their maid, his maid. He has the right to tell her to eat faeces and she would obey because he feeds her and pays her parents in the village monthly salaries for her service. But he didn’t say a word, he lifted her from the floor and threw her on the bed. He undressed her roughly, his long fingers inflicting pain on her as they scratched her body. “You will tell no one of this, am I understood?” he asked. She nodded in tears, too tired to speak from his attack on her member. Anthony opened his eyes when she started wailing loudly in Igbo and saying “Nnem, bia zọpụtam (Oh my mother, come and save me)!” “Shut up!” he yelled and forced his sweaty singlet into her mouth to muffle her cries. He held her hands above her head and dug further into her body smiling devilishly to himself. Each thrust caused her more pain, filled her with hatred for him, and helped her nurse the desire to poison him. He felt fulfilled as he collapsed on her body, grunting as his fluid filled her up. He rolled off her and got up quickly. “Get up and go clean your body,” he commanded when he finally let her go. Cheta was lost for some seconds before she came to. She stood up slowly feeling her entire body on fire with tickling pain running through her abused female organ. She tried not to allow her thighs to rub against each other to avoid more pain so she walked with her legs apart. Anthony called her back to take the blood-stained sheet warning her to wash it before her madam returned. Her tears ran freely as she removed the sheet from the bed. This is her being asked to wash away the proof of her virginity which was taken away by a monster.  The world just lied to her, she knew it wouldn’t be easy but it never told her it would be this bad, she was being asked to cut her heart out and remain alive without it and to be silent. She didn’t say a word, she only nodded in agreement as usual in her well-behaved way. ****** “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” the woman from the Domestic and Sexual Violence Agency asked. “You can have more time if you want.” “I am,” Cheta replied, her hands clasped together for warmth and support. “The recording will start immediately, and many people will see this, know you, and hear your story. Are you sure you’re ready for this to happen?” the woman asked again, trying to convey the gravity of the situation. “I am, “ Cheta repeated, this time more quietly. Her strength seemed to come from an unknown source. She had woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning, not thinking as she left the house through her room’s window to avoid the locked main door. Wearing her slippers would make her go out through the main hall and opening the door would wake someone up, so she decided to wear the only good shoe in her room, a wedged heel, and trekked the distance to the agency.  She didn’t want to think about life after speaking up, about people knowing she had been raped and abused repeatedly, or about her madam’s husband being arrested or fined; or her madam calling her a liar and slapping her in her usual way.  She looked every inch a mad woman, trekking in a nightgown and heeled shoes. Who cares anyway? She is ready to damn the world and all its standards. Anthony did it again after the first time. And then a second time too. He said he was getting addicted to her body and couldn’t control himself. He paid no attention to the fact that she no … Read more

Scars That Break Us

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Scars that Break Us

Scars are the second horrible thing that can happen to anyone, the first is usually the beating. The severe kicks, slaps, punches and scratches that leave one a defeated spirit with the defences all gone and then they bring the scars. It wasn’t always this brutal. I had my family and my friends, I went to school, I laughed so hard till tears of joy ran down my cheeks, and there were happy moments and days of high-sounding prayers but it came to an abrupt end the day Dad died. Mum promised we would never leave her to go stay with someone else, we believed her. I believed her. When the peanuts she got from everyday hawking weren’t enough to keep the bread crusty; anger, anxiety and depression started to set in and Mum forgot all her promises. I was the first to leave. I went very far from home, away to stay with a woman who was supposed to be my aunt and for the first week, it was bliss then everything changed. The day her husband slapped me for giving their son Capri-Sonne instead of Viju Milk opened the imaginary door for others to follow. It graduated from slaps to blows, to punches — heavier ones, then to flogging with anything in sight- extreme flogging till my skin bled most times and the scars started to appear. It turned me into a liar, a big fat liar to cover up for the pummeled face and purple eyes, for the swollen hand and limping gait. I remember telling my teacher one time that I had hit my face on the door handle at home and it caused the swollen eyes. She knew I was lying because I was way taller than the door handle but she said nothing. What my Aunt had was pure hate; obvious decaying hatred for me no matter what I did or didn’t do. The other day, she pushed me out of her car for wearing a blouse with a big tear at the armpit, the same blouse she refused to give me money to mend. I had to trek the long distance to Church that morning because she didn’t want people to see me with her. That day was mothering Sunday and she had to appear as a pure soul worthy of praise and resemblance to the Ever Virgin Mary, Mother of our Lord Jesus Christ. A girl in tattered clothes coming down from her car with her kids beautifully dressed would ruin her day. Then it was the hunger strikes, on those days I would be banned from the Kitchen, other rooms were my sphere of play and chores but not the kitchen that housed the food. It would go on till she deems it fit to feed me, most times spanning into days. My depression absorber was my books, I read out my brain and ate the school tests and exams like yams. Maybe, just maybe my Aunt would be proud of me and reduce her brutal treatment but that was so far from it. I stopped schooling after Primary Five because I was too good for her liking. She wondered how I excelled even though other children in my class stayed back for the extra lessons and had tons of tutorials at home, I’d rush home immediately after dismissal to meet up with work before dusk yet I bagged first position at the end of each term. Because I did better than her children, I started staying at home while her kids went to school. According to her, they need the education more than I do. ****** I stood before the woman from DSVA and I explained how it all happened. The day my aunt turned into a dark monster. She asked me to wash her George wrapper for the monthly women’s meeting around 7 pm and spread it outside so it would dry before dawn. I did as I was instructed but the gods ruled against her favour that night, it rained heavily. She woke me up with a slap and asked me to go outside and get her wrappers. I dashed out in the rain but it was no use, it was soaking wet and would never dry before 8 am for her meeting. It annoyed her so much that she locked me outside for making her wrappers wet. I nearly died of cold but it won’t matter to her, I don’t matter to anyone. I lay at the entrance of the house coiled like a snake, shivering and allowing the rain to drown my tears and pain. I was soaked to the skin like her wrappers but I had no choice or anywhere to go. She finally let me in and refused to give me food. I didn’t let it bother me. I have a way of stealing her money and filling my stomach with kpo kpo Garri or akara and bread or even Indomie noodles and eggs when she leaves the house. I’d always find the money no matter where she hid it, I was that good at stealing. She brought out another wrapper and started ironing them for the meeting. She called me into her room minutes later and shut the door. I knew she was still angry because of her wrappers but I never expected what she did next. She tore my clothes and in a flash, the iron on the floor was on the left lobe of my buttocks. The sizzling sound of the hot iron on my raw skin sent me to hell as I screamed in pure agony. She lifted the iron from my body and I could see a thin layer of my skin on it. She held me to a spot with her big hands and since I was so thin, it was so easy for her to hold me and stop me from escaping. The iron came down again on my right breast and I went haywire with … Read more

Silenced by the Gods: The Day I Lost My Voice

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1 fingers of god christian skilbeck canvas print

The day I was silenced for life, Mother said was the day the sun kissed the stream in a glorious entanglement that made the water give up steam the moment all that hotness touched all its coolness. Mother also said the clouds came with the sun and one could easily reach out and touch it. I found her story unbelievable but she repeated it continuously to everyone who cared to listen, so much that it became true. After all, when lies are told over and over again, they become true. She told them I became dumb because Amadioha, the god of the sky would strike a beloved one of any person who sees such a phenomenon with a strange sickness. That fateful day, Father was angry that Mother delayed preparing his dinner on time. She had visited Mmiliaku, her friend and the village gossip and stayed there for a long time. Father returned from his farm at Ukanta and met the fireplace cold, no pot close by to signify cooking and no covered plates containing his meal on his table. He was angry and a dark shadow descended on his eyes making them glow with rage. He came outside and found me playing outside the walled fence of our hut with some children from the neighbourhood.  “Nneamaka!” He barked at me. I left my friends and ran back to our hut immediately. “Where is your mother?” He asked. “She went to visit her friend,” I replied, hoping he would dismiss me so I would go back to my play.  Across the fence, a neighbour’s fowl crowed loudly. He scowled and looked into the distance as if his eyes would find my Mother immediately. If eyes could kill, Father’s eyes would have wreaked havoc on my Mother if he saw her at that moment. He shook his head and went inside the room. He went to his hunter’s bag,  brought out his snuff, and settled on his cane chair on the verandah, hitting the little bottle on his lap to unclog the particles. I shifted my weight from one leg to the other impatiently waiting for him to ask me to go but he didn’t, he rather took his snuff and continued looking into the distance. “Papa, it will soon get to my turn to do the Njemanze dance with my friends, can I go back now?” I asked. He looked at me and I suddenly felt stupid. He said nothing and I sat down on the mud steps leading to our house, trying to hold back the tears that rushed to my eyes. He would beat me if he saw that I was crying because he refused to allow me to go back to play, so I fought the tears back. Mother came home that day when the sun was already casting long shadows of the palm trees in our compound on the threshold. She stopped short in the middle of the compound when she saw us: one sitting and brooding angrily, and the other with tears fighting not to spill. “Nna’m biko, ewe n’iwe-” (“my husband, please don’t be angry”) her voice trailed off in Igbo as she tried to explain what happened and why she wasn’t home when he returned and hadn’t prepared dinner. Father was silent, a clear sign that he was so angry. Mother knows that very well and she quickly ran to get her water pot and dashed for the stream. Father called after her, “You must be joking, what wife would leave her home unattended to go and gossip with a friend?” Mother didn’t turn, she was running and soon she disappeared among the clusters of huts following the path to the stream. She didn’t know that it was time for Amadioha to come for a bath, which happens once a month, and usually before dusk: the entirety of the sky would come down to the stream. The day is usually unknown, and it is expected that no one will be at the stream by that time.  Mum was a few meters from the stream when the weather changed. The sky started its descent and she was right there. The sun had touched the stream and the clouds close enough for one to touch and grab the gases when Amadioha saw that a mortal was standing close by. He thundered immediately and a slash of lightning went off. Mum ran back but it was too late. The lightning struck me at home. I was still sitting on the verandah with Father. He was still brooding and shaking his right foot impatiently. I still had tears in my eyes and still longed to go back to play with my friends when the lightning hit me hard and I collapsed on the ground. I went dumb afterwards, my tongue twisted in my mouth and I started making incoherent sounds unable to speak. So Mum would always tell people how it happened, how she was late in preparing dinner and how I was silenced the day the sun kissed the stream. READ ALSO: A Student’s Extraordinary Seminar Defense

When a Student’s Envy Turns Criminal

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Ikemefuna will never get fat. He was the type of person who could eat endlessly without gaining an ounce.  It was astonishing to see him consume large amounts of food without any visible weight gain. A good wonder as I watched in envy as he effortlessly glided from one chair to another in the cafeteria, laughing and whispering with the girls. I wanted his life. Such perfection – his slender, tall, and handsome physique. He was so captivating that all the girls he interacted with showered him with attention and affection. They touched him, some in a modest Christian way that didn’t go unnoticed and some in an open carnal manner. As I sipped on a Coke and devoured a doughnut, I couldn’t help but feel envious. Ikemefuna had eaten the same treats just moments before, yet his body seemed immune to the calories. I couldn’t resist the temptation to indulge, thinking that if he could do it, why couldn’t I? But deep down, I knew it wasn’t just about the food – it was about the injustice of it all. One person got to have it all, while I felt like I was stuck in a perpetual state of inadequacy. I was the antithesis of Ikemefuna in every way. Where he was slender and graceful, I was rotund and clumsy. My body seemed to absorb every calorie, every morsel of food with alarming efficiency. Rolls of flesh hung over my belt, and my cheeks were perpetually flushed and puffy. When I walked, I waddled, my thighs chafing uncomfortably with each step. My ill-fitting school uniform strained at the seams, buttons threatening to pop at any moment. However, what I lacked in looks, I compensated with my brains and so while Ikemefuna had all the girls for a while, they came back to me when it was time for Maths, English, Physics and Chemistry. But despite my academic prowess, I couldn’t help but feel like I was living in Ikemefuna’s shadow. The girls would praise me for my academic achievements, exclaiming, “Cheta, you’re the best!” “Your head is too hot!” and “Man like Cheta!” But their admiration was always tempered with distance. They would never touch me or smile at me the way they did with Ikemefuna. I knew then that no matter how hard I tried, no one would ever find me attractive and then the hate started creeping in. Months later, when they asked why I did it in the juvenile home I was confined to. I told them it was a social experiment, I was a science student and just wanted to see if what our chemistry teacher said about hydrogen peroxide was true. So I poured a little into a can of juice and convinced Ikemefuna to taste it and see if he could tell the difference between that brand and another. Poor Ikemefuna, as innocent and as stupid as he was commented on the strange smell but drank it anyway. I felt the strange pull to stop him and confess what I wanted to do but the resentfulness I felt towards him was greater than anything else. He started to laugh afterwards and told me it tasted awful. I wasn’t expecting an immediate result. In fact, I didn’t know what to expect but I knew that the foaming from his mouth, his eyes rolling to the back of his socket and his muscles contorting in ways that seemed impossible was insane. That image of him haunted me for days even after he was confirmed okay by doctors and I was withdrawn from school. It didn’t make sense to say I wanted the life of a classmate so bad that I had tried to harm him out of envy, so I concocted a story about a social experiment gone wrong. READ ALSO: When Family Becomes the Most Important Destination

A Student’s Extraordinary Seminar Defense

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Egbokhare stepped into the hall, it was filled with her coursemates milling about, some doing last-minute checks on their notes; some simply gisting in their clique corners and talking about which examiner was the hardest and the errors they would find in their seminar papers, some others were practising their presentation, lip syncing in an unknown language. Egbokhare quickly scanned the room, found an empty seat, and walked briskly to claim it before someone else did. She settled in and closed her eyes, muttered under her breath, “Lord, I am here now and it is time for my seminar defense.” The examiners walked in then, with their stone-hard faces. They had papers of everyone presenting in that session and carried water bottles. Egbokare wondered why they all had water bottles and then noticed it was a gift from the department, they were given customized water bottles, good gracious! Kemi was first to present and she bemoaned her fate even before she stood up, cursing silently why her surname began with an “A”. She stood in front of the class and started presenting in a shaky voice, Egbokhare noted how her voice sounded and knew it was fear. They didn’t spare Kemi, The examiners’ review was thorough, their questions piercing, and their grading merciless. Others followed and they faced the same fate as Kemi, some shallow and some quite hard. Egbokhare’s turn came. She heard her name, stood up diligently, and walked to the front of the class, where she greeted everyone. It began at that instant. The examiners’ faces froze, turning stone-white. They watched her as if they were seeing a ghost and her course mates were as silent as ever. After she finished, she waited for the questions and probing. The examiners suddenly regained their composure and looked at her paper before them and then at her face again. They conversed among themselves in low tones, nodding and making notes on their score sheet. The class could feel the energy in the air, watching the examiners decide Egbokhare’s fate and that of her paper was like being before the judgement seat of God and waiting for His verdict. Egbokhare breathed in and out severally. “Why did you choose this topic and research area?” One of the examiners asked. The examiner was a woman and she smiled. Her coursemates were surprised at the smile, the other presenters did not get anything close to a smile. Egbokhare felt warm all over and responded. The examiners all nodded in unison and the lead said to her, “We can see the rigour, great job!” Then he motioned to the class, “At least, one of you decided to put in the work required for the grade in this course.” A low murmur swept through the hall which ended as the next person to present was called upon. Egbokhare went back to her seat with her heart in her mouth, it was like a dream, more like a swift breeze. She was done and she got everything she wanted.  She bowed her head to thank God for a successful seminar defense, she raised her head to focus on the next person presenting when Isaac tapped her from behind. “I saw them,” he whispered when she turned. “Saw who?” Egbokhare asked, “The chariots of fire and the horsemen around you as you stood in front, you never said you were coming to your defend you seminar paper with such great company,” He responded and sat still. Egbokhare closed her eyes and managed to wipe the tears that came to her eyes. God had wanted to attend the seminar defense and he did so with so much glory.   READ ALSO: What Is A Plant Based Diet And It’s Benefits?

When Family Becomes the Most Important Destination

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Dertha started saying Mama often. She would point at Chinaza’s picture on the wall, beside the big family portrait and say, “Mama! See Mama!”At first, Nonso would smile and nod agreeably with her, “Yes, it is Mama.”  He would then swing her into a hug and they would scan Chinaza’s framed photo, the only one in the living room. At night, Dertha would clap and squeal when Chinaza’s face appeared in the video call. It was their magical moment, a sacred tradition that they had kept every night for the past two months since Chinaza left for her program in Belfast. Nonso would allow the children to gush over her first before he would ask, “Kedu, how are you coping over there?” Her countenance fell each time and then brightened up almost immediately remembering their children were still on the call. “I’m fine,” She would respond and then her voice would trail off recounting how her day went and what she did differently in class, how she helped the old woman at Target; how she skipped going to the gym and would not renew her subscription just to save cost. How she ate only boiled eggs for breakfast and Oats for dinner. How the new job as an assistant at the elderly home was treating her. “I can’t wait for you all to come over,” she would say finally. “Soon, we will be with you again.”  Those became their parting words each night, it gave them hope that they would be a complete family again. But that hope began to give in to despair and finally to frustration. The UK Embassy kept denying Nonso’s Visa. He had declared everything he had, why he was travelling and what he was going to do there but they kept rejecting his application each time.  Then Chinaza’s crying spells began, she would have tears in her eyes as she spoke to the kids and watched them do their homework and when she was alone with Nonso, she would let the tears out, sobbing hysterically. She had wanted to leave Nigeria by all means and even though she already had a master’s degree, opted to apply for another just to facilitate leaving. Nonso was not as eager as she was but with each family that left the country, each Facebook post that showed people abroad and each discomfort from government policies which were making lives difficult in Nigeria, Chinaza would complain and talk about how life would be easier if they just relocated. Her application got approved and she was elated to leave first and then bring Nonso and the kids over as her dependants. It felt easy as they said it, as they planned for her relocation and as they said their goodbyes. Now, those cherished moments of togetherness were all they had. Chinaza cried as she remembered how Nonso wanted them to save up more and take things easy and how she had been the one on his neck.  Why wouldn’t they let her family come over to the United Kingdom to be with her? She looked at his weak eyes and said nothing further till they ended the call Nonso watched Dertha’s enthusiasm begin to wane as she pointed at Chinaza’s picture, her “see Mama!” words lacked the lustre they once had and he no longer nodded or agreed with her. Her Mama was gone for a year now and all plans to be together had proven abortive. Mama was not there to see Dertha graduate from pre-school, she wasn’t there to see Caleb collect the overall best students award for the second time; to see him move to third grade where they hoped he would clinch the award again for the third time in a row. Mama wasn’t there to try Nonso’s many recipes, he had grown to become a renowned chef at home since her departure. He had learnt to cook and try things out to ensure the kids fed well. Mama wasn’t there to attend his company’s anniversary dinner with him and he had sat alone with friends who came with their spouses. That night he had returned home and called Chinaza immediately but when she didn’t pick up after the third ring, he flung his phone across the room and removed the necktie he had on angrily. They had agreed to talk by 8:00 pm every day which was 7:00 pm over there. Why was she not there? He angrily sent a text and asked what she was doing behind his back. His frustration only calmed down when he took a cold shower and checked on the children with his Mother to be sure they were fine. He slept off in the living room. He woke up to Chinaza’s text asking what was happening with him and why he sent such an accusing message to her. He wanted to apologize when he got a call from his mum to come over quickly. Dertha was running a temperature and had been throwing up. He spent the entire day at the children’s clinic and for one, he was grateful for his company’s HMO. Caleb opted to stay with his dad and sister so he and Nonso sat at the children’s playing ground, had lunch at the cafeteria and played Whot cards in Dertha’s ward. They waited till Dertha was certified okay and free to go. Nonso heaved a sigh of relief as they got home. He was getting good at this “daddy” thing, he just pulled through a sick bout and did not lose his mind to worry. Dertha was fine. He cooked their meals and waited patiently for 8:00 pm again so they could talk to Chinaza. Caleb fell ill the next day. Whatever Dertha had must have been transferred to him. Nonso was lost again as he took the trip back to the children’s hospital and had to miss church service. That night, he broke down as he talked to Chinaza. “I don’t know what is happening, … Read more

Balancing Freedom And Boundaries; Should Humans be Bound By Laws

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Balancing Freedom And Boundaries; Should Humans be Bound By Laws

Have you ever wondered why there are human rights and, at the same time, limitations to human rights? Have you thought about why rules and regulations of the University were reiterated to your hearing during your orientation programme as a fresher?. Have you considered why constitution is part of an organization’s standard?. The constitution is not just for aims, vision and all but to ensure that each member of the Organization is aware of both his rights and limitations. These established that even though humans are higher animals with appropriate thinking, they can’t be left unbounded by rules and regulations in any official setting. Although personal freedom is important yet, there are ethical, legal, and societal boundaries that exist, and this is to ensure the well-being and safety of individuals and the community at large. It is crucial to have laws, regulations, and ethical standards in place in all organizations to guide behaviour and prevent harm to others. Actually, human beings cannot just be left free and unbounded by some dos and don’ts because this will lead to a lack of orderliness right from homes to schools to the community and then to the country at large, thereby causing chaos and violence from different people since there’s nothing to tackle against their wrongdoings. Infact, it is still difficult to curb some negative behaviors in people despite being clearly stated in the rules and regulations guiding the organization or such community, not to mention when there’s nothing to guide, then the whole world won’t be at ease with people’s misbehaviour therefore it is so important that every smallest organization that has people should have a constitution guiding them. READ ALSO: Love And Unity However, finding the right balance between freedom and boundaries is essential for a healthy and functional society because too much freedom can lead to chaos. In contrast, excessive boundaries can stifle individual growth and creativity. Establishing clear guidelines that respect individual rights while ensuring collective well-being and safety is crucial.

Aminah, my friend smiled last

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Aminah, my friend smiled last

I didn’t need a soothsayer to tell me Aminah had cried all night. Was it her swollen eyes that didn’t pass the message to me or her gloomy face? It was Aminah’s husband that called me at the odd hours of the night. He had travelled and wasn’t at home; he pleaded with me to try as much as possible to be at their place the following morning; someone called her barren again. He said bitterly. Aminah was a waiting mother for 11 years; she had been strong and carried on with her life, hoping Allah would answer her prayers on time.  Until some folks started calling her barren, Aminah was an online chef who shared recipes that she thought would be useful for her followers, but anytime any of the recipes didn’t sit well with them, they would go to her DM to call her all sorts of names. Some even went as far as telling her to divert all her energy into how she would have children, forgetting she was not Allah. That morning, I didn’t bother to ask her why she was crying; all I did was to pacify her. I made sure she ate and slept before going to my home. READ ALSO: Indeed Dreams Come Through Hardwork And Perseverance  A  month after, I visited her randomly as I always did and noticed the smile on my baby girl’s face was contagious, I could sense she was genuinely happy. Before I could ask her what was up she handed a paper to me, it was a doctor’s report that stated my friend was 5 weeks pregnant!!! IN THAT MOMENT, the only thing that kept coming out of my mouth was ALHAMDULILAH!!!!!..

The Art of Building Vocabulary for Writers

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The Art of Building Vocabulary for Writers

Enhancing your writing skills as a writer significantly hinges on improving your vocabulary. This is because words serve as your sole means to convey emotions. The more extensive your word bank, the better your ability to effectively string together thoughts into a message that delivers the intended impact.  A broad vocabulary allows for clear and precise expression, adds depth to writing, diversifies language use, facilitates selecting the most suitable words, assists in expressing ideas concisely, and prevents confusion or complexity for the reader. One can only write using words one knows; hence, as a writer, it is expedient that you are intentional in building your vocabulary acumen. I have heard people lament in frustration about how they always have a lot to say, but conveying effortlessly always poses a problem. So, they end up not meeting the expectations of the readers in demonstrating mastery of terminology. Now, note that having an extensive vocabulary does not mean using complicated or uncommon words to appear more intelligent. Its essence is not in the complexity of words but in the ability to use the right words effectively and appropriately to convey ideas clearly and precisely.  What is Vocabulary? Vocabulary is a collection of acquainted words or phrases of a person’s language. It is the phrase acknowledged and used by an individual. In the English Language, it is not only integral for reading comprehension, but it is also a necessary tool for verbal and written communication.  Guidelines to develop and expand your vocabulary: Cultivate a Reading Culture: Incorporate reading into your daily life, no matter how short. As you read, take note of new words and write them down. Afterward, look them up in the dictionary. Learn new words in context. Learning new phrases contextually will make it less complicated to consider later. Don’t be satisfied understanding the meaning alone; however, practice the usage of them in sentences and your daily conversation. Learn new words daily: To expand your vocabulary and improve your communication ability, analyze a new word every day. Master the spelling, pronunciation, synonyms, and antonyms. Memorization plays its part. However, it doesn’t guarantee the terrific use of it. It is expedient to put each new vocabulary to use. To achieve recollection, make sure you use the word, or else, you will lose it. Practice them as you converse with people. You can begin by mastering a word daily, as you make progress, you can expand it. Play word games: In this century, technology has made knowledge less complicated, flexible, and fun. In a digitally advanced world, there are now several exclusive vocabulary-building exercises, games, applications, and quizzes designed to achieve admirable vocabulary capabilities. Adopt word games of your preference and be steady with them. Suggested examples are crossword, phrase scrambles, scrabble, and vocabulary pyramid among others. Learn from others: Another way to build your vocabulary is by practicing active listening. Listening to other people talk exposes you to new words and their usage. Use helpful English tools: Dictionaries and thesauruses remain effective examples of tools that help in understanding unfamiliar words. As a hoe is to a farmer, so is a dictionary to an English language learner. Conclusively, the power of consistency cannot be overemphasized. Consistent practice in building your vocabulary is the key to lasting success and growth. Do not cease after a while; stay focused and dedicated to the adopted activities.