Creative Writing | TRW Interns

Finding Fulfillment: The Power of Contentment

May 1, 2024February 29, 2024 by Aishat Agunbiade

Contentment, they say, is the key to happiness. Ever wondered why there are so many atrocities in the world today? Why is there an alarming rate of ritualists, yahoo boys, prostitutes and kidnappers? It is because most of these evil doers are not contented. They want to wear the latest clothes, drive the latest cars, and spend lavishly during the night club to show off, yet all these do not last long. Ritualists don’t just become ritualists in a day. It all started from dissatisfaction with their clothes, food, shoes and whatever they had. They want to have the lifestyles they can’t afford. So many girls have fallen victim to ritualists, all because they want to brag about using the latest iPhone, live luxurious lives, make headlines of stories and oppress their fellow gender even when they do not hard earn all the money they spend. I remember vividly this story of a lady who was just inducted into the Nursing profession. She threw an after-party after her induction, but sadly, her life was cut short that very day with her vital parts missing. When the policemen did their findings about the unfortunate incident, they found out her killer was the one who sponsored the night party. She couldn’t afford the party but wanted to show her friends she was a lady of high class. Her lack of contentment led her to her early grave! It is obvious that greed led her killer to perpetrate the evil which resulted in her death. A contented person wouldn’t have thought of something that evil to get money. This story is one out of many we have heard. Some weren’t killed, but the chance of their lives being impactful is low. The earlier we all know that being contented saves us from a lot of embarrassment and dangers, the better we source for our sustenance legally and forbid illegal acts.

New Haven

April 9, 2024February 26, 2024 by Oluwagbenga Kolawole

It was a bright Wednesday morning. The streets of New Haven were filled with people of different walks of life thronging to work and to make a living. Trying to make sense of their miserable lives. The tall towers and skyscrapers, the huge billboards, and the heavy human and vehicular traffic. This was the haven. The grind was effing real. It was a haven indeed. A bright orange cab pulled up in front of the Anson building. The vehicle’s color suggests the driver was new to the business, and of course, the driver was a man in his mid-sixties. The passengers were Rose Kelly and her son, Tom. The boy was a particularly lively kid; he seemed oblivious to the depression on his mother’s face. Nor the silent, angry, and morose faces the people on the street wore. He was just like an innocent eight-year-old boy. And he was considerably short for his age. His teachers had grown tired of his overactive persona. He was a bright kid, but somehow he lagged behind in his academics; he had some learning difficulties. This morning, he was prattling about how some kids in his school brought a frog to school. “Momma, so do you know that frogs are one of the strangest breeds of animals on earth?” Tom prattled excitedly, “Those damn things can be dangerous, and Kevin brought one into his pocket. Actually, no one noticed at first, but when I saw…” “Here we are, ma’am,” the old driver said exhaustedly, glad that he survived the boy’s rattling. “Oh,” Grace Kelly said, snapping out of her thoughts. She is a very young woman, in her late twenties. Married to Paul Kelly, a sergeant in the Royal Marines, at 21. She is a petite and voluptuous woman. She is beautiful to behold in her black, long, wavy hair. A stunner. Last week, she had a rumor of her husband going AWOL. Just completely disappearing during a mission in a foreign land—no message or anything—just completely off-grid. His superiors haven’t been able to find him. They’d told her he was just missing. As much as it broke her heart, she feared they’d sent him on one of those high-risk missions they normally assign to his squad of Kobra M9, and his team had probably been wiped out, and the army was probably just covering their tracks. But she got the shock of her life when the army discharged her husband without any compensation, declared his squad traitors, and put a bounty on their heads. The news spread like wildfire in the harmattan. The media and news outlets had a field day. National heroes had been declared traitors by the popular Kobra M9 squad. Of course, there was no official announcement, and no one in the army disclaimed it either. Rose felt shattered. The Paul she knew was a very strong nationalist, the most passionate one she knew. He had taken several bullets for his country, and he had indicated on multiple occasions that money would not move him. As Rose and her kid stepped out of the cab into the bathing sunlight, feeling the thronging and pushing, particularly in front of the Anson building, she felt a cloud of dizziness descend upon her. It had been six days since she heard what happened to Paul, and she hadn’t slept since. The math just doesn’t add up. She wanted answers. She needed answers. She set her jaw and determinedly drew all the strength in her. The blabbering kid by her side didn’t seem to notice anything wrong with his mother today. Normally, he would have noticed, Rose thought. The poor kid does not understand why his mom was always lost in thought and constantly flipping through papers in their home. He just glided forward like the child with zero worries he is. Sweet kid. Somewhere, three buildings down the busy street, a tall bloke appeared. From the corner,an alley between two buildings. He had a solid build, one of a bodybuilder. He was wearing a helmet and overalls, black boots, and, oh, he was carrying a big, heavy-looking travel bag. Lloyd Dawson stopped and looked up at the Anson building. Mensely, you fucking bastard, he thought to himself, you ain’t going to see this coming. With that, he kept walking his stride longer than before. New Haven was about to witness history. He stopped by the entrance of the building. He looked around through the crowd of enthusiastic tourists who were admiring the Gothic-themed architecture and various relics in the building and various office men and women who were oblivious to the rage burning in the random technician standing a few feet from them, who had no idea what shit was about to go down. Lloyd approached security and identified himself as a technician, a maintenance guy. The bored dude didn’t check on him further and gave him an access card. The plan was working. He ran enthusiastically to catch up with the mom and son, who were about to get in the elevator. As Rose and Tommy got in the elevator, a huge guy in overalls rushed over to join them. Rose punched 20 in the keypad and glanced at the guy before drifting away in her thoughts. But Tommy quieted, looking intently at the big man beside his mother. The man looked down at him. His cold look sent shivers down the kid’s spine. Lloyd was feeling powered up. The way the kid beside him kept staring at him gave him the creeps. The brown eyes looked familiar. He tried to shut down every feeling and sensitivity in his body. He had work to do. Brothers to avenge. Rose, on the other hand, was still reviewing her mission in Anson Tower in her head. Last week, when the news broke that some traitors in the army had fled, she got different calls from different people. Her mother and sister had called to make sure she was okay. Her mother, Lily, had … Read more

A Detective Story

May 1, 2024February 26, 2024 by Oluwagbenga Kolawole

Different detective stories have their own unique twist. This one is no different. It all started on a lazy Saturday evening. The usually calm streets of Truman Lane were deserted, save for some occasional cabs splashing through the muddy streets and a few people running some pressing errands. The weather was unfavorably cold. It had been raining all day and had just begun to let up towards evening. The sun had a pale, sickly brightness. The clouds also had an ashen-grey appearance. Dusk was fast approaching, and no one knew what to expect—a rainstorm or worse. Given the weather, most people and animals stayed in their homes. However, the house on 61C had a completely different vibe; there was a small, excited crowd outside this particular building that was situated towards the very end of the street. Two police cars and an ambulance were parked on either side of the street. The curious onlookers and news-hungry reporters tried to get past the guard of constables posted at the entrance of the building to keep them at bay. The usually bright colors of the building had an ominous feeling; despite the general feeling of moodiness, the house appeared to be two shades darker. The odd house belonged to Theo Cozron. Theo Cozron was a famous author and entertainer, beloved in his day. With a rather rapid rise among his peers, he became more popular and enjoyed life in Hollywood as a writer and comedian. The Ball, he was called. Until a sexual scandal ruined his reputation. His sponsors cast him aside. His fans turned their backs on him. He was no longer the big, fat, bubbling ball of energy he was known as; he had become an even bigger blob of desperation and depression, retiring into an ordinary neighborhood in West County and trying to fight his way back to the top. No wonder the gossip of a mysterious murder in 61C quickly gained ground. Another squad car pulled up opposite the street, and two pale-looking men got out and stood looking straight at the building. The taller of the two was holding a pager and looking hard at it as if contemplating a message. “This is not your usual nasty case, Detective,” the shorter man with a cigar in his mouth said to his partner. “I’ll bet you 100 pounds; it’s suicide.” “Crimes, detectives, and conclusions,” Al replied slowly with a sigh as he continued to fumble with the buttons on his pager. “You might not have to call that gold star guy; he’s a douchebag. I’m a Silver Star detective too, y’know.”. With that, the shorter guy crossed the street, through the crowd, and into the house. Calling a Gold Star detective before going in was protocol, but Al knew better than to argue. He dropped his pager wearily into his pockets and walked. The officer on duty, Ken, ushered them both into the building. “The maid called the station around 1600 hours,” Ken began as he led them down the hall, through the living room. “She found his study locked as was his habit, but when the hours stretched on for too long and continuous knocking couldn’t open the door, she opened the door and found the body in his office.” The officer ended the tale just as they got to the study. “Does she live here?” Herb inquired. “No,” the officer replied, eyeing the door handle nervously. “Has anyone entered the place since she called you?” “No” “Have her wait around, will you?” Herb said as he turned the handle. Ken made a move as if to stop him, then stopped in his tracks. “What’s wrong?” Al inquired “The body… I’ve not quite seen something like it, sir; a couple of the recruits couldn’t go in, sir, and I think there might be a bomb in there; all our machines just…” ”Bull shit,” Herb interjected angrily. He glanced briefly at Al and chuckled amusedly. “What do you know about crime cases?” The officer stammered some incomprehensible words. Herb eyed him wearily and pulled the knob; it didn’t budge. Irritated, he darted at the startled officer and roughed him up for the keys. The junior officer ran, half scared, half embarrassed, to the hallway. The door of the study creaked open. Al prayed quietly under his breath. A cold shiver ran down the spines of the two detectives. Inside this modest house, owned by Theo Cozron, in the study of Theo Cozron lay the body of Theo Cozron. The room was dark except for the table lamp glowing ominously, and the windows were shut. On the rug lay Theo Cozron’s body, or was it on the chair? It appeared that he fell backward in his chair and broke his neck. A joker-esque smile was etched on his face. That strange, frightening smile. There also appeared to be a hole in Theo’s head. A fat man fell over in his chair, his back and neck twisted awkwardly, a hole in his head, and a small pool of blood on the floor. Just so much could be seen from outside. The more you look at it, the worse it gets. The short detective couldn’t move. “Al?” “Yes?” “Call Gold Star.” “Right”

Indeed, Dreams Come True Through Hardwork and Perseverance

March 7, 2024February 24, 2024 by Aishat Agunbiade

Indeed, Dreams Come True Through Hardwork and Preserverance

Would I ever achieve my dreams? That was the question Tife asked himself when he failed his third jamb again. Tife was born with a silver spoon, and he was the only child of his parents. While growing up, he never lacked monetary things; everything he needed was always provided for him, barely before he asked. Tife was an intelligent, smart child, and he liked clarity so much, which made him ask questions someone would have thought bigger than his brain capacity, but trust Tife to remember every detail of answers provided to each question. Throughout his primary and secondary education programs, he never had reasons to have a B, all his results were always distinctions. Due to his brilliance and intelligence, he became teachers’ favorite and parents’ pride. Tife’s dreams was to become a civil engineer when he grew up, and he likes solving problems. It was a few months to Tife’s UTME exam when things started going south for his family. His father got duped of a huge amount of money while trying to do business transactions. Their lives started taking turns, in a bad way of course. A family who never lacked before became people who found it difficult to eat 3 square meals in a day. The drastic reduction of his father’s wealth was totally strange to him. He found it difficult to wrap his head around the fact that they were no more affluent people. The thought of his family now struggling affected him a lot, that he performed woefully in his first exam. That was the first failure he recorded ever since he was born. After his father got duped, he borrowed money from different people to run his business again, but he kept running into debt. No sooner than later, he got depressed and died due to depression. It was a month to Tife’s second UTME when his father’s death happened. He didn’t recover from the shock of his father’s death even after he wrote his exam; when the results were released, he performed poorly than he did the first time. His father’s death led his mother to start doing menial jobs. He couldn’t help but look for how he could assist his mother and himself financially. He started doing menial jobs and registered for his third UTME exam with money he got from the savings made while working, but he had little or no time to prepare for his exam because he always returned home tired most days. The exam time came, and he wrote it and did a bit better in it than the previous ones, but the score was too low for the Civil Engineering he wanted. When he saw his result this time, he started wailing. He called himself names and asked his mother if he would ever make it in life, but his mother assured him that through faith and hard work, he would become what he envisaged himself to be. He gave everything it took for his 4th UTME exam, he didn’t let any bad thought put him down, he prayed like never before because he had dreams to achieve, he wrote his exams with faith, and he did excellently well. He was admitted into the university to study the course of his choice. During his undergraduate years, he did a side hustle to relieve his mother of her burden. He did not let these hustles affect him, and he studied harder, for he promised himself he wouldn’t let anything bring him down. READ ALSO: Fortune Favours The Curious: Embracing The Power of Inquisitiveness He later graduated as the best graduating student in his faculty and department at the same time. While giving his speech during convocation, while giving his speech as the Best Graduating Student, his first statement was, “Indeed, dreams come true “.

Fortune Favours The Curious: Embracing The Power of Inquisitiveness

May 1, 2024February 24, 2024 by Editor

In a world constantly evolving at an unprecedented pace, curiosity emerges more than a trait but as a crucial survival skill. The adage “Fortune favours the brave” is widely recognized, but as we navigate the complexities of the 21st century, it’s becoming increasingly apparent that fortune also favours the curious. The curious are the explorers of our time, those who seek to understand the why behind the “what” and, in so doing, unlock doors to opportunities, innovation, and growth. Curiosity: The Catalyst for Innovation across Domains History is replete with examples of curious minds whose inquiries and explorations have led to ground-breaking discoveries and innovations. From the apple falling on Newton’s head, sparking the theory of gravity, to the development of the internet, curiosity has been the driving force behind human progress. In today’s fast-paced, technology-driven world, curiosity empowers individuals and organizations to explore new horizons, challenge the status quo, and innovate beyond the confines of current thinking. Curiosity in the Digital Age The digital age has transformed how we learn, work, and connect. With information readily available at our fingertips, the curious mind thrives, constantly seeking new knowledge, skills, and experiences. Social media, a cornerstone of the digital age, serves as a double-edged sword in this pursuit. While it provides endless avenues for exploration and learning, it also demands discernment to navigate the sea of information, distinguishing between what is useful and what is not. Curiosity in Creative Arts The creative arts thrive on curiosity. Artists, writers, musicians, and performers all begin with a “what if” that propels them into the realm of creation. Curiosity prompts a painter to experiment with new techniques or mediums, leading to the birth of a masterpiece. In literature, curiosity drives writers to explore the depths of the human condition, crafting stories that resonate across generations. Musicians who dare to blend genres or employ unconventional instruments often set new trends, enriching the tapestry of global culture. The creative arts, in essence, are a testament to the power of curiosity in pushing the boundaries of expression and understanding, reminding us that every great work of art began as a question. The Curious Mindset in Business and Entrepreneurship In business and entrepreneurship, curiosity is the foundation of competitive advantage. It drives leaders and entrepreneurs to question how they can improve processes, create value, and anticipate the needs of their customers. The curious are those who are not afraid to fail, for they understand that failure is often the precursor to innovation. They are the ones who ask “What if?” and “Why not?” and in doing so, they find new ways to solve old problems and create products and services that change the world. Curiosity in Education In education, fostering a culture of curiosity is paramount for developing critical thinking, problem-solving skills, and a lifelong love for learning. Curious students are not content with rote memorization; they seek to understand the “why” behind facts, leading to deeper comprehension and the ability to apply knowledge in novel situations. Educators play a crucial role in nurturing this trait by encouraging questions, promoting exploratory learning, and creating an environment where not knowing is the first step to discovery. This approach makes learning more engaging and prepares students to navigate the complexities of the modern world with adaptability and an eager mind. Curiosity in Family Life Within the family context, curiosity acts as a bonding agent, encouraging open communication, empathy, and shared learning experiences. Curious families often engage in activities that expand their collective knowledge and understanding, from travel to playing intellectually stimulating games or simply exploring the wonders of their local community. Parents who model curiosity to their children, showing interest in their thoughts, feelings, and activities, lay the groundwork for open, trusting relationships. Moreover, by encouraging children to ask questions and explore their interests, parents foster an environment where learning is not just an educational requirement but a joyous, lifelong pursuit. Nurturing Curiosity So, how does one cultivate this invaluable trait? It begins with fostering a mindset of lifelong learning, being open to new experiences, and not fearing the unknown. It involves asking questions, seeking challenges, and stepping outside one’s comfort zone. In the realm of social media, it means leveraging these platforms not just for entertainment but for education and constructive engagement. Follow thought leaders, join forums and discussions, and share your discoveries and insights. Keep in mind that being curious isn’t merely an individual characteristic; it’s a collective voyage towards enhanced comprehension and creativity. ALSO READ: How to Overcome Low Self-Esteem Conclusion In conclusion, the old saying “Fortune favours the brave” remains true, but in the tapestry of the modern world, the brave are often those who dare to be curious. They are the pioneers of innovation, the seekers of knowledge, and the drivers of progress. As we forge ahead into the unknown frontiers of the future, let us embrace curiosity not just as a trait but as a principle for life. Ultimately, those driven by curiosity will mould the future, uncovering wealth not merely for personal gain but for the greater good of humanity.

A monument of an unbelievable sacrifice

February 24, 2024February 16, 2024 by Prisca Onyinye Nwokorie

As I stood in front of the old, dilapidated house that seemed like a house of monument, I was overcome with a sense of unease. It was clear that this place had seen better days, the peeling paint, broken windows and crumbling walls were proof of that. But something did not seem right here, as if there was a deeper story behind the decay. I turned to my friend Ndubuisi, who had brought me here. “What happened here?” I asked curiously. He paused for a while as his expression became serious. “If I had asked you this question a few months ago, you would probably have said that the house was being renovated”, he began, “but that was far from the truth”. As he spoke, I noticed a sadness in his eyes that I had never seen before. He took a deep breath before continuing. “This house was once a haven for many, a place where families lived and loved. But then the world stood still for hours, and the fate of the people was decided”. My heart began to race as I listened to his words, for I did not know where this story would lead. “Lives were changed forever in this house”, Ndubuisi said quietly, his voice full of emotion. “Fathers lost their sons, mothers became widows and children were left without fathers. The breadwinners of the families said goodbye to life and willingly sacrificed themselves for a greater cause”. I felt a lump forming in my throat as I tried to process what Ndubuisi was telling me. “What cause?” I asked with my voice barely in muted tones. Ndubuisi’s eyes met mine, full of determination and sadness. the cause of freedom,’ he said with a certain pride. These men have paid the exorbitant price for us to enjoy our lives in freedom. That we can visit places like Aguorie, Nkutume Guest House and Eke utali Joint without fear of oppression. I remembered the carefree nights I had spent with friends in these places. How could I be so blind to the sacrifices made for my freedom? But then the words of Ndubuisi hit me even harder. “Even the prodigal sons were not left out,” he said with a slight tremor in his voice. “Men who had strayed from the path of righteousness found redemption in their last moments. They fought alongside their brothers because they knew they were fighting for a cause greater than themselves”. Tears stung my eyes as I looked at the house in front of me with a new understanding. This place was not just a dilapidated building, but a monument to sacrifice, a reminder of the price of freedom. It is the desire of everyone of us to free and liberated from every indirect form of slavery. For the love of our dear fatherland, people who have never been to the military fought with every breathe in them. “These men will never be forgotten”, Ndubuisi said with conviction. “Their struggle and sacrifice will never be in vain”. Read also: We Can Make the World Better With Love As we stood in front of the old house that seemed to be a house monument, I could not help but feel a sense of gratitude and awe for the brave people who had laid down their lives. I vowed never to take my freedom for granted and to always remember the sacrifices that were made for it. And when we left the house, I knew that I would carry this story with me and share it with others so that the memory of these heroes would live on.

NIMASA At 18 : A New Ever Revolving Body

February 15, 2024 by Fawsiyyah Lamidi

On a calm, cold night, I was standing right beside the river. The warm water rushing onto my feet as I wondered how far we had come. How we went from being very insensitive when it came to water bodies to indeed knowledgeable individuals. This is definitely all thanks to NIMASA for enforcing the laws of MARPOL. The pollution of marine bodies, which had been a subject of concern for so many years now, even became more serious around the mid-20th century when industrialization, increased shipping activities, chemical spills, and sewage spills led to an incredible rise in marine body pollution. To an extent, we could say everyone was really carefree, and all we cared about was actually getting rid of our waste. None of us cared to know the damage it was doing to where we dumped it. The ocean, which covers more than 70 percent of the earth’s surface, is definitely far larger than what the land covers. We turned it to an enemy where we could go ahead and dump whatever we wanted; the big factories were also passing out their waste directly into the water bodies. So, when it turned on us and started its wrath, I was not surprised. From experiencing all sorts of waterborne diseases to the effect on aquatic life and, at the end, the effect on us. Shall we even talk about the destruction of properties caused by this? I have an experience to share. We used to live near a river body, but not so close, as it was at least two streets from ours. People automatically turned it into a dumping ground. So when a heavy storm started that night, windows rattled and roofs drummed, and we all, unaware of the heavy rain falling, had nowhere to go. Blocked by the waste that had been dumped in it, the river tore its banks, and, oh my! The destruction it caused was so indelible. People’s houses were stripped, properties carted away, and even the piggery farm near the river was not left out. There was not one single pig left when we all got there the next morning. That was the day I saw elderly people cry like babies; it was really bad. It was the first case I experienced, and it will definitely remain evergreen in my memory. I guess this and several other cases broadcast on TV made NIMASA swing into action, inculcating values from the MARPOL and thereby coming to our rescue. They brought up laws binding the oil spillers, the refuse and sewage dumpers, and the industries that had turned the ocean into waste land. Everyone who contributed to the pollution was held under these laws. If you refuse to obey, you face the consequences. Sometimes I try to imagine what Nigeria might have been like if not for the timely and consistent interference of NIMASA. Oh boy! Disastrous would have been an understatement. Although, we are not where we want to be yet but the level that has been achieved is indeed very significant. We now have to an extent, peaceful ocean bodies, safe and healthy aquatic lives, conscious humans, and, overall, an undisturbed marine life. This indeed leads us to the theme of this year’s World Maritime Day, which is “MARPOL @ 50: Our commitment goes on.” This theme, aside from outlining the achievements of MARPOL, was also to enunciate the need to decarbonize maritime transport for sustainable development. I believe this theme was chosen to highlight the need to reduce carbon emissions from the maritime industry and find ways to make it more sustainable. It is definitely a big challenge, because carbon fuels keep being one of the most dangerous and yet unavoidable fuel of this century. Its effect on the ecosystem has been quite distinct and it has even led to the depletion of our ozone layer. With this, I believe one can only imagine its effect on the marine body. Though it might still seem quite oblique to some people, marine transportation is gradually becoming the new normal, and it has definitely evolved from the traditional one majority of us are used to. The use of ships and vessels, ferries, tourist cruises, and even our naval and military vessels makes use of carbon fuels. These carbon fuels release carbon monoxide, which can be very toxic when inhaled, and also carbon dioxide, which can affect the climate adversely when emitted in high amounts. So when acidification of marine bodies, climate change, a rise in temperature, a gradual destruction of the marine habitat, and the likes kicked up, it served as a wake-up call that carbon fuels were not only depleting our ecosystem but had also started depleting our rivers too. This increased the need to go carbon-free, which I must say that it is about time. There are several other aspects we can venture into and even biofuels are not left out. According to Web Search, “biofuels are fuels derived from renewable biological resources, such as plants, algae, or organic waste. They are considered a more sustainable and environmentally friendly alternative to traditional fossil fuels because they can be produced from biomass, which is a replenishable resource.”. There are different types, which include bioethanol, biodiesel, biogas, and even advanced biofuels. Based on my research, venturing majorly into biogas as fuel for our transport system would totally not be a bad idea. This is because biogas is produced through a natural biological process called anaerobic digestion, which involves the breakdown of organic materials by microorganisms in the absence of oxygen. Since biogas includes a selection of feedstock like agricultural residues, manure, sewage sludge, food waste, and other organic material, it would serve as a really great method of transferring our wastes into something useful while also not endangering the sea and our ecosystem at large in the process. When the gas is generated through the step-by-step process, it could either be liquefied or compressed and then used as fuel in vehicles. Biogas is renewable … Read more

Apocalypse: My Father’s House

May 11, 2024February 13, 2024 by Nadirat Okegbenro

In loving memory of Thomas Deventis; a father and a brother. The plain words were all I could focus on as the burial ceremony came to an end and the guests began to file out to their houses. It was almost unbelievable that he was gone- I would not have believed any of the drama unfolding before my eyes if I had not been present the very moment he was lowered into the casket. Behind me, I could feel my mother’s gaze penetrating the deepest core of my soul- almost as if she could taste my jumbled mind.

Out of all the turns I could have imagined my life to take after my father’s death, this phase that I was living was definitely not an option. Two months after his death, I could still not understand why the lawyer will insist it was not yet time for his will to be read. This, as a result of the deceased’s order. How my mother, who, for some years now had been separated from my father, believed she definitely had a price to her name in the will and had refused to grant me peace till it was the supposed time was definitely a big hassle to my sanity- at least that was what I thought …

As I descended from the plane, I caught sight of Mr Marco in his regular black uniform, leaning against the car. I was happy to be back after being away for a whole week on an assignment to discuss some proposals about my father’s company. I switched on my phone and was immediately met with a beep sound after settling in the car for the ride to the company.

“Your meeting with the Antonio Groups has been scheduled for 10:00 a.m. at the mansion” The text from my assistant simply stated. However, the fourteen words seemed technical to dissect. In my four months of working in my father’s company, I never heard of any Antonio Groups and the reason the meeting was at the mansion was beyond me.

“We should head home first” I said to Mr Marco, who from the rearview mirror appeared confused for a second but decided to not make a comment about the change of direction. As I watched him mask his confusion, I contemplated asking if he knew anything about the Antonio Groups since he had worked for my family for almost thirty years. On a second thought, what could he know, he was just a driver after all.

I was met at the door by my assistant who with a pad in one hand, held the door open for me with the other.

“We should head to your father’s study right away” he said right after the exchange of greetings. “Mr Antonio had a little delay on the way and should be here soon” Our attention was drawn to the opening and closing of the entrance door, followed by exchange of pleasantries between the person who entered and Maria, our housekeeper. My interest picked as I watched Maria relates friendly with the strange men. One of them patted her back in greeting; further confirming my assumption- the men must have been here a number of times.

“Oh! There you are, Carmen. How do you do?” The older of the two men said, moving towards me with a smile. “Meet my son, Ace.” He continued before my initial confusion could wear off. Now that they were both close to where I stood, their features were indeed similar. Just as I was about to open my mouth, my assistant beat me to it.

“You are welcome, Mr Antonio” at least now, I had a name to the face.
“It’s been a while, Shane. How have you been?” Mr Antonio replied. I let my eyes wandered past his shoulder as I watched his son check out the living room before turning and leading the way to the study.

Later that evening, I felt numb sitting on my bed replaying the day’s events. “I would leave you to it and ask Marco to let me know when we can set up another meeting with the other members” those were his last words before Mr Antonio and his son left the mansion that morning.

“If I get you correctly, there are certain files I need to go through to get the concept behind what is going on. Right?” I said to Mr Marco, who currently stood across me. “And you cannot direct me to where they are? I probed further. After the discussion with Mr Antonio yesterday, I was restless and needed answers to this madness as soon as possible.

I had summoned Mr Marco to get more insight since his name was mentioned yesterday, but seeing as the discussion went, there was no easy way out of this.

“Carmen, lunch is served” I heard Maria say from outside my father’s room. “Alright, I will be there soon” I replied absent-mindedly. It’s been six hours of me turning things over in search of some files I didn’t know of their existence. I had started with the study room, seeing as it was only logical to assume all paper works were kept there. The guest rooms had been searched one after the other, followed by the bar and gym. “What if there were no such files in this house?” I wondered aloud heading to the dining room until my eyes caught sight of the one door I grew up to find locked all year round.

The room was said to have belonged to my aunt who died from cancer while I was still very young. I’ve been told stories of how strong she was till her last day. My father had kept the room locked to preserve her belongings and memories after her death. The only time I had seen the door opened was when I returned from college one day and found my father and Maria exiting the room. As the housekeeper, Maria had been there to clean the room and my father had stayed back to watch her do it. My happiness of finally being home overpowered my curiosity and so I didn’t pay attention to it.

My legs moved towards the door and as expected, it was locked. Now that my father was dead and had the chance to reconnect with his sister, he had no need to hold on to mere possessions in her memory anymore. So, I ran out and got some tools to get the door open. It appeared to be a distraction from my initial quest but that could definitely wait. After several pushes and pulls, the door flung open, only it wasn’t a lady’s room but a room with shelves full of files. I sank to the floor the same time the hammer in my hand made a thud sound.

It’s been four days I discovered the room and went through different sections of files. Finding out about the room was one issue, realizing that every single person in this mansion was engaged in a business with my father was another. I remembered once when I asked my father how the domestic staff could dedicate so many years of their lives to working for us and why he felt we needed that large number of people to keep this house running, he had said it was for the best and they were not complaining. This could be the reason I was never around for long. If I was not in a boarding school, I was on vacation.

The Deventis Incorporation had only been a front for him. The real channel was not known to the world- not even me, Carmen Deventis. Like my father, his partners had a company to their names; the same way there was Antonio Groups. Right now, I could not care about showing up at the company. What I needed was a chat with Mr Marco.

“Good morning, Mr Marco, or should I say Mr Marco Jones?” I greeted sassily. If he was any surprised by the use of his full name, he didn’t show it. “So, can we talk now?” I quickly added and headed into the house before he could give his response. I try not to look back, as I hear footsteps follow me to the door, knowing fully well I didn’t give him any other option.

“I would suggest we wait for a while as others are heading here for a meeting” came his response. “Really?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “I am beyond shock at how much of an outcast I have been in my father’s house for the past years and even after his death” I said as I massaged my forehead in anticipation of the headache building up. “I would be in my room till then”.
The chatter and greetings downstairs was enough to drag me out of my thoughts. A quick glance at the clock indicated it had not been more than forty-six minutes I came up here to wait for the next puzzle to be unraveled. Deciding to get this behind me, I made for the stairs and soon discovered the “guests” were now in the study. Walking in like a deer caught in headlights, I muttered my greeting and made my way to the available seat.

As they all took turn to express their condolences over my father’s death, then welcoming me back home, and giving a brief summary of what they were in the house for, the only thing that stuck to my head was the word ‘drug’- the part I wanted the discussion to get to. Thirty minutes later, one of the men who I believed was addressed as Mr Rivera finally went into details of how the business had been on hold for two months in honour of my late father. And now that they were here, they would like to get things back in motion.

“Marco, I believe you’ve confirmed the available stuff yesterday, right?” Mr Blackwood directed to Mr Marco who nodded his head. My confusion must have been evident on my face because the next thing I heard was me being addressed by Mr Blackwood himself. “You should come with us, Carmen. You will understand better that way”.

I remained seated and allowed everyone to file out in hopes of getting a change of outfit before joining them. However, they were headed to the same room I had been in days ago when I exited the study. I had just closed the door behind me when one of the men punched in some numbers and a part of the floor opened up and made a pathway beneath the room. All these years, I had believed this was just another random room in my father’s house.

I followed them down the stairs as they chattered like they were walking into a regular bar. Unexpectedly, the underground was well lit, and adequately furnished. I soon found out this was not just a room underneath the ground; it was a labyrinth. As I passively followed whoever was in sight around the different rooms, I started to see some of the ‘supposed’ domestic staff at different stations. They were there in production, packaging, logistics and others. This was not just a storehouse; the whole process took place there.

I soon saw a closed door with the tag DEVENTIS T.O. on it. Despite my shaky hands, I continued to rummage through the different files in the office until a paper slipped out of a particular one with my name on it. Maybe this could provide an answer.

Philophobia: The Fear of Love

May 1, 2024February 7, 2024 by Kikelomo Olagoke

The once vibrant colors of love in Nancy’s life had faded to a monochrome of despair. Each attempt at affection felt like a cruel lesson from fate, reaffirming her unworthiness of love’s embrace. The wounds inflicted by Stan’s departure had yet to heal, an abrupt storm leaving her heart battered and her soul drenched in sorrow. Rick’s fleeting presence had been a glimmer of hope, a fragile ray of sunshine in her cloudy existence, only to be snuffed out by the inevitable hands of death, leaving her grasping at echoes of what could have been. Her childhood, marred by the absence of nurturing affection, had seeded the roots of her phobia. Abandoned by those meant to provide solace, she had grown to harbor a myriad of fears, weaving a web of insecurities that ensnared her heart. Abandonment, rejection, entrapment – the ghosts of her past traumas haunted her steps, casting a shadow over any relationship. The distorted lens through which she viewed relationships was a prism of her pain. She believed love was a shackle, a hindrance like her mother’s concealed dreams. Her mother’s unloving words, echoing that she was a mistake, reinforced this belief. Any glimmer of affection was met with resistance, her subconscious was determined to protect her from the perceived inevitability of heartache. Yet, amidst her fortifications, there lingered a faint whisper that perhaps she was wrong, that she deserved love and happiness. Philophobia, the fear of love, was a relentless adversary, entwined with layers of paranoia, depression, and self-worth issues. The journey to overcoming this consuming fear was arduous. To challenge Philophobia meant dismantling the barricades of unhelpful thoughts. It required replacing the echoes of doubt with the symphony of self-compassion. Understanding that fears often masquerade as truths was crucial; the realization that her parents’ loveless union didn’t dictate her path. Gradually, she embraced the notion that everyone deserves love, including herself. Therapy became a sanctuary where she confronted the haunting memories and reshaped her narrative. Through this, she discovered the beauty of openness, the strength in allowing oneself to feel and connect. The journey was not swift nor without setbacks. But in each step forward, she reclaimed a piece of herself. Love, once feared, became a beacon of hope, a possibility rather than a fiction. She learned that overcoming Philophobia meant rewriting her story, one page at a time, embracing the colorful tapestry of emotions that love brings, knowing that in vulnerability, there’s profound strength. Philophobia isn’t unique to her story; it’s a struggle that many people face. Past traumas, painful breakups, or a lack of positive role models in relationships can contribute to this fear. The resulting isolation, feelings of unworthiness, and an aversion to emotional intimacy become a barrier to experiencing and maintaining love and connection Like Nancy, overcoming Philophobia is a challenging but possible journey. Challenging negative thoughts and understanding that past experiences don’t necessarily define future relationships is crucial. Seeking therapy or counseling can help unravel deep-rooted fears and traumas, providing tools to reframe thoughts and build healthier relationship patterns. Learning to be kind to oneself is another essential step. Recognizing that everyone deserves love, including oneself, is a fundamental shift in mindset. Overcoming Philophobia isn’t just about finding love; it’s about reclaiming the ability to connect, heal, and grow. Most importantly, consider seeking solace in a relationship with God, the source of perfect love that conquers all fear. Embracing this relationship has the power to dissolve the deepest fears within you, including any phobia towards love. Despite life’s challenges, experiencing the love of God dispels the shadows of fear and the enablement to enjoy love in the purest form.

Understanding the Signs of Toxic relationships: A Tale of Endurance

May 1, 2024February 7, 2024 by Kikelomo Olagoke

People in toxic relationships don’t admit it until it is almost too late or too late. This is the case of Abimbola who despite all the red flags, justified her actions until an occurrence opened her eyes to the reality she pretended didn’t exist. Abimbola’s heart raced as she stood there, facing the tumultuous storm of emotions that had become an all too familiar part of her life. The arrival of the package, seemingly innocent, had unveiled a sequence of events that shattered the fragile facade of normalcy she had clung to. Fame’s unexpected outburst and assault left Abimbola stunned. Why would he slap her over a piece of meat? She tried to make sense of the situation, tracing back their history, recalling moments tainted by anger and violence that she had learned to dismiss or justify. But this time was different. This time, a wave of realization washed over her, bringing forth a newfound sense of clarity. The weight of her relationship’s toxicity hit her with an unrelenting force. For years, she had endured, believing she could change him, believing that the love she invested would eventually mold him into someone different. But the cruelty of reality now stood starkly before her. As her resolve strengthened, she made a split-second decision – it was time to break free from the chains of her own making. She could no longer bear the emotional and physical toll, nor could she ignore the stark reality that her relationship was far from the love and care she deserved. Her desperation for escape fueled a fierce internal battle. She had to leave. But Fame, propelled by his rage and sense of control, tightened his grip on her wrist, a physical manifestation of the chains that bound her. His threats echoed in the air, slicing through the already tense atmosphere. Tears, a mix of fear, anger, and desperation, streamed down her face as she pleaded for release. It was a moment suspended in time—a moment that encapsulated the culmination of years of suffering. The room felt suffocating, the air thick with tension, the knife on the table, a chilling symbol of the impending catastrophe. The scene erupted into chaos as the struggle intensified. In that frantic moment, a cry pierced through the turmoil, followed by a sickening thud. The door crashed open, yet Abimbola’s chance for escape slipped through her fingers like sand. The neighbors rushed in, only to find the grim reality before them – Fame’s lifeless body lay motionless, a cruel casualty of the toxic relationship they had witnessed from afar. Abimbola, soaked in blood, hovered beside him, a prisoner of the circumstances she had tried so desperately to escape. As the police arrived and the chaos settled, the truth of the tragedy unfolded. Abimbola found herself sitting amidst the wreckage, haunted by the stark realization that her attempt at liberation had led to an irreversible and devastating outcome. In the aftermath of Abimbola’s ordeal, this narrative emerges as a strong beacon, shining light on the dangers inherent in toxic relationships. Through Abimbola’s rough journey, the insidious decay caused by enduring abuse within these toxic relationships becomes painfully, glaringly evident. This raw portrayal vehemently emphasizes the dire and urgent necessity of recognizing, acknowledging, and extricating oneself from the pervasive toxicity inherent in such relationships. The story’s unfiltered depiction of the relentless toll exacted by these toxic relationships echoes an insistent plea: discern the subtle warning signs, confront the pervasive toxicity, and champion one’s mental and emotional well-being above all else. Abimbola’s heartbreaking saga serves as a real testament to the irreparable damage inflicted by these toxic relationships, leaving indelible scars upon the mind. In the aftermath of her tumultuous journey, the unwavering clarion call remains resolute: liberation from the clutches of toxic relationships stands pivotal for self-preservation, fostering a nurturing environment conducive to growth, healing, and the rediscovery of one’s intrinsic worth and empowerment in the wake of such devastating relationships.