Iran has a right to defend itself from a genocidal Nuclear USA backed Israel regime. Africans are in support of that view. Self defence is not aggression

Title: My Arranged Marriage Episode 1: The Day My Bride Brought Her Ex to Our Wedding I always knew my family was chaotic, but I didn’t know they were diabolical until the day I walked into my own wedding and nearly fainted. Not because of cold feet — but because the bride, the woman I was supposed to marry, was sitting on the stage laughing with her ex-boyfriend, whom she brought along like a plus-one. Yes, her ex. To our wedding. Let me start from the beginning. It began two months ago when Mama burst into my room like a hurricane dressed in Ankara and holy anointing. "Obinna, your bachelorhood is a spiritual attack!" She clutched her Bible and her phone, scrolling through WhatsApp pictures of potential wives like it was Tinder for African mothers. I was 29, a civil engineer in Lagos, and deeply single—not because I couldn't find love, but because the last girl I loved used my rent money to buy a Brazilian wig and disappeared with a sugar daddy who sold building materials. So, when Mama insisted on arranging a marriage, I laughed. Until Papa added his voice. “If you don’t marry before July, forget your inheritance. We will donate your land to the church!” July was two months away. That was how I met Amaka. Photos first. Then video calls. She was pretty. Soft-spoken. From Enugu. A nurse. And, according to her mother, a virgin. (My cousin Ugochi whispered, “Aunty, check that thing well. These days, even calculators reset.”) I agreed to meet her. She smiled, giggled, and spoke gently. But something felt... rehearsed. Like she was playing a role. Still, the wedding date was fixed. Invitations printed. Cow bought. Church booked. DJ paid. Mama danced every night to Flavour’s songs as if the wedding was her own. And then the big day came. The hall glittered with decorations. Guests arrived in gele and agbada. My friends teased me “Obinna, you go finally chop life!” Then I saw her. Amaka. Dressed in white. Gorgeous. Smiling. Until I noticed the man sitting beside her, whispering in her ear and holding her hand. I frowned. “Who is that?” I asked my brother. My brother squinted. “I think he came with the bride.” “Came with the" Before I could finish, Mama appeared beside me, all smiles and sweat. “You look handsome, my son. Now go and smile at your bride.” “I will smile after I know who that guy is.” Mama hissed and walked off. So, I marched up to Amaka, heart racing. “Who is this?” She blinked, calm. “Oh! Meet Chuka. My best friend. He’s like… family.” Chuka stood, extended his hand, smiling like a goat that just chewed your exam script. “Nice to meet you, bro.” Bro? I ignored his hand. “Can we talk privately?” Amaka sighed, dragged me aside, and said the thing that nearly made me remove my agbada and run home in boxers. “I invited him because... well... he’s important to me. We dated for six years. He’s the one who taught me how to love. But my parents didn’t approve. So I had to settle for this... arrangement.” I stood still, blinking. “Settle?” “Yes,” she said. “But you’re kind. You’ll understand.” Ladies and gentlemen, I did not understand. My uncle, who saw me shaking like a leaf, whispered, “Is it heartbreak or hunger? Should we bring you small jollof rice to calm your nerves?” I wanted to run, but the hall was full, the gifts were stacked, and the caterers were serving. A pastor was waiting. A crowd was watching. Then I remembered what my grandmother once said: “If you must embarrass the devil, do it with boldness.” So, I climbed the stage, grabbed the mic, and said: “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for coming. But I just found out that I am not the main actor in this wedding. I am an extra.” Gasps. Chuka choked on his zobo. Amaka’s face turned pale. Mama tried to grab the mic, but I raised my hand dramatically. “This wedding is cancelled. But don’t worry there’s plenty of food. Eat, drink, and take selfies. Just know that Obinna has left the chat!” I walked out, head high, heart free. That night, I ate the wedding jollof alone in my boxers and watched Nollywood movies till 2 a.m. A week later, I met Adaeze, my neighbor who had always lent me pepper without asking for it back. She knocked on my door with a plate of hot rice and a smile. And guess what?

THE VILLAGE OF THE TWO HUNDRED EYES An African Folktale of Communal Wisdom by Linda Somiari - Stewart In the heart of the green valley of N’nika, where hills rolled like the backs of resting lions and baobab trees whispered secrets to the stars, a child was born on a moonlit night. Her name was Zoya, which means “peace after longing.” Her mother, Amina, had wept for many seasons, her womb quiet like an abandoned fireplace. Her father, Kwaku, had prayed by rivers and planted trees that never bore fruit. But when Zoya arrived, laughter returned to their home like rain after drought. Now, in many places worldwide, a child is considered the property of the parents. “My daughter,” “my son.” But in N’nika, a child belongs to the people. There, they say, “A child is birthed by four eyes, but nurtured by two hundred.” And so, Zoya was not only the joy of her mother and father, she was the moonbeam of the village. Her first laugh echoed from hut to hut like festival drums. When she took her first step, an elder carved the memory into wood. When she said her first word—"Maji" (water)—the village griot sang it into the evening fire. Each villager played their part. Old Mama Binta, whose eyes had dimmed but whose spirit saw clearly, taught Zoya riddles and proverbs. Uncle Sefu, who shaped clay like it was born in his palms, showed her how to mold earth into beauty. Auntie Dede, swift-footed as a gazelle, taught her to dance on the drum’s breath. Even Blind Baba Chikere, who never saw her face, listened to her soul and reminded her, “You are more than what eyes can see.” One day, when the rains were late and the air cracked with dryness, Zoya, now a child of seven seasons, saw a brilliant green butterfly flutter past. Her eyes widened. She remembered Mama Binta's tale: “The butterfly that glows like emerald flies toward old magic.” Curious, fearless, Zoya followed. She wandered into the forest, past the watchful iroko tree, into the thick silence where children were told not to stray. Hours passed. Shadows lengthened. The sun bowed out. Panic rose like smoke in Amina’s chest. Kwaku’s hands trembled. But before their fear became thunder, the village moved. Mama Binta said, “She spoke of butterflies this morning.” Uncle Sefu recalled, “She asked me about the old stone under the iroko tree, the one shaped like wings.” After pausing her grinding, Auntie Dede added, “I saw her head toward the bush path near the river bend.” No one said, “Not my child.” Because Zoya belonged to all of them. The drum was sounded - not in alarm, but in unity. Two hundred eyes awakened. Old legs and young feet marched. Voices called her name not angrily but with love braided into every syllable. They found her just as dusk kissed the sky. She sat peacefully beside a stone shaped like wings, humming a song she had learned from Baba Chikere. When asked if she was scared, she said, “No. I knew someone would come. Someone always comes when someone is lost.” That night, under a sky heavy with stars and the smell of roasted maize, the village held a feast - not just for Zoya’s return, but for the power of many eyes, hands, and hearts. Zoya grew into a woman of many talents. She became a healer, a teacher, and a singer of old songs. When she had her own child, she did not build a wall around them. She opened her door wide. And when strangers from far lands encounter her versatility, they would ask, “Who taught you such wisdom?” She would say: “The eyes that watched me were many. The love that raised me was village-wide and deep.” And so, dear friend, learn this: The natural order is not to raise any child alone. Whether in Nairobi or New York, Lagos or London, an authentic village is not made of huts and fences - but of hearts willing to see, hands willing to hold, and spirits willing to lift. Please do your best to return the natural order to our neighborhoods and villages.

The leader, Cyril Ramaphosa, of the biggest Economy in Africa departs for Canada, no Airports charades or an entire cabinet lining up for Fake smiles.

Death Toll In South African Floods Rises To 86

Bishop David Olatunji Abioye: The Pastor of Generals By Daniel Breakforth In the year 1983, a new church called the Living Faith World Outreach Centre was commissioned by Pastor Enoch Adeboye in Ilorin, Kwara State of Nigeria. Shortly after the commission date, the Church moved by divine instruction to Kaduna instead of the initial plan to start off at Jos, Plateau State. The new Church was led by Pastor (later Bishop) David Oyedepo. Oyedepo was not a stranger to Kaduna. In the year 1973, he had attempted to join the Nigerian Air Force at the age of 19 through the Nigerian Defence Academy (NDA) just after the Civil War. Now a young pastor, he sometimes visited his military friends at the NDA as well as other collocated units within the massive Ribadu Cantonment. However it appears that God had other plans for Oyedepo. In 1987, one of his young pastors, David Abioye who had joined the Church as a staff at the end of his National Youth Service Corps period was sent to Maiduguri to open up a new branch. Shortly after this, by 1988, Living Faith was considered the largest Pentecostal Church in northern Nigeria. In 1989, Bishop David Oyedepo announced to the 3000 members that the Church intended to build Garden of Faith-the largest Church auditorium in Northern Nigeria. The Church opened up a new branch at Iyana Ipaja in 1989 called Winners' Chapel in response to a divine call to Oyedepo-Get down to Lagos and raise me a people. That was not all, in his own words, Bishop Oyedepo explains the change of baton that soon transpired. THE CHANGE OF THE KADUNA CHURCH PASTORATE "In view of the enormous work on ground at Kaduna in the early days of the Lagos church, I was shuttling between Lagos and Kaduna; Lagos this Sunday, Kaduna next. I was always in Kaduna anytime I had any outreach up north. On a particular day in May 1990, concluding a seminar in the city of Jos on Saturday night, I started racing down to minister at the Sunday service in the Kaduna church. Suddenly, I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, ‘When you were the Pastor of the Kaduna church’. Immediately, I questioned, ‘Were?’ I did not have the patience to listen to what followed; I shouted, ‘Who then is the Pastor?’ And God said, ‘Send for my servant, David (Abioye), he shall be the shepherd of the flock’. While I ministered at the church that Sunday morning, in my characteristic manner, I shared with the congregation exactly what the Lord told me, and that was how the pastorate of the Kaduna church changed hands by divine order. From that very day, I ceased to see myself as the Pastor of that church. The good news is, there was no rethink or regret but testimonies of growth and expansion. Today, the Kaduna church is a beauty to behold". Pastor David Abioye was then transferred from Maiduguri to Kaduna in the early days of the Living Faith Church’s national expansion. This seemed like a routine ministerial reassignment. However, what followed was not just a chapter in church growth—it was the quiet unfolding of a legacy that would deeply influence Nigeria’s military elite. Kaduna is home to several of Nigeria’s most critical military institutions, including the Nigerian Defence Academy (NDA), Armed Forces Command and Staff College (AFCSC) Jaji, Infantry Centre and School Jaji, Headquarters 1 Division Nigerian Army, Nigerian Air Force (NAF) Base, Training and Tactical Group (TTG), other NAF units, and the famed Depot Nigerian Army in Zaria, among others. Into this unique military atmosphere, Pastor Abioye was posted as resident pastor of Living Faith Church Barnawa—popularly known as the Garden of Faith. He was then consecrated Bishop in 1993 at the age of 32. He remains the youngest to be consecrated Bishop of a mainline Church globally Humorously, Abioye just like Oyedepo had also previously attempted to join the military from Kaduna. At a time when spiritual depth and moral guidance were quietly sought by many gentlemen officer cadets of the NDA and in fact, many young and seasoned officers alike, Bishop Abioye’s life and message stood out. His disciplined lifestyle, gentle demeanor and commanding yet humble pulpit presence drew men and women in uniform to the church in large numbers. For almost two decades, the Garden of Faith remained the largest megachurch in northern Nigeria and one of the most spiritually influential. NDA was, very tough...to say it very nicely. Consequently, week after week, cadets from the NDA having endured grueling training sessions all week, would find refuge and refreshing on Sundays at the Barnawa church. Midweek services were an unaffordable luxury! For the gentleman officer cadet, 'Heaven at last' was simply not enough as the daily sufferings and challenges otherwise known as Punishment Tutorials Endurance ( PUTTEE) always stretched them physically and spiritually to the limits. They needed reassurance, they needed words of Hope, they needed encouragement and they needed a purpose to stay alive. The Catholic Church is known to be very disciplined with time. Service times are fixed and start and end promptly. However majority of Christian cadets at the time were either non Catholics or at least did not attend the Barracks Catholic Church. Imagine a situation where a Rev Father complains during mass of sounds of 'up, up, up, up up...while voices under duress were counting...33, 34, 35...101, 102 etc behind the Altar (Very few, will understand this). The only other church which had the combined qualities of timeliness and promptness at the time was 'Living Faith'. The cadets could not afford a church that had no respect for time. Time was of essence and the time to come out through Abakpa, Equitation, Kurumashi or Silver Jubilee Gate was not fixed. With the 3 services at Garden of Faith which was the only Living Faith Church at the time, one could always find an early or late morning service that would fit into their 'Up' plans and Bishop Abioye was always on hand and bellowing... There is Hope for you! At the time Bishop Abioye took over in Kaduna, members of the NDA 37RC were passing out cadets. General Gwabin Musa would have been a 4th termer and gradually transforming from 'Kati Kati' to Acting Period. Also by the time Bishop Abioye was moved to Abuja in 2004, the members of 55th RC were second termers. This implies that Bishop Abioye oversaw about 18 Academy (Regular) courses (asides various short service courses) as the longest serving Living Faith Church pastor over Garden of Faith. Bishop Abioye’s messages were not only encouraging—they were stabilizing. They offered hope, moral clarity and spiritual courage, reinforcing the discipline instilled during military training but anchoring it in godly values. His altar call would always begin with... Say with me Dear God... Beyond the cadets, officers stationed across military formations in Kaduna and beyond—AFCSC, ICS, NAF Base, Depot NA Chindit Barracks/NASMP Zaria and even more remote military units—made it a routine to worship under his leadership. His consistency, integrity and rare ability to relate the gospel to leadership and purpose earned him the respect and loyalty of Nigeria’s rising military brass. In 2002, he was invited to minister at the Fellowship of Christian Cadets within the NDA. That service made history: For the first time, the NDA’s garrison protestant church auditorium was filled to overflowing. Cadets, officers, administrative staff and even civilians came en masse to hear him minister—a moment that solidified his role as a spiritual compass to many within the armed forces. Though eventually represented by one Pastor Victor Olafisoye, the message he personally sent was well received. Over the years, many of those cadets have risen through the ranks to become 1-star, 2-star, 3-star and even 4-star generals in the Nigerian Armed Forces and many other countries within Africa. Yet, they continue to hold Bishop Abioye in the highest esteem—not just as a preacher from their youth, but as a father in the faith whose words and character deeply shaped their journey. Some regularly consult him for prayer and counsel; others simply draw strength from his continued presence, teachings and landmark example of stewardship and loyalty. The Transfer of Bishop David Abioye to Abuja Bishop David Abioye was transferred from Kaduna to Abuja during a period of rapid church expansion and reactions as well as to douse some inflammable situations that had arisen. At the time, the Church was transitioning from a regional ministry centered in northern Nigeria to a national and international force and strategic placement of senior leaders was essential. Bishop David Oyedepo, founder and presiding bishop of the Church, needed to solidify the church's presence in Nigeria’s new Federal Capital Territory and neutralise efforts at rebellion in some quarters. He appointed Bishop Abioye to lead the growing work in Abuja, a move that proved to be both strategic and transformative. Upon arriving in Abuja, Bishop Abioye began pastoring at Durumi which was then the only branch in Abuja. This would eventually lead to him pioneering the Church work in the suburbs at Goshen City, the church’s massive 700 acre mission headquarters in the northern region which was built within 13 months with no assistance from the International headquarters and broke the record of Garden of Faith, Kaduna as the largest Church facility in northern Nigeria by 2010 However, even before the establishment of the Goshen facility in 2010, Abioye’s ministry had already gained deep roots in Abuja. His influence in the city, particularly among military officers and senior civil servants, began to grow in a quiet yet profound way. This rise in influence among military personnel can be attributed to several factors. First, Abuja is not just Nigeria’s administrative capital—it is also home to major military installations, including the Defense Headquarters, Army, Navy and Airforce Headquarters, National Defence College and numerous officers’ quarters. The proximity of Abioye’s ministry to these centers meant his church was physically accessible to officers seeking spiritual direction and balance amid the demands of national service. After his move to Goshen, they were also willing to do the 30km+ drive out of Abuja metropolis to Goshen on Sundays. Second, and perhaps more critically, Bishop Abioye’s personality and leadership style deeply resonated with military culture. He is known for his calm demeanor, disciplined approach to ministry and unshakable loyalty to his spiritual leader, Bishop Oyedepo. These traits mirrored the military’s values of order, hierarchy, loyalty, and self-control—values that often determine who an officer chooses to follow or confide in. Abioye’s messages frequently emphasized honor, service, integrity, and responsibility—not only in spiritual matters but in daily life and leadership. His teachings avoided controversy and remained grounded in scripture and character development. For many officers, this was both refreshing and reassuring. He did not pander to status or power but modeled consistency and humility, which earned him long-term trust. Moreover, the structure of the Living Faith Church itself—with its protocol-driven services, cell systems and clear chains of authority—created an environment that felt orderly and familiar to those from military backgrounds. It’s no surprise that over the years, many high-ranking officers not only became members of the Abuja church but developed close spiritual affiliations with Bishop Abioye himself. Essentially, Bishop David Abioye’s transfer to Abuja was a pivotal moment in the growth of the Living Faith Church in Nigeria’s capital. His personal integrity, disciplined leadership and spiritual consistency made him a natural magnet for military officers and government elites alike. Today, he remains one of the most respected spiritual voices in the region—both within and beyond Pentecostal circles. Remarkably, his influence has grown beyond church walls. Bishop Abioye has ministered and lectured at the National Defence College in Abuja, addressing elite military officers from Nigeria and across the world. He continues to engage actively in both physical and virtual fora where military personnel seek spiritual and ethical guidance. Recently, Nigeria’s only serving 4-star general was spotted worshipping at the Living Word Conquerors Global Assembly, the new phase of Bishop Abioye"'s ministry—an unassuming but telling sign of how enduring and respected Bishop Abioye’s pastoral role remains within military circles. Yet, in all of this, he has remained profoundly humble. Never one to boast or seek titles, Bishop Abioye continues to walk with quiet dignity, reflecting the servant leadership he has modeled for about 4 decades. His life is a testament to the truth that divine influence is not always loud—but it is lasting. Indeed, his posting to Kaduna and later Abuja was more than a church assignment; it was a divine deployment. In the process, Bishop David Abioye became, almost inadvertently, the Pastor of Generals. #ChurchGist

As an African Nigerian in particular we shall lead in global innovation just coming from lunching of an app by a Nigerian, embrace technology or get lost

The connection between the Batswana and Basotho is rooted in their shared ancestry and cultural heritage. Both groups belong to the Sotho-Tswana peoples, a meta-ethnicity of Southern Africa. They share linguistic similarities, with the Batswana speaking Setswana and the Basotho speaking Sesotho. Historically, their ancestors migrated to the regions now known as Botswana and Lesotho around the 2nd millennium. The Batswana and Basotho have maintained strong cultural ties over the centuries, collaborating in various aspects of nation-building and resisting colonial expansion. Their shared history and cultural affinities have fostered a sense of unity and mutual respect between the two groups #takestepafrica

Brazil has the most players at the 2025 FIFA Club World Cup 2025.. 🇧🇷 Brazil: 141 🇦🇷 Argentina: 103 🇪🇸 Spain: 54 🇵🇹 Portugal: 49 🇲🇽 Mexico: 41 🇺🇸 United States: 40 🇫🇷 France: 37 🇩🇪 German: 36 🇮🇹 Italy: 36 🇲🇦 Morocco: 31 🇿🇦 South Africa: 31 🇯🇵 Japan: 29 🇰🇷 Korea Republic: 27 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿England: 25 🇸🇦 Saudi Arabia: 25 🇹🇳 Tunisia: 25 🇺🇾 Uruguay: 24 🇪🇬 Egypt: 23 🇳🇿 New Zealand: 23 🇨🇴 Colombia: 14 🇦🇹 Austria: 13 🔥

*IF YOU'RE LOOKING FOR A TRULY CONFUSED COUNTRY ...THEN YOU HAVE ONE IN NIGERIA.* *UPDATES* ▪️36 States, 48 Ministers ▪️41 of 48 Ministers have corruption cases. ▪️9 of 11 Governors who lost elections are now Ministers. They were rejected by their people but hired by the government of the people❓🤫 ▪️48 Ministers‼️😜 ▪️192 Brand new cars (4 per minister) ▪️720 aides (15 per minister)‼️😳 ▪️240 security personnel (5 per minister)‼️ 🤔 And we want to reduce the cost of governance❓🤷🏻‍♂️ No be scam be this❔🏃🏃🏃🏃 In a comparative analysis, the United States of America, the 2nd richest nation in the world has just 15 Secretaries. (the equivalent of ministers) ~The giant in Africa is ironically surfacing again.

BEAUTY FROM THE ASHES Episode 6 The women’s conference stretched across the week like a divine unfolding, each evening a sacred appointment that Amara hadn’t even known her soul had been craving. It wasn’t just a program; it was an invitation. An invitation to heal, to awaken and to breathe again. The first night had left her in tears. The speaker, a soft-spoken woman with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of a thousand stories, had shared her journey from despair to deliverance. Amara sat quietly in the third row, tears slipping down her cheeks as the words struck something deep, something raw within her. She wasn’t alone. Not in her pain. Not in her confusion. Not even in her silence. Every session after that peeled back another layer of pain, of pride, of fear. Like an onion shedding its skin, Amara found herself slowly unraveling. The masks she had worn for years...the brave wife, the silent sufferer, the spiritual martyr, began to fall. With every worship session, with every testimony, the walls she had so carefully constructed began to crack. Each night, she came home lighter. And each morning, she woke with a little more clarity. It was as if her heart was remembering how to feel again, how to hope. By Thursday, something inside her had shifted. That night’s message felt like it was delivered straight from the throne room of heaven to her wounded heart. The speaker, a fiery preacher with a voice that could calm storms or rouse an army, stood with authority and grace. She read from Isaiah 61:3: “…to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness…” The words echoed through the hall, soaking into the atmosphere like rain on dry soil. Amara closed her eyes and let them wash over her. Beauty for ashes. Joy for mourning. Praise for heaviness. She didn’t know when the tears had started, but they came in quiet streams, not of sorrow, but of release. For the first time in a long time, Amara allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, her story wasn’t over. That perhaps God hadn’t abandoned her in the wreckage of her marriage, but had been waiting in the wings for her to find the strength to choose. Later that evening, Amara sat in Chinwe’s cozy living room, cradling a warm mug of ginger tea. The lights were dim, the air fragrant with the scent of cinnamon and honey. Chinwe sat across from her, legs tucked under her on the couch, listening intently. “I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking for years,” Amara began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was so sure I was doing God’s will by marrying Eddy. Everyone said I was. And when things turned ugly, I thought... maybe this was my cross. Maybe I was supposed to endure it.” Chinwe reached out and gently took her hand. “Amara,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, “God never asks us to stay in darkness and call it faith. He’s not glorified by your suffering. He’s glorified by your healing, your wholeness, your courage.” Amara looked down, tears pooling again. “But how do I just walk away? I made vows. I kept hoping he’d change. I didn’t want to give up.” “Walking away from abuse isn’t giving up,” Chinwe replied. “It’s waking up. It’s choosing life. God is not a taskmaster. He’s your Father. And He loves you far too much to watch you slowly die in a house where your soul can’t breathe.” A long silence passed between them. “So what do I do now?” Amara finally asked, her voice cracking. Chinwe squeezed her hand. “You choose,” she said softly. “You choose light. You choose life. You choose you.” That night, Amara didn’t sleep much. She lay in her room, staring at the ceiling, thinking of all the moments she had silenced herself for the sake of peace, all the prayers she had whispered in the darkness, asking God to change Eddy, to save their home. But something had shifted. She realized she had been praying for resurrection in a grave she was never meant to lie in. The next morning, the storm arrived. Eddy came home with a man and started raining abuses on Amara; " See this idiot! You think you can come from African part of Nigeria to outsmart me that came from American part of Nigeria? It's either you hand over the school to me, channel all income to my account or I make sure the school is closed down completely." Her children, all came out to watch helplessly as usual. As Amara was trying to explain to the man he came home with, Eddy rushed Amara and started pounding her, targeting her face and bragging that he must make sure Amara becomes useless to any other man in this life; "By the time I'm done with you, people would spit on you at sight" Eddy continued hitting Amara until she collapsed on the floor. The poor man that came to ask for money to feed his family couldn't help the situation. When Amara regained consciousness, she saw only her children crying and waking her up. She sent for Chinwe. Chinwe immediately and secretly arranged for a drop that took them to Divine Mercy Hospital. The doctor was furious and demanded for his presence. When he arrived, he pleaded with the doctor that it's devil's handwork. As soon as he sighted Amara's brother, he begged Amara not to tell her brother but mocked her immediately her brother left. It's already few days Amara returned from hospital. Pastor Dickson visited their house. Bro Eddy pls kindly tell your wife what you shared with me. Eddy hesitated. "Sister Amara, your husband impregnated a lady called Jacinta and asked her to keep the baby. Although the lady insisted he must furnish a flat for her otherwise she will terminate the pregnancy. He was mad against you because he was having a showdown financially and couldn't meet the lady's demands and you refused to hand your income over to him." Pastor Dickson explained. Amara was lost in thought...so this man wanted me dead because of women. She remembered how he was bashed by one of his customers when she visited at the hospital. "Eddy, were you not the one that that told me this woman gave up her 12month salaries for you to have an English machine? Why are you treating this woman as if she worths nothing?" Mrs Aleme queried "How dare her say no to my order, a woman that bends to urinate? She must hand over the school to me. My account must be used for all income!" he thundered. But she has left the factory for you. The woman reminded And then? Eddy persisted. To Be Continued 🙏 What do you think that happened next? Find out in the next episode 🤔 Pls encourage me with like, follow, comment and share. God bless you 👏 ©️Grace Amarachi #teacherwritersingerlover #BeautyFromTheAshes #ChristianFiction #FaithAndResilience

Tears for Africa In twilight's hush, where shadows play, A continent's cry echoes through the day, Africa's heartbeat, strong and free, Yet bound by chains of poverty. From Sahara's sands to Cape's green shore, A story unfolds, of struggle and more, Of nations rising, of dreams unfulfilled, Of potential waiting, yet unskilled. In cities bustling, where lights ablaze, A different tale of Africa's gaze, Of progress made, of hope anew, Yet whispers of despair, in every hue. The drums of tradition, beat strong and free, A heritage rich, of history, Yet modernity's tide, brings change and strife, A balance sought, between past and life. The tears fall hard, for all unseen, For futures bright, yet unclean, For opportunities, lost and rare, For potential squandered, beyond repair. But still we hold, on to hope's thin thread, A glimmer of a brighter future spread, Of leaders rising, with vision grand, Of people uniting, hand in hand. The African dream, of unity and might, A future shining, where all take flight, Where children learn, and grow with glee, Where women thrive, and equality, Where men and women, in peace entwine, And Africa's story, is one divine. The tears we shed, are not in vain, For in our sorrow, a change will reign, A new dawn breaks, with promise true, For Africa's future, anew. Let us stand tall, and claim our right, To shape our destiny, and shine with all our might, Let us unite, and work as one, To build a brighter future, for everyone. In Africa's heart, a fire burns bright, A flame of hope, that guides through the night, A beacon of light, that shines so bold, A symbol of strength, that never grows old. The tears for Africa, will dry with time, As progress made, and hope entwine, A brighter future, will soon unfold, For Africa's children, young and old.