She THREW Her NEWBORN BABY Off the BRIDGE Into the River Because... Episode 1

For 20 years, Johnny and his wife, Binta, lived in a quiet house by the river in the small town of Faju. Despite the years of marriage, their home was silent—no cries of children, no sounds of joy. Just the whisper of the river behind their house. Every morning, before the sun had fully risen, Binta would walk to the riverbank, kneel, and gently touch her stomach. Her words would drift into the wind, "Oh gods of the land, give me a child before I die." The pain in her voice was always the same. Every day. Rain or shine. No answer.

Johnny sat quietly behind her, no longer pleading. He had given up on hope, his heart weary from the weight of unfulfilled prayers. The townspeople whispered behind their backs, some saying, "Her womb is locked with a padlock." Others mocked, "Maybe it’s Johnny. He eats his children in his dreams." But Binta and Johnny never spoke of these things. They just kept trying.

From one doctor to another, the verdict was always the same: medically, there was nothing wrong. Desperate, they sought help from prayer houses and prophets. Binta endured fiery prayers, fainting after each session. Nothing changed. Not even bitter herbs from a native doctor could help. The years passed, and the silence in their home grew louder.

One day, in their 15th year of marriage, they met a man who claimed to have the answer. His robes were long and his voice deep, like thunder. "The only way you can have a child is if you sleep with me," he said. "It’s a spiritual covenant." Binta dropped to the ground in shock. She refused. She cried, but her heart was broken, and Johnny held her through it all. That night, they made a decision—to leave the town behind, to escape the voices and the judgment, to live in silence by the river.

In a neighboring town, Amanda’s beauty was the talk of the village. Her skin shimmered like the morning sun, and her hair flowed like palm branches. She was the center of attention wherever she went. Yet, despite all the compliments, Amanda felt trapped. Her life was one of constant demands—sweeping, fetching water, washing dishes. She dreamed of freedom, of being more than just a pretty face. She wanted to escape the life that confined her.

As Amanda’s frustration grew, something stirred in her heart. She began to question the life she had been given—the expectations, the roles, the way she was treated. She began to see that her beauty, her privileges, might not have been a blessing after all. It was a cage, and she longed to break free.

But one day, as the winds of change swept through the village, a fateful encounter would bring both Binta’s silent sorrow and Amanda’s yearning for freedom together in ways neither of them could have ever predicted.

In a world where silence and beauty both carry heavy burdens, Binta and Amanda would each face a choice that would change their lives forever.

Stay tuned for the next part of their intertwined destinies. Will they find the freedom and fulfillment they so desperately seek? Or will the choices of the past haunt them forever


To be continued…

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The daughter was slowly fading away, and the doctors were powerless. Then, one day, a young thief sneaked into her hospital room through the window.

Valentin carefully parked his car in the only available spot near the children's hospital. As if by fate, it was particularly crowded today—cars had filled all the available parking spaces. Every day, he came here as if it were his job: finishing up his work, stopping by his favorite café for a cup of coffee, and rushing to his daughter to spend at least a little time with her. She had been in the clinic for several months.

What exactly was happening with the child, the doctors still couldn't explain. Valentin had shown her to the best specialists, but they kept repeating the same thing: the brain operates on its own, controlling everything else. This drove Valentin crazy.

"You're just hiding your helplessness behind these complicated terms!" he finally snapped.

The doctors just shrugged, lowering their eyes.

"This is the result of colossal stress. The brain creates barriers that we cannot control," one of the doctors tried to explain.

"I don't understand anything! My daughter is fading before my eyes, and you're telling me she can't be cured?! I have money, I'll give everything! For Michelle, I'll give my last!"

"Money is powerless here," the doctor sighed softly.

"Then what will help? Tell me! I'll find it, I'll buy it!"

"It's impossible to buy... Honestly, I don’t even know how to explain it... Something special has to happen. Or, on the contrary, something must not happen, for the body... the brain... to be able to reset itself."

"What are you saying?! Should I go to a healer or something?" Valentin exploded.

The elderly doctor looked at him carefully.

"You know, if you decide to, I won’t even try to stop you. I'll repeat: conventional methods are powerless here. We can only ensure peace, positive emotions... and support the body with medication. And here's something I'll tell you," the doctor lowered his voice, "If I were you, I would leave my daughter in the hospital. She’s been brought in by ambulance twice already. Do you understand? When she falls into that state, by the time we get her here, there's a risk we won't make it in time. But here, under constant supervision, that won’t happen."

Valentin grabbed his head. He was terrified of losing his wife, feeling that it could happen at any moment, and he couldn't imagine how he would survive her passing. Michelle adored her mother, and he... worshiped both of them. Now, he had to forget his own grief and focus on saving his daughter, also named Michelle.

To his surprise, the girl calmly accepted that she would have to stay in the hospital for a long time. She stroked her father’s cheek and quietly said:

"Dad, don't worry so much. I won’t cry, and you’ll be able to work peacefully, instead of sitting at home with me all the time."

Valentin didn't know whether to laugh or cry. His eight-year-old daughter spoke as if she were an adult.

"Hold her! Man!" Suddenly, a shout rang out. Valentin flinched and looked toward the noise. A girl was running toward the hospital, gasping for breath, with a puffing security guard from the store chasing her. It seemed she had stolen something. As she ran past Valentin’s car, she cast a fearful glance at him.

"My God... even a bun, you couldn't spare the child?" he muttered, getting out of the car just as the security guard was approaching.

"Stop! Why are you shouting?"

"I’ll deal with you now! Get out of the way!"

Only now did the security guard notice Valentin and his car.

"I need to catch her! She stole..." To be continued...

*We Celebrated Frederick K.C. Price Hall Like A Global Cathedral And God Was Watching*

Now We Have Sanctuaries Around The World

- Bishop David Oyedepo

MOTHER ABANDONED HER BABY BY THE RIVERBANK

EPISODE 7

Life in Lagos should have felt like a new beginning for Oma. The bustling city lights, the well-furnished apartment Michael provided, and the comfort of knowing she was loved should have filled the void in her heart.

But nothing seemed to touch the emptiness that had settled in her soul. Michael was a good man—attentive, supportive, and kind. He made sure she lacked nothing.

They went on outings, visited parks, ate at expensive restaurants. From the outside, theirs was a beautiful love story.

But for Oma, it was like living inside a glass house. Everything looked perfect, yet one emotional crack threatened to shatter it all. The memory of her baby girl haunted her, silently threading itself through every moment of her new life.

When Michael noticed it, he brought it up one evening after dinner. "Oma, why don’t you go back to school? You’ve always wanted to study. Maybe that will help you loosen up.

She stared at him with wide eyes, unsure how to respond. She obtained a form and began university. Each morning, she left home dressed in modest clothes, blending into a sea of youthful students. She took the bus, attended lectures, read until late into the night. She studied sociology.

At school, her brilliance began to shine. Her lecturers praised her essays. She found new confidence in discussions, and some of her course mates even looked up to her like a big sister. Michael was so proud of her. Years passed.

She was in her fourth and final year when she discovered she was pregnant again. Michael was overjoyed. Nine months later, she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. They named him Chibuikem, meaning, God is my strength.

Michael beamed with pride, and even Oma, for a fleeting moment, felt joy ripple through her. Oma sang to him, held him, rocked him to sleep. But the shadow remained.

Every time she held Chibuikem, she imagined Chiwendu’s face, the baby girl she left crying by the riverbank. Every time Chibuikem smiled, it reminded her of the smile she never saw her daughter give. She still refused to tell Michael the truth, even though she knew he deserved to know

At night, she would sneak out of bed and cry silently on the bathroom floor. She often looked at herself in the mirror, wondering if motherhood would ever feel complete.

Her arms were full, but her heart was not. She longed to return to Umu Oma, to stand by the river again, to speak to the wind and beg for forgiveness.

One day, Michael touched her face gently as they lay in bed. "You’re always far away, Oma. Even when you smile. Where do you go?" She forced a laugh. "Nowhere. Just tired." He believed her. But deep down, he knew something was missing. Something she wasn’t telling him.

Back to the ev!l forest, eight years had passed since Ujunwa found Chiwendu whom she named Ifunanya. Ifunanya had grown into a radiant girl—sharp-eyed, full of questions, and wise beyond her years.

Her laughter filled the forest hut. Ujunwa had taught her everything she knew. Divination. Herbal healing. How to whisper to the forest and listen to the wind. Ifunanya absorbed it all like the earth drinks rain.

To Ujunwa, she was no longer a child found in grief—she was a daughter born of destiny. Ujunwa had resigned to fate and settled for the forest, but one morning, everything changed.

She had risen early, as always, to gather herbs from the southern slope of the forest. As she bent over a bed of bitterleaf, she suddenly froze. A warm breeze swept past her, and then, a voice deep, echoed in her ears.

“Go back to Umu Oma… it is time.” She gasped, falling backward onto the ground. The leaves trembled around her. Her hands gripped her staff tightly as she looked around, but no one was there.

That night, she knelt by the fire, watching Ifunanya sleep. Could it be the gods calling her home? The same gods whose name had been used to banish her? Or had destiny circled back?

By morning, her mind was made up. “Ifunanya,” she said gently as she woke the girl. “Get dressed, my love. We’re going on a journey.” “To where?” Ifunanya asked, blinking. “Home,” Ujunwa whispered.

They packed a small bag with herbs, and clothes and then set out. Ujunwa didn’t know the way, but somehow, they kept moving. The journey through the forest took them two days.

At dawn on the third day, the villagers saw two figures, emerging from the shadows of the evil forest. Gasps rang out. Women held their wrappers. Children peeked from behind doorways. Few of the villagers recognized Ujunwa

Whispers swirled through Umu Oma like a rising storm. The return of Ujunwa from the dreaded forest was shocking enough. But the unfamiliar girl beside her, ignited even deeper curiosity.

People gathered in clusters, exchanging wild guesses, their eyes fixed on the woman once branded a curse.

But Ujunwa didn’t stop to answer questions. She walked with quiet authority straight to the palace, her staff tapping against the earth with every determined step.

Ifunanya walked quietly beside her. When they reached the palace gate, the head of the guards who recognized her, was shocked. No one had seen Ujunwa in eight years, and none had expected her return.

“I need to speak to the king,” she said calmly. Moments later, word reached the king and she was let in.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Dear readers, you can't know the extent to which keeping a secret could affect you mentally, eating away at your peace and well-being. Consider opening up to someone you trust – it might be the relief you need.

(PART 2) FOR 3 YEARS THE WOMAN STOOD OUTSIDE THE GATE OF THE BILLIONAIRE BECAUSE...#Africanfolktales

With one last look at the gate, she turned and walked away into the night. But everyone knew she would be back tomorrow. She always came back. The sun rose slowly the next morning.

Madame Eunice, Chief Odogwu's mother, noticed the old woman sitting outside as her driver pulled out of the mansion. She frowned. Who is that woman?

She asked the driver. Madame, it is one old woman that has been coming to sit here for days. The driver answered, "She does not trouble anybody. Oh, all she does is look at the gates." Madame Uni's face darkened.

She has been here for years. Yes, madame. The girls are even tired of her. Madame Yuni's hands tightened around her purse. Make sure Chief Odogwu never hears about her.

The driver gave a strange look but said nothing. The old woman remained outside the gate, her patience never failing. She had come this far, and she would not stop now.

No matter how long it took, she would wait because she knew one thing for sure. One day, the truth would no longer hide behind the walls of that grand mansion. The mansion was alive with movement.

Cars came in and out. Drivers honked. Security guards backed others. Maids hurried around in their neat uniforms. But no one ever paid attention to the frail woman sitting just outside the gate until today.

Tunde the young security guard walked towards her a plastic bag in his hand. He squatted beside her and placed the bag on the ground. Take, he said. I bought small acara for you.

The old woman turned to him, her lips stretching into a grateful smile. "God bless you, my son." Tunde shrugged.

"You can't sit down every day like this without food."

He glanced at the mansion behind him before lowering his voice.

"Mama, why are you still here?

Chief Odogwu will never notice you. Even if he does, you think he will care?" The old woman picked up the bag of Aara and took a small bite.

She chewed slowly, souring the taste before speaking. He will care,she said quietly. He does not know yet. But when he finds out, he will care.

Tunde is what you have been saying for the past 3 years, mama. This man does not even know you exist. The old woman only smiled. Not far away.

A Mecca, another security guard, watched him. His face was hard. His eyes narrowed and Tundi walked back to his post. Echa called him aside.

You better stop talking to that old woman. She is trouble. Tunde frowned. Why would you say that? She's a harmless old woman. Leaned in closer

You don't understand.

Madame unice does not want Chief Odogwu to hear anything about that woman. She warned us never to allow her near the gate.

If she catches you giving her food, you can lose your job.

Tunde eyes widened. Why would Madame unice say should not know about the woman? Acha looked around as if making sure no one else was listening.

Then he whispered, "I don't know, but I feel there is something she's hiding. Something about that woman."

Tunde felt a chill run down his spine. That evening, as the sun began to set, a black SUV pulled up in front of the mansion.

The gate opened and Chief Odogwu stepped out of the house dressed in a sharp navy blue suit.

His phone was pressed to his ear and his voice was firm as he spoke. I want that deal closed before the end of the week. He said, "No excuses."

He walked down the SUV, his mind focused on business. He didn't see the old woman. He never did. But today, something was different.

As the car started to pull away, the old woman stood up slowly. She watched him with eyes full of something deep,something that had been buried for decades.

TO BE CONTINUED

Happy Sunday everyone. Have a nice day. God bless you all.

I Met Him in Church… But I Didn't Know the Devil Also Wore Suits."

I thought the safest place to meet a good man was the house of God.
I thought wrong.

When I met Samuel, I was 25 and deeply broken.

I had just come out of a toxic relationship — the kind that leaves you doubting your own worth, your own beauty, your own intelligence.

I needed healing.
I needed God.

So when Samuel found me crying quietly after service one evening, and offered me his handkerchief, I thought:

> "Maybe this is how God gives second chances."

He was everything a "church man" should be.

Well-dressed.

Well-spoken.

Bible study leader.

Quoting scriptures like breathing air.

He never missed midweek service.
He always led prayer sessions with fire.
People respected him.
Pastor adored him.

And somehow... he adored me.

He courted me “the godly way.”

No kissing.
No touching.
No secret sleepovers.

Just prayers, fasting, long conversations about our future.

He would say:

> "Let’s make heaven together, baby."

I believed him.

I introduced him to my family.

He knelt down before my parents and said:

> "I will honor her. I will cherish her. I will protect her in Christ."

My father cried that day.

My mother started sewing Aso-Ebi for a wedding that hadn’t even been proposed yet.

Everyone said I was lucky.

That I had found a rare gem.

Three months to our introduction, things started changing.

Little things.

He started picking on my dressing.

> "That skirt is too tight. Godly women are modest."

He started controlling who I could talk to.

> "Your best friend is too worldly. She’s a distraction."

He started monitoring my social media.

> "Why are men liking your posts? Delete it."

I thought it was love.
I thought it was protection.

I didn’t know it was the first signs of a cage.

Then came the financial requests.

First, it was ₦20,000 to “sow a seed” into a new church project.

Then ₦50,000 because his car broke down on the way to evangelism.

Then ₦100,000 because his younger brother needed urgent school fees — "and as his future wife," he said, "our burdens are shared."

I drained my savings without blinking.

Because isn't that what Proverbs 31 women do?
Support their men in times of need?

Besides, he always said:

> "God will bless you double."

I was sowing into my future, I thought.

I was watering the garden of marriage, I thought.

One night, two weeks to our traditional wedding, I visited him unannounced.

I just wanted to surprise him.

Bring him some food.
Maybe wash his clothes.
Be a good fiancée.

The door was locked.
I knocked.

He came out half-naked.

Another woman was inside.
Wearing my favorite Ankara wrapper.

Cooking in his kitchen.

She looked me dead in the eyes and said:

> "Who are you?"

I couldn’t speak.
My tongue glued itself to my grief.

Samuel pulled me outside roughly and whispered:

> "Don't embarrass me. She's my real fiancée. You were just... spiritual support."

Just.
Spiritual.
Support.

Six months of prayers.
Six months of fasting.
Six months of giving.

For what?

For another woman to wear my wrapper?
For another woman to sleep in the bed I helped pay rent for?

He blocked me the next day.

Changed churches.

Moved on.

I found out later he had three other women from three other churches he was "courting" at the same time.

Different rings.
Different promises.
Same lies.

I thought the pain would kill me.

I thought my chest would split open from heartbreak.

I questioned God:

> "Was I not faithful enough?
Was I not prayerful enough?
Was I not good enough?"

But the more I wept, the clearer it became:

It wasn't about me.
It was about him.

Some men use the name of God as camouflage.
They speak in tongues, but their hearts speak in manipulation.
They sing worship songs, but their souls are tuned to destruction.

Today, I am healing.

Slowly.

Learning that God is good, even when people are wicked.

Learning that real love doesn't control, it cherishes.
Real love doesn't use, it protects.
Real love doesn’t need a stage and a microphone — it’s humble, it’s patient, it’s kind.

Life Lesson:

Don’t confuse spirituality with character.

Don’t let your love for God blind you to red flags waving like banners.

And never, ever surrender your mind just because someone carries a Bible louder than you.

Love should feel like peace — not war.
Not confusion.
Not fear.

Today, I still believe in love.
I still believe in God.

But now, I know better:

> Even the devil can wear suits.
Even the devil can preach sermons.

Test spirits.
Test hearts.
Test character.

Before you hand over your heart.

---

#HealingIsAMiracle #ChurchGirlDiaries #LoveAndLessons #RealLifeStories #GuardYourHeart

Congratulations !! Nollywood Actress chizzy alichy Gives Birth To a Baby after 6 years of waiting....As You Congratulate Her..You're Next In Line For Celebration And God's Blessings..

A life with God is everything

Psalm 78:53
He guided them safely, so they were unafraid; but the sea engulfed their enemies(NIV).
"We praise God who is good and merciful all the time. We pray that He blesses and not curses those who persecute us, who treat us unjustly and deny us our just and legitimate rights. May we, each one of us, in the moment of intimacy and grace, when in the light of His presence, open our hearts to receive His love, and know very well “it is the Lord!”
Good morning. Have a blissful-filled day..

Did you know that at the time of his death, Pope Francis’s reported personal wealth was just $100—that’s barely ₦154,000 in today’s exchange rate?

He owned no property, held no personal bank accounts, and had no investments anywhere in the world.

Although he was entitled to an annual salary of about 340,000 euros (approximately $364,000 or ₦560 million at today's exchange rate), he never accepted a cent of it.

As a member of the Society of Jesus (the Jesuits), Pope Francis took a lifelong vow of poverty—and he remained true to it until the very end of his pontificate.

For the 12 years he served as Pope, he lived in Room 201 of Casa Santa Marta, a simple guesthouse within the Vatican.

Today is Sunday. Look around: what wristwatches are some of your pastors wearing? What cars are they driving into church?

The real wealth of a spiritual leader is not in material possessions, luxury cars, private jets, or designer suits. It is in humility, service, and sacrificial love for humanity.

Pope Francis left behind a powerful legacy:
He showed that true greatness is found not in what you have, but in what you give up for others.

The world doesn't need more celebrity pastors; it needs more humble servants of God.

I agree with this one

On my twenty-ninth birthday, I prayed to God about my relationship. I told Him the next man I meet should be my last stop because I wasn’t growing any younger. I was ready to settle down and wanted to date a man He Himself had chosen for me.

At that time, Josh was around, pestering me with a relationship proposal, so I mentioned his name in my prayer and asked God to reveal to me if indeed Josh was the one. After that prayer, I must admit, I didn’t do anything else but went ahead to accept Josh’s proposal because he had been pursuing me for over a month.

Before accepting his proposal, I told him what I needed in love and what I hoped to get in the near future. I even told him the reason why I was accepting his proposal was that he looked like a serious guy who was ready to settle down. I asked him, “Or am I wrong?” He nodded his head and smiled before saying, “You can’t be wrong. What’s a relationship if it’s not about settling down?”

I saw some red flags, but I ignored them. To me, the love was new, so I was giving it some time to see if things would change. Anytime he was coming to visit, he would call and ask what I had cooked before he would come. He would come empty-handed, eat, sleep, and leave. If he didn’t like what I cooked, he would ask me, “Can’t you prepare banku and okro for me? I’ve been yearning for that all week.”

I would prepare it, he would come and eat without giving me anything. He wouldn’t even come with a small gift in hand and say, “Oh babe, I got this on the way for you.” I love to receive gifts. Even when I had to visit him, he asked me to bring stuff to cook for him.

One day, he put his phone on charge and entered the toilet. His phone’s screen was already on before he put it on charge, so I quickly picked it up before the screen went off. I checked his messages. I didn’t even bother about his chats with other women. I went straight to the chat between him and his friend Kaylu.

Kaylu said, “Charley, Alberta has been calling me oo. She says you’ve been avoiding her. What’s happening?” Josh responded, “Oh, don’t mind that girl. She loves marriage too much. Every small conversation, this girl will talk about marriage. Is she the only woman in this world without a husband?”

They had dated for over four years, according to what Kaylu said, and “after four years, what do you expect a woman to talk about?” Kaylu asked. Josh responded, “Then she should go and find another man because I’m not ready.”

I was like, “Oh, is that so?”

I put the phone down quietly and went to the kitchen. When he came out of the toilet, he asked for his food. I told him I mistakenly put sugar in the okro instead of salt, so the stew had gone bad. He laughed at me. He said, “Oh, so we can’t eat it at all?” I answered, “If you try it, you’ll **** for a whole month.”

I saw him off, and that very day, I texted him that I couldn’t continue anymore. He was like, “Oh, but how? What did I do? I thought everything was fine?” I answered, “It was fine until I realised it wasn’t fine. It’s not your fault but mine.” He said, “If you need space, I can give you that, but we don’t have to break up because of an unknown issue.”

I didn’t want to argue about what I saw in his message. Plus, anything he was going to say would amount to nothing, so why bother? When I agreed I needed the space, the next thing he said was, “But it doesn’t mean I can’t come home and eat if I miss your meals, right?” The answer that came to my head wasn’t pretty, so I hushed it and instead told him he couldn’t call me while he was giving me space.

That’s how we ended. No drama. No back-and-forth argument. Go your way; let me go mine.