PRAISE AND PASSION PART 6 The camera flashes exploded like gunfire, each one searing Bukola’s vision with white-hot judgment. She could feel the crowd’s hatred like physical blows—the hissed prayers, the iPhones thrust in her face, the way Pastor Adeleke’s smirk deepened as her fingers trembled in Tobi’s grip. "Repent now!" a woman shrieked from the mob, waving a Bible like a weapon. "Confess your sins before hell claims you!" Tobi’s arm tightened around her waist. "Keep walking," he muttered through clenched teeth. But then— "BROTHER TOBI!" A voice sliced through the chaos. A young woman in a ripped choir robe fought against security, her braids wild around a face streaked with tears. "You promised!" she screamed. "You promised he’d pay for what he did to me!" Tobi went rigid. Bukola felt the shift in him—the way his breath stopped, the way his fingers dug into her hip hard enough to bruise. "Tobi? Who is—" Pastor Adeleke’s microphone shrieked with feedback as he stepped between them and the girl. "Another deceived soul! But we must focus on the sinner before us!" He gestured grandly at Bukola. "Will you repent, Gospel Girl?" The crowd roared. Bukola opened her mouth— CRACK. A sound like lightning split the air. Every head whipped toward the hotel’s giant LED screen. Where Bukola’s face should have been, there was… Audio waves. And then Pastor Adeleke’s voice, slick with sin, filled the lobby: "You’ll sleep with me, or your brother loses his scholarship. Unless you want his blood on your hands?" The girl in the choir robe—Tobi’s sister—burst into fresh sobs. The crowd’s fury turned like a tidal wave. "Liar!" Adeleke shouted, but the recording continued: "Such a pretty little mouth. Open it for your pastor, eh?" Silence. Then— Chaos. Tobi moved like a man possessed, shoving through the now-enraged crowd, dragging Bukola behind him. Mama Nkechi materialized at their side, shoving car keys into his hand. "Take her. Now." Bukola barely had time to process before she was thrown into a black SUV, Tobi peeling out as fists pounded on the windows. "Who was that girl?" Bukola demanded, her voice raw. Tobi’s knuckles whitened on the wheel. "My baby sister. Adeleke raped her three years ago. When I confronted him, he had me thrown out of three churches." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "I joined your tour to get close to him. To destroy him." The confession hit like a slap. "So I was… what? Bait?" Tobi swerved down a dark alley, killing the headlights. Then he turned to her, eyes burning. "At first." His hand cupped her cheek. "Then I fell for you. Hard." Bukola wanted to pull away. She couldn’t. The abandoned church on Lagos’ outskirts smelled of dust and old hymns. Moonlight bled through stained glass, painting Tobi’s skin in fractured colors as he backed her against the peeling altar. "You used me," she whispered. "I saved you," he corrected, hands caging her hips. "That recording was mine. I’ve waited years to ruin him." Bukola’s pulse pounded in her throat. "You lied." "So did you." His thumb traced her lower lip. "All those pretty sermons about purity. While you moaned my name in the studio." A whimper escaped her. Tobi’s mouth crashed down. This wasn’t love. This was war. His teeth scraped her neck as he lifted her onto the altar, her legs wrapping around his waist. The wood creaked beneath them, a blasphemous counterpoint to their ragged breaths. "Tell me to stop," he growled, hands tearing at her dress. She arched into him instead. When he entered her, it was with a groan that sounded like **prayer and punishment** tangled together. Each thrust was a vow— lied, I want you, I’ll burn for this. Bukola clawed at his back, her cries echoing off the vaulted ceiling like a corrupted choir. Above them, a broken stained-glass angel watched, its face shattered. She came with a sob. Tobi followed, his forehead pressed to hers, their sweat mingling like holy water and sin. After, as they lay tangled on a pew, Bukola’s phone buzzed. A notification from Mama Nkechi: "Adeleke arrested. But he has powerful friends. They’re coming for you both. RUN." Tobi sat up, muscles tense. "We need to—" Sirens wailed in the distance. Bukola’s blood froze. Tobi grabbed her hand. "Back door. Now." They barely made it to the car before headlights flooded the parking lot. As tires screeched into the night, one question burned hotter than guilt: Who betrayed them this time? TO BE CONTINUED… WILL THEY TRUST EACH OTHER—OR WILL THE PAST TEAR THEM APART? #fictionalwritter #fictionalstories #africanstoryteller #africantales #talesmoonlight #africanlovesaga #hotromancedrama #storytelling #Storytime #kenyanfolktales #ghanianfolktales #zambianfolktales #gambianfolktales #nigeriafolktales #ugandanfolktales

I SAW MY GRANDMA TÚRN INTO A CÁT AT NIGHT😳 My name is Kpokuechukwu. I'm the only son of my father. Or rather, I'm the only product of an intertribal union of an Igbo man and a Yoruba woman. According to my mother, she'd been childless for 8 years and had experienced 3 m¡scarriages before I was finally born. So she called my name Oluwasindara . My parents and I used to live in the faraway city of Lagos. But one December when I was just six years old, we traveled down East to celebrate Christmas with grandma… And that was it, we didn't return to the city😭 Before we embarked on that journey, there was this particular dream I usually have, of a cr££py old woman scaring me. Sometimes she will throw me into a stream, thr£atening to drown me, other times she will be chasing me around a forest with either a long knife or a tongue of fire. Such a night, I will wake up sweating and crying. My mom would be there to comfort me. She would apply some ointment on my forehead, muttering silent prayers. It's as a result of these repeated occurrences that I started sleeping in my parents room. . This story belongs to Joy Ifunanya. One Thursday evening in October, mummy was helping me do my homework in the dining room when dad walked in and told her to start making preparations. “We shall be celebrating Christmas in the East this season”. He announced. I was overwhelmed with excitement. I'd only heard about the village, but never really visited it. During holidays, mom usually takes me down to Badagry to stay with her elder sister who had 4 grown-up children. Although I do enjoy my times with them because there, everyone pampers me, I think traveling to the village will be more fun. I have heard fascinating stories about the rural areas from my friends at school who were privileged to visit their hometown every holiday season. They won't stop talking about how they swim in their village streams all day long, how they go out to watch masquerade, how they go palm kernel hunting, snail hunting, crab hunting and a lot of other adventures. More interesting was how children would gather round the fireplace at night to listen to interesting folktales from the elderly women. I have been hoping to have such an experience one day. So when dad made that announcement that evening, I couldn't control myself. I lifted my hands in the air.. “Yeah, I'm going to see grandma!”. I Daddy smiled and patted my back. However, mummy didn't seem nearly as excited. In fact, she looked rather apprehensive. “Dave, I'm not going to the village with you”. She asked. Daddy frowned at her. “Why? We haven't been to the village for ages” He asked. “Are you asking me why? How do you even want me to travel all the way to the East in this condition?” She quarreled. At that time, I wasn't aware that she was weeks pregnant. “I know, dear. But trust me, you will be safe. Nothing will go wrong, I promise”. He said. “I am still not going. I won't be traveling like this”. She insisted. “Wuraola, I am traveling this December, I missed my mother, it's been five years. Don't you understand?”. Daddy said. “But I'm not stopping you. I just said I am not going. That doesn't mean you can't go and see your mother”. She argued. Daddy heaved a sigh, sat down on the chair close to her and held her hand. He then lowered his voice and began to talk to her. Though I didn't understand what he was saying because he was speaking Igbo language (I was only fluent in Yoruba language), I knew he was trying to persuade her, to make her see the reason she should embark on that journey. I watched them, my heart filled with silent.prayers that she should concur because if Mummy won't be traveling to the village, I won't be traveling either. I'm sure of that. It was during the weekend when Mom and I were visiting her sister in Badagry that I discovered her major reason for not wanting to travel with us. Her sister and her friends were gisting in the living room by the time we came. When Mummy announced about the intending journey to the East, her sister's reaction was intense. She seemed really upset. “What is wrong with your husband?”. She raged. And in order to carry her friends along, she began to recount the events that transpired long before I was born. Since no one asked me to escused them, I sat there in their midst, listening attentively and watching their lips move. I learnt that my grandma never liked my mom. She had wanted to be the one to choose a wife for her son, HER ONLY SON, from amongst our people. But my daddy did not only reject Mama's choice, but went ahead to bring home a woman from a different ethnic background. “Mama, this is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. Her name is Wuraola”. Daddy had said the first day he brought mum home. “Eka aso, Mami”. My mummy had greeted, prostrating before Grandma. Grandma's eyes turned red with rage. “Over my dead body would my only son marry onye ofe mmanu”. Grandma had responded. She couldn't even hide her feelings. NOTE:. OFE MMANU IS THE IGBO MAN'S NAME FOR YORUBA’S OMI OBE AND EWEDU SOUP. NO OFFENSE But despite his mum's disapproval, daddy went ahead to marry my mom. Nobody in my father's family agreed to see reason with her. This made her h@tred of mom very strongly. So strong that she was absent during their introduction and traditional marriage ceremony. A few weeks before their wedding, dad and mum traveled to the village to make peace with her. They knelt before her and apologized for getting married without her blessings. She accepted their apology, and promised to attend their wedding, but with a strict condition. “Your wife will stay back here with me for some time after the wedding”. She had told my dad. “Hmmm, it won't be possible”. Dad said. They returned to the city 2 days later and did their wedding without her. But barely two weeks later, they found themselves back in the village… Dad's business has collapsed. “Nwanyi ofe mmanu bû bádluck bia n' uloa(This Yoruba woman came with bádluck)”. Grandma would taunt dad. But dad didn't take her word to heart. Even when Mom started having a series of m!scarriages, and grandma wouldn't stop bothering him to take a new wife, he refused to give up on mum. “You're my only son, Onyekachi. The nwanyi ofe mmanu you married is bárren! Why don't you marry Akuabata, and start giving me children. I'm not getting any younger”. Grandma would always tell him. It wouldn't end there, she would go ahead to bring the akuabata home to do chores for her. The lady would be parading the compound in a skimpy skirt or gown. Grandma finds pleasure in making mum shed tears. She neither eats her food nor allows her to touch her belongings. Once she returned from the farm and noticed that mom was cooking soup with her pot, she got really angry, stormed into the kitchen, set the pot down from the fire, and threw the soup on the ground. “Ahh! Mami?”. Mummy exclaimed. “Mami micha gi onu there! Ekwensu!”. Grandma cμrsed. With that, she went inside and came out again with a hammer and nails with which she pierced the pot in several places before flinging it into the bush. Morning and night, mom would cry, but my dad would always be there to comfort her. It was after six wásted years that uncle Tunde, my mummy's elder brother who resided abroad, remembered his sister. It was him who sponsored them financially. They left the village, back to Lagos, and started afresh. With time, things began to normalize, and that was when I came into the picture. Mom's pregnancy journey wasn't easy, she was hospitalized thrice due to threatened m¡scarriages. However, with Divine intervention I was brought into this world, a year after they returned to the city. **********”******* Though I feel sorry for her, hearing all these stories about mom's mystery didn't deter me from wanting to visit the village. In fact, my excitement only grew stronger. I was still eager to experience village life and make new memories. I couldn't wait shåre my own village experience with my friends. Thankfully, at last, Mummy agreed to the journey. Then came D-Day. It was on December 20th. Very early in the morning, we set out for the East in my dad's car. Myself and my parents, with one woman and her infant son. The journey was tiring. I didn't imagine it was going to be so.I sleep and wake up occasionally and still find ourselves on the road. At one point, I began to cry. “The masquerades in the village will b!te you if they see tears in your eyes”. Mom said. I stopped crying instantly and wiped my tears. As the evening drew in, we continued driving until the woman and her son dropped off at a junction. We then turned onto an untarred road, which seemed to stretch on forever. This story belongs to Joy Ifunanya. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we drove into a wide compound and halted in front of a thatched-roofed bungalow. An old woman was sitting by the side of the wall, picking something from a calabash on the ground in front of her. “Here we are!” Daddy announced. “Village?” I asked, excitement building inside of me. “Yeah! Grandma is here”. Daddy said, pointing towards the old woman. By now, the woman had looked up from the calabash and was staring at our car. “Grandma!”. I screamed out excitedly, and without waiting, I threw open the car door and leaped out “Grandma, grandma!”. I chanted as I ran towards her. But as I drew closer enough to behold her face, my feet seemed to freeze of their own accord. A chill rippled through my body, raising goosebumps on my skin. Grandma was the same woman who had haμnted my dreams…. Typing 2……….. Please, shåre 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 #Story from Joy Ifunanya's story room.

(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?" TBC

(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

Dear Odogwus and Achalugos, mek una de read, like, engage and share my posts. Una go learn alot from the health contents and better story dey inside the folktales. I will reciprocate the gestures too🥰💝

POOR GIRL WAS FIXING HER MAKEUP IN A CAR WINDOW UNAWARE SOMEONE WAS WATCHING Mara stood by the roadside, squinting into the tinted window of a sleek black car. Her reflection stared back, smudged and tired. She dabbed on cheap lipstick and patted her cracked powder compact, trying to look presentable before catching the bus home. She had just finished cleaning offices downtown—her part-time job barely paid enough to survive, but she managed. #stargt She didn’t care whose car it was. It was just a mirror to her. But what she didn’t know was that someone was inside. Liam sat silently in the back seat, watching her with curious eyes. A billionaire known for his ruthless business deals and cold demeanor, he wasn’t easily impressed. But there was something about this girl. The way she pouted at her reflection, the determined strokes of her lipstick, the innocence in her eyes. She had no idea someone was watching… and that someone was him. As she adjusted her scarf and stepped back, Mara caught a strange movement in the glass. Her heart skipped. She leaned closer—and froze. A man was inside, staring right at her. “Oh my God…” she gasped, stumbling back. “I’m so sorry!” She turned quickly to leave, mortified. But then she heard a deep, calm voice behind her. “Hey, you. What’s your name?” Mara paused. No rich man had ever spoken to her like that before—without mockery or pity. She clutched her worn-out handbag, unsure what to do. “…Mara,” she replied, voice barely above a whisper. Liam stepped out of the car, tall and commanding. His eyes studied her like she was a puzzle. “Do you always use strangers’ cars as mirrors?” he asked, the hint of a smirk on his lips. Her face flushed, but she lifted her chin. “Only when I can’t afford a real one.” That confidence… unexpected, unpolished. It made Liam smile for the first time in days. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek business card, handing it to her. “You’re bold. I like that. Come work for me.” Mara blinked at the card, stunned. Was this a prank? “W-Work? As what?” “My personal assistant.” She stared at him, speechless. Was he serious? What did a billionaire want with a girl who cleaned floors for a living? But Liam was already leaning against his car like he had all the time in the world. That night, Mara didn’t sleep. The card sat on her small table, almost glowing. Her entire world had shifted with a single sentence. The next morning, she called the number. Liam’s assistant answered instantly. “Mr. Liam asked me to expect your call. Can you come to the office today?” Her heart pounded. She walked into Liam’s company—towering glass walls, sharp-dressed workers, luxury dripping from every corner. And there she was, in her only clean dress, shoes that had seen better days. When she entered his office, Liam didn’t look surprised. “I want you as my personal assistant,” he repeated, calmly. “I-I don’t have any qualifications,” she stammered. “I’m not hiring a degree,” he said, leaning forward. “I’m hiring honesty. Loyalty. Boldness. Things you showed me without even trying.” Mara swallowed hard. “Unless…” Liam added with a teasing smile, “you’d prefer to keep fixing makeup on random car windows forever?” Her lips parted, but no words came out. All she knew was—her life was about to change. And it all began with a little makeup and the wrong window. 🚨 Missed an Episode? Don't Worry! 🚨 Follow Me for more stories! ✨ To be continued… #africanfolktales #storytime #culture #africanstories #moralstories #folktales #folklore #folk #africanstorytellerafricantales #tales #africanfolklore #nigerianfolktales #africanfolktalesbyada #africanhistory #africanheritage #prophecy #viralvideo #viralvideos #viralshorts #trending #trend #trendingvideo #story #Storytelling