**Smith Wigglesworth – “Apostle of Faith”** 🎯 **Early Transformation & First Miracle** Now, there was a time when Smith Wigglesworth was quite busy with his plumbing tools in Leeds, where the pipes would creak and leak, just like the conversations in the neighborhood. But amidst all that hustle, he found himself drawn to healing meetings. It was a curious affair indeed! One day, his dear wife Polly, who had been struggling with a chronic ailment, experienced what can only be described as a miraculous healing. This unexpected turn of events set Smith on a path of faith that would change everything, leading him directly into the heart of healing ministry. Imagine this: during a meeting one evening, the regular pastor was absent, and our dear Smith thought it fitting to take the stage. With a nervous heart and a stuttered sermon, he somehow found his voice and—lo and behold!—fifteen people were healed right then and there. You could say it fanned the flames of his passion for this miraculous work! 🔥 **Baptism in the Spirit** Now, fast forward to 1907, where Smith, with wide eyes and an eager spirit, stumbled into a peculiar Pentecostal gathering in Sunderland. With a few enthusiastic questions about “tongues” (not the type you find in a good meal, mind you), he was promptly shown the door. But did that stop him? Not at all! After a heartfelt prayer in the speaker’s wife’s living room, he found himself speaking in tongues—a thrilling escapade back to that meeting, where fifty souls were filled with the Spirit. Quite the show, I’d say! 💥 **Miraculous Healings & Spiritual Confrontations** Now, there are stories, and then there are stories! One particularly remarkable episode involved a young woman on the brink of death from consumption. Smith, full of determination and perhaps a dash of desperation, prayed over her for four whole hours. Suddenly, a vision of Jesus appeared to him, and wouldn’t you know it? The young lady sprang back to life, resuming her piano playing that very morning as if nothing had happened! And then there was Mitchell, a man at death’s door. Sadly, when Smith arrived, it seemed Mitchell had taken the ultimate plunge. But Smith wasn’t one to take a loss quietly; he boldly commanded death to release him. To everyone’s surprise, Mitchell revived and went on to recover as well! Talk about a scene straight out of a play! Now, Smith had an unconventional approach—he believed in hitting the afflicted parts of the body, claiming he was “hitting the devil, not them.” Well, if you ask me, it’s quite a daring way to send sickness packing! 🧩 **Trials of Faith & Physical Ailments** In a rather self-assured manner, our Smith vowed never to take medicine. But life had other plans, and when appendicitis struck with a vengeance, doctors considered his case hopeless. With a commanding spirit, he once again told the “devil” to leave, and lo! He was healed instantly, returning to work the very next day, tools in hand. Smith faced a long battle with kidney stones, sciatica, and eventually a stroke. Despite the pain, he believed these trials were like fine clay molding him for greater things. And you know, he didn’t let a little discomfort keep him from ministering across the globe! 🎤 **Public Campaigns & Legacy** From the bustling streets of the U.K. to the wide-open skies of Australia, Smith took his ministry far and wide. Stories of blind eyes opening, crippled legs walking, and cancers disappearing became the tales that traveled with him. In 1937, while in South Africa, he even prophesied a grand revival, telling David du Plessis, “the day I pass away, then you can begin to think about it.” Such confidence! 💀 **Final Moments & Death** On the 12th of March, 1947, while attending the funeral of his friend Wilf Richardson, Smith had an unexpected final act—he collapsed and bid goodbye to the earthly stage, continuing to preach until the very end! A grand finale, one might say. At his funeral, he left behind four guiding principles for those who remained: 1. Read God’s Word. 2. Let it consume you. 3. Believe it. 4. Act on it. His voice still echoes in the hearts of many within the Pentecostal and charismatic communities. --- ✨ **Summary of Key Exploits** Smith's legacy is dotted with miraculous healings—tumors, tuberculosis, and even those pesky appendicitis troubles. Some even say he managed to resurrect loved ones, a claim that made more than a few heads turn. His spirit-led and confrontational approach—casting out tricky spirits through audacious prayer—stands as a testament to his unwavering faith. Despite battling illness, he thrived in service and inspired many. And let’s not forget his prophecies of future revivals, which many credit in shaping the charismatic movements.

EZEGO OF IHIALA…..KING OF MONEY. 🔹In the 1990s, few names rang out in Nigeria’s pop culture like Ezego—the self-styled “King of Money.” Born Victor Nnamdi Okafor in 1964 in Ihiala, Anambra State, Nigeria 🇳🇬 🔸Ezego rose from a troubled youth to become one of the most flamboyant millionaires of his time. 🔸Based in Lagos, he ran the Ezego Shopping Complex, which dealt in electronics and luxury items. His fleet of cars—Limousines, Mercedes Benzes, and Rolls-Royces—lined the streets of Allen Avenue. He was barely in his 30s but lived like a mogul twice his age. Tales of his wealth and generosity spread fast, making him a legend among the youth and a mystery to many. 🔹But Ezego’s rise was as swift as his fall. On 25 December 1999, while driving one of his expensive cars from Lagos to his hometown for Christmas, he lost control of the vehicle near Asaba. He died from injuries later that day. 🔸He was just 35. 🔹His sudden death sparked widespread speculation—some called it karma, others whispered of spiritual retribution. Whatever the truth, Ezego’s life became a cautionary tale of wealth, pride, and mortality. 🔸In the end, the King of Money left behind riches, controversy, and an enduring question: what really lies beneath the shine of sudden wealth? Credit: Bygones Narratives. #Ezego #KingOfMoney #everyoneactive #ihiala #africanstorytelling

How Advice from a Native Doctor Saved Her Marriage Born again... Holy Ghost filled... Yet squabbles unending. For a six-month-old marriage... When there is still supposed to be plenty honey to suck from the moon. But she prayed... she sought the face of God... before she said... yes. --- Flashback Lanre. On bended knees... phone cameras flashing, smiles everywhere... asking for her hand in marriage. Total surprise. Yes. But total joy. Of course... who no like better thing? Fine boy wey love Jesus met hot babe wey love Jesus. A match made in heaven. Yet six months later... Quarrels... boning... apparent bad belle. “Did I make a mistake? Should I call pastor?” This morning... it happened again. To encourage herself, she put on DStv and stayed flipping stations... randomly... just looking for nothing in particular. --- Daystar TV – Joyce Meyer was talking about submission... being the key. “Abeg... na today... we don dey hear dat one since.” Wasn't she submissive? --- Enter African Magic Native doctor scene Baba: “My husband hates me. He doesn't love me again.” “This ‘Bam Bam’ dey act sha!!” Baba brought out a charm and told her to put it in her mouth whenever the husband comes home. As long as he is in the house, she should never remove it from her mouth — and his love will come back. No woman will be able to snatch him. Bam Bam said: “Baba thank you.” Baba: “Go well, my daughter.” --- A thought struck her. Where had she heard this before? Old story... Oh — in secondary school... she had read a book. African tales. The charm was just palm fruit kernel. And when she put it in her mouth, she stopped arguing with her husband... and peace came. “ I don't have any kernels to put.” But there was something that Baba said: “Don’t let it come out of your mouth.” --- BOOM — Joshua 1 vs 8: “This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth...” Oh! I get it. I will put the Word in my mouth in place of the kernel. She didn’t just read the scripture. She meditated on it — whispered it, repeated it, lived it. Suddenly, the Word became her spiritual charm... and it began to work. --- Nothing to lose. She dressed well, scenting well like Ruth, house all arranged, food like Queen Esther. Lanre in the house. Greeted. All through that evening... only one phrase on her lip: “He that finds a wife finds a good thing and obtains favour from the Lord.” Day one. Day two. Day three. The same thing. Lanre came... shocked her — as he was on his knees again... with gifts, apologies. She quickly rushed, telling him to get up. “How can my odogun be kneeling... my king?” All the while, with joy in her heart, she kept the kernel — sorry, she meant the Word — in her lips, constantly, non-stop. --- Meditation on scripture was the key. No room for the devil in this marriage ever again. Baba advice had worked. But the Word worked better. --- 🙏 Have you tried putting the Word in your mouth daily? Accepting Jesus is the first step to a life of peace, power, and purpose. Say YES to Jesus today.

I DO NOT BOAST I AM A CAPTAIN On darkest nights, mid-ocean wide, my boat and I with waves collide. Why, Poseidon, such disdain? Am I to blame I steer my reign? The storm will hurl us through the sky, then slam us down, yet still we try. I fear, but cry not out in pride, nor claim I rule this raging tide. Should I not reach the harbor near— the table waits for fish and cheer. If I don’t make it, someone grieves... That’s why, that’s why—I fight to leave! What marvels rise—I never tell, nor fear, nor hope where sea-storms dwell. No sailor bows to tales or fame, to say this wrecked boat bore my name.

Preparing yourself to understand success and failure. Success: 👉 What is success? Success is often defined as achieving the desired vision and planned goals. It may include a variety of aspects of life, including personal satisfaction, social acceptance and financial stability. Essentially, success is private; success for one may not be the same for others. Failure: What is failure? Failure means lack of success or failure to meet goals or criteria. Often seen in a negative way, but priceless lessons and lessons that can contribute to your success. Inspirational ideas. 1. How is your prediction on defeat? Look at failures as stepping stone not as obstacles. Develop experiences to learn useful lessons (Reframe experiences). 2. Accept the fact that you are not sure. Know that the road to success is not too straight. Prepare your mindset to accept the unexpected of the journey. 3. Building the resilience . Develop the habit of achieving small, achievable goals with perseverance and perseverance. Celebrate every victory no matter how small it is. 4. The mindset of growth: Develop a developmental mindset that you see challenges as opportunities for learning rather than fear. An example of a great individual 🧠 Dr. Maya Angelou She was a well-known American poet, a scholar of tradition and a civil rights activist. In her childhood, she has faced many problems including poverty, racial abuse and personal oppression. Even though she has these obstacles, I won't stop her from getting her attention in writing and acting. The famous quote "Even if you can't control all the situations that happen to you, you can control the attitude you have for them." This saying showed her understanding of success and failure. She has used her struggles, challenges and challenges as her motivation to help others. 👁Amazing true inspiring story ✍ the great champion Luis Zamperini Louis Zamperni was an Olympic runner and WWII bomber hunter. His life story teaches strength and hope for many of our planet's people who want to make their dreams come true. 47 days after a plane crash in the Pacific Ocean, he has spent 47 days at sea fighting hunger and shark attacks and has faced difficult challenges to survive. After his life was saved by rescuers, he found himself in a Japanese police force camp in the process of enduring unimaginable and suffering. Zampernie turned the pain into a purpose instead of allowing these horrible experiences to express and limit him. He has chosen forgiveness and finally he has joined with his supporters and shared a message of hope and reconciliation. His journey ended with strong awareness. 👂 True success does not come from world awards but from the strength that is found in the courageous struggle to get out of trouble. Zamperni's life's success is not only about reaching the goal but also about how we respond to failure and problems. If we are armed to inspire others by changing our challenges to victory tales, we can escape our dark times. ✍🏾Ahead of the day Preparing yourself to understand success and failure means realizing that they are two faces of the same coin. The more embracing of both, the more archie brings life. The stories of strong individuals like Louis Zamperney remind us that our path may be full of challenges, but how we face those challenges is the key to our success. Resources 1. "Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption" by Laura Hillenbrand 2. "The Heart of a Woman" by Maya Angelou This story and these concepts can serve as a powerful foundation for my new book, offering readers both inspiration and practical insights into success and failure. What do you think?

Justice or jungle? “Not even the police could stop him—until the day the hunters became the hunted.” laughTales WhatsApp Channel For years, the name Derico Nwamama struck fear into the hearts of southeastern Nigerians. He wasn’t just a criminal—he was a phantom. A ghost that moved through Onitsha’s crowded markets, leaving blood and silence in his wake. He started small: petty theft, street fights, armed robbery. But by 2001, Derico had evolved into a monster. He led a gang that robbed banks, hijacked buses, and killed without blinking. Policemen, traders, travelers—it didn’t matter. If you stood in his way, you didn’t live to regret it. They said he killed over 25 people. Some said 50. He laughed in the face of the law. And the law did nothing. --- Onitsha trembled. Shop owners closed early. Commuters whispered his name like a curse. Families prayed not to be caught in his path. Even the police—armed and uniformed—hid when Derico was near. They simply weren’t equipped to stop him. Every attempt to catch him ended in bloodshed. He knew the streets too well. He had eyes everywhere. Guns. And no conscience. --- Until one day, something shifted. A new name surfaced: Bakassi Boys. A feared vigilante group with their own brand of justice. They didn’t carry badges. They carried machetes and amulets. And when they came, it wasn’t to arrest—it was to cleanse. They were called in by traders desperate for peace. Derico laughed. Until they found him. --- The hunt was swift. Brutal. Precise. Derico tried to run, but the streets that once protected him betrayed him. The Bakassi Boys caught him in full daylight. No courtroom. No lawyers. Just vengeance. --- In the heart of Onitsha Main Market, with thousands watching, they dragged him out. Bloodied. Broken. Silent. There was no trial. Just steel and fire. They butchered him in public. To send a message. The crowd cheered. Some wept. But peace returned. --- Derico’s reign ended not in justice, but in raw, bloody revenge. The people rejoiced—but something darker remained. If the system had worked… would the Bakassi Boys ever have been needed? And when the people become the law… who holds them accountable? --- Justice or jungle? In Nigeria’s shadows, sometimes the line is too blurred to see.

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

The Village That Raised Me Where roots ran deep and names meant legacy. The red earth knew my feet by name, The trees watched me rise without shame. Elders spoke and time stood still, Children danced on every hill. The moonlit tales, the morning calls, The pounding yam, the market stalls. It wasn't rich, it wasn’t new, But it gave me more than any city could do. It raised me with love, with pride, with song, Taught me where I truly belong. So though I wander far and free, That village still lives inside of me.

The Trials of Mbeku By Greatman Onwukwe: Sir GMAN Scene 1: The Feast in the Sky Mbeku, the cunning tortoise, overheard the birds discussing a grand feast to be held in the sky. Eager to partake, he approached the birds with a proposal. "I am but a humble tortoise," he began, "and I have heard of your feast in the sky." "I beg of you, allow me to join you." The birds, amused by his request, agreed, and Mbeku joined them on their journey to the heavens. Scene 2: The Deception Upon reaching the celestial realm, the birds were greeted with a bountiful spread of food. Mbeku, seizing the opportunity, addressed the assembly. "I come from a distant land, and in my tongue, 'Mbeku' means 'All of you.'" "Therefore, this feast is meant for all of you." The birds, taken aback by his audacity, protested, but Mbeku insisted, and consumed the entire feast, leaving nothing for the others. Scene 3: The Fall Angered by Mbeku's greed, the birds decided to teach him a lesson. They retrieved their feathers, leaving Mbeku grounded. In his attempt to return to earth, Mbeku fell, and his shell became cracked upon landing. Scene 4: The Return Mbeku returned to his village, but his kin, seeing his broken shell, mocked him. "Mbeku," they laughed, "you went to the sky as a king, but returned as a beggar." Scene 5: The Lesson Mbeku's tale serves as a cautionary story about the consequences of greed and deceit. It is a reminder that one's actions, especially those driven by selfish desires, can lead to downfall and ridicule. Scene 6: The Village's Reflection The elders of the village gathered the community to reflect on Mbeku's story. They emphasized the importance of humility and warned against the pitfalls of arrogance and dishonesty. Scene 7: The Rebuilding Inspired by the lessons learned, the villagers worked together to rebuild their community. They organized feasts that celebrated unity and shared resources, ensuring that no one went hungry. Scene 8: The Legacy The story of Mbeku became a cherished tale, passed down through generations. It served as a moral compass, guiding the actions of the villagers and reinforcing the values of honesty, humility, and community. Scene 9: The Song To commemorate the lesson, a song was composed, celebrating the virtues of integrity and the strength found in unity. The song became a staple at community gatherings, reinforcing the moral of Mbeku's tale. Scene 10: The Continuation As time passed, the village prospered. The lessons from Mbeku's story continued to influence the community's culture, fostering an environment where greed was shunned, and cooperation thrived. Scene 11: The Elders' Council The elders established a council to oversee the moral upbringing of the youth. They organized storytelling sessions, where tales like that of Mbeku were narrated, ensuring that the wisdom of the past guided the future. Scene 12: The Reflection On quiet evenings, the villagers would gather by the riverbank, reflecting on their journey. They would recount the trials of Mbeku, reinforcing the community's commitment to the values of honesty, humility, and unity. Scene 13: The Farewell As the episode concluded, the narrator left the villagers in a state of contemplation, pondering the timeless lessons embedded in the story of Mbeku. The tale served as a mirror, reflecting the virtues and vices within themselves, encouraging continuous growth and communal harmony. #greatmanonwukwe #sirgman #TheTrialOfMbeku #AfricanWisdom #storytelling #greediness #lessonslearnedinlife

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.