I love this poem!


Hi guys, I just wanted to share this beautiful poem I absolutely LOVE! It uplifts my heart every time I read it and I can relate a million and one times to it. Enjoy!

STILL I RISE by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise

Peace & love,Jennyphar


Mothers’ day


Happy new year!!!!! Yeah I know it’s March but this is the first post of the year so happy new year to you! LOL…

It’s mothers’ day!


I’d like to use this medium to declare my undying love for my mother. We may not be very close and we may annoy eachother a lot but I love her to bits. Happy mothers’ day mummy! God bless you exceedingly, abundantly above all you can ask for or imagine! I love you!

 Happy mothers’ day to all the lovely mothers around the world and all those filling in as mothers. God bless you!

This post is very short. I hope you like it. Please read the dates carefully so you don’t get confused. This post is dedicated to Dorothy and Dupe, the lovely people who told me they had been waiting for a new post; enjoy!


March 18th 2012

Dear diary, display Pictures changing on BlackBerry Messenger, avatars changing on Twitter, “I love you mummy” written on every Facebook status. It’s mothers’ day and I feel sick. My phone vibrates and I look down at it. It’s my sister, Ruke. “PING!!! Ahn ahn Rumie why didn’t you use mum’s pic as your DP na? Or you don’t have any nice one? Chill let me send you one.” In two seconds, a picture of her pops up on my screen. I almost throw my phone at the wall. Looking at her makes me even sicker. It doesn’t help that she looks exactly like me. I hate my mother…

June 10th 2011

Dear diary, today is mummy’s birthday! Yay! I made her the most beautiful card. It reads: “you’re the best mum in the whole wide world. I looooooove you mummy,love Rumie. Xoxo”. I hope she likes it

August 30th 2011

Dear diary, today is daddy’s funeral. My heart is in pieces. I’m sorry your pages are so wet, I can’t stop the tears. I don’t know if I should tell Ruke that I saw mummy putting something in daddy’s dinner after I overheard him shouting at her for sleeping with uncle Eugene.

October 2nd 2011

Dear diary, more wet pages. I’m sorry. I should never have told mummy I saw her poison daddy’s food. Uncle Tare beat me again today because I fought him off last night when he got into my bed. Mummy knew he was a monster that’s why she sent me to live with him. Ruke called today to ask how school was going. I can’t believe mummy told her I was in school

January 15th 2012

Dear diary, I finally did it! I finally ran away. I don’t know where to go or what to do. I’m just glad I’m free

Feb 28th 2012

Dear diary, it’s my birthday and I miss daddy. I miss daddy so much it hurts. The customer I had today looked so much like him. I had to make a conscious effort not to call him “daddy” when he was on top of me.

March 18th 2012

Dear diary, I hate my life. My only consolation is that it will soon be over. The drugs are starting to kick in. All the pretty drugs I took to take this pain away forever. As I drift into permanent sleep, only one thing is on my mind. I hate my mother



Hey guys! Sorry there hasn’t been any post in a while 😦 Been busy with life + I had/have a severe case of writer’s block. I’ve got exams soon too so don’t expect any post soon. For now, I have something small for you guys. A blogger asked to me write a story for him and he gave me the story line. All credit for the story itself goes to him. I only take credit for the actual writing. (You can check out his blog-> http://coolprincee.wordpress.com )
“I’m sorry Carol but it’s over”
She hung up
As he sat under the tree in front of his compound relishing the cool of the evening, he couldn’t even be bothered. He’d finally ended it.
“Teacher John”
He looked up and saw her. The girl with the big brown eyes that seemed to search one’s soul. He’d noticed her the very first day he stepped into Federal government girls’ college Calabar. He was fresh out of the University of Lagos and had just been posted to Calabar for his NYSC. He’d never left Lagos and so Calabar was new to him,different. She was different. She was nothing like the stuck up,superficial,materialistic girls he’d known all his life. Nothing like Carol. And eventhough he fought the attraction with all his might, his chiselled face still gave way to a smile whenever he saw her. There was something about her. The way she smiled,the way her big brown eyes lit up whenever he taught the class something new,the way she said his name with her accent and always with the prefix “teacher”.
“Teacher John good evening”
“Good evening Koko”
She had a tray of groundnuts sitting on her head.
For the past eleven months,he’d waited in front of the compound everyday to buy groundnuts from her. As she set the tray down on the ground and he reached into his back pocket, he realised that in his hurry to get outside where there was reception so he could call Carol, he’d forgotten his wallet on his bed.
“Koko follow me inside. I forgot my wallet”
She looked hesitant at first.
“Should I follow him inside? He’s teacher John. He’s not a stranger. Besides,I need to sit down” Koko thought to herself.
Before Koko could even make up her mind, she found herself already following him.
Teacher John’s house was simple but clean.
“Sit down and have some water”
She obeyed. She was too tired to even argue.
Sitting led to eating and eating led to chatting and chatting led to laughing. Before she knew it, it was dark outside.
As Koko walked back home and John cleared the dishes, they both thought about their time together. One thing reigned in both minds, they’d both found a friend in each other.
And so after school everyday for the next month, Koko would go to teacher John’s house after selling most of her groundnuts and they would have lunch and talk for hours.
The days of that month seemed to breeze by and before they knew it,it was his last evening in Calabar.
“I’m leaving at 5 am with the first bus” He said with his hand on her lap.
He was sitting so close that he was whispering.
“I’ll miss you Koko” and then he kissed her
She didn’t kiss back but she didn’t stop him.
She could feel his hands moving all over her body.
Clothes came off.
She wanted to say no but she wanted this.
She wanted him to have her pride. Pride; that’s what her mother called it when she told her to keep it for her husband.
He wasn’t her husband but she loved him. She knew she couldn’t give him anything but herself.
“Take care of yourself oh! Call us everyday! Make sure you don’t follow all those useless London girls oh!”

“Mummy! I’m not going to primary school. I’m going for my Masters. I’m no longer a child ma. I’ll be fine!”
John gave his mother a hug, put his luggage in the trunk and got in the car.
As they drove out of the gate, he suddenly remembered that he’d left his phone in his room.
“Daddy, stop the car please. I left my phone in my room”
“Hurry up or you’ll miss your flight”
He got out of the car and ran into the house, running up the stairs in twos.
He got to his room panting. His phone was ringing,unknown caller.
“Teacher John” said the small voice on the other end.
He froze.
He hadn’t heard her voice since that night before he left Calabar 6 months ago. He could see the tears on her face and hear her soft sobs as she went home that night as if it was yesterday.
“Koko” he whispered
“Teacher John, I’m pregnant”

Ironically,my friends are currently at their NYSC camps in Ebonyi, Kwara, Kogi and Lagos. Guys, here’s wishing you a wonderful camp experience. Don’t impregnate anybody or get pregnant oh!(Unless of course you want to. LOL!). I pray that God watches over you and keeps you safe! All the best boos!!! You’ll be fine! *group hug*

Enter Title Here


It’s been a while!!!!! I wish I had some off the hook post to put up right now but I don’t 😦

I was writing something actually and I was going to put it up some time this week but my phone crashed and it had to be formatted so I lost the post I was writing. Oh well, I’ll have to put it up some other time then.

So if I don’t have any post to put up,why am I here you might ask? Good question! Well,if you think about it,this IS a post! Despite the fact that I’m at this very moment typing God knows what, this is a post!

Actually,I’m at Accra mall trying to download the software for my phone that crashed and I’m extremely bored so I thought I’d come here and do a little cleaning of cobwebs and clearing of weeds before you guys’ll think I’d left Blogsville,I’d died or worse still, I was in kiri kiri prison rotting away. You thought so? Tell my enemies you didn’t see me oh! No weapon fashioned against me shall prosper! (oh crap,my download just went from 34% back to 0%!!!! chai! My enemies are at work oh!!!! Which kain tin be this na! Looks like I’m going to be here much longer than I thought! )

So since you’re here and I’m here and I’m still typing and you’re still reading,let’s talk about something before we all doze off! What do you want to talk about? sorry? I can’t hear you,please speak up… Twitter? Really? Are you sure? Okay!

Alrighty then,Twitter. Let’s exclude the verified accounts and Nigerian celebs and talk about normal Nigerian twitter.Right! So Twitter! The modern day capitalist society as @barachelndions once referred to it! (Oya go and google capitalist real quick and hurry back).  We have the bourgeoisie and the proletariat. I will use some illustrations to help you understand better. BOURGEOISIE:


BIO: Discombobulated Martian stuck on earth¯\..(•͡.̮ •͡ )../¯


TWEETS: 57,500



The ones that have followers in thousands.The ones that people are always retweeting and LOL’ing their tweets.The ones that people refer to in real life by their handles..The ones you have to follow whether or not they follow back  for your tweeting experience to be complete,the ones you see all over your TL even when you’re not following them.The cool kids!..You get the picture.

Then we have the proletariat:


BIO: i juz want to c wat diz tweeter z about.I finna 2 meet nu frendz.Add me up on your phone lets know eachoda.Facebook PIN: Horlarmeeday HawtestInTown Harbiordhun…BB PIN:289BHY54





The ones that people are always gbagaun’ing,the ones that are forever DM’ing people ‘hey can i gets to know you more?”,the ones that should still be trapped on FB,the ones that have eggs as avatars or pics of themselves wearing shades and posing in okija forest,the ones always begging Donjazzy for RT’s,the ones that spell “ambience” as “umbeyonce” and “nonchalant” as ‘none shallaunt’.

And eventhough there’s no middle class in a real life capitalist society,twitter has that! Let’s call them tweeps:


BIO: fun,witty,reserved. I am who I am:)


TWEETS: 9,000



The ones that sometimes get their 5 minutes of fame by cracking a really good joke,the normal ones…

I like to think I’m a tweep(My glorious God won’t let me snap pic beside guava tree wearing ‘Roy Buns”and use as avatar)…

Twitter is just…. Infact! So much freaking drama day in and day out! If it’s not an argument between Snapturians and ubersocialites or an argument about if buns is better than puff puff or a twitfight about who knacked who for white BlackBerry torch, it’s a scandal about who blogged about who or a series of insults directed at Ms Barbie or Mr oracle etc. sometimes I just stay in the shadows and just read my TL! I must admit,Nigerians are hilarious! WOW! Things you see on twitter can keep you laughing for days! Sometimes I’ll remember a tweet and start laughing in public and people’ll think I’m mad…. Rumours spread faster than herpes on Allen avenue…On twitter,people can make mount Kilimanjaro out of a grain of sand! If you doubt it, just tweet “please who is Kanyin West of Good music?Are she that girl who won idol West Africa?”…I swear,you’ll delete your account in the next two hours! You might even need a face transplant to be able to walk the streets of Lagos!*checks download* 50% *sighs*

Some people tend to forget that twitter isn’t real life.Some take twitter way too seriously. Calm the hell down. The moment you realize that you’re like that or you’re becoming like that, please stay away from twitter for some time!

Twitter is fun. Everyday there’s something to laugh about,to talk for hours about. Twitter can keep you entertained in the most boring class. Twitter keeps you informed,up to date. It’s the place where you can rant about irrelevant crap and find people that’ll listen and join in. Basically it’s where you can say what you want to say seeing as Facebook is full of family members and stalkers.

Sometimes I wonder if I would ever deactivate my twitter account and why. I wonder if twitter will become like Facebook and what new thing people would move on to if it did.

Well, for now,I’m gonna ‘tweet in the moment’….(Ahn ahn! Check out that ending mehn!!!!*runs off to check mentions*)

DISCLAIMER: Biko I wasn’t referring to anyone in this post oh! If you think I was, that one is inside your pocket.And if you’re taking this post P,na u sabi oh!…Thanks for reading :*

p.s if there are any mistakes or gbagauns,help me manage because I’m too tired and hungry to edit this post…Thanks



“Lord God,Lord God,Lord God this is not happening again!!!”
I’ve stared at the computer screen so long that my brain seems to be hurting.
Still, clear as crystal, that number remains on the screen.
150…150?! How the hell did this happen?!
Let me be sure this is my result! I rub my eyes and look again. Same number! D’uh!! Like rubbing eyes ever works!
I log out and log in again…

Candidate Name: Salami, Adetoun Mary
Gender: Female
State Of Origin: Ondo
Local Govt: Owo
Registration Number: 1563485655
Examination Number: 9635444482
Examination Centre: Yaba College of Technology Secondary School G.R.A. Yabatech Quaters,Yaba.

Use of English:33; Government= 27; Lit in Eng= 30; Christian Rel. = 60; Aggregate= 150

It’s still the same!!! It’s really my result!!!
What in God’s name am I going to do now?! How will I even tell my parents?!
This is the 6th year in a row that I’ve written JAMB! 6th!!!
The first time, I got 220. My mum said I had to do it again the next year because we are known for great results in my family. She said my sister had 303 and my brother had 290 and that they didn’t have two heads. My dad said I didn’t have to do it again if I didn’t want to because the result was good enough to enter Unilag,my first choice. But I like a challenge! And I hate it when my mum compares me to my siblings so I waited and did it again the next year only to score 200. And then I did it again the next year and the next and on and on… The results just got worse year after year! 220 then 200 then 190 then 185 then 170 and now 150?!?!

The computer beeps indicating that I have five minutes of internet time left. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a crisis?!” I hiss at the computer before I remember that I’m in public. Everyone is looking at me like I have a leprechaun dancing on my head. I hurriedly log out and practically run out of the cyber cafe.

Just perfect!!! Just perfect!!! After I paid that foolish lesson teacher a whole 20k to get me dubs,I still got 150?!

Who have I offended now?! Am I possessed or something?! God but why?! I promised to join the choir if I had a good score; that deal is definitely off now!
Chai! What will I do now?!
My mum told me that this year will be the last time she’ll register me for JAMB. Even LASU or Lagos State Polytechnic won’t accept me now! I know exactly what my mother will say; it’s the same thing she has said every year, “Toun,JAMB has jammed you!”

Hot tears are threatening to roll down my cheeks when suddenly,a chalkboard in front of a small store catches my eye. It reads:
“Sale girl with secondry school certificate wanting. Good salary”

I take a good look at the store. “NO KING LIKE GOD INTERNATIONAL SPARE PART SHOP. 3 OLOWU STREET IKEJA. We deals in original imported parts for Mercedes,Honda,Toyota e.t.c”

I walk in.
Fate has decided. Maybe this is my destiny.

***** P.S I did NOT write JAMB oh! Abeg! No be true life story be dis! And if by any chance this actually applies to you,do take heart; Aal iz well! *****

Painful Love


***First time I’ve missed church in a while! Well, this is how I spent the time… Enjoy!***

When you’re around,peace eludes me.
Like a crouching lion waiting to pounce on its prey, you await my mistakes,my faults
And when none I have,as though frustrated, you create atrocities to blame me for out of thin air.
Is this hatred? I know not
Is this envy,fear maybe? I can’t tell
All I know is that you choose every opportunity available to make my life unbearable
You find some sort of sick pleasure in watching me lament and struggle and suffer and cry.
You were the one I loved, I still love you… I think
But you love me not,
The only reason you still keep me is because you want to display me as your trophy, your glorious possession
You drain me of life, of joy
I want to go but I can’t
You have a hold on me,an inexplicable hold
I want to live without you but I can’t live without you.
You are my life,yet, you are the death of me
You’re my angel,yet, my demon.
You might kill me eventually but I will stay with you
In your arms I will die,in the arms of my love.

Baby blues


“Why are you crying,ehn?! Queen of the coast just tell me why you are crying. When you were flying in the night you didn’t cry;now that you have been caught you have emotions abi?!Put your head in one place my friend!”
Nonso is sitting there in the corner watching his mother shave off my hair; there’s no pity in his eyes. Infact his eyes seem to be mocking me.
  “This is the ‘worse’ our vows were referring to Nonso;DO SOMETHING!” I say with my eyes but his eyes and mouth remain still.
My mouth is too weak to scream,my body to weak to struggle. For a week,they have not fed me. For a week,they’ve not let me shower. For a week,they’ve kept me locked up in this hell hole. And nobody knows. My friend came to visit yesterday but my mother-in-law turned her away at the door saying that I had gone to London with the baby. I tried to scream so she would hear me and save me but my voice couldn’t get past my stomach.

When will this torture end?! I’ve begged these people to hand me over to the police but they refused. I begged them to just kill me but they refused.

  Everyone says a mother’s love begins from the moment she discovers she’s pregnant. Mine did. I loved Junior while he was yet unborn. I don’t know what happened when I finally had him. Looking at him made me angry; each time I heard him cry, I felt like an angry charging bull. I just couldn’t look at him,couldn’t touch him, couldn’t hold him, couldn’t feed him. I hated Junior and I didn’t know why. How can a mother hate her innocent baby?! Impossible as it might seem, I hated my baby. I couldn’t explain this longing I had to harm him. For the first week,my mum held him,fed him and cared for him because she felt my withdrawal was because I was still recuperating and getting used to motherhood. But when she left,my mother-in-law came and she forced Junior on me. She wouldn’t hear of her only grandchild being bottle-fed.
On this fateful Saturday morning when she pushed the two week old squirming and screaming Junior into my arms, I lost control and walked straight to the balcony as if in a trance and dropped him from 3 storeys before it could even register in my head.

And so since then,my mother-in-law has made me a prisoner in my own house, beating me,starving me and punishing me daily. And my husband is doing nothing about it.  

Yes,I killed Junior. I really can’t explain why. I am not a witch. I am not a psycho murderer. Yes,I wanted to kill my baby but I didn’t want to kill my baby. Oh God,I’m confused! What did Junior ever do to me?! Why did I do it?!What happened to me?! How this this happen?!

Another issue from my sociology class! This one might be a tad bit difficult to decipher because it’s not a popular problem. The problem I sought to highlight in this story is post-partum depression(clap for yourself if you already guessed)…Post partum depression is a form of clinical depression that happens to some women who have just had a baby and even some men whose wives have just had a baby. Some of the symptoms are sadness,fatigue,irritability,withdrawal from the baby,a longing to harm the baby e.t.c. If a new mother kills her child and is taken to court, she won’t be punished if it is proven that she’s suffering from post partum depression! So it is wise to be informed about it so as to prevent any problems. It’s a real illness we really should learn more about because we never know when we might be able to identify someone suffering from it so the person can get help early.For more info, please Google it. Peace!x

Only normal


I’m lying in the corner,curled up in a naked ball.
My body hurts but I’m used to it.
He’s lying in bed,a dark heap; his sturdy chest rising and falling gently with each snore. He always sleeps whenever he surprises me with sex or corrects me. Tonight,he had done both. He looks so peaceful, so beautiful. Who wouldn’t love someone like him? He has always known what was best for me. If not for his regular corrections and disciplining, I would probably have put myself in trouble. He keeps me in check. He surprises me with sex. Surprise sex, that’s what he calls it. When i’m tired,not in the mood or when I blatantly refuse, he surprises me with it.
      My friends don’t understand. All they do is criticise. I know they’re jealous, they just want what we have. The other day, they said they were having a party only for me to get there and find myself in some sort of intervention. They sat me down and blabbed about how Segun was abusing me and I was too blind to see it. They said he was raping me and hitting me and that I had to leave him before he killed me. They wouldn’t listen when told them that Segun wanted the best for me and that he corrects me because he loves me or that he only surprises me with sex because it is his right as my husband to take it whenever he wants. What do they know? Chineye had the right to talk too. She went and changed her children’s school without her husband’s permission and he didn’t even correct her. Titi has her own personal bank account and her husband has never deemed it fit to correct her. Thank God for Segun. The way he disciplines me keeps me from going astray. Spare the rod and spoil the child; you only discipline and correct those you love. Why should I take advice from wayward friends whose husbands don’t love them enough to keep them on the right path?
    So what if I end up in the ER every few weeks? At least every broken bone and black eye has taught me right from wrong. And so what if I had a miscarriage as a result of one of those corrections? At least he saved that child the horror of having a terrible person like me as a mother. So what if he surprises me with sex? A virtuous woman submits to her husband and puts his wants before her’s. It’s only normal. After all,he takes good care of me. And he proves to me that he’s sorry whenever he goes too far with his discipline by buying me nice things. Just last week,he got me the Christian Louboutin shoes I wanted and brought them when he came to see me in the hospital. I don’t even think I deserved those shoes; after all,I was wrong and I deserved the beating.
      I love Segun and that’s all that matters.
      I better go and prepare dinner before he wakes up. I have to keep my loving husband happy.

So dear readers, I took this sociology course this semester titled ‘sociology of deviant behaviour’ and I really enjoyed it. I learnt about a number of social issues and I decided to highlight a few that really got to me here on my blog… As you must have realised, the problem highlighted here is domestic violence. What I learnt and decided to point out about domestic violence is the fact that the victim hardly sees it as bad. Most times,they don’t think it’s wrong. Onlookers can see that it’s a problem but the victim can’t. Before you criticise abuse victims, you should know that before an abused person can leave,the person has to first realise and label the relationship as abusive. Someone actually tweeted that rape is just surprise sex; I just shook my head in disgust. In my next post, I’ll talk about another issue so watch out… Till then,peace and love.x

Love scenes



As I stand here, I start to remember my fantasies. They start to dance before my eyes the way they had always done: Slides and fragments of beautiful pictures, beautiful scenes; not memories but haunting hopes, taunting dreams, painful fantasies.
I have always been an ardent lover of romance. When I was little, I stumbled across my parents’ wedding photos. I stared at them for hours. So much love in their eyes; I wanted that. I kept that album under my bed and every night I would pull it out and stare at the pictures until sleep took me to a land of blissful love. As I grew, I became an avid reader. I only read romance; if it wasn’t romance, I wouldn’t read it. Ever since I could remember, I’d read like 5 romance novels a week. I didn’t just read them, i shaped my goals, my hopes around them. I made pretty pictures, beautiful love scenes in my head. I was in love with love. I knew that one day, no matter how cliché it was, I would meet my prince charming, my own talk, dark and handsome hunk who would sweep me off my feet and leave butterflies in belly.
And so I waited patiently for my one true love. I rejected all substandard men who dared make advances at me. I was not going to settle for anything less than perfect. I watched all my friends get married but I remained unperturbed because I knew that when my time came, they would regret ever laughing when I told them prince charming was coming. My mother made things so much worse. She made it a point of duty to call me several times a week feigning tears and screaming “Ngozi!! Ngozika!!! I did not let my mother go to our ancestors without seeing her grandchild. Why do you now want me to die without letting my hands carry my own grandbabies?!?! Your father’s relatives did not let me rest because I only had one child and it was a girl. Now that you have refused to marry and have kids, what will they say?! “. I did not let her constant pestering get to me. After all, it was her and dad’s love that inspired me to seek my own happily-ever-after romance.
Just when my hope in a fairytale ending started to dwindle a bit, I met him. He was a tall drink of water, dark and richly chocolaty, so handsome that Idris Elba or Borris kodjoe or whoever else could not even nearly compare. He was my Adonis. Nonso was and still is the most beautiful creature to walk the face of the earth. Within a month, we were engaged and in three months, we were married. Surprisingly, my mum was not in support; she said something about Nonso irked her. I didn’t mind her because I knew that once the babies started to roll in, she’d be too elated to dislike Nonso. My wedding was exactly how I had always dreamt it would be, it was perfect. I marked it off my mental checklist of fantasies as I had marked off ‘finding the perfect man’ and ‘falling hopelessly in love’. Finally, I was going to have my own beautiful love story; all the many love scenes I had hoped for were finally going to become a real life play.
And now, i’m standing here looking down at a lifeless body lying in a pool of blood. Dead hopes, dead dreams, dead fantasies. Nonso is sitting in a corner with a cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other dialling ‘911’.
‘hello’ he says in a distressed voice
‘my wife just slipped in the bathroom. I need help!’ he says in tears
After the call ends. He chuckles; the same devilish chuckle i’ve heard a million times. He has that look in his eyes. The same look he had each time he beat me, the same look he had when he hit my head against the wall for the millionth time until my body could take it no more and I finally fell to the floor for the millionth time, the final time.
I’m staring down at my own body. Nonso is now weeping because the police has arrived. They are taking my body away. All my attempts to explain to the police, to hit Nonso are in vain. No one can see me, no one can hear me. I’m just a trapped soul in a loveless world.

**this story might seem somewhat cliché but seriously, don’t let your love for romance land you in trouble. Be realistic, be wise, SHINE YOUR EYES ‘cos not all that glitters is gold…Thank you for reading!**

The prude


She was chastity personified, the ultimate prude.
She didn’t talk to boys, she didn’t talk about boys, she didn’t have male friends, infact, she never even looked at any male human for more than a few seconds. Whenever a boy touched her by mistake, she literally squirmed.
One time in the 7th grade, the science teacher made John her lab partner against her will and she didn’t show up for any science class until they changed her lab partner to a girl. You could just say she hated boys. Yes, it was that bad. Some thought she was a lesbian but had no proof.
It didn’t help that her name was Mary. Everybody called her ‘immaculate Mary’ or worse still, ‘virgin Mary’.
Her friends thought she would get over it eventually so they tried to hook her up many times but up until senior year, she remained unchanged so they just gave up.
She started behaving that way when she was about 10 years old and her mother ignored it thinking she would outgrow it but now she was 18, it was a source of major concern. Her mother was seriously worried but her father didn’t seem to care. Anytime her mum said anything about it, her dad would just shrug. Her mum had actually forced her to see a therapist but after two months, even a man with a masters degree in psychology gave up.
Mary never explained herself or gave excuses for her behaviour.
One day it all ended. Her mum came home from work one afternoon to find a note on the kitchen table.
“Mum please come to my room. Mary” it read.
Confused,her mother made her way upstairs to Mary’s room.
As she opened the door, she froze for a minute or so. She turned around,went back downstairs to the kitchen, took a knife from the cupboard and stabbed herself. For upstairs in Mary’s room, Mary’s dad lay dead on the floor in a pool of his own blood with a gun beside him. Mary was hanging from the ceiling fan with a rope around her neck.
On the white wall was a message written in blood.
“Dad has raped me everyday since I turned 10. I’m sorry mum.I love you”