OG's Corner

28/09/2025

Chapter Seven: Love’s Crossing ❤️

The dawn was golden, the mist rising off the river like a veil. Both banks gathered, staring at the completed bridge. It stood proud, sturdy, almost defiant—proof of what unity could accomplish.

But no one moved. Fear clung to the crowd. What if crossing was seen as betrayal? What if the old hatred returned?

Amara stood at the center of the bridge, her heart hammering. “This path was built with your hands, your sweat, your forgiveness. But it will mean nothing unless someone dares to walk it.”

Silence. The river roared.

Then, slowly, an old man from the farmers’ side stepped forward. His back was bent, his beard white, his eyes wet with tears. He shuffled across the planks, each step heavy with memory.

At the midpoint, a carpenter elder stepped out to meet him. For a moment, time held its breath. Then the two men—once brothers in friendship, torn apart by pride—fell into each other’s arms and wept.

A cheer erupted. One by one, villagers crossed—farmers and carpenters, children and elders—embracing, laughing, crying. The river no longer divided them. It united them.

Amara closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. The bridge was more than wood and nails. It was love—love that had chosen kindness over bitterness, forgiveness over vengeance.

And in that moment, Eshara was reborn.

The End

27/09/2025

Chapter Six: Rising Together 🔥

The next morning, Amara returned to the river expecting to be alone. But to her shock, dozens of villagers stood waiting—carpenters and farmers alike. They carried wood, nails, rope.

“We’ve argued long enough,” said an old carpenter.
“A bridge is not built by one,” said a farmer. “It is built by many.”

Amara’s throat tightened. She picked up her hammer with trembling hands. And together, they worked.

The sound of hammers echoed across the valley. Sweat poured, muscles ached, but no one stopped. Farmers and carpenters who hadn’t spoken in years now laughed as they lifted beams together. Children carried nails in baskets. Women sang songs once shared at festivals.

Even the brothers who had destroyed the bridge returned silently with fresh planks of wood. They lowered their heads and worked without a word. Amara said nothing—but her heart swelled with quiet relief.

By sundown, the bridge stretched across the river, whole and strong. Only the final planks remained to be set.

As the villagers stood gazing at their work, a hush fell over them. The river still roared beneath, but now it felt less like a barrier, and more like a witness.

Tomorrow, someone would have to take the first step.
...to be continued........

27/09/2025

More unfolding, find out what?????

Chapter Four: Betrayal in the Dark 🌑

The bridge was finally beginning to take shape. With Daran’s strength and Amara’s determination, the skeleton of a path now stretched halfway across the river. Farmers and carpenters stopped to watch, some whispering, some shaking their heads, others daring to feel a flicker of hope.

But not all hearts welcomed the sight. In the shadows of the treeline, a group of men muttered. Their families had lost loved ones during the quarrels. They had fed on bitterness for years, and unity felt like betrayal.

“We will not allow this bridge to stand,” one spat. “Better to let the river divide us forever than to see them laugh together again.”

That night, under a moonless sky, they crept to the half-built bridge with axes and torches. By dawn, Amara arrived to find beams hacked apart, nails scattered, and the structure sagging dangerously into the water.

Her knees buckled. She sank to the ground, tears blurring her vision. Days of sweat and hope lay shattered before her.

Daran clenched his fists. “I’ll find who did this,” he growled. “They’ll pay.”

But Amara shook her head, her voice trembling. “If we answer hatred with hatred, the river will never be crossed.”

Still, despair clung to her like heavy chains. For the first time, she thought of quitting.

As she turned away, her eyes fell on something carved into one of the broken planks: a jagged symbol of division, a cruel reminder that not everyone wanted peace.

The river roared louder that morning, as if mocking her dream.

26/09/2025

Chapter Five: Forgiveness Tested 🌿

Word spread quickly. By midday, both banks knew the bridge had been sabotaged. Anger flared like wildfire. Farmers accused carpenters. Carpenters shouted back. Old wounds reopened.

The culprits were soon discovered—two brothers from the farmers’ side. When they were dragged forward, villagers on both banks shouted for punishment. “Banish them!” cried one voice. “Let them rot!” shouted another.

Daran stood by Amara’s side, his jaw tight. “They destroyed everything we worked for. How can they walk free?”

Amara looked at the brothers. Their eyes were defiant, but beneath the hardness she saw something else—fear, grief, and a pain that mirrored the whole town.

She stepped forward, her voice steady though her heart pounded. “If we cast them out, what will change? Another family wounded, another scar carved into Eshara. We don’t need more division. We need forgiveness.”

The crowd erupted in disbelief. “Forgiveness? After this?”

“Yes,” Amara insisted, her eyes sweeping over them. “Hatred built this divide. Only love can heal it. Forgive them—not because they deserve it, but because we deserve peace.”

The villagers fell silent. Some turned away, unwilling. But others lowered their heads, struck by her words.

The brothers were released. They walked away in shame, but in their eyes glimmered the faintest spark of regret.

That night, Amara sat by the broken bridge, whispering into the wind, “Love builds, hatred destroys.”

The words felt heavier now—but truer than ever.

To be continued.....

25/09/2025

Chapter Four: Betrayal in the Dark 🌑

The bridge was finally beginning to take shape. With Daran’s strength and Amara’s determination, the skeleton of a path now stretched halfway across the river. Farmers and carpenters stopped to watch, some whispering, some shaking their heads, others daring to feel a flicker of hope.

But not all hearts welcomed the sight. In the shadows of the treeline, a group of men muttered. Their families had lost loved ones during the quarrels. They had fed on bitterness for years, and unity felt like betrayal.

“We will not allow this bridge to stand,” one spat. “Better to let the river divide us forever than to see them laugh together again.”

That night, under a moonless sky, they crept to the half-built bridge with axes and torches. By dawn, Amara arrived to find beams hacked apart, nails scattered, and the structure sagging dangerously into the water.

Her knees buckled. She sank to the ground, tears blurring her vision. Days of sweat and hope lay shattered before her.

Daran clenched his fists. “I’ll find who did this,” he growled. “They’ll pay.”

But Amara shook her head, her voice trembling. “If we answer hatred with hatred, the river will never be crossed.”

Still, despair clung to her like heavy chains. For the first time, she thought of quitting.

As she turned away, her eyes fell on something carved into one of the broken planks: a jagged symbol of division, a cruel reminder that not everyone wanted peace.

The river roared louder that morning, as if mocking her dream.

24/09/2025

Chapter Three: The First Act of Kindness

On the third day, as Amara wrestled with a heavy beam, her strength gave out. The plank slipped from her grasp and nearly crushed her foot. She gasped, bracing for failure—when suddenly strong hands caught the wood.

She looked up. It was the silent stranger.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you keep lifting alone,” he said softly. His voice carried no mockery, only calm strength.

Amara blinked in surprise. “Why… why are you helping me?”

The man shrugged. “Because once, when I was a boy, you helped me. You gave me bread when my family had none. I never forgot.”

Recognition flickered in her eyes. “Daran,” she whispered. He was older now, but she remembered the hungry boy from years ago.

Together, they lifted the plank into place. Amara’s hands trembled—not from weakness, but from a strange new hope.

As the sun set, others passed by. They paused when they saw Daran working beside her. Some scoffed. But some remembered.

An old carpenter muttered, “She once mended my coat when it tore. For nothing in return.”

A farmer recalled, “She fetched water for my sick wife.”

One by one, memories of Amara’s small kindnesses spread like sparks in dry grass. And for the first time in years, a carpenter and a farmer worked side by side, their hammers striking in rhythm, echoing across the river.

Still, not all hearts were moved. In the shadows, eyes burned with resentment. Some were not ready to forgive, nor to see the bridge rise.

But for now, hope had taken its first breath.

23/09/2025

Chapter Two: A Lonely Start

By the second day, the novelty had worn off. The laughter had faded, replaced by indifference. Amara’s arms ached, her palms blistered, but she refused to stop.

At times, she doubted herself. The river was wide, the work endless. She was only one woman against years of bitterness. Every strike of her hammer felt like a whisper against a storm.

One evening, as dusk spread its purple cloak over the town, Amara dropped her hammer and sat on the half-formed planks, staring into the river’s restless waves. Her throat tightened. Maybe they’re right. Maybe this is foolish.

Then she heard footsteps. She turned quickly, half-expecting another jeer. Instead, she saw a figure standing at the tree line—a young man, tall, with broad shoulders. He didn’t speak. He only watched.

Amara felt her heart quicken. “Come to laugh as well?” she asked bitterly.

The man shook his head. His eyes were calm, unreadable. He lingered for a moment, then disappeared back into the shadows without a word.

That night, Amara lay awake, the image of the silent stranger etched into her mind. She wondered: Why did he come? Why didn’t he speak?

By morning, she had made her decision. Silent or not, helper or mocker, she would keep going. With trembling hands, she lifted her hammer again.

But little did she know, the stranger would return.

22/09/2025

Title: THE BRIDGE OF TWO RIVERS 🌉

Day 1 – Chapter One: A Town Divided.

The river that split the town of Eshara was wide and restless. Its waters, once crossed daily with laughter and trade, now roared like a barrier between enemies. On the western bank lived the carpenters, proud builders whose wooden crafts shaped the town. On the eastern side lived the farmers, whose hands fed every family. For generations, they had lived as one community, sharing food, work, and festivals.

But then came a quarrel. It began with a simple trade—one man accusing another of cheating. Pride flared, tongues sharpened, and what should have been resolved in a single day grew like a w**d in the heart of Eshara. Bridges were left unrepaired, boats were pulled away, and slowly the two banks became strangers glaring across the waters.

Children who once ran together now stopped at the edge of the river. Markets shrank. Even weddings ceased between the banks. The river that had bound them became a wound that no one dared to heal.

Amara stood at the edge of the broken bridge, her heart heavy. She was the daughter of a carpenter and a farmer—her mother from the east, her father from the west. She had known both banks, both families, both joys. But now, her heart ached at the silence.

She touched the rotting beams of the bridge, still jutting from the river like broken teeth. Once, her father had carried her across this very path on his shoulders. Once, her mother had sung to her as they crossed with baskets of fruit. Now the beams groaned and swayed with the current, a reminder of what had been lost.

“Why must we live like this?” she whispered.

Behind her, neighbors muttered. “Don’t waste your tears, Amara. They chose their side. Let them rot there.”

That night, as she lay awake, her grandmother’s words stirred in her memory: Love builds, hatred destroys. Where one is present, the other cannot stand.

She sat up suddenly, eyes burning with resolve. If no one else would mend what was broken, then she would. She would rebuild the bridge—not for trade, not for pride, but for love.

The next morning, as the sun rose over the misty waters, Amara walked to the riverbank with a hammer in her hand. Alone, with the roar of the current beneath her, she placed the first plank of wood.

From across the river, farmers paused in their work. Carpenters shook their heads. Laughter rose from both sides.
“Foolish girl,” someone scoffed.
“She’ll never finish,” another jeered.

But Amara’s hands did not stop. Each strike of her hammer echoed like a heartbeat. With every nail, she whispered: Love builds, hatred destroys.

And though she worked alone, though the world doubted, a spark had been lit.

The story of Eshara was about to change.
....To be continued........

21/09/2025

Story Telling unfolding, I bet you haven't seen anything like this before.

I've got you Covered.

Let your imaginative ability come alive while learning from our unique stories.

Our first Series will be posted tomorrow.

06/10/2024

Nice one

31/08/2024

Come and learn o

Save lives around you.

Hey fam we promised you and it's here!
So, on Monday 2nd September we go live on the topic "Slump and Die" to increase awareness among the general population in Nigeria, and train people on CPR (Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation) and equip them with the skills and Knowledge needed to respond effectively in emergency situations where someone's heart has stopped beating or they are not breathing.

On the 1st session of this very important discussion, we have a Nigerian, Professor Margaret Ikpoh, a GP partner and GP trainer in the UK for practice of 36,000 patients.
She is the current Royal College of General Practitioners Vice Chair for Professional Development and Standards.

Also another Nigerian, Dr. Chinenye Ekpeh, a GP partner and educator in the UK. He is a Training Programme Director in the North Lincolnshire GP Training Scheme.

This is the first of several sessions to come on this platform, on this topic. Keep a date with us!📌

26/08/2024

Blessing Or Deception???