Stories Hub

06/05/2025

The Problem That Wasn’t Impossible

In a quiet classroom at Columbia University, a mathematics lecture had just concluded. Most students were gathering their books, stretching off the stiffness of an intense session. One student, however, had just awakened—he had dozed off during the lecture.

As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he noticed two complex problems written on the whiteboard. Assuming they were part of the homework, he jotted them down quickly in his notebook. There was no time to waste; he was already behind.

Later that day, he opened his notes and stared at the problems. They were unlike anything he had encountered before. Challenging, intricate, maddening even. Still, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work. Hours turned into days, and eventually, he found a solution to one of the problems. It took four papers and countless references, but he solved it.

When he returned to class the following week, he was surprised the professor hadn’t collected the homework. Puzzled, he raised his hand and asked, “Doctor, why didn’t you ask about the assignment from last lecture?”

The professor paused. “Assignment? That wasn’t homework. I was just showing the class two examples of famous unsolved problems—ones no one in the world had managed to crack yet.”

There was a long silence.

“But… I solved one of them,” the student replied. “I wrote four papers on it.”

That student was George Dantzig. His solution was eventually published and credited to him. Today, those four papers are proudly displayed at Columbia University as a testament to what happens when someone dares to believe—when someone doesn’t know what’s “impossible.”

George hadn’t heard the words that defeat most dreams: “It can’t be done.” So, he tried. And he succeeded.

Let this story remind you:
You are capable.
You are enough.
You can break barriers—not because you know you can—but because you’re bold enough to try.

Trust God. Keep going. The limits others see may never apply to you.

05/05/2025

Title: The Calm in the Storm

In the heart of Lagos, where the horns never stop honking and the city pulses with a life of its own, lived a woman named Elira—a quiet, introspective philosopher whose words could still the noise of even the busiest street. She was a thinker, a seeker of peace in a world full of conflict, and though many traveled from across the city to hear her speak, it was in her own home that she faced her greatest challenge.

Her husband, Theo, was a man of fire and thunder. Passionate, hot-tempered, and full of opinions, he stormed through life like a man constantly at war—with the world, with himself, and often with his wife. Where Elira chose stillness, Theo chose sound. Where she preferred to listen, he demanded to be heard.

“You sit there all day thinking!” Theo would bark, pacing their sitting room in Surulere. “You talk of silence and reflection, but who’s going to face reality? Who’s going to deal with the landlord, the generator, the madness of this country?”

Elira would only smile gently, brushing her fingers over her worn-out copy of Plato’s Dialogues, and reply, “The louder the world gets, the more I must listen to the quiet within.”

Her calmness enraged Theo. He couldn’t understand it—how a woman could be so unmoved, so undisturbed, even in the chaos of Lagos. Each morning, he’d slam the front door behind him, vowing not to return until late. And each evening, he’d come home, his chest full of stories and complaints, only to find her sitting peacefully in the same spot.

One humid evening, Theo burst into the house shouting. A neighbor had insulted him, PHCN had cut the power again, and the bus conductor had short-changed him. His fury reached a boiling point.

“You think your peace is strength? It’s weakness, Elira!” he screamed. “This world will chew you up if you don’t fight back!”

When she didn’t respond, Theo grabbed the plastic jug of water from the table and poured it on her head.

Their guests—Elira’s students from the university—watched in stunned silence.

Water trickled down Elira’s face and shoulders, soaking her simple gown. She blinked slowly, wiped her face with a napkin, then looked up at Theo with a soft expression.

She smiled faintly and said, “I suppose we should have expected rain after so much thunder.”

The students, at first speechless, broke into laughter—not mockery, but admiration. Theo stood frozen. Something in her gaze—so calm, so free—left him feeling as though the storm inside him had suddenly run out of wind.

In the weeks that followed, something shifted. Theo still raised his voice from time to time, but it rang less often with rage. He began to notice the small things—the way Elira’s presence brought warmth to a room, the quiet strength in her patience, the wisdom in her restraint.

He never fully became a quiet man, but he became a listening one.

And in that corner of Lagos, known for its noise and chaos, people began to speak of a philosopher named Elira—the woman who taught not with lectures, but with stillness; not with power, but with peace. And of the man who once roared like thunder, until he learned that even a storm can sit quietly beside the calm.

05/05/2025

"Nessie and the Secret of Loch Ness"

Long ago, deep in the misty waters of Loch Ness, lived a shy creature named Nessie. She wasn't scary at all—just big, gentle, and curious. Nessie loved playing hide and seek with the fish, and blowing bubbles so big they popped like fireworks!

But Nessie had one rule: never let humans see her. She had heard stories about cameras and scientists, and she didn't want to end up in a zoo.

One sunny day, a little boy named Finley came to visit Loch Ness with his grandmother. While skipping stones, he saw a strange ripple in the water. Then—splash!—a big tail disappeared beneath the surface.

“Did you see that?” he asked his gran.

“Maybe it was Nessie,” she said with a wink. “Only the kindest hearts ever catch a glimpse of her.”

That night, Finley sat by the loch and whispered, “It’s okay, Nessie. I won’t tell anyone.”

To his surprise, a gentle face rose from the water. Nessie blinked at him, smiled, and disappeared back into the deep.

From that day on, Finley visited often. He never took pictures or shouted. He just sat and talked, and sometimes, if he was lucky, Nessie would blow him a bubble.

And so the secret of Loch Ness stayed safe—between one kind boy and one magical monster.

05/05/2025

“The Tooth of a Nation”
Katanga, January 1961

The air was dry, yet heavy with silence. Patrice Lumumba sat in the back of a military truck, his hands bound but his back straight. His shirt was torn, his face bruised, but his eyes — those fierce eyes — still burned with defiance.

The guards avoided his gaze. Even they could feel it: something holy sat chained before them, not just a man, but the voice of a continent.

As the truck rattled toward the compound, Lumumba remembered his speech — the one that stunned the Belgians. "We are no longer your monkeys. We are Congolese. Free." He had not meant to provoke. He had only meant to tell the truth.

Inside the villa, European officers whispered. Katangan politicians glanced at each other, waiting for a call from Brussels. Or Washington. They all wanted the same thing — silence. But Patrice Lumumba was too loud, even now.

That night, they dragged him into the bush, with two of his comrades. There were no words. Just flashlights, orders barked in French, and rifles raised.

He did not beg.

Instead, he spoke, softly, in Lingala:
"My blood will nourish the soil of Congo. You can kill my body, but you cannot kill the truth."

Gunshots shattered the night.

By dawn, they burned his body and dissolved what was left in acid. A Belgian officer pocketed a tooth, grinning as if history could be erased so easily.

60 Years Later – Brussels
A small box rested on a velvet cloth inside a courtroom. Inside, one weathered tooth — the only known remnant of a man once called dangerous, now called father of a nation.

A young Congolese girl stood watching the ceremony on television in Kinshasa. She didn’t understand all the words, but she asked her mother, “Mama, who was Lumumba?”

Her mother smiled through tears.
"He was a man who told the truth… and dared to dream for us all."

05/05/2025

The Last Wishes of Oba Adeyemi

In the heart of a mighty kingdom nestled between rivers and rolling hills, ruled a man whose name commanded fear and respect across the lands — Oba Adeyemi, the Lion of the Savannah.

He had built cities with his word, defeated nations with his strategy, and filled his palaces with treasures from traders far and wide. But now, lying on a mat woven in gold thread, surrounded by the scent of incense and the rhythmic chanting of priests, Oba Adeyemi faced the one visitor he could not command — death.

His breath slowed. His voice, once as firm as a war drum, had become a whisper. But his mind was clear, and his eyes, though heavy, still held the fire of purpose.

He summoned his most trusted general, Ogundele, a man who had marched beside him through battles and treaties, celebrations and storms.

“Ogundele,” the Oba said, “I am leaving soon. But before I cross to the realm of the ancestors, I have three final wishes.”

Ogundele knelt and bowed his head. “Speak, my king.”

The Oba took a shallow breath. “When I die…”

🕊️ “Let the kingdom’s finest healers carry my coffin.”
“So that all may see — even the wisest and most skilled cannot prevent death.”

💰 “Scatter gold, cowries, and jewels along the road to my grave.”
“So that the people will remember — wealth is left behind. No riches follow us beyond the earth.”

✋ “And let my hands hang outside my coffin.”
“So that they know — I came into this world with empty hands… and I leave the same.”

Ogundele’s eyes filled with tears. “But my king… why must the people see these things?”

Oba Adeyemi smiled faintly. “Because they must learn what I have only just understood. Power is a shadow. Wealth is a fleeting breeze. Praise fades with time. In the end, what remains is not what we owned, but what we gave.”

His voice softened further.

“I have ruled well, yes. But I wish I had given more… listened more… forgiven more. May my last journey teach what my throne could not.”

And with those words, the great Oba closed his eyes — the mighty Lion of the Savannah returned to the ancestors.

The kingdom mourned, but they obeyed his final wishes.

As his body was carried, the people saw the finest healers walking in sorrow. They saw gold and gems scattered like sand, untouched. And they saw the king’s hands, lifeless and bare.

And they remembered.

They remembered the Oba who taught them one last lesson:

We come with nothing.
We leave with nothing.
What matters is what we give in between.

04/05/2025

Title: Room 107

It was past 9 p.m. when Chidi checked into the dimly lit Usman Hotel on the outskirts of Jos. The receptionist smiled too much and spoke too little. Something about the place felt off, but the rain outside gave him little choice.

As he entered Room 107, Chidi didn’t unpack. Instead, he locked the door and left his key in the lock from the inside. He dragged the old wooden chair and wedged it behind the door. Then he turned off the light and pulled out his phone. Slowly, he waved the camera lens around the room. A small blue flicker lit up near the air conditioner.

A hidden camera.

He unplugged it immediately, heart pounding. He called his friend Jude and, within earshot of the hallway, said loudly:
“Jude, I don reach Usman Hotel. If you no hear from me tomorrow, abeg raise alarm!”

Then, as the rain pattered harder, he pressed play on a pre-recorded conversation and let it run through his Bluetooth speaker. To anyone passing by, it sounded like Chidi wasn’t alone.

He checked under the bed and behind the curtains. Nothing. But when he opened the wardrobe, his breath caught. A folded jacket—fresh. Not dusty like the rest of the room. Someone had been here.

He didn’t sleep. He lay fully clothed, a penknife under his pillow, and a metal spoon tied to the doorknob with a shoelace—ready to jingle if the door moved.

By morning, he checked out, paying with his ATM card. The receptionist’s smile had faded. She didn’t say goodbye.

That night, he saw a breaking news headline online:
“Illegal surveillance ring uncovered at local hotel—Authorities warn guests to report suspicious activity.”

Chidi exhaled and whispered, “Not today, devil. Not today.”

01/06/2024

01/06/2024

May this month of June be filled with BETTER opportunities, wealth, prosperity and happiness for you and your family.

In this new month, may the hand of God Almighty gives you and your family members unending testimonies .

May heavenly blessings be bestowed upon you and your family members..Amen

In this new month. You and your family members will begin to enjoy the backing of God Almighty in your going out and your coming in.

IN JESUS' NAME

13/05/2024

I want to live in the jungle again

In the heart of a lush rainforest, where the air hums with the songs of colorful birds and the earth breathes with the rhythm of ancient trees, my story begins. I grew up amidst a tapestry of vibrant greens, where every step was a dance with nature.

From my earliest memories, I learned the secrets of the forest from my elders. They taught me to listen to the whispers of the leaves, to recognize the footprints of elusive creatures, and to respect the delicate balance of life that thrived around us.

As a child, my days were filled with exploration and wonder. I roamed through the tangled undergrowth, discovering hidden waterfalls and secret clearings where shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy above. I learned to climb trees like a monkey, my hands and feet finding purchase on branches worn smooth by countless rainstorms.

But life in the rainforest was not without its challenges. Storms would sweep through with ferocious intensity, rattling the trees and sending torrents of rain cascading down from the sky. Yet even in the midst of the tempest, there was a sense of awe and beauty, as if the forest itself were alive and breathing.

As I grew older, I began to understand the delicate interconnectedness of all living things. I witnessed the intricate dance of pollination as butterflies flitted from flower to flower, and marveled at the symbiotic relationships between plants and animals that sustained the ecosystem.

But perhaps the greatest lesson the rainforest taught me was resilience. Despite facing constant threats from deforestation and climate change, the forest endured, its roots sinking deep into the earth like anchors in a stormy sea.

Now, as I look back on my childhood spent amidst the emerald embrace of the rainforest, I am filled with gratitude for the lessons it imparted. It was a place of beauty and wonder, a sanctuary of life in a world too often consumed by chaos. And though I may have left its verdant embrace behind, the spirit of the rainforest will always dwell within me, a reminder of the strength and resilience that lies within us all.

03/05/2024

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D36D8SBH

Reading & Writing Skill Made Easy: 5-6 years

22/08/2022

Expression of Interest Form