ChaPrin family

24/08/2025

Celebrating my 1st year on Facebook. Thank you for your continuing support. I could never have made it without you. 🙏🤗🎉

14/08/2025

Kiss kissing

12/08/2025

Black and white

08/08/2025

Sharky cutts

07/08/2025

Feed spraying

06/08/2025

Did you see the bird?

05/08/2025

Scatter scatter

05/08/2025

Great

The Orphan Who Became King

Long ago, in the lush green hills of Ifekiti, a town nestled in the heart of Southwestern Nigeria, lived a boy named Adewale. He was born under mysterious circumstances, left as a baby at the shrine of Orunmila, the deity of wisdom. The village priest found him wrapped in white cloth with a cowrie necklace around his neck—a symbol of royalty.

The priest took Adewale in and raised him as his own. Growing up, Adewale was kind, curious, and wise beyond his years. Though poor, he served the villagers, helped elders, and spent evenings learning folktales, proverbs, and ancient traditions. People called him “Omo ti Orunmila fi ranṣẹ́” — the child sent by Orunmila.

Despite facing ridicule for being an orphan, Adewale never lost hope. He worked hard on the priest’s farm and helped teach other children the ways of the ancestors. His humility and intelligence earned him the respect of even the toughest elders.

One year, a terrible drought struck Ifekiti. The rivers dried up, and the town's crops began to die. The king at the time, an aging monarch with no heir, summoned the Oracle to find who could save the town.

To everyone’s surprise, the Oracle declared:

"The one who carries the wisdom of Orunmila, born without title but destined for the crown, shall restore the land.”
All eyes turned to Adewale.

Some protested, “He’s just an orphan!” But many remembered his kindness and wisdom. The king, weak and nearing death, invited Adewale to the palace. There, Adewale advised the people to build irrigation trenches from a hidden spring near the hills. Within weeks, water flowed again, crops revived, and joy returned to Ifekiti.

Moved by the miracle, and without a son of his own, the king named Adewale as his successor. The entire town rejoiced, and a grand coronation was held.

Adewale, once the orphan mocked by many, became Oba Adewale I — the beloved king of Ifekiti. He ruled with fairness, introduced free education for all children, and made sure no child grew up forgotten like he once was.

Under his reign, Ifekiti became a center of wisdom and peace, and his story was passed from generation to generation as a reminder that destiny does not bow to birth, but to purpose and character.

02/08/2025

Interesting story

The Unbroken Spirit of Arun Dev

In the vibrant town of Varanasi, where the holy Ganges flows like a timeless hymn, lived a man named Arun Dev. Born into a modest Brahmin family, Arun was known for his deep curiosity and kind heart. He was a schoolteacher, a lover of poetry, and a father to two children. Life was simple, beautiful — until everything changed at age 38.

Arun was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, an aggressive and usually fatal condition. Doctors gave him six months — a year if he was lucky. He sat silently at the hospital courtyard after hearing the news, watching a leaf drift to the ground. “So this is it?” he thought. “Is this how the story ends?” But Arun was not the kind to surrender easily.

He opted for treatment — surgery, radiation, and relentless chemotherapy. His body withered, but his mind sharpened. Between hospital visits, he meditated on the Gita, finding strength in Lord Krishna’s words: "You have the right to perform your duties, but not the fruits thereof.”

Instead of waiting to die, he began to live intentionally.
He returned to teaching part-time, inspiring students with science and shlokas. He started writing a journal — “Letters to Life” — chronicling his pain, his gratitude, and the strange joys that came with facing death.

Year after year passed. The cancer did not vanish, but it also did not win. The disease would retreat, return, change form, and shrink again. Arun became a mystery to doctors. They began calling him “the miracle man of Varanasi.”

His secret?

A blend of modern medicine, Ayurvedic discipline, deep faith, and relentless optimism. He followed a strict sattvic diet, practiced yoga at dawn, recited Sanskrit verses, and remained surrounded by music and family.

His wife, Meera, became his fortress. His children grew into doctors — inspired by his resilience. And Arun, through his pain, became a symbol in his town. People would visit just to sit and listen to his words. He didn’t preach miracles — he preached acceptance, courage, and inner peace.

Twenty-three years later, at the age of 61, Arun stood on the banks of the Ganges. Bald, lean, with a body marked by battle — but his eyes gleamed like a boy seeing the world for the first time. That day, he released the final volume of “Letters to Life.”

A local news outlet asked, “How did you survive what so many don’t?”
He smiled gently and said,

> “I didn’t fight death. I befriended life.”

And with that, Arun Dev walked forward, not as a survivor — but as a master of every breath he still held.

01/08/2025

Unfortunately

The Great Pothole of Umuahia

In the heart of Eastern Nigeria, in a small town called Umuohia, lived a proud keke (tricycle) rider named Ikenna, also known as “Keke Commander.”

His keke had no side mirror, one missing wiper, and an exhaust that coughed louder than an old generator—but Ikenna drove it like it was a private jet.

Every morning, he would polish it, blast highlife music from his Bluetooth speaker, and zoom off into the wild streets shouting,
“Anywhere na destination! Jump in if you sabi survive pothole!”

The town was famous—not for beauty, not for business—but for The Great Pothole of Umuohia, a monstrous hole in the middle of the main road, big enough to swallow an okada, a goat, and a full sachet water seller at once.

Legend had it that someone once dropped their phone in that pothole and it rang in Port Harcourt.

One sunny morning, Ikenna picked up three passengers: Mama Ejima with her market basket, a serious-looking corper holding a file, and a pastor holding his Bible like a shield.

“Ikenna biko, avoid that big pothole today o,” Mama Ejima warned.

Ikenna scoffed, “Mama, you dey talk to Commander? I dodge potholes like Matrix!”

As he sped along, dodging smaller craters like a war veteran, the passengers relaxed—until they reached the dreaded spot.

GBAGAM!

The front tire dived deep into the Great Pothole like it was baptized. Passengers flew like popcorn. The pastor shouted, “Holy Ghost fire!” and accidentally sprinkled Mama Ejima with anointing oil.

The corper screamed, “I still get NYSC clearance to do ooo!”
Mama Ejima clung to her plantain and wailed, “My tomatoes don turn to stew inside nylon!”

The keke tilted awkwardly, one leg up like it was practicing ballet. Ikenna jumped out, hands on his head.

“Ha! This pothole na ritualist! It chop my shock absorber!”

Just then, a politician’s convoy zoomed by in shiny SUVs, splashing muddy water on everyone. One of them waved like a beauty queen. The pastor looked up and muttered,
“Father Lord, strike one of those tires for justice!”

As they pushed the keke out of the pothole, the corper sighed,
“Nigeria na cruise.”

Mama Ejima added, “Cruise wey dey leak.”

31/07/2025

Love loved

Love Beyond Borders

Chinedu was a young man from Anambra State, quiet but hardworking. He moved to Lagos with only a bag of clothes and a dream—to make a better life. He started out selling phone accessories in Computer Village, Ikeja. Life wasn’t easy, but he was determined.

Amina was a smart, graceful lady from Kano. She came to Lagos for her NYSC, posted to a private school in Surulere. One rainy evening, her phone charger got spoiled. She walked into Chinedu’s small kiosk to buy a new one. Their eyes met, and something clicked.

They started talking. Slowly, friendship grew into love. Despite their cultural differences and some family resistance, their love stood strong. With time, they got married in a small court ceremony, surrounded by a few friends.

Together, they built a small online business selling electronics. Amina handled the online marketing; Chinedu handled the supplies. Day by day, the orders increased. They moved from a one-room apartment to a two-bedroom flat, then to their own house.

After ten years, they owned three electronics shops, an online store, and even started mentoring young entrepreneurs. From a humble beginning in Lagos, their love, unity, and hard work turned into a story of great success.

And they lived, not just happily ever after—but as proof that love knows no tribe, only truth.

30/07/2025

Okonkwo

Okonkwo the Palm Tapper

In the quiet village of Umuike, nestled between green hills and whispering streams, lived a man called Okonkwo. He was a palm wine tapper — strong, humble, and unlettered. Okonkwo never went to school. As a boy, he lost his father and had to work the trees to feed his mother and two sisters. He couldn't read the Bible, but he believed deeply in God. Every morning before climbing the tall palm trees, he would kneel in the dust and pray, "Chineke, use me even though I am nothing."

People laughed at him. They called him "Okonkwo the illiterate prophet" because he always spoke of hope in a village known for poverty, division, and idol worship. Even the chief priests despised him, saying, “What can a man without book knowledge do for this land?”

But God had His eyes on Okonkwo.

One dry season, a terrible sickness swept through Umuike. Children coughed, old men died, and even the herbalists were helpless. The villagers ran to the shrines, but nothing worked. Then one night, Okonkwo had a dream. In it, a shining man told him, “Go to the stream at dawn. Take the white leaves that grow beside the rock. Boil it. Give it to your people.”

The next morning, Okonkwo obeyed. Many were afraid, but a few desperate mothers gave their children the boiled leaves. Within hours, their fevers broke. The news spread like wildfire. Soon, the whole village came to him — even the chief.

When they asked where he got the knowledge, Okonkwo simply said, “It is the God of heaven who sees even a poor palm tapper.”

From that day, Umuike changed.

People stopped mocking Okonkwo and started listening to his words. He didn’t build a church, but under the iroko tree, he preached love, hard work, peace, and prayer. Young men stopped stealing. Women formed cooperatives. Traders from other towns came because they heard of Umuike’s peace and healing.

Years later, missionaries came and helped build a school. The first classroom was named “Okonkwo Hall,” in honor of the man without formal education who helped teach the village the greatest lessons of all: faith, humility, and obedience.

And so, God used an uneducated man to transform a whole people — not with grammar, but with grace.