Oscartv77

Oscartv77 Oscar Tv 77....is created by Adaobi Promise Enekwa
(1)

28/05/2026

Facebook, please note: I do not own the rights to this music.

Happiness is Free

08/02/2026

When the Water Spoke Back .....2

I returned to the river the next morning, not because I needed water, but because something in me had been called.
The path felt shorter than usual, as if my feet already knew the way.

The air was cool, yet my skin was warm. When I reached the riverbank, the water was moving slowly too slowly like it was waiting.

I stood there for a long time.
Then I whispered, not sure why,
“I am here.”
The river responded.
Not with waves. Not with sound.
With stillness.

The surface flattened until it looked like polished glass. My reflection disappeared. In its place was depth endless, ancient depth that made my chest tighten. I felt small, but not weak. Exposed, but not unsafe.

That was when the voice came—not from above, not from below, but through me.
“You have known hunger,” it said, “yet you have never fed it bitterness.”
My knees sank into the sand.

The water began to rise, folding upward like silk lifted by invisible hands. She emerged slowly, deliberately, as if giving my heart time to understand what my eyes already knew.

She was beauty without vanity. Power without anger.
Her hair flowed like the river itself, her skin shimmered softly, and her eyes, those eyes held centuries of watching, waiting, and judging hearts.

I could not look away.
“I have seen many come here with demands,” she said. “They ask loudly and leave empty. You come quietly and return full, even when your hands are bare.”
Tears slid down my face before I realized I was crying.

She stepped closer, and the water did not wet my feet. Instead, it warmed the ground beneath me.

“You and your husband have given the river respect,” she continued. “So the river remembers you.”
She reached into the water and brought out a small clay pot, simple and unadorned. When she placed it in my hands, it felt heavier than its size as if it carried meaning instead of weight.

“This is not wealth,” she said gently. “It is balance.”
Her gaze sharpened, just slightly.
“Guard your gratitude. The moment it turns to pride, the river will turn away.”
Then she smiled, soft, knowing and stepped back.
The water closed around her. The river returned to its gentle movement. The birds sang again, as though nothing had happened.

But I stood there shaking, holding the pot, knowing one thing with absolute certainty:
My life had been divided into two parts—
before the river spoke,
and after it remembered my name



08/02/2026

When the River Looked at Me.....

I never believed the stories about the river goddess.

Not until the river looked back at me.
My husband and I were poor, poor in the way that humbles you, not the kind that hardens your heart. Our hut stood at the edge of the village, close enough to the river that I could hear it breathe at night. Sometimes it sounded gentle. Sometimes it sounded old and tired.
That morning, hunger sat with us in silence.

My husband took his net and went to the river as he always did. I watched him disappear into the mist, praying quietly—not for riches, just for peace. When he returned at sunset with empty hands, he didn’t curse the river. He simply washed his feet and said,
“Tomorrow will speak.”
That night, sleep avoided me. The river’s sound was different—clearer, closer, like a voice calling without words.

At dawn, I went to fetch water.
The air was cool. Too calm. Even the birds were quiet. As I bent down, the surface of the river changed. It was no longer reflecting the sky—it was glowing, slowly, softly.

Then the water parted.
My body froze. My breath forgot me.
She rose from the river as if she had always been there—tall, radiant, wrapped in flowing water that did not drip. Her eyes held depth, not threat. Beauty, yes—but also age, wisdom, and power that did not need to shout.

I knew instantly.
This was no spirit of fear.
This was the river itself.
“You are kind,” she said, and her voice moved through me like cool water on tired skin.

I couldn’t speak. My knees found the ground on their own.
She told me she had watched us—our silence in hunger, our gratitude in lack, our refusal to blame the river for what it chose not to give. She said the river remembers such things.
Then she placed a small pot beside me. It felt warm, alive.

“This is not a gift,” she said. “It is a response.”
She warned me gently: what flows from gratitude dries up in pride.
And just like that, the river closed around her. The glow faded. The birds returned. The world continued—unchanged, yet completely altered.

When I returned home, the pot fed us.
Not once.
Not twice.
Always.
But the true miracle wasn’t the food.
It was this:
Every time I stood by the river after that day, I felt seen.
Not watched.
Seen.

And I understood something the stories never said out loud—
the river goddess does not appear to the desperate,
but to the gentle.


09/12/2025

Voices Of Our Society....Silent Killers

09/12/2025

Voices Of Our Society..... Silent Ki....let's
From the stable of OSCAR BRAVO PRODUCTIONS.

25/11/2025

Responsible Driving....

Every unsafe driver puts a family at risk. Let us promote responsible driving.

25/11/2025

Dr...ug ab...use is not a trend — it is a trap. Protect our youths.

25/11/2025

The greatest change begins when ordinary people refuse to ignore wrong things.
Your voice matters.

25/11/2025

Voices of Our Society reminds us that silence is dangerous. Speak up for what is right.

13/11/2025

💔 “Her Friends Ruined Our Marriage, So I Married the Girl Next Door.” .......Emeka

{Three} When Pride Meets Consequence

Months passed, but the wound in Uju’s
heart refused to heal.

Every day, she saw Ifeoma, gentle, graceful, content and it broke her piece by piece. The same neighbors who once admired her now whispered behind her back. The same friends who encouraged her to look down on me were nowhere to be found.

One evening, she came to my door. Her eyes were red, her voice soft nothing like the proud woman I once knew.
“Can we talk?” she asked.

Ifeoma was in the kitchen, so I stepped outside. For a moment, we both stood in silence, the air thick with regret.

“Emeka” she finally said, “I never thought you’d actually leave me. I thought you were bluffing. My friends… they made me believe I could do better, but I only pushed you away.”

I looked at her, remembering all the nights I’d prayed she’d say those words but now, they no longer moved me.
“I didn’t marry Ifeoma to hurt you,” I told her. “I married her because she gave me peace. Something you threw away while trying to impress your friends.”

She nodded, tears running freely. “I know,” she whispered. “And that’s what hurts the most.”

From that day, Uju changed. She stopped wearing fake smiles. She stopped following her friends around. Sometimes, I’d catch her helping Ifeoma with chores, quietly trying to make peace in the only way she knew how.

But no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t erase the past.
Because once love turns to lesson, it never feels the same again.
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