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25/09/2025

The making of skit

25/09/2025

Karmer showed up real early

25/09/2025

Salome needs our help, please watch the video, further details to her will be in the comments section Okwuluora Igbo billionaires

24/09/2025

I thought she was a statue

He was at UN headquarters in New York
24/09/2025

He was at UN headquarters in New York

Shadows of My ChildhoodChapter Two – First Lessons in PainMy earliest lessons didn’t come from books or classrooms; they...
24/09/2025

Shadows of My Childhood

Chapter Two – First Lessons in Pain

My earliest lessons didn’t come from books or classrooms; they came from the sting of a hand, the weight of harsh words, and the silence that followed after. Pain, I learned, was not always loud. Sometimes it crept in quietly, in the way you’re ignored when you need comfort most, or in the way your tears are treated like an inconvenience instead of a wound.

I remember one evening, the sky swollen with the promise of rain. I had been playing outside with the neighborhood children, laughing in the dirt, my feet bare and my hands messy. For a moment, I almost felt like I belonged to the world outside, not the one inside the house.

But when I returned home, my laughter became a crime.
“Look at you,” came the sharp voice. “Filthy! Is this how a child is supposed to behave?”

Before I could explain, before I could even wipe my muddy hands on the back of my shorts, the slap landed. My cheeks burned, not just from the force of it, but from the shame. I wanted to disappear into the floor. The other children still had their laughter. I had my tears.

That night, I lay in bed, my face still hot, my chest heavy with a question too big for my small body: Why was I never enough?

At school, I would see mothers waiting for their children with food, smiles, or even just a gentle pat on the back. I watched them like a starving child watches bread in a glass case. My heart ached for something I didn’t even know how to name: tenderness.

Instead, I became familiar with fear. I tiptoed through the house, careful not to drop plates or speak too loudly. Every corner felt like a trap waiting for me to fail. Childhood should have been filled with discovery, but mine was filled with rehearsals—learning how to avoid punishment, how to hold my breath, how to swallow my words.

The first lessons I learned were not alphabets or numbers. They were these:
• Do not laugh too loud.
• Do not cry where anyone can see.
• Do not hope too much.

And yet, even in those early days, a small part of me refused to die. Somewhere beneath the bruises on my spirit, I still carried a spark. A fragile spark that whispered, One day, it won’t always be like this.

But that day was still far away. For now, I was only a child, and the shadows of my childhood had only begun their work.

Shadows of My ChildhoodChapter One – A House That Never Felt Like HomeThe world says home is where love lives, but mine ...
20/09/2025

Shadows of My Childhood

Chapter One – A House That Never Felt Like Home

The world says home is where love lives, but mine was nothing like that. My first memories are not of laughter echoing through rooms or gentle arms wrapping around me. They are of shadows—thick, heavy, and unwelcoming. Even as a child, I could sense it: the air in our house was cold, not because of the weather, but because of the silence, the sharp words, and the unspoken battles that lived between the walls.

I remember the smell of kerosene lanterns when the power was cut, and the sound of arguments carried late into the night. I would press my little hands over my ears, but no matter how tightly I covered them, the voices still found their way inside me. It was as though pain was determined to claim me even before I understood what it meant.

Other children spoke of bedtime stories and lullabies; mine were replaced with warnings and harsh commands. My heart learned quickly that softness was a luxury I could not afford. I was small, yet I carried burdens far too heavy for my shoulders.

Sometimes, I would stare at the cracked ceiling above my bed and wonder if I truly belonged there. A child is supposed to feel safe at home, but for me, it was the very place where my innocence was slowly carved away.

I wanted to run, but where could I go? I was trapped in walls that pretended to be a home but felt more like a prison. And so I learned to hide—hiding my tears, hiding my questions, hiding the small pieces of myself that longed for love.

That was my beginning. A beginning shaped not by joy, but by the shadows of my childhood.

“My Gardener Came to Cut My Grass but Caught My Heart”.🌿 Episode 1 – The First CutIt was one of those afternoons when th...
19/09/2025

“My Gardener Came to Cut My Grass but Caught My Heart”.

🌿 Episode 1 – The First Cut

It was one of those afternoons when the sun felt heavier than usual. My lawn was a wild jungle, and honestly, I was embarrassed every time I looked at it.

Then he came. My gardener.
Green cap, simple shirt, lawnmower in hand. Nothing extraordinary—yet something about him drew my eyes.

I told myself he was just here to do a job. Nothing more. But when he pushed that mower across my yard with such calm focus, I couldn’t look away.
Every movement was steady, careful—as if he wasn’t just cutting grass, but painting strokes on a canvas.

For a brief moment, I wondered: Why does this stranger’s presence feel so strangely comforting?
I shook it off. He was just my gardener… wasn’t he?

👉 Question for readers: Do you believe in love at first sight, or does it always take time to grow?

18/09/2025

Chief Goodluck addresses the Igbos abroad, full video on YouTube link in comment section Igbo billionaires

Waooo
14/09/2025

Waooo

🌹🔥 SHE CAME TO BORROW SALT… BUT LEFT WITH MY HEART 💔🥀✨✍️ Written by Tricia Christian Episode 7 – The Knock That Wasn’t H...
13/09/2025

🌹🔥 SHE CAME TO BORROW SALT… BUT LEFT WITH MY HEART 💔🥀✨

✍️ Written by Tricia Christian

Episode 7 – The Knock That Wasn’t Hers

It was past midnight when I heard another knock. My heart leapt, thinking it was her again. I rushed to the door, already rehearsing the comfort I’d give her.

But when I opened it… it wasn’t her.

It was him.
Her husband.

His broad frame filled my doorway, his shadow spilling into my room. The smell of alcohol wrapped around him like smoke. His eyes were bloodshot, burning with suspicion.

“So,” he said, his voice low but sharp. “You’ve been opening your door at night.”

I froze. My pulse hammered in my ears. “I—I don’t understand.”

He stepped closer, his fist pressing against my wooden doorframe until it creaked. “Don’t play games with me. My wife… she comes here, doesn’t she?”

I swallowed hard. My mind screamed at me to deny it. But before I could answer, his voice rose.

“Listen to me, neighbor. If I ever find out you’ve been entertaining her… eh, you won’t like what will happen next.”

His eyes darted around my room, searching for signs she had been there. My chest tightened, terrified he’d notice the small box of matches still lying on my table—the very one I gave her.

But before he could look further, her voice broke the tension.

“Leave him alone!” she cried from behind him. She had come out, her wrapper clutched tightly, her face pale but burning with courage.

He spun around, fury exploding in his eyes. “So it’s true?” he roared. “You dare embarrass me in this compound?!”

Before he could strike her, I stepped forward, my voice shaking but loud. “Enough!”

The word cut through the air like lightning. For the first time, his eyes turned on me—not with suspicion, but with pure hatred.

And in that moment, I knew—I had just declared war.

To be continued…

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