Story-Hubs, Lagos (2025)

02/09/2025

Pregnant for Five Years – The Dark Truth - Episode 6

The shrine shook with my cries. My water had broken, soaking the earth beneath me. The drums had stopped, the villagers stood frozen, and my glowing belly lit up the entire place like midday sun.

I screamed again, the contractions tearing through me like sharp knives. It was happening—the moment I feared, yet prayed for, yet dreaded.

Mama struggled against the women holding her, wailing, “Chineke! My daughter will die here today! Please, stop this ritual!”

But the elders watched silently, their eyes wide with both fear and curiosity. Even Ogbu Agu, the great chief priest, looked shaken. His lips trembled as he muttered, “This is beyond the gods… beyond the shrine.”

Chijioke forced his way forward, his voice breaking. “Please! Somebody help her! This is not childbirth—it’s something else!”

Another violent pain hit me, and I screamed until my voice cracked. My belly shifted unnaturally, glowing brighter with each contraction. It was as if fire was trapped inside me. I clawed at the earth, sweat pouring down my face.

Then suddenly, a strange wind filled the shrine, blowing out half the torches. The air grew heavy, thick, impossible to breathe. The villagers gasped and moved back, some stumbling in terror.

A voice echoed again, louder than before, shaking the ground:
“Tonight, the secret will be revealed. The covenant cannot be hidden forever.”

The idol in the shrine cracked further, pieces falling to the floor with a dull thud. Ogbu Agu dropped to his knees, trembling like a child. “Great powers… who are you?”

I screamed again, my whole body jerking as though struck by lightning. My stomach bulged unnaturally on one side, then the other. I felt claws, wings, heartbeat, and something that wasn’t human.

The crowd screamed. Some fled, but many stayed, unable to tear their eyes away.

Suddenly, a shape pressed against my stomach from the inside. A hand. But it wasn’t like any normal baby’s hand—it was too long, with fingers spread wide, glowing faintly under my skin.

The villagers shrieked in horror. One woman fainted. Another man shouted, “Abomination! Kill her before it comes out!”

My mother screamed louder, shielding me with her body. “No one will touch my daughter!”

But my strength was failing. My body convulsed again. I cried out, “God, please! If you are real, help me!”

Then, in the middle of my agony, my eyes rolled back and I saw something. A vision.

I was standing once again in the river, but this time not alone. The goddess stood on one side, her glowing beauty terrifying. On the other side was a figure of pure light, faceless yet powerful, shining brighter than the sun.

The goddess pointed at me. “She is mine by covenant! Her father gave her to me!”

The light replied, voice calm and thunderous: “Her father broke the covenant. She belongs to me. Grace has spoken.”

The goddess hissed, water rising around her. “Then let the child decide! Let what is inside her speak for itself!”

The vision shattered, and I was back in the shrine, screaming in pain.

The contractions grew unbearable. My mother held my head, crying uncontrollably. Chijioke knelt by my side, his face drenched in tears. “My love, don’t leave me! Please, hold on!”

I felt it. Whatever was inside me was coming. My body pushed on its own, my screams filling the air. The glow grew so bright that villagers shielded their eyes.

Then, with one final scream, the silence that followed was louder than thunder.

The light from my belly shot upward, bursting through the roof of the shrine into the sky. The whole village saw it, a beam piercing the heavens.

When the light faded, I collapsed, trembling, drenched in sweat and blood. I was too weak to open my eyes.

But I heard it.

A cry. A baby’s cry.

The villagers gasped in unison. “It’s… it’s a child!” someone whispered.

My mother screamed with joy. “My daughter! You have given birth!”

Chijioke held something in his arms—a baby wrapped in the torn cloth of my wrapper. He cried uncontrollably, rocking the child. “It’s a boy! Nkem, we have a son!”

My heart leapt with relief. After five years of pain, humiliation, shame… finally, a child.

But then, a strange silence fell.

I forced my eyes open, my vision blurry. I looked at my baby in Chijioke’s arms. At first, he looked normal—a beautiful, crying infant. But then… I saw it.

His eyes.

They glowed faintly, like the river goddess’s eyes.

The villagers began to murmur. Some stepped back in fear. Others knelt, whispering, “Chosen… chosen…”

Chijioke’s smile froze on his face. His tears dried instantly as he stared into the baby’s glowing eyes. Slowly, his lips trembled.

“This… this is not ordinary…”

The chief priest staggered forward, pointing at the child. His voice shook as he declared:

“The goddess has planted her seed. This child is not fully human.”

The shrine erupted in chaos. Some villagers screamed and fled. Others wailed, tearing their clothes.

I tried to sit up, my body weak, my voice barely audible. “Give me my child…”

But before Chijioke could place him in my arms, the baby suddenly stopped crying. He opened his glowing eyes wider, staring directly at me.

And then, in a voice far too deep for an infant, he spoke.

“Mama… I have come.”

The entire shrine went silent.

My heart stopped. My body froze. The villagers fell flat on the ground in terror. My mother screamed and fainted again.

I stared at my child, tears rolling down my face, as the truth dawned on me—whatever I carried for five years was not just a baby. It was something far greater… and far darker.

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02/09/2025

Pregnant for Five Years – The Dark Truth - Episode 4

The pounding on the door grew heavier.
“Bring her out!” the voices thundered. “She must face the river tonight!”

I clung to my mother, trembling from head to toe. My belly tightened with another violent kick. It felt like something inside was trying to tear me apart.

Chijioke paced the room like a trapped animal. Sweat dripped down his face. “Nkem, I can’t fight the whole village. If they force their way in, they will drag you like a criminal.”

My heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the chants outside. “Mama, what do we do?” I asked, tears streaming.

My mother held me tight, whispering, “A goat destined for sacrifice cannot escape the rope. But my daughter, listen—if you must go, keep your mind strong. Do not agree to serve what your spirit rejects.”

The door suddenly burst open with a loud crash. Okechukwu, the youth leader, stormed in with two others, their eyes blazing with determination. Behind them, the crowd roared louder, torches lighting up the compound like midday sun.

“Take her!” Okechukwu barked.

They grabbed me roughly, ignoring Chijioke’s desperate attempts to block them. “Please!” he begged, falling to his knees. “Don’t hurt my wife. At least wait till morning!”

But the chief priest, Ogbu Agu, appeared at the doorway, his staff raised high. “The goddess waits for no man! Tonight, the covenant must be fulfilled.”

They dragged me out, my wrapper tearing, my feet scraping against the rough ground. The villagers surrounded me like hungry wolves, chanting, “To the river! To the river!”

The night air was thick with fear. Flames from the torches cast monstrous shadows on the path as we marched. My mother and husband trailed behind, crying and begging, but their voices were drowned by the chants.

As we approached the river, my knees buckled. The sound of rushing water filled my ears like drums of war. The moon hung low, its reflection dancing on the rippling waves.

Ogbu Agu raised his staff and shouted, “Great goddess of the waters, we bring your chosen one. Accept her, and let peace return to our land!”

The crowd cheered. Some women wailed, others clapped, their faces shining with excitement and fear.

I was forced to my knees at the riverbank. My body shook uncontrollably. The water glowed strangely, shimmering as though alive. My heart screamed: God, where are You?

Then suddenly, the river went still. The chants ceased. A chilling silence fell over the gathering. Even the crickets stopped singing.

From the middle of the water, ripples began to form. A figure slowly rose—tall, radiant, terrifyingly beautiful. It was the same woman from my dream. Her skin glowed like polished bronze, her hair flowed like river waves, and her eyes shone with piercing light.

Gasps filled the air. Some villagers fell on their faces. Others whispered, “The goddess… she has come!”

She smiled faintly, her voice carrying like thunder yet soft as silk. “Nkem, daughter of Onyebuchi, my chosen one, why do you resist me?”

Tears streamed down my face as I shook my head. “I don’t belong to you! I belong to God!”

She stretched out her hand toward me. “Yet you carry my seed. This womb is mine. Refuse me, and death will embrace you.”

The villagers gasped again. Ogbu Agu bowed low, his staff shaking. “Great mother, we are your servants. Take her, let peace return!”

The goddess’s eyes locked on mine. The world seemed to fade until only the two of us existed.

“My daughter,” she whispered, “you have one choice to make: Serve me, and your child will live. Refuse me, and you will die with the curse of your father.”

I screamed, clutching my stomach as another violent kick shook me. Pain ripped through my body. I collapsed onto the sand, rolling, crying out in agony.

“My love!” Chijioke rushed forward, but Okechukwu and the others held him back. “Let me go! She’s dying!”

The villagers watched in horror as I writhed on the ground. My belly glowed faintly, a strange light pulsing through the skin. Murmurs spread through the crowd.

“She carries a spirit!”
“It is not a child at all!”
“Abomination!”

I groaned, my voice hoarse. “Mama… I can’t take it anymore…”

My mother fell on her knees before the goddess, wailing. “Great mother, have mercy on my daughter! Punish me instead! I was there when her father rejected you. Spare her!”

The goddess’s gaze shifted to Mama. Her face hardened. “The covenant was with blood. You cannot replace her. Only she can decide.”

I screamed again as a sharp pain tore through my womb. It felt like claws raking from the inside. My vision blurred. The villagers panicked, some fleeing into the darkness, others kneeling in fear.

Suddenly, I heard a different voice—calm, gentle, powerful. Not from the river, but from deep within me.

“My child, fear not. Stand firm, for the battle is mine.”

I froze. It wasn’t the goddess. It wasn’t human. It was something higher. My heart swelled with peace I hadn’t felt in years.

I struggled to sit up, my body trembling, sweat pouring down my face. I looked at the goddess directly. “I will not serve you.”

Gasps filled the air. The goddess’s face darkened like thunderclouds. “Then you choose death.”

She raised her hand, and the river began to roar violently, waves rising like mountains ready to swallow me. The villagers screamed, scattering in all directions.

But just as the waves were about to crash, a blinding light exploded from the sky, covering me. The water froze mid-air, suspended like glass.

The goddess screamed in rage, her form flickering. “You cannot escape me forever!” she roared, before vanishing back into the depths of the river.

The waves collapsed with a mighty splash, drenching everyone.

I lay on the sand, weak, trembling, yet alive. My mother crawled to me, sobbing. Chijioke broke free and held me in his arms.

The villagers gathered again, whispering, their faces pale with fear. Some bowed before me, others fled, muttering that I was no longer human.

I stared at the river, my heart pounding. The battle wasn’t over. She would return.

And deep inside, the voice whispered again: “Stand firm. The truth is yet to come.”

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02/09/2025

Pregnant for Five Years – The Dark Truth - Episode 5

The night after the river incident, silence swallowed the entire village. Nobody came to our compound. No knock, no gossip, no laughter from neighbors. Only the sound of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl filled the air.

I sat on the mat, wrapped in two wrappers, shivering though the night was warm. My belly still glowed faintly, as if a lantern had been hidden inside me. Each movement inside my womb felt sharper than before, like a restless being fighting to come out.

My husband, Chijioke, paced the room endlessly, biting his nails. “Nkem, this thing pass me,” he muttered. “What did we bring upon ourselves? The whole village now sees you as… as something else.”

I glared at him, my eyes swollen from tears. “So now you regret marrying me? After five years, when I need you most, you call me a thing?”

He stopped pacing, his face softening. “No, my love. I’m just scared. Even I don’t understand what’s happening anymore. But I swear on my life—I won’t leave you.”

Before I could answer, my mother’s voice came from the doorway. “You both must prepare. The elders are calling a secret meeting tomorrow. They want to decide your fate.”

My heart skipped. “Mama, what fate again? Haven’t they humiliated me enough?”

She sat heavily on a stool, her hands trembling. “Daughter, you don’t understand. The villagers are divided. Some say you’re cursed and must be cast out. Others believe you’re chosen, that if they harm you, calamity will be worse. They want the council of elders to decide.”

I broke down in tears. “Mama, I’m tired! I can’t carry this anymore. Let them kill me if they want.”

She slapped my thigh gently. “Tufiakwa! Don’t talk like that. A person who still breathes has not lost the battle.”

That night, I didn’t sleep. My belly kept shifting violently. At times, I felt claws. Other times, I felt a heartbeat—two heartbeats—thumping inside me.

By morning, the compound was tense. No rooster crowed. Even the air felt heavy. Mama tied her scarf firmly and held my hand as we made our way to the square again. Chijioke walked beside us, silent like a broken man.

The council of elders sat in a circle, their red caps shining under the sun. In the middle was Ogbu Agu, the chief priest, his eyes sharp as a hawk. He rose, pointing at me.

“Daughter of Onyebuchi, last night the goddess revealed herself. You defied her, yet she spared you. This is not ordinary. The council demands to know: Who are you serving?”

The crowd behind the elders murmured. Some shouted, “She’s cursed!” Others cried, “She’s chosen!”

I stood, my voice shaking. “I don’t know who I am anymore. All I know is that I never asked for this. I never begged to be pregnant for five years. I only want peace.”

An elder with grey beards, Papa Idu, leaned forward. “Peace cannot come until the truth is revealed. Nkem, we must open your womb.”

The words struck me like lightning. “Open my womb? How?”

Ogbu Agu lifted a small gourd tied with feathers. “The ritual of unveiling. If your pregnancy is human, a child will be born. If it is spirit, the truth will manifest, and the land will be free.”

The crowd roared. Some clapped, others screamed in fear.

My mother rushed forward, kneeling before the elders. “Please! Don’t do this to my daughter. You don’t know the danger you’re inviting!”

But Ogbu Agu’s eyes blazed. “The danger is already here! Three children dead in one night, farms destroyed by floods—shall we keep silent until the whole village perishes?”

The elders nodded in agreement. The decision was sealed. The ritual would be done that very night.

Fear gripped my chest like iron. My knees weakened. I turned to Chijioke, but he looked away, unable to meet my eyes.

Later that evening, they brought me to the shrine. Torches lined the path, drums boomed, and the air reeked of burning herbs. My wrists were tied with white cloth, my feet bare on the cold earth.

The villagers gathered, eyes wide with fear and curiosity. Mama wept uncontrollably, held back by women of the council. Chijioke stood apart, fists clenched, torn between love and fear.

Inside the shrine, I was laid on a mat before a carved wooden idol. Cowries and blood-stained feathers surrounded it. My heart hammered against my chest.

Ogbu Agu raised the gourd, chanting strange words. The drums grew louder, faster, like a heartbeat racing toward doom.

Suddenly, my belly began to glow brighter, the light pulsing through the cloth of my wrapper. The villagers gasped, stepping back in terror.

Ogbu Agu poured the contents of the gourd on my stomach. It burned like fire. I screamed, thrashing against the ropes. The drums stopped. Silence fell.

Then it happened.

A voice, not mine, burst from my lips, echoing through the shrine:
“Leave me! She belongs to the Living God, not to you!”

The villagers screamed, some fleeing into the night. My eyes rolled back, my body convulsed. My mother fainted where she knelt.

Ogbu Agu staggered backward, his staff dropping. “This… this is not possible…”

The ropes that bound my hands snapped on their own. I sat up, panting, my eyes blazing with light I didn’t understand.

The idol before me cracked loudly, splitting into two. A cloud of smoke rose, filling the shrine.

The voice spoke again, but this time it came from above, shaking the earth:
“The truth is near. Her pain will reveal it. The time is short.”

The smoke cleared. Everyone stared at me in horror. Some fell on their faces, others whispered, “She is not human!”

But I, trembling, weak, and confused, could only clutch my stomach as another violent contraction shook me. My water broke, spilling onto the shrine floor.

The elders gasped.

“It has begun!” Ogbu Agu shouted.

The villagers wailed and screamed. My mother was revived by women fanning her, but when she saw me, she screamed louder.

I lay back, sweating, crying, my belly glowing like the sun. My body writhed, and the voice inside me whispered again:

“Tonight, Nkem… the world will see what you carry.”

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01/09/2025

Pregnant for Five Years – The Dark Truth - Episode 3

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

The voice that spoke in the village square still echoed in my head: “Serve me or lose everything.” It wasn’t the voice of a human being—it was thick, deep, and it entered my bones.

I lay on my raffia mat, clutching my belly. For five years, it had been silent. But now, the kicks were strong, violent, as though the child—or whatever it was—had suddenly woken up. My body shook with every movement.

My husband, Chijioke, sat at the edge of the bed, looking more confused than ever. “Nkem, what happened in the square today?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Everybody is saying the river goddess has claimed you.”

I stared at him, tears rushing down my face. “Do you believe them? Do you think I’m possessed?”

He sighed heavily, rubbing his head. “Nkem, I don’t know what to believe anymore. Doctors can’t explain this, pastors are confused, and now the whole village witnessed that strange wind. My heart dey cut.”

Anger rose in me. “So you too think I’m cursed?”

He didn’t answer. Silence swallowed the room.

The next morning, before the c**k crowed, my mother barged into the house, her wrapper tied hastily. She looked as if she hadn’t slept either.

“My daughter, we can’t waste time,” she said urgently. “Last night, I dreamt of your father. He was standing in the middle of a river, holding a white goat. He kept shouting: ‘The promise was broken. Go to the shrine!’”

I shook my head violently. “Mama, please! I don’t want to hear. My father is dead. Why should I suffer for what he did?”

She grabbed my shoulders, her eyes wild. “Because the sins of the father fall on the children if they are not washed away. Nkem, if you refuse, this pregnancy will kill you.”

Her words pierced me like a spear. Kill me? Was that why the voice said “lose everything”?

Before I could respond, a knock sounded at the door. It was Mama Ezinne—the same old woman who first revealed my father’s secret. Her face was grave.

“Chijioke’s wife,” she said in a low tone. “The goddess is restless. Last night, the river overflowed its bank, destroying three farms. The people say it is because of you. If you don’t appease the goddess, they will not wait much longer. They may drive you out of the village.”

I collapsed on the floor, weeping bitterly. My world was crumbling.

Later that day, I decided to go to the church. Maybe God would answer me this time. The pastor looked at me with pity as I knelt before him.

“My daughter,” he said softly, “I prayed all night for you. But each time I called the name of Jesus, a shadow covered your face. I fear this battle is older than you.”

I burst into tears. Even the pastor was helpless.

“Fast and pray,” he advised. “God can still intervene.”

But deep inside, I felt abandoned.

That evening, as I walked back home through the dusty road, children again followed me, clapping and singing mockingly:

“Five years belle! Five years belle!
Na spirit she dey carry! Na spirit she dey carry!”

Their words cut like knife. I stopped, turned, and screamed at them, “Leave me alone!” My voice cracked, and they scattered in fear.

When I entered the house, Chijioke was waiting. He looked restless. “Nkem, pack your things. We are going to my uncle in Abakaliki. He knows powerful native doctors. If the church can’t help, maybe they can.”

I froze. “Native doctors? You want me to bow to idols?”

He held my hands desperately. “My love, I don’t want to lose you. Look at you—you’re suffering. If nothing is done, I fear you may die.”

I pulled my hands away, tears streaming. “So this is it? My Christian husband wants me to consult shrines? Have you forgotten the God we serve?”

But even as I spoke, my faith trembled. Where was this God? Why was He silent?

That night, I dreamt. I was standing in a river, waist-deep in water. The moon shone brightly, and in front of me stood a beautiful woman with skin glowing like the sun. She wore white wrappers, and a crown of cowries rested on her head.

“My daughter,” she said, her voice calm yet powerful. “Why do you resist me? The covenant was sealed before your birth. You were chosen.”

I shook my head furiously. “I don’t belong to you! I belong to Jesus!”

She smiled faintly. “Yet you carry my gift in your womb. Deny me, and the gift will destroy you. Accept me, and nations will bow before you.”

I screamed and woke up, drenched in sweat. My belly kicked violently again.

At dawn, my mother came rushing with news. “Nkem, it has happened. Three women in the village went into labour last night, but all their babies died before morning. The elders say it is you. They are gathering even now, planning to expel you from this land.”

My blood ran cold. “Expel me? To where?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “They say you belong to the river. If you don’t go willingly, they will force you.”

Before I could even breathe, shouts erupted outside. I peeped through the window. A crowd was marching toward our compound with sticks, palm fronds, and torches.

At the front was Ogbu Agu, the chief priest. His eyes were blazing. “Bring her out!” he roared. “Tonight, she must enter the river, or this land will know no peace!”

My legs went weak. My mother clung to me, crying. My husband paced the room, confused and helpless.

The shouts grew louder, the crowd surrounding the compound. Someone banged the door violently.

I clutched my belly as another sharp kick shook me. The voice returned, whispering inside me:

“Nkem… tonight is the night. Choose wisely.”

The door shook under the heavy pounding.

Would I run? Would I surrender? Or would I fight?

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01/09/2025

Pregnant for Five Years – The Dark Truth (Episode 2)

The heavy knock on the door that afternoon nearly shattered my bones.

“Mama! Mama! Come out quickly!” the neighbour’s voice rang again.

My mother’s hands shook as she tried to rise. “Chineke! They have come for me,” she whispered, her face pale like chalk.

I rushed to open the door, my heart racing. Standing outside was Mama Ifeoma, one of our closest neighbours. Her wrapper was tied carelessly, her hair flying.

“Nkem, Mama, hurry and come!” she panted. “The villagers are gathered at the square. They said you must appear there today. They are calling it a cleansing. If you refuse, they said they will burn your house.”

I felt my knees weaken. “Burn our house? For what?”

Mama Ifeoma shook her head sadly. “They say your five-year pregnancy has brought abomination to the land. Some claim the gods are angry, that our crops are failing because of you.”

I held my belly as tears rushed down my cheeks. Abomination? Was I now the reason for barren lands?

My mother grabbed my hand tightly. “My daughter, do not step foot in that square. They don’t want cleansing—they want your shame to be complete.”

But as she spoke, another knock thundered again, fiercer this time. A group of village youths stood outside with palm fronds tied around their waists, carrying wooden staffs. Their leader, Okechukwu, shouted, “Mama Nkem! If your daughter does not come to the square, we will drag her there!”

My heart pounded like the village drum during New Yam Festival. I turned to my mother, tears streaming. “Mama, what do we do?”

She wiped her face with the edge of her wrapper and whispered, “Sometimes, a lizard that stays too long on the wall begins to look like the wall itself. We must face them. But my daughter, no matter what happens there, do not confess to what you don’t know. Keep quiet.”

We stepped out, my swollen belly leading the way like a curse that refused to be hidden. As we walked, people gathered behind us, whispering, pointing, and chanting.

“Witch! Witch!” some shouted.
Others clapped mockingly: “Five years belle! Five years belle!”

When we reached the village square, my heart nearly stopped. The place was crowded—elders on their wooden stools, women with their wrappers tied high, and children climbing trees to watch. In the middle of the square, a pot of palm oil, white chalk, and a calabash of water sat on a wooden table.

The chief priest, Ogbu Agu, stood tall, his body smeared with charcoal and white lines. His staff of office glistened with cowries. He pointed at me and thundered, “Nkem, daughter of Onyebuchi, today the gods demand truth. You have mocked this land with your pregnancy of five years. Speak—what evil spirit holds you?”

The crowd roared in agreement.

I knelt on the sand, sobbing. “Ndi be anyi—my people, I don’t know! I only know I conceived, and till today, no child has come. I have done nothing wrong!”

Ogbu Agu shook his staff. “The gods say otherwise. The land is dry, our yam harvest is failing, sickness spreads. Until this abomination is removed, peace will not return. You must drink from the calabash of truth.”

Gasps filled the air. I turned to my mother. “Mama… what does that mean?”

She trembled. “If you drink and your belly is ordinary, nothing will happen. But if you carry evil, the gods will expose you.”

Sweat poured down my face. My husband, Chijioke, was suddenly pushed into the crowd. His face looked tormented. “My wife, drink it,” he pleaded. “Prove them wrong.”

I shook my head furiously. “But what if—”

Before I could finish, two strong youths grabbed me and dragged me to the table. My belly bounced painfully as I cried.

The calabash was pushed into my hands. The water inside shimmered strangely, as though it wasn’t ordinary. My lips trembled.

The crowd began to chant: “Drink! Drink! Drink!”

I closed my eyes, whispered a prayer, and lifted the calabash to my mouth. But just as the first drop touched my tongue, a strange wind blew across the square. The pot of palm oil fell over, spilling into the sand.

The chanting stopped. The wind grew stronger, sending wrappers flying. Children screamed and hid behind their mothers.

Then, in the middle of the chaos, a loud voice boomed—not from the crowd, not from the priest, but from somewhere unseen.

“Leave her alone. She carries what belongs to me.”

The square fell into dead silence.

I dropped the calabash, my hands shaking. My mother screamed and clung to me. Ogbu Agu’s staff slipped from his hands.

“Who… who speaks?” the chief priest stammered, his eyes darting around.

But nobody answered. Only the sound of the wind whistling like a thousand spirits filled the air.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp movement in my belly—something I had never felt in five years. A kick. Strong. Violent. I gasped and grabbed my stomach.

The people screamed and ran in all directions. Some shouted, “It’s the goddess! The goddess has spoken!” Others cried, “Abomination! Run for your lives!”

I fell to the ground, rolling in pain. The kick inside me was too strong, as if a whole being was trying to tear its way out.

My mother bent over me, crying, “Hold on, my child! Hold on!”

But through the pain, I heard the voice again, softer this time, whispering directly into my ear:

“Nkem, daughter of Onyebuchi, your time has come. Choose—serve me or lose everything.”

My eyes widened in terror.

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01/09/2025

Pregnant for Five Years – The Dark Truth (Episode 1)

They laughed at me like I was a mad woman.
They pointed, hissed, and spat as I waddled past the village square.
Some even said I was carrying a python in my womb.

For five years, I had been pregnant. Yes—five whole years.

At first, when I missed my period, joy filled my chest like palm wine frothing inside a calabash. My husband, Chijioke, danced that night till his wrapper nearly fell off. “Nkem, we go soon hear the cry of our baby! God don answer us!” he shouted.

But one year passed, and my belly remained round like the full moon—yet no baby kicked, no labour pains, nothing. At two years, women began to whisper behind me. By the third year, nobody whispered again; they said it openly.

“E get as e be oh… five years with belle, na woman be that abi na ogbanje?” one market woman mocked as she pounded ogbono.

The shame nearly swallowed me alive. When I went to the stream, small children ran after me, singing:

“Five years belle! Five years belle!
Na juju she carry, na juju she carry!”

I wept until my wrapper soaked.

One Sunday, after church, the pastor’s wife avoided my hug. She said softly but loud enough for others to hear, “Sister Nkem, you need serious deliverance. This is not ordinary.” The sting of her words was sharper than a cutlass.

Chijioke tried to console me. “Don’t mind them, my love. God’s ways are not our ways. Maybe our child is special.” But his eyes betrayed him. Even he was beginning to doubt. I noticed how he stopped holding me at night, how he avoided my gaze.

By the fourth year, everything turned worse. My own mother stopped visiting me. She said people in the family were saying I brought shame and curses. Imagine, your own blood abandoning you!

I cried every day, kneeling by my bed, begging God: “If na curse, forgive me. If na sin, have mercy. If na test, please end it. How long will I live like this?”

But heaven was silent.

Then one evening, as I walked home from the farm, something strange happened. An old woman with grey hair, Mama Ezinne, blocked my path. Her eyes were red like someone who had seen too much of life.

“Chijioke’s wife,” she called, her voice like thunder wrapped in whisper. “Do you want to know the truth of your pregnancy?”

My heart jumped inside me. “Mama, please… I’m tired of this reproach. Tell me what is happening to me.”

She came closer, her breath hot with the smell of bitter kola. “This is not ordinary pregnancy. What you carry is tied to your father’s house. Until the sacrifice your people rejected is appeased, you will remain like this.”

I trembled. “Which sacrifice, Mama? My father is long dead.”

She shook her head slowly. “The sins of the fathers never die quickly. Go and ask your mother what happened in 1978. She knows.”

I stood rooted, unable to move. My palms became sweaty. 1978? I wasn’t even born then. What secret could my mother be hiding?

When I reached home, I told Chijioke everything. He hissed and waved me off. “Don’t mind that old woman. She wants to deceive you. Pregnancy wey doctors don’t understand, she go now tie am to sacrifice? Forget that thing!”

But deep down, I knew Mama Ezinne’s words carried weight. Her eyes haunted me that night. I couldn’t sleep.

The next morning, I tied my wrapper and marched to my mother’s house. She was sitting on the verandah peeling cassava.

“Mama,” I said, voice shaking. “What happened in 1978?”

The knife slipped from her hand. Her eyes widened as if a ghost had spoken. “Who told you to ask me that question?”

My chest tightened. “Mama, I need answers! I’ve carried this pregnancy for five years. People mock me every day. They call me a witch! Mama, please, if you know something, tell me.”

Tears rolled down her wrinkled face. She dropped the cassava and covered her head with her wrapper. “Chineke ekwela ka okwu a pụta n’ụzọ—God forbid this matter comes to light,” she muttered.

I knelt before her, weeping. “Mama, please!”

She looked around nervously as though spirits were listening. Then she whispered: “Your father… he made a covenant before you were born. A covenant with the river goddess.”

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.

She continued, voice trembling: “In 1978, your father promised that the first daughter of his bloodline would serve the goddess in the shrine. But when you were born, he refused. He became a strong Christian, destroyed the shrine, and claimed Jesus had set him free.”

My head spun. I felt the ground shift beneath me. “So, Mama… you mean… this pregnancy…”

She burst into loud sobs. “My daughter, I fear you are paying the price for his broken covenant.”

I staggered back, heart thundering. The truth I had prayed for was darker than my worst nightmare.

But before I could speak again, a heavy knock thundered on the door.

“Mama! Mama! Come out quickly!” a neighbour shouted, her voice urgent.

We froze. My mother’s face turned pale. She whispered, “They’ve come.”

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