NIC NIC

04/07/2025

THE GLORY OF GOD HAS TAKEN OVER!
WHAT GOD CANNOT DO DOESN'T EXIST!

04/07/2025

My former big boss volunteered to help his brother by educating his daughter called mamani.

Initially, mamani was being assisted by big boss elder sister JoJo but she fell out with the parents and washed her hands. My big boss being a good man, decided to step in.

The first action was to take mamani in and have her educated in Freetown because the city has better schools. Mamani's parents were elated because their daughter was going to be upgraded. By then, the girl was going to form 3.

Mamani came immediately they closed schools and the first step was to change her wardrobe. Madam and big boss shopped everything afresh and even got her a brand new smartphone-her first ever-so she could at least fit in when she made new friends.

Mamani was very clean and good at housework that she blended in quickly.

The problem was her report cards. Mamani had E's from form one, and big boss decided to hire a private tutor to see if she could improve. After a few sessions, the tutor confessed: “We have to go back to Form 1, Term 1. She has too much to catch up on.” This is where hell broke loose.

"Leave mamani alone. You want her age mates to clear school before her so they can mock her? Who gave you the permission to decide what's best for her yet she's not your daughter? We know many people who scored D's and E's and are doing well in the village."

The bad thing is that none of mamani's parents went past class eight. They couldn't instill pressure on their only daughter to perform well.

Big boss was very adamant on mamani repeating that the parents agreed half-heartedly.

The annoyed parents started showing their frustrations on big boss since he was strict on mamani and books.

Every evening, the girl’s parents would call — not to say thank you, not to check on her progress, but to complain.

“Why is she washing dishes?” “She’s not a house girl!”
“Don’t let her cook!”
“Why are you telling her to clean her room yet you have a house girl?”

Anything mamani did was considered slavery. They didn't want their daughter to wash a spoon because the house had a house girl which is me. Something funny, they didn't want her to do anything yet madam used to cook and clean whenever she had spare time.

We spent the holidays well though they were still persuading the big boss not to let mamani repeat. Schools opened and mamani was enrolled in a certain private school in form two again.

Then came the school report. Poor performance, missing assignments, zero motivation. Big boss became stricter with TV and phone access.

That triggered another war. Her parents called him unkind. Ungrateful. Even accused him of wanting to ruin their daughter’s future. All this from people who never went past primary school themselves and were proud of it.

Big boss used to receive silly phone calls from them complaining.

"You’re rich and proud!” her parents screamed. “You’ll die and leave all those things you don’t want our daughter to enjoy. Even your house girl watches TV freely! But you lock our daughter in a study room like a prisoner!”

The more mamani was adviced to study hard, the more the irritating phone calls intensified. They started calling madam as well, accusing her of not living with their daughter well because she didn't stand up for her when big boss became strict on mamani.

"Your wife doesn't like mamani. That's why she wants strict unnecessary measures be done by you so we can blame you and not her. We know you can't advise mamani to repeat or stay away from the TV and phone. It's your wife hiding behind you."

Big boss couldn't take it anymore.

"Bro, I can stand any disrespect but not you people talking ill of my wife. I've warned you to stop calling her about mamani but you never listen. I wanted to help but I'm done. Get any good school in your town and I'll pay. I'll take care of mamani but she won't live here. When schools close, I'll bring her over"

Our lovely mamani spent only one year with us.





Nahpolie Ibrahim Conteh

04/07/2025

Just a week to our wedding, Rejoice began accusing me of having an affair with her best friend. At first, I thought it was a ridiculous joke, one of those silly misunderstandings that would eventually end in laughter and reassurance. But she didn’t stop. She kept insisting I was getting too close to her best friend.

Yes, I had known her best friend before I even met her, but there had never been anything more than friendship between us—then or now. I believed that our upcoming marriage was proof enough of my loyalty, yet that didn’t stop her.

To clear the air, I showed Rejoice every single message and chat I’d had with her best friend, hoping the truth would calm her down. But she was unmoved.

According to her, rumors were already circulating. People claimed they had seen me and her best friend in "compromising" positions. No matter how I defended myself, her mind was made up. Rejoice was judging me based on rumors!!

I continue apologized anyway, not because I was guilty, but because I wanted peace. I believed we had finally settled it.

But then, the night before our wedding, Rejoice dropped a bombshell.

Rejoice looked me dead in the eye and said, "I slept with one of your friends. I needed to tell you now, so we don’t carry secrets into our marriage. You were cheating with my best friend, so I felt it was only fair to have a one-night thing with your friend too."

I went numb. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The betrayal, the heartbreak, it shattered something deep inside me. All I could think was, I thought I knew this woman.

I didn’t sleep a wink that night. My mind was racing, broken. I had a choice to make; go ahead with the wedding or walk away from a future I no longer recognized.

And I chose to walk.

On the day of the wedding, I never showed up. I left her standing at the altar.
The news spread fast—everyone heard about it.

But for the first time in days, I felt peace. Because no matter what the world said, I was certain I made the right choice. I couldn’t build a marriage on broken trust and revenge.

Imagine you have a similar situation like mine how would you have handle it best?





Nahpolie Ibrahim Conteh

04/07/2025

I’ve always had feelings for my student. I don’t even know how or when the feelings started, but every time I saw her, my body would become restless.

We had done a few things in the past just so she could pass my courses—and to be honest, I never failed her. But what I didn’t expect was that my feelings for her would keep growing, even though she’s a married woman.

None of my colleagues and friends had the slightest idea what I was doing behind the scenes to pass most of the students. And frankly, it never bothered me. But this particular student felt different—like the feelings were mutual. She wanted me too.

Every night, we would chat until we both drifted off to sleep. During the day, she would follow me to my office and we’d do our thing.

On days when we couldn’t meet because of school activities or other commitments, we kept the connection alive by exchanging n*d*s at night. This routine continued for an entire academic session. She had already completed my courses, but we still couldn’t stop. The bond just kept getting stronger.

Eventually, she was assigned to me as one of the students I would supervise for their final year projects. They were all in a group chat created specifically for my supervisees. That night, we were supposed to send each other our usual photos. I was waiting for her picture as usual—only for it to suddenly drop in the group chat.

And I wasn't the only one who saw it. Everyone in the group did. Some even secretly saved it to their phones.

My fingers trembled as I rushed to message her. I told her she had sent the photo to the wrong place. I panicked and quickly tried to delete it, but it was too late. She texted me later, saying she had mistakenly clicked “Delete for me” instead of “Delete for everyone.”

Without informing me, she went back to the group and typed this:
“That’s what AI does these days. That picture is not real. I meant to send it to...”—and then she mentioned my name right there in the group chat.

And in that moment, I started to wonder if she had any sense at all. Why mention my name? Why confirm that the photo was meant for me? That only made things worse! What student in their right mind would send a photo like that to a particular lecturer?

Now, I don’t know what to do to clear my name. The whole school is talking about it. The picture has gone viral. I haven’t even seen the student since that day, and I’ve been left to bear it all alone.

I’m scared—genuinely scared—that I might not be able to continue lecturing in the university because of this.

A true life story.






Nahpolie Ibrahim Conteh

01/07/2025

Tuesday declaration
Speak life into your day!

Say on Tuesday!

July!
New territories are calling my name!

I see new helpers coming!
By this left all doors/gates open up!

I say to the east, ephphatha!
To the west, ephphatha!
To the north, ephphatha!
To the south, ephphatha!

July!

All doors/gates are open! Fire 🔥!

The old has gone!
The new is here!(2 Corinthians 5:17) Powers that rein force the old in the new, fire 🔥!

Forces that deny my new season of it's expression, fire 🔥!!

Manipulations that arise, whenever my new season is to be announced, fire 🔥!

This is my reality: the new is here!

The season of delay is over!

Divine acceleration is my portion!

I step into a new season of divine alignment and doors!

No displacement!

No dislocation!

Wherever they said no to me,is now yes and Amen 🙏!

July ephphatha, lift up your head,o ye gates, the breaker has gone ahead of me,I have broken out, I pass through the gates; I enter my wealth place; every negativity that wants to strangle my new, fire 🔥!

You have done well for commanding your day. Happy new month 💟 🥳








NIC NIC

01/07/2025

Verydarkman👉 "10 million naira to anyone who can give me more scenes of the music video set where mohbad and zlatan sat on the wheel chair and samlarry came inside with some group of boys,I want more scenes and also 2million naira to anyone of those women in the video holding the wheelchair zlatan and mohbad used if they can come for my interview,I want all witness,I am carrying out my private investigation and spending my own money,they can’t cover this case LOL…..fk y’all emotions I no r£ally s£nd una,RATEL NO NEED CROWD,RATEL NO NEED LOVE OR LIKES,RATEL NEED JUSTICE na now I ready for this case) oh and I see yall insült!ng me,we just barely starting(THE REAL JUSTICE FOR MOHBAD NOW"

01/07/2025

On Facebook, they know me as Nahpolie Ibrahim Conte the storyteller, some call me the woman with many men but where I am, they call me help.

Often, I feel like a ghost in a uniform. I'm only visible when a mistake is spotted.

My madam is the proud type. Not the good type of proud but the proud that's punishing. The kind that enjoys watching you sweat and frown under the heavy work. Her house is sparkling clean, not because she's clean but because I wash it repeatedly daily.

She never lifts her fingers to do anything. Well, I'm lying, she lifts her fingers to point at imaginary mistakes or make annoying requests.

"That spot isn't clean.
Give me that phone(which is next to her)
Pass me the remote(which is on the seat next to hers.) Did you wipe this table?" She'd ask while tapping with her well polished red nails."

My day starts at 4AM when everyone is sleeping. I scrub the floors, clean the toilets, clean the compound then prepare their breakfast.

Yesterday was a rough day.

The other day, I saw a white porcelain cup with a gold rim and a crack on the handle just near the microwave. I admired it because I've never seen one. I left it as it was.

At 530AM, she came to the bathroom I was scrubbing while screaming my name.

"Nahpolie you broke this. Didn't you?"

"No I didn't..."

She stepped closer.

"Yes you did. Do you think I don't know all the mistakes you make in this house? Don't lie to me."

"I swear I didn't..."

"So now I'm mad? I don't know what happened to my cup? Do you know this was from my wedding set and it's expensive. Your one year salary can't even buy this. No breakfast today. And mop the stairs properly this time."

Yesterday, I worked with an empty stomach and a heavier heart.

She left for work at 10AM and came at 4PM. Her first stop was the guest's bedroom.

"Nahpolie" She called me while shouting on top of her voice.

"Did you wipe this table? And wash the bathroom?"

"Yes I did."

"Scrub the bathroom again because I can see dirt."

She has the habit of saying impossible things because she knows I won't argue. She knows I need the money. My daughter needs to eat. I need to save.

Speaking of food-madam has very harsh rules about it.

She eats alone. Always.

She's very selective of her food. The salt is too much, the chicken isn't crispy enough, the mango juice isn't freshly squeezed. She complains while eating slowly like a queen. When she's full, she leaves the rest on the table-untouched and perfect.

I know better than to ask for leftovers because she fired a housemaid for eating a banana that had turned black.

Yesterday, she called me over and pointed at her food.

"Take it. I'm sure you're hungry. You look like you haven't eaten in days."

I hesitated.

"Take it. You want food. Don't you?"

Just as I reached for the plate, she poured water over it and apologized profusely.

"I'm so clumsy. Forgive me. Just drain the water and enjoy the food. You don't have time to cook. I want you to clean my daughter's bedroom. You have laundry to do and you have to prepare french fries and chicken for dinner. The food is good, just drain the water."

My stomach twisted. Not because of hunger but because of humiliation.

At night, I sat with bread and water in my hands. I wrote a letter to my daughter describing everything that happened. I wrote every word, every action, every pain. I reminded myself that I do this for her. For survival. For school fees. For food. For savings. I know I'll never present the hundreds of letters that I've written to her but I'll write anyway.

I write because writing is my way out of pain. I'm a woman with a voice, I'm just waiting for the right page to scream. One day, I'll leave this house, not by quitting, but by writing my way out.

One day, I will write her out of my life.



Nahpolie Ibrahim Conteh

30/06/2025

The temptation of security: A mother's journey!

Let me tell you a story,I'm Nahpolie my daughter was three when I met Alie. A man with the charm of a diplomat and enough conviction to make you cut off your dreams and get married. He knew what he wanted-and he wanted me.

We dated for one year before we moved in together. He was a perfect man-a loving partner and a father figure to Ishamed . At the time, my work contract had just ended and I was actively job hunting.

"You don't need to work." He said this barely two months after moving in. "I'll take care of you and our children. Just focus on the home and our baby. I want you well rested and beautiful unlike those worn out women chasing jobs that can barely let them save."

At first, I thought it was a good idea. I was exhausted from balancing motherhood, bills and job rejections. Rest sounded like a gift.The idea felt kind. Tempting.

Weeks passed, Netflix and playing wife bored me. I yearned for money and freedom to spend what I earned. I presented a different idea to him.

"Since you don't want me to be employed, Maybe you could mentor me in business? or investing in the stock market or government bonds. You are a good business man and your help will go a long way."

"Business isn't for everyone. It's very easy venturing into one but hard to even make a profit. Nahpolie, how many people have businesses in Sierra Leone but can't even get a profit of 200K monthly? Everyone romanticizes business but they don't know how to grow or sustain one."

"And that's why I need to tap in your skills. You can teach me a lot. Teach me and I'll take the risks. I'm tired of just sitting at home."

He continued sipping his coffee while deep in thoughts.

"What do you want that I can't provide? You live in a nice apartment with everything you desire in it. You have everything a woman needs. Ishamed is more privileged than tens of thousands of children. What more do you want? Haven't I done enough?" He said this is a harsh tone while staring out of the window.

"I have more than enough and I'm grateful that Ishamed is okay. But I need my money. What if you go broke? You barely give me anything as well. I have nothing to fall back on."

"It will take a while for me to go broke. I've invested heavily in almost all sectors. I can earn even while sitting at home. If I go down I'll rise again because I'm self-made."

That evening was full of silence. His mother said nothing as well. She was a quiet woman who never meddled in our arguments.

That night, I went to bed early but stayed awake scrolling through my phone. Two hours later, I overheard them talking.

"My son, you've done enough to make a wife happy. Don't empower her no matter how much she begs. An empowered woman is quick to divorce. In our era, we valued marriage but your generation is full of evil women who want men to empower them so they can get stable and leave. Women use men as ladders. These feminists are always quick to divorce and ask for child support while introducing children to different men hoping to find another partner. Deny her the financial freedom. These modern women don't know how to be wives."

"Mum, what if I die? How will she survive and continue generating wealth for my children? She will blow this money in months. It's a lot for us but if she has no financial knowledge, my children will lack university fees."

"My son, women are smart. If you die, she'll get a way of learning how to increase the wealth. Women always find a way. For now, make babies. We'll think of that later."

I was shocked that the mother was supporting this stupid idea.

Days later, a former colleague, now a HR manager, offered me an interview. She assured me that I'd get the job of which I did.

I told him about the job and annoyance was written all over his face.

"What are you saying? Why take a job yet I provide you with everything? You want a job because of ego. That's what it is. You don't want to submit. This job will cost you me. The problem with you modern women is thinking you know more than your lovers. What makes you think I can go broke Nahpolie? I'm offering you peace and you're preparing for war."

"I don't want to be a prisoner." I replied calmly. "I want to be your partner. I want to help you in providing something little as well. It's for my peace of mind. For identity. I want to grow. I want our children to look up to me."

"You're not taking that job and that's final. My wife will never work as long as I can provide."

The next morning, I sneaked out and reported for duty. Tens of threatening messages of him leaving me for disobedience were filling my inbox. I ignored his drama.

When I got home that evening, he gave me an ultimatum.

"The job or us."

I chose the job. He told me to pack out in the morning for being unsubmissive.

I packed my daughter's clothes calmly. No drama. No tears.

I left that house with no savings, no man, no financial backup.

Standing at Waterloo market in Freetown garage, I called my mother and asked for help. She didn't ask any questions. She sent enough money to get a decent bedsitter in Freetown and furnish it minimally. My brother sent food money enough to feed us a whole month.

That night, in my tiny new space, I fed my daughter and exhaled.

I had nothing except freedom.

And that, finally, was enough.

I had no regrets and I'm happy with my decision







Nahpolie Ibrahim Conteh

30/06/2025

Monday Declaration
Command your day 👇

Say on Monday!

Glory of my season, awake, great and effectual doors open by fire 🔥; help of God; locate me;

God has called me by a new name; my new name is blessed/settled/established/ perfected/ enthroned;

Every name that is not of God; I say no, fire 🔥!

I am mantled with fresh oil 🪔, I am empowered 💪 for new exploits!

Old cycles and patterns are broken!

No more stagnation!

By the hand ✋ of God, I leap forward ⏩ into new beginnings!

My new seasons is here!

A new chapter has just opened for my life, business, career and family!

This new chapter is powered by grace and secured by God!

Access is denied to average and negativity!

It is from Glory to Glory!

Welcome 🤗 to your new season!

This season is called all round wholeness, unstoppable, growth 📈, speed 🚅, higher impact, fresh oil 🪔 for enthronement!

By the zeal of God, June is not permitted to end without an evidence 🧾! Amen 🙌🙏!

Congratulations 🎉👏 June ended in praise and July already looks good in your life and family by the mercy of God Amen 🙏



Follow my page NIC NIC and forum for more updates.




Nahpolie Ibrahim Conteh

30/06/2025

It was 3:30AM but Suliaman couldn't sleep. He was filled with thoughts of getting a job and avoiding crime. His only problem was that he stopped schooling at class eight and all the jobs he could think of, demanded atleast a form four certificate.

"Suliaman, I'm hungry. I always go to bed hungry yet I'm breastfeeding. I have no food to cook. What will we do?"

Suliaman said nothing. His heart was heavy. He could fail in everything but not feeding his family.

He had promised her that he would change and stop stealing. He promised that his child will never grow with a thief for a father. He was sad that he was failing himself because Freetown is unforgiving to the poor and illiterate. The more he tried, the more the city spat him out.

At 6A:M, he gently kissed his sleeping wife's forehead while holding her hand for minutes.

"Tell mama Diva to give you a kilo of beef. Get rice and vegetables from Amie and cook your favorite meal-please. I'm coming to pay by evening."

She nodded though she was unsure of Suliaman getting money before evening.

The previous night, his best friend Patio, knocked on his broken door with a plan.

"Suliaman, this is the last job. We will steal a new vitz from a business owner in Calba-town. Her trusted neighbor told me that she is yet to install a tracker. I have someone ready to buy the car. No more of this life after getting the cash. We steal, sell, split the cash and move on. Do you want your son to grow like us? Broke, dirty, desperate?"

The plan was simple. Suliaman was to distract the drunk talkative guard while Petro would slip in after getting the keys from the neighbor and would ride away then pick Suliaman in Benz garage.

The plan was to succeed but they made three mistakes. They walked in together, went to a corner then had the last briefing. In the process, Suliaman forgot his phone with Papito while going to distract the guard. While driving out, Papito stopped to quickly hand Suliaman his phone to arrange their meeting and that's when the owner of the car saw her car being driven away.

Her screams shouting that Suliaman was a thief filled the air and everyone pounced on him while Papito drove away quickly heading to Benz garage. Men were attacking him with sticks and stones. Women were cursing him.

Just as someone lifted the heaviest stone around to hit his head-BANG! A gunshot split the air. Police were on their way to save him.

The crowd backed off after threatening to beat the officers too.

He woke up three days later in a hospital bed. Ribs broken, face swollen, body stitched, left arm twisted.

His wife was beside him holding her tears.

"The officers said you were lucky. Only a few more seconds and...."

She started sobbing.

"Suliaman, Papito sold the car. Alone. He's opening a carwash in 87. He told people that he didn't know where you disappeared to and he's equally looking for you."

She removed food from her hotpot and handed it to him.

"Papito didn't even come to see you. The officer who saved you came to check on you. He helped me pay debts I accrued on that day while waiting for you. A stranger showed more kindness than your best friend."

Suliaman cried. He tried to be a better man but opportunities were scarce for someone like him. He was sad that a stranger showed him mercy while his friend couldn't spare some cash for his wife and child.

Weeks later, Suliaman left the hospital bed and went straight to police custody.

His wife visited one last time.

"I won't allow a thief raise my son. Your criminal lifestyle is putting me in equal risk. I wanted you to get any job but you kept going back to the streets even after evading mob justice severally. I won't live with a thief. This is the end of us. I'm going back to the village to plan my life again."

She handed him a phone.

"Someone wants to speak to you."

"Suliaman...it's Papito. I'm sorry I left you. I was happy to hear you survived. I opened a carwash and it's doing well. When you're out of prison, please stay away from crime. I might even employ you. Take this as a deal gone south. Bye."

In one day, Suliaman lost his family, his freedom and the last ounce of trust he had for his best friend.

He had tried to change but sometimes, in a world so unkind, trying just isn't enough.

What do you think will be Suliaman faith?

Follow my page NIC NIC and forum for more updates

Nahpolie Ibrahim Conteh

30/06/2025

The weight of silence: Father's absence!

Ella stared at her late father's framed photo and smiled at his tired face. Daddy Ella was always smiling even in his tired state.

"He deserved better. I hope he's happy in heaven." Ella muttered.

"Daddy deserved peace and love. He was there for us. He didn't deserve the daily torture our mum gave him." Junior Paul said while fighting tears.

It's been two years of living in a quiet house. Daddy was terribly missed by his two children. Even the floorboards missed Daddy's slow steps as he walked to the kitchen humming amazing grace...his favorite hymn.

Three years ago.

"Karim, you're a very useless man. A man lying in bed like a sick puppy while bills are piling up! Get up and go bring me sugar." Mama Ella shouted while banging the bedroom door.

Karim flinched. His body was weak. His eyes were sunken. He was too sad for life.

"Mama Ella, I'm barely breathing today. I'm trying to smile for the children's sake. Just give me a little time to get better. I'm not feeling_"

"I didn't marry you for feelings. I married you because I was pregnant and our parents forced us. You think carrying pregnancy means love? You can barely breathe yet you breathed well enough to get me pregnant. Go and don't come back."

The house went silent. The children were used to this daily shouting from their mother. They hated it but they couldn't manage to convince her to be gentle on their father. The children were broken.

Ella, 15, kept asking Junior Paul,14, the same question daily. "Why does mama hate Daddy so much?"

Now

Ella, still in pain, turned to her mother in the dining table, the woman now older but still cold and unapologetic.

"You hated him. You hated our father even on his deathbed. You poisoned him with your words. Your words killed our father. You drained the life out of a man who only wanted to be loved."

"I never loved him. It was forced marriage. I don't regret anything." Mama Ella didn't flinch.

"You didn't have to stab him with your words daily. You could have left us in peace by divorcing him? Why didn't you divorce him? He loved you. People pray for the love Daddy gave you."

"Ella, you'll understand how society judges divorced women when you're of age. I didn't leave because your grandparents forced me to stay to maintain our dignity. I chose dignity over happiness. They said I'll soil our family's reputation. Your father knew I didn't love him. I gave him children, what else did he want? After all, I never asked for that love."

"Daddy needed to be respected. We never heard him disrespecting you. Daddy held you in high esteem. Mama, you finished him. A kind word a day was enough. Maybe just a little love when he was sick would have been better. But you drained him. He died because he was sad."

"He would have divorced me if I stressed him."

"Mama, deep down you know Daddy loved you. You know he wanted us to be raised by you. He stood your disrespect hoping you'd change."

Mama Ella looked away.

In the living room, Junior Paul lit a candle besides their father's photo.

"I remember he died with his eyes open. He hoped mama would apologize. Daddy kept hoping until his last minute. He was a good man." Junior Paul said.

"Mama will never apologize. I guess we'll have to live with the scars. Daddy was too good for this world, especially for her. He never stopped loving her."

Nahpolie Ibrahim Conteh

29/06/2025

Do men cry 😭? The shocking truth about my son's pertinity!

After nine solid years of living with my wife and raising three children—one boy and two girls—I found out that my first and only son isn’t even mine.

When I first married her, she acted so uninterested in the marriage. It felt like I had forced her into it, even though we both stood at the altar and said I do.

The first six months were filled with constant arguments, fights, and chaos, so much that we almost separated. But it was our fathers—hers and mine—that kept patching things up and holding the marriage together.

I can’t count how many times I sent her packing. Eventually, she got pregnant, and for the first time, it seemed like she had accepted her place beside me, that we belonged to each other, forever.

Her first pregnancy gave us a son. I was overjoyed. I threw a lavish feast to welcome him into the world. From that moment on, I began to tolerate her nagging, her mood swings, everything—because she was the mother of my son. After him, she gave birth to two daughters, and things started to feel more stable.

Then, one morning, everything started to fall apart.

I was in the sitting room reading a newspaper when our son slapped his younger sister for taking his toy. Before I could react, my wife rushed in and began disciplining him. I sat there watching, but something strange happened—he reminded me of someone.

He looked exactly like our former upstairs neighbor—the one who packed out after slapping our landlord during a heated argument. That man was short-tempered, antisocial, and aggressive. He never greeted anyone, always wore a frown, and constantly argued. My son’s expression, his mannerisms... they mirrored that man too perfectly.

I tried to shake the thought out of my head.

But the signs grew clearer. My son stammers. I don’t. My wife doesn’t. No one in our families does. Yet this boy pounds his foot on the ground, struggling to get words out. He’s easily angered. Incredibly stubborn.

I confided in my immediate elder brother, and he told me bluntly: Go for a DNA test.

I wrestled with the idea for a long time. Eventually, I went secretly and had the test done.

The result shattered me.

The boy I had loved, raised, protected, and provided for the past eight years wasn’t mine.

Heartbroken, I confronted my wife. I was in pieces, drowning in betrayal and disbelief. She didn’t deny it. She said it was a mistake. She begged for forgiveness.

Her excuse? She thought the marriage wouldn’t survive in the early days of our constant fighting, so she turned to the neighbor as a backup plan. By the time things started to get better between us, she was already pregnant.

She never told me.

So, for eight long years, I lived a lie. I raised another man’s son. A neighbor’s child. A man I didn’t even know well—whose current whereabouts I don’t even know!

It broke me.

They say men don’t cry. Lies. I cried like a baby.
Every night, I locked myself in the toilet and wept silently, until the weight on my chest felt lighter.

But one morning, I snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore. I sent her packing—with her son.

I went on to test the paternity of my daughters—thank God, they’re mine. I held them close and let the rest go. I would rather be a single father than stay in a home built on eight years of lies.

What assurance do I have that she’s not still seeing that man or someone else?

I lost a son, my wife, and the mother of my daughters. But I chose peace.






Nahpolie Ibrahim Conteh