My name is Kunle, and I am writing this because the silence in my chest has become heavier than noise. Right now I am sitting inside my car, parked two streets away from my own house in Surulere, staring at the gate like it belongs to someone else. Six months ago, I began cheating on…
My name is Kunle Adebayo, and I am writing this from a cramped cyber café in Ogba where the generator hums too loudly and every shadow behind me feels like it might be her. Three years ago, my wife Nneka found us a three-bedroom flat in Magodo that was so cheap it felt like a…
My name is Nneka, and I work as a house girl in a quiet part of Ajah where the houses look peaceful from outside, but inside some walls hold secrets that never leave quietly. When I first arrived at Madam Rose’s home, I believed it would be like every other job I had taken, long…
“Inject this poison into her drip. I want her barking like a dog by 12 noon,” Chief Kunle whispered harshly, his bloodshot eyes burning with desperation and greed. The nurse’s fingers trembled violently around the syringe. “But sir… she is your wife,” she stammered, staring at the unconscious woman lying peacefully on the hospital bed….
The church was decorated with white roses and gold ribbons, glowing softly under the crystal chandeliers that reflected hope and celebration across every polished marble surface inside the grand cathedral that morning. Friends, family, colleagues, and socialites filled the pews, whispering excitedly about the union of Sarah Williams and Michael Adebanjo, a love story that…
Chief Obinna’s fingers trembled slightly as he gripped Nkechi’s wrists, his voice dropping into a whisper that felt heavier than a shout. “If you see her, do not greet her, do not stare. Just walk.” Nkechi forced a nod, though confusion filled her chest like smoke. “A woman carrying a baby inside our sitting room…
My name is Blessing, and I used to believe poverty was the worst thing that could happen to a woman. I grew up learning how to stretch one cup of rice across two days. I learned how to smile when landlords shouted. I learned how to swallow humiliation like medicine. Before I met Chief Dike,…
My name is Simi, and I used to think hunger was the worst thing that could wake a woman at night. I grew up understanding what it meant to survive on hope and garri. After my father died, I became the backbone of my family before I turned twenty-one. My mother was a local midwife…
My name is Amaka, and yesterday was supposed to be the day my family name rose again. For twenty years, we had not seen my elder brother Zubby. He left Nigeria when I was still newly married, chasing opportunities abroad. We heard stories of his success like rumors carried by wind. He called two months…
My name is Chioma, and I used to believe love could survive poverty. When I married Femi, we had nothing but a leaking room and stubborn hope. He was a bricklayer with cracked palms and tired shoulders. I sold roasted corn by the roadside to support us. We counted coins at night. We prayed loudly…
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