The Living Dead

In a small town, there was a legend about the Living Dead—people who had been buried yet were seen walking the streets at night, blank-eyed, moving in eerie silence.

One evening, Tunde was on his way home when he noticed someone familiar down the darkened street: his old friend Chike, who had died a month ago. Tunde froze. Chike’s skin was pale, his eyes vacant, and his clothes were caked in dirt. Slowly, Chike turned his head toward Tunde, and in a voice that sounded distant and broken, he whispered, “Come with me. It’s cold… down there.”

Tunde stumbled backward, but Chike kept moving toward him, his hand outstretched. The air grew icy, and whispers filled Tunde’s ears, as though hundreds of voices were calling from the grave. Desperate, Tunde ran, but no matter how fast he went, he felt those cold eyes watching him.

At home, Tunde locked the doors, trembling, only to hear faint scratches against the walls. He looked through the window and saw not just Chike, but others from the town who had died, their lifeless faces staring back at him, all whispering the same haunting words: “Join us… join us…”

Days passed, and Tunde became a shell of himself, barely sleeping, haunted by the whispers that echoed through his mind. One night, he finally vanished, his house empty, only a trail of dirt leading to the graveyard, where a freshly dug hole lay open, waiting.

Now, people say they see Tunde among the Living Dead, wandering the streets, his eyes hollow, still whispering, “Join us…”

The Half Dead

In a quiet village, people spoke in hushed tones about the Half Dead—villagers who wandered back from the forest after being presumed dead. They looked the same but didn’t talk much and never seemed fully… alive.

One stormy night, Ada’s brother, Kunle, who had vanished years ago, appeared at her door. His face was pale, eyes hollow, and he moved slowly, like someone learning how to walk again. Ada’s heart pounded, but she hugged him, grateful to see him again.

As days passed, Kunle never ate or slept. He just sat, staring into the darkness, with a strange, haunted smile. When Ada asked him where he’d been, he only muttered, “Between worlds, waiting.”

One night, she found him standing over her bed, his cold hands reaching for her. His hollow voice whispered, “I came back to bring you with me.” Before she could scream, he vanished, leaving only a chill in the air.

Since then, Ada’s neighbors say she’s been acting strange—half here, half somewhere else.

The Shadow in the Mirror

Late one night, Amara was washing her face in her small bathroom, ready to end the long day. As she looked up into the mirror, something felt wrong. Her reflection didn’t quite match her movements—it blinked a moment too late, and the smile she saw wasn’t hers.
She stepped back, her heart racing, but the reflection stayed, grinning wider, showing rows of sharp teeth. Frozen in fear, Amara tried to scream, but no sound came out. The reflection reached out, pressing a hand against the mirror, and suddenly her own hand moved to match it, though she wasn’t controlling it.

Then, in a voice that sounded like hers but twisted, the reflection whispered, “Your turn on this side.”

With a blink, she found herself inside the mirror, watching in horror as her own body, controlled by the shadow, turned and walked away.

Now, she waits every night, trapped in the glass, hoping someone will set her free—but all they see is a harmless reflection.

In this Lagos ehn, anything can happen on a bus. Sometimes, God’s blessings come dressed as strangers sitting next to you, and that's why I say,

"Try dey gist with your fellow passenger once in a while. You never can tell when your miracle will come from."

Last week, after a long day at work, I joined the crowd of struggling Nigerians under the Ikeja bridge, waiting for a bus. The sky was already grumbling with thunder like it was about to vex and pour down rain. I knew I had to get home fast. My best shirt was drying outside, and my yeye brother wouldn’t even think of bringing it in for me.

"Ojuelegba, Stadium, Barracks, Costain!"

One conductor shouted as a danfo bus rattled to a stop. The bus looked like it had seen better days, but in that moment, who had time to inspect? The struggle to get in was like a war zone—office women, suited-up men, everyone shoving and pushing like it was a free-for-all. As expected, I got pushed aside, but a man in a clean white shirt and black trousers pulled me back and helped me secure the last seat in the front row.

"Thank you, sir," I said.

He looked at me and shook his head. "This is Lagos, my guy. You must be sharp. How you go just let women push you like that? No be man you be?"

I chuckled at his banter. "Oga, I strong o. I just dey respect..."

"Respect women, abi?" He interrupted, laughing. "You dey respect so tey dem don tear your shirt."

I looked down in shock. My shirt—the one my girlfriend bought for me—was ripped at the shoulder, my singlet peeking through. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, my phone buzzed with a text from my girlfriend.

"Baby, I’m sorry," the message read. "I’ve tried, but I don’t think there’s a future for us. Please take care of yourself. I’m done."

Imagine receiving that kind of message while you’re on a bus with a torn shirt. I couldn’t believe it. But before I could even process it, the bus made a sudden stop near Fadeyi. The conductor and driver got out, scratching their heads. It was obvious—the fuel had finished. Lagos struggle no dey tire person?

The man beside me turned and pulled out his phone, showing me pictures of sleek shirts on his Samsung Galaxy Fold. I blinked. This guy clearly wasn’t an average danfo passenger. Maybe he was working for a big man or something.

"These are some shirts my daughter is selling. You fit buy from her," he said.

I checked the prices. "59k for one shirt?" I laughed nervously. "Sir, that fit buy me wardrobe for Oshodi market now."

"Oh, I thought you said you strong man," he teased. "But, anyway, how much be your salary?"

"65k, sir," I replied, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"Ha! Na wa o. And from that you still pay for transport?"

"Yes, sir. They give me 5k allowance."

He looked at me thoughtfully. "You be computer literate?"

"Yes, sir."

"BSc or HND?"

"HND."

"Good. There’s a spot open in my office, and I think you could fit in. Drop your Instagram handle; I’ll send you a message with my WhatsApp link. And, pick any five shirts you like. They’ll deliver them to your house tomorrow."

My eyes widened. Sharp guy that I am, I immediately opened Instagram and shared my handle. Seconds later, I saw his message. I checked his profile, and let’s just say, this man was not a small somebody. He had G-Wagon pictures, company events—you name it. Why was someone like this on a danfo?

As if reading my thoughts, he smiled.

"I know say you wan ask plenty questions. Just hold them. I have heard them before. I also sent my daughter’s contact too; she’s single, and well-behaved. By the way, what's your name?"

"My....my....my na...name is Akintomiwa Aromire, sir."

"I am Dr. Akeju. And I love to help young and vibrant youth like you."

"Are you single?"

There was no time to process my response.

"No sir, I am very single."

I was speechless. The driver couldn’t fix the bus, so I was standing there, just waiting, not even bothering to argue with the conductor. I saw the man talking on the phone. I decided to wait a little more.

"My driver is nearby. If you’re patient, he can give you a lift,"

he offered. I don’t know what came over me—I just went over and hugged him. Minutes later, his G-Wagon pulled up, and we cruised off.

Long story short, I now work as one of his assistants, 180k pay plus some unannounced training and transport allowance.

And just last night, I had dinner date with his daughter, Adesewa. Beautiful as the name sounds.

When your helper arrives, e go be like dream. Only you go just dey shout,

"Na wa o! My helper too do o!"

I couldn't wait to look at someone who shared my genes. I thought my baby was going to provide a decoder key to my past. But then I looked at Pippa and realized, no, she's actually the key to my future.
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"We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us." – Joseph Campbell

The two hardest tests on the spiritual road are the patience to wait for the right moment and the courage not to be disappointed with what we encounter.

It sucks when you know that you need to let go but you just can't because you are still waiting for the impossible to happen.

#Wait For it

Relationships aren't something you find, they're something you build.

Just like a house requires a strong foundation, walls, and a roof to stand the test of time, a good relationship needs effort, communication, and dedication to thrive.

Remember, relationships aren't a destination, they're a journey. And like any journey, it takes effort and commitment to reach the milestones.

So, don't wait for the perfect relationship to come along - build it, one brick at a time."