Good evening
Kindly permit me share my story with you, a story where destiny, morality, and love twist together in a stormy dance.

I was a l0st girl wandering through life, fatherless and raised by a brave mother who sold spices to fuel our dreams. With perseverance, I completed high school and was set for university. But money was scarce. I had to drop out to find a job and prepare for an entrance exam.

Alone in the city, my mother back in the village, I started selling grilled chicken with a sister. For a year, my days were filled with sweat and smoke, but every evening, a young man from my neighborhood, who managed an Orange Money stand and went to my school, comforted me. He would buy me lunch, and sometimes I'd send him chicken, building our budding love.

Then, fate played its cruelest card: my mother fell seriously ill, and my meager savings of 45,000 francs were not enough for the urgent surgery she needed. My boyfriend, caught up in preparing for his own exam, could only offer me 15,000 francs more like a drop in the ocean of despair.

Desperate, I agreed to meet a wealthy married man who had been pursuing me for a long time. My mother's advice could not stop me from telling him about my problem. He generously gave me 150,000 francs that night, but the price was spending the night with him in a hotel.

Thanks to him, my mother received the care she needed, and I continued this relationship, lulled by his constant attention. He funded my exam, and today, I am a teacher. Yet, my heart beats for my neighborhood guy, the one I dream of building a family with.

But the benefactor, the married man, wants me to become his second wife. He threatens to ru|n my life if I refuse. I am a Christian and I know he visits witch doctors who could destroy my life.

Please don't judge me. I was trapped. Every time I have to be with him, I drink beer to forget. I fear karma, but what should I do in the face of such threats?🥹

Will God forgive me?

Kindly advise me everyone

Good afternoon
My name is Aline and I am 28 years old. Today, I turn to you with a story that has broken my heart

It all began six months ago, on a night that seemed full of promises. I met Patrick at a party hosted by mutual friends. He was charismatic, with a smile that could melt anyone’s defenses. We started seeing each other secretly because he was a married man, and he didn’t want anyone to know. Despite this, I foolishly believed our love was special.

One evening, we were sitting in my living room, talking about dreams and life. Suddenly, my sister, Claire, came over unannounced. I was a bit nervous, but nothing prepared me for what would happen next.

"Patrick !" Claire gasped, her eyes wide with shock.

Patrick froze. The air around us thickened with tension.

"Claire?" he replied, clearly embarrassed.

"Do you two know each other?" I asked, feeling a knot of fear and sadness forming in my chest.

Claire lowered her eyes, unable to meet my gaze. Then she confessed, almost whispering, “Aline, I have to tell you something. Patrick and I... we’ve been seeing each other for two years.”

My world fell apart. I looked at Patrick, trying to process the crushing betrayal. How could he do this? Betray not only his wife, but also my sister and me?

I was in disbelief. Patrick tried to explain himself, stammering out excuses, but I could no longer hear him. My sister crumbled into tears, realizing the depth of her betrayal.

As I watched them leave, my heart shattered into pieces. How could my own sister do this to me? And Patrick, the man who promised to love me, how could he play with our lives?

Now, dear Auntie, I am left to pick up the fragments of my broken heart and my strained relationship with Claire. Trust is shattered, and every day feels like a battle against despair.

Thank you, Auntie Afriqmax, for hearing my story and sharing it so others might learn from my pain. Perhaps some will think twice before playing with the hearts and souls of their loved ones.

I don't think I will ever forgive my sister for betraying me this way!!! How could she be dating my man in secret?

I really do love Patrick and I hope he comes around

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!"

MY MOTHER’S CHOICE

Episode 1
A story written by Tracy Nathaniel

Helen, Mrs. Agatha first daughter, sat in the living room, beaming with joy as she scrolled through her phone. Mrs. Agatha walked in, her eyes fixed on Helen with a playful, mocking glint. She settled into the armchair opposite her daughter, their both eyes locked. Helen's giggles subsided as their eyes met, her expression turning slightly self-conscious. “Mother!” She maintained her composure.

"You're always blushing and smiling at your phone," Mrs. Agatha said, her tone laced with curiosity. "Yet, I haven't seen the man behind those messages. No one has come to our door to express interest in you. All this secrecy is it just a fleeting infatuation?"

Helen scratched her head. "Mother, when the time is right, I'll bring him home."

Mrs. Agatha expression turned stern. "And when is that time?"

Just then, Evelyn called from outside, "Mum, someone is here to see you."

Mrs. Agatha rose, her eyes still fixed on Helen. "I'll be right back."

As her mother stepped out, Helen exhaled, relieved. "Thank God she's gone." She stood and slipped into her room.

"Mrs. Agatha wouldn't stop pestering Helen about bringing a suitor home. 'Mum, let Helen be!' Patrick intervened. 'When the guy she's dating is ready, he'll come to seek her hand in marriage.'

Mrs. Agatha snapped, 'Will you shut your mouth? What do you know? Helen isn't getting any younger; she needs to move to a man's house.'

Helen sat silently, watching her mother and brother rant about her getting married. Feeling frustrated, she stood up and walked away from the scene."

Some weeks later, Helen brought Kenneth home. Mrs. Agatha sitting outside, gazed at the couple walking hand-in-hand toward her.

"Helen, why are you and Kenneth holding hands?" Mrs. Agatha asked, her tone firm.

Helen's face radiated joy. "Mother, Kenneth is the man I want to marry."

Mrs. Agatha’s eyes widened. "What? You can't be serious."

"I am, Mother," Helen replied. "Kenneth wants to marry me."

Kenneth stepped forward. "We're not joking, Ma'am. I truly want to marry your daughter."

Mrs. Agatha's expression turned skeptical. "What makes you think you're qualified to marry my daughter?"

She turned to Helen. "Among all the successful men in this city, you choose...him?"

Helen's voice rose. "Mother, what's wrong with Kenneth? He's kind, loving, and—"

"Does he have a good job, a stable future?" Mrs. Agatha interrupted.

Mother, I don't see anything wrong with him," Helen said firmly. "He's perfect for me, and I love him."

"First off, how much do you earn?" Mrs. Agatha asked Kenneth, her tone stern.

Helen intervened, her voice laced with frustration. "Mother, what's going on? You've been pressing me to get married, and now you're rejecting Kenneth just because he's not wealthy?"

Mrs. Agatha stood, her expression resolute. "Yes, I won't let my daughter marry a poor man. I'm going inside. When I come out, I don't want to see him here." She warned, "You won't like my actions if he's still around."

As Mrs. Agatha walked in, Helen shouted, "Mother!"

Kenneth's face fell. "I should leave now, Helen."

Helen grasped his hand. "No, don't go. I'll talk to her."

But Kenneth, already hurt by Mrs. Agatha's words, insisted on leaving. Helen stormed inside, furious.

"Mother, how could you?" Helen asked, frustration etched on her face.

Mrs. Agatha scoffed, "Look at yourself! Don't you have any self-respect? You want to marry a poor man like Kenneth?"

Helen stood firm. "He loves me, and I love him. We can support each other financially. I'm working too."

Mrs. Agatha's expression turned disdainful. "You think your salary can sustain you both?" She hissed, shaking her head, and stormed into her room.

Helen trailed behind, still protesting. "Mother, you have to listen to me!"

TO BE CONTINUE….

Since they can’t kill everyone of you, they need to kill one person so that everybody will be declared dead. But somehow, somewhere, by the special grace of God, they failed. And the God that we are thanking today, what they meant for evil, God turned it to good.”

He expressed heartfelt thanks, attributing his resilience and success to both divine support and the organic backing of Rivers residents.

The thanksgiving event drew large crowds, including prominent clergy members, worship leaders, and gospel musicians, who joined in a show of gratitude for what Fubara described as “divine intervention” against the attempted disruption of his administration on October 30, 2023.

Rivers State Governor, Siminalayi Fubara, has expressed gratitude for overcoming an alleged plot to oust him from office within a week of his administration.
Speaking during the Rivers State Day of Thanksgiving, Praise, and Worship held at the Alfred Diette-Spiff Civic Centre in Port Harcourt on Wednesday, Governor Fubara declared that those aiming to end his administration undemocratically had “failed woefully

Thank God say them no de keep garri for bank. You for de hear, you can only withdraw two cups a day

Elara's Journey of Transformation

#juniorjoyland

#fairytales #kindness #dreambig #magicaljourney #selfdiscovery

#Story

In the quaint village of Eldergrove, nestled on the edge of an ancient forest, lived a young girl named Elara. Orphaned at a tender age, she grew up under the care of her elderly grandmother.

They lived in a small, rundown cottage, where Elara spent her days helping with chores and dreaming of a different life. Though her clothes were tattered and her shoes barely held together, Elara possessed a heart full of kindness and a spirit that refused to be subdued.

One particularly lonely evening, as Elara sat by the crumbling hearth, tracing the patterns in the fire with her eyes, she noticed something peculiar. A soft, golden light emerged from the shadows of the room, growing brighter and more encompassing.

To her astonishment, the light took the shape of a woman, majestic and ethereal. "Do not be afraid," the woman said in a voice like gentle music. "I am Lira, the Guardian of Wishes, and I have been drawn here by your pure heart."

Elara, though surprised, felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and comfort in the presence of the guardian. "What do you seek?" Lira asked softly.

Flustered, Elara replied, "I only wish for my grandmother's well-being and a chance to leave this village to see the world."

Lira smiled, and with a wave of her hand, a shimmering dust enveloped Elara. In a moment, her worn-out garments transformed into a gown of delicate blues and silvers, so finely crafted it seemed woven from the moonlight itself.

Her old shoes became elegant slippers, and around her neck appeared a necklace with a gem that glowed with an inner light.

When Elara looked in the small, cracked mirror by the hearth, she barely recognized the reflection staring back. Gone was the poor village girl, replaced by a visage worthy of royalty.

"With this new form, doors will open for you, Elara," Lira said. "But remember, it is your heart that defines you, not your appearance."

With tears of gratitude, Elara thanked Lira, who vanished as suddenly as she had appeared. Armed with newfound confidence, Elara set off to explore the world.

Her journey took her to kingdoms far and wide, where she touched lives with her kindness and wisdom. Tales of the mysterious princess spread, inspiring hope and kindness wherever she went.

And though she traveled far, Elara never forgot her humble beginnings, often returning to Eldergrove to share her fortune and joy with her beloved grandmother.

In the end, Elara realized that her true transformation had nothing to do with her appearance but rather the courage to dream and the will to act on those dreams.