I just want to be normal. II

So, today we have Gbemisola, with the sequel of her short-story.

If you missed out on the yesterday’s post, you should read it here: I just want to be normal. by @Gbemisola_A before continuing with today’s post.

Enjoy.

alonewindowwomansilhouettegirlmorning-d428f4df58b35afcb10aa0618e157366_h

Pakistani weddings are so different. It all went so fast yet I went through it all in slow motion. First there was the proposal party which held at my ‘rented family’s’ house with my rented parents and siblings. Then came the engagement, I can’t even remember what happened or how it happened. After that was the Dholki, I liked this one, I got Henna all over my hands and legs and I thought it was pretty. After that was the Mehndi which I got even more Henna. Finally came the Shaadi, the wedding itself. Here I was, a young girl in her second year marrying a man who had overnight become a stranger to her and of course £500,000 richer than I was before it all. I guess this is pretty normal. I am now Mrs Vanessa Tauseef, my names don’t complement each other.
 
Now I spend most days just talking to myself in my room. ‘My husband’ hardly comes home. Spends most of his time with his true bride. The power of a British passport. Shahid Tauseef never loved me, he never even liked me, but he needed me, he needed me so desperately, I was the gateway to a better British life. I thought I was more to him but I was merely a pawn in his large game of chess. I was the ticket for his family and bride to come into the UK and be citizens as well. I would never forget the day he texted me to come out, I never should have gone, I remember clearly the words he said to me as we sat on the bench just outside my apartment building. “Vanessa, I know you care for me, and I need a favour. My student visa would run out and I have not been using it, I have been working, I need you to marry me so I can stay in the country, I know you’re a citizen and I know you care for me that much, you can’t afford to see me go, do you really want to lose me?’. I was so naive, so gullible, I saw the pain in his eyes and I was so utterly in love with this normal man that I agreed to do it. I didn’t want the money but his father insisted. It is a lot of money, I just couldn’t say no.
 
It’s been almost a year now, sadly the rules have changed in the UK, not only do you have to have proof of the whole marriage shenanigans, you also have to remain married for at least 10 years, remaining in the UK. ‘My husband’ wasn’t aware of all the rules but now that he knows he is terribly bitter. He carries out his anger on me, he blames me for all of it, he beats me, insults me, deprives me of dignity and altogether demeans me. The one person in my life I thought was normal was one of the most abnormal people I had ever met in my life, this was why I knew I had to do something.
 
It felt good returning all the money to Shahid’s father. It felt even better turning myself in to the police and telling them all I had done, I knew deep down somewhere in me that purchasing a gun and doing what I had in mind wouldn’t have helped me,I felt liberated and at peace this way and I could move on with my life. What I didn’t expect was ending up in the same mental clinic with my mother for severe bipolar disorder and Major depression disorder. 
 
Well here I am now, again on a search for normalcy, but what exactly is normal? Is it perfection or is it a word made up in our minds that makes us somehow part of a wider vast system, and gives us a feeling of involvement? Is it that thing that differentiates a functional family from one that isn’t? What exactly is it? I ask myself everyday. All I wanted was a mother to love, a father to look up to and a life to look forward to.
 
Well I guess I’ll never know what ‘normal’ is.
Advertisements

My womb is damaged. by @Delia_Maraj

tumblr_mmpdcaTX2b1rczby5o1_500

An empty vessel;

That’s what I’ve been feeling like since I learnt that I could never have children.

My womb was damaged, they said.

Only, it’s not just my womb. It’s me.

I’m a damaged woman.

I will never be able to do the one thing I grew up looking forward to.

I will never feel the joy of holding my own baby to my chest.

I will never look at anybody and think “I birthed that one”

That joy in calling someone mine and knowing;

That indeed, they are mine.

Growing up as an only child, I always wanted a daughter

I yearned for the days when I’d relieve my youth days to her

And make sure she learnt from my mistakes

Those days will never come now

I don’t need your pity

I’ve had enough of that.

I saw it in the doctor’s eyes as he broke the bad news to me

That rainy afternoon, five years ago.

The day I last felt any form of happiness

I see it in my mother’s eyes, she’s heartbroken too

She’ll never have a grandchild; poor woman.

But I see it most in the eyes of my husband

Though he tries to hide it from me

I see that look in his eyes each time he sees a child

Many nights he held me while I cried and begged him to leave me

I’d say to him ‘go and have children with someone else, mike,

I’m the barren one’ and he’d just hold me silently until I fell asleep.

He is my strength; I’d never have gone through this without him.

Maybe in the near future when we are emotionally balanced,

We’d consider adoption.

Until then…

Let’s give a moment to those women that can never bear children…

And to the husbands that stick by their wives regardless of their inabilities to have children.

@Delia_Maraj

……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Although this is fictionally written, we cannot deny the fact that there are married women going through this same perplexity and feeling of void, who have not been able to birth children over time, after a perceived ‘okay’ number of years, who are stigmatized as the family outcast. There have been cases of the husband going ahead to take in a second wife usually with the backing of his family all in the bid to keep the family name going, at least that’s the excuse they seem to all use.

So, #QuickQuestion 1: Why are we always so quick to think it’s the woman at fault and usually never think it’s the man who can’t groom perfect swimmers? Or the one who just keep shooting blanks?

#QuickQuestion 2: What next for a couple who can’t have children on their own doing?

Please use the comment box.

Her Story, XXXIV

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers who has asked to stay Anonymous.

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

Short Story by a nameless person.

About a mother who had a friend that knew a girl that had a girlfriend who knew a girl, who had a sister that got hurt.

Being a girl comes with a lot of pros and cons, at first its the cute clothes, to the lovely hairbands to the cute shoes.

Then the loving parents and relatives, followed by you getting scolded for not being a true ‘African child’, to the do’s and don’t s.

She had a lovely childhood till her teenage days, first touched by her family friend’s son, then her best cousin. Mother says ‘it can’t be

True, so you watched “pretty woman” now playing the part…..’  She blocked it out. Then three years after school lost her dad and confidant who protected her. Then she fell.

Prey to the cruel world of abuse…. She prayed, she fought hard, but her cute looks betrayed her and made her a victim several times, then she gave up and got lost in the thickness of the darkest side of the dark.

She fell in love, she lost it. Then changed her strategy and how she acted things out. She loved God, and then she loved herself, and then loved people.

Now she’s happy, stands tall and teaches young ones and parents how to handle abuse…. But oh boy did getting back on her feet take a while.

Know who that lost inner girl child is first, and love her, not judge her cause she finds strength in love and support…. Don’t hit her with the drums of religion but with the shoulders of care and concern.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.
A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with this afternoon’s story  ’Her Story, XXXV’ by an Anonymous writer

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

His Story, XXI

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers, who has asked to stay Anonymous.

This is his story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

Hey, don’t even know where to start from. I was born into a family of five, I’m the second and first son :). You really don’t need all this info, let me just go ahead with my story, I have had so many challenges while growing up, having a dad who traveled quite often then, leaving us with mum. It all started when I was little, in primary school, dad always gave mum money to take care of us.

Time for school mum wouldn’t give us money for lunch and will yell we should go to school looking at other kids in school and considering the fact the we always had to trek back home daily under the hot sun had an effect on me, we reported to my dad on phone, mum changed that’s where everything began. Don’t know if it was just me but mum always flogged me all the time no matter how small the crime was to an extent I told some visitors that came around that I would pour hot water on my mum someday they thought I was joking like they will say he’s just a kid and they’ll laugh it off.

In school I wasn’t the brightest, will always come 15th to 17th, in class my best was 10th I was so proud of myself, my elder sister was very intelligent and so was my immediate younger brother I was looked upon as the “black sheep” of the house and the non-intelligent folk / ugliest of all and of course my self-esteem was gone since I was about 7 years old. I always kept to myself, was seen as the quiet one no one knew, dad never allowed toys he saw it as a taboo always giving me elderly advice like I could understand all he was saying then, I kept all of them, made me to always think like an adult, afraid of trying something new, taking risks, making mistakes, friends, the list is endless. I didn’t grow up as a normal kid looking around and seeing how others were around me I still never felt free always shy all the time, then I went for a holiday to my mum’s elder sister’s house in Kaduna, then before the sharia in 1999 stayed for about three months there we hardly ever spoke with my parents on the phone as a little boy, had this cousin of mine that attended NMS Zaria, it was not funny waking up everyday with fear. They beat, punished and made us (me and my brother) cry almost on a daily basis, there was a time they asked me to count all the leaves in the compound and say sorry to them. They did this with all seriousness, they terrified my soul finally we left a day before sharia started and attended the naming ceremony of my last sister that same day. Having three sisters then if you asked me was like a terrible thing, mum would take them out and leave me and my bro to do the chores even on a Saturday morning all in the name of ‘to make their hair’, I learnt how to make fufu from the raw stage and pound, in fact I can do all house chores some of my aunts say I’m a woman and praise me but within I’m really angry.

I was abused by one of our house helps who toiled with me every time the house was empty no one in my family knows about this I wouldn’t say I enjoyed it cause I didn’t even know what was going on. Mum always made me do this and that like I was a house boy leaving others each time I questioned she’ll give the excuse that they can’t do it well but if anything goes wrong I get beaten. Then I preferred staying in school to home, in school I wasn’t really social I had this temper, and low self-esteem would leave me always quiet I was so insecure coupled with the fact that I never got visited in secondary school on visiting days, seeing other kids with their parents, aunts, uncles and family made me very sad I got used to it. Had some people around me who call themselves my friends but were just there, cause of the large amount of provisions I had, never spent time with my parents, not close to any of them, they don’t even know what am capable of.

The story is just too long… I entered the university having no one to look up to, low self-esteem, kept to myself, always worried about one thing or the other, parents who never believed in me… mum once compared me with others academically and I was disappointed, I was ranked second from behind out of 5 I was devastated. Felt all alone, that was probably the worse thing I ever experienced, not being encouraged by my own parents. Always yelling each time I asked them for money and giving others more, presently I have trust issues, never been in a serious relationship the last I had, lasted just 3 months. There is so much to tell, just can’t say it all still. Am serving at the moment, sad, lonely, devastated, lost, frustrated, confused name it. From my write-up you’ll know I’m really confused.

God help me through this 🙂

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s ’Her Story, XXXII’ by an Anonymous writer.

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Beneath The Smile, The Project

behind the smile

Continues: Tomorrow

First of all, big thanks to you guys following this project right from the onset, helping in any way and every way you can, by reading, sharing, leaving uplifting words in the comment section, thank you.

In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

The Project so far:

Beneath the Smile I by Anonymous Writer

Beneath the Smile, II retold by @Its_kash

Beneath the Smile, III (FICTION) by @bRinEstAkeS

Now, we are doing something different, getting true stories from our readers who are willing to share, ready to let go or at least, try at it. Some of them, letting it out for the first time ever. Giving it a shot.

Thank you for sending your stories in and those who requested to stay Anonymous would stay Anonymous. I wouldn’t abuse this rare privilege. Thank you.

You can still send in your stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

We have decided to share these stories, for three reasons. First, a face plastered with a ‘smile’ can hide a lot of things and people need to know that there is help and people are ready to help. Second, this may serve as a lifeline to someone, anyone. You are not alone and there are people out there going through the same thing, there’s hope. Third, this is where we all come in, where we give advice and be of help, because the real people going through all of these shared, would be reading what we all have to say, what you think they should do.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

What’s really beneath the smile? Is Hope a myth?

These are not just stories.

Her Story, I by Anonymous writer

But the insecurities still linger,
my body still bears the scars,
my memory never lets me forget,
I want to love, I want to laugh,

I am Oluwatomi Simpson

‘Her Story, II’ by @TheSilentMaeve

…It was my salvation I never saw.  When random people would randomly open their bibles and read out random passages. I shut them out because they were just adding to the noise in my head…

I am Adanna

‘His Story, I’ by @FrankUgo_

Mum started crying.I became scared.I had heard of tears of joy and all that. Was this one of them? She was quiet, watching I and my brother take turns to play with the baby.

I am Frank Ugo

‘Her Story, III’ by Anonymous writer

…Once I was in the bathroom taking a bath, this was at the age of 6 when aunty grace came in yet again and forced me to…

I am xia yong

‘His Story, II’ by @Siji_B

…Last night, I couldn’t sleep so I did what a ‘normal’ kid would do. I popped 2 pills of ‘Kalms’ and entered a really deep sleep. I shouldn’t be abusing prescription drugs but I do it anyway…

I am Siji Bamgboye

 ‘Her Story, IV’ by Anonymous writer

…I felt that if we were friends, then they couldn’t see me as girlfriend material and that was more comforting than the fact that I was fat and…

I am Amarachi Nzekwe

 ‘Her Story, V’ by Anonymous writer

…For a very long time I never thought about it,not until I was a teenager and I became aware of what he’d done to me,what he had taken away from me…

Adedolapo Thomas

These are just some of the stories

Please do subscribe to the blog to follow the project. “Beneath the Smile” continues tomorrow! {Saturday – Monday – Wednesday – Friday – Sunday, ati be be lo }. You do not want to miss this! 8am!

If you have any stories to share, mail us: obafuntay@gmail.com

Beneath the Smile, The Preview

behind the smile (design)

Starting: Tomorrow

This is the very first project on obafuntay.com, a big thank you to the contributors of this project who didn’t mind me disturbing them every other minute just to make this possible.

On this project, we’ll be having three (3) other writers, sharing True stories, while ‘Beneath the Smile, III by @bRinEstAkeS’ is a work of art, exhilarating fiction.

Our first writer on this project, a 13-year-old, stays Anonymous as she will be sharing her own story. Other stories shared, are true stories being re-told. We have decided to share these stories, for three reasons. First, a face plastered with a ‘smile’ can hide a lot of things and people need to know that there is help and people are ready to help. Second, this may serve as a lifeline to someone, anyone. You are not alone and there are people out there going through the same thing, there’s hope. Third, this is where we all come in, where we give advice and be of help, because the real people going through all of these shared, would be reading what we all have to say, what you think they should do.

What’s really beneath the smile? Is Hope a myth?

These are not just stories.

‘Beneath the Smile, I’ by Anonymous

“… I punched glass.. I couldn’t hold myself. The anger bottled up in me just needed to get out and I had no one to talk to..”

I am Adebimpe Adigun

 ‘Beneath the Smile, II’ by @Its_kash

… at school, I most times find myself having lots of mood swings, some people have the idea that I crave attention, they say all I want is to be noticed. I wouldn’t share my problems, don’t blame me, I don’ trust anybody, I don’t even trust me”

I am Damilola Benson

‘Beneath the Smile, III’ by @bRinEstAkeS

“…It’s truly beautiful in a stammerer’s mind; everything happens twice. Reality, however, squeezes itself in-between. Forget what you hear in the news; the glowing statistics are just one side of the story.”

I am Mark Williams

‘Beneath the Smile, IV’ by @seuntomas

“…If I had a dollar for everytime I felt loved, I’d have a dollar.”

I am Nnamdi Ojukwu

Beneath the Smile, by @ObaFuntAy

“But then, this is what I think, what do I know”

Please do subscribe to the blog to follow the project. “Beneath the Smile” starts tomorrow! {Thursday – Saturday – Monday – Wednesday – Friday}. You do not want to miss this!

If you have any stories to share, mail us. obafuntay@gmail.com

Child Musings ii

Hello.

Remember Child Musings written by @Jetttson that we all enjoyed, well, in case you missed out on it, read it Here. Yes, just click the “Here”. Now, we present to you the ever funny Child Musing ii by @jetttson again.

Enjoy.

First off… I thank you all for all the comments… re-tweets… “LOLs”… “LMAOOOOOs”… “LWKMDs” etc… I appreciate gaan ^_^… I am most especially grateful to bev (@shytalkative) and @ObaFuntAy… they helped out a lot (although they didn’t correct my gbagauns in the previous post >.>)… anyway… without further ado… I present child musings…….
Part II
Mrs Okoro looked me in the eye and frowned… “At your age you’re still pupuing on yourself… shame on you… ”… I let out silent tears… “See how your class mates are laughing at you… anyway I can’t let you walk around with all this shit… so you’ll have to wear the girls’ uniform till your daddy comes”… “Please ma… no” “WILL YOU SHUT UP… DID I TELL YOU TO SHIT ON YOURSELF?! ” “please ma… pleaaaaaaaasssssssssseee” she lifts her hand to slap me but the matron interrupts… “Take it easy Mrs Okoro… he’s just a child” “A very stupid child… please take him inside and change his uniform” she takes me in gently “you’re lucky… I was going to slap your ears off” (thought: you should have done it… see if I won’t put you in an arm lock)… inside… I tried to persuade the matron to let me stay with her until school was over… I’m sure she would have agreed if not for Mrs Okoro’s frequent howling… she dressed me up quickly and took me out… as I stepped out I noticed a smirk on Mrs Okoro’s face (thought: my God will judge you)… she took me to the class and even before we entered my class mates were already peeping out to see the new citizen of Scotland… Mrs Okoro stepped back and gestured for me to enter the class alone (thought:

I summoned courage and proceeded into the class on my own… heart breaking laughter filled my ears… my God what did I do wrong… WHAT?!… Mrs Okoro steps in “don’t you know your seat again?!” she still had 30 minutes so she went on teaching… using me as a point of reference any time she had the chance… she
even told me to go to the girls side when it was time for quiz… all the while I silently prayed the undertaker would come out from the ground and give Mrs Okoro a befitting choke slam… she left the class 15 minutes early… just enough time to get tortured… all my class mates were getting ready to pick on me and then… when I least expected it… the school bell rang (thought: ^_^ thank you Jehovah… I am forever gratef…) the bell rang again and again and again… the bell rang four times… this could only mean one thing… assembly! (Thought: Jesus I’m still ready… you can still take me)… I was going to leave the class last but two hefty boys dragged me out “LEAVE ME ALONNEEEEE” (translation: pick on someone your own size you premature gorillas)… they both declined and carried on… dragging me to the assembly front….they drooped me just before we got there and left… I thought about running away but I couldn’t… not with all these teachers around… I walked hurriedly to the space assigned to my class… hopefully no one would notice… It worked until the girl whose name I wrote down in the noisemakers list (you should remember her from part one) screamed “MAYOWA WHY ARE YOU WEARING MY SKIRT?!” the little bitch… all because of a stupid noisemakers list… all the students turned around and stared… they didn’t laugh or anything (I wasn’t so popular)… then I started walking again (fuck up)… they all noticed my struggle walk whilst wearing the skirt (it’s the sort of walk you’ll get if 50 cent ever wears a kilt ) mehn you should have seen the way they laughed and pointed immediately they noticed I was a boy… even the not-so-cool kids laughed… I just stayed where I was and didn’t venture to go any further… the teachers were compassionate enough to let me stay there… the impromptu assembly had been called because there was a shoot-out going on outside between the police and some hoodlums so we were asked to stay in school for a while longer


The actual fuck… how could all these things be happening today… how?!… Something is wrong somewhere… I made way to the class… the things these evil children did and said to me… I actually had to cross my leg like a girl because some asshole peeped under the desk to see my panties (karma is a bitch -_-)… another one drew this and pasted it on the board

… even when I wanted to go to the toilet one primate threatened to follow me to play mummy and daddy with me (I saw him holding hands with a light skinned man some days back)… these children didn’t let up one bit… they took all my notes and added a “Mrs.” Just before my name… then news got out that the shoot-out was over and we could all go home… (Thought: it took you this long to hear me Jesus) but before I even stepped out Mrs Okoro entered the class with a new short for me… I did this to her in my mind

I just had this feeling Mrs. Okoro had somehow joined forces with some babalawo and had today planned out
Today is worst day of my life… this was all I had on my mind as I made my way to the school gate to meet my father… I considered running away from Nigeria… I wondered how much an okada man would charge to take me London… my dad smiles and asks “how was school today?” I was going to tell him all that happened but Mrs Okoro had threatened to make me wear a feminine uniform for the rest of my stay in primary school if I did… “Fine” I force a smile… as we went through the school gate I had just one thought……

The end.
p.s. I think the girl that screamed my name was @i_annette… I think >_>

Tale of a Little Child [Down By The Riverside]

The view was great especially during the evenings: the sunset was usually rosy and radiant, calming yet inviting. You could feel its friendliness as though calling upon you to come closer; it was just a sight to behold. This was where I grew up. Everything was peaceful; you could almost hear the crashing of waves and the rhythmic sound of the ocean. I had never been away from The Riverside, never seen the outside world. I felt bounded because the only thing I could see was the horizon from beyond. Most often, Traders and Sailors came around with shipments filled with Western clothing, foods, books and several other things which were foreign. They even had toys too :). I was poor, so I never really had anything given to me besides food and good clothes. It’s just exciting to see all of us children run down to shore whenever the men from the outside world came.

I loved to play with my friends. “Hide and Seek” was our favorite game. My favorite hideout was behind the bushes where no one ever checked but sometimes I would opt to hide behind the rocks when at the beach. I usually picked sea shells too. I had collected thousands of them in the hope that I would be able to exchange them for toys whenever the men came. I had two siblings we didn’t get to see much of each other but it was always fun when they were home.

One night while we were playing in the moonlight, a ship docked. We went to see if it was the usual men because I thought they were due to return the next week as usual. I immediately grabbed my basket filled with shells I had gathered and ran to the Port. My friends ordered for me to return that instant but I refused. I began seeing people being pushed into waiting ships. What was happening? I couldn’t tell. I tried to get closer as I hid behind the rocks on the shores. It was a full moon but the light didn’t seem enough, rather it was blurry. I didn’t move any closer as I saw my friends in the distance. They seemed to be shaking their heads; yeah they disapproved me being inquisitive.

As I walked towards a bunch of reproachful faces, I couldn’t stop looking back at the men being pushed into the ships. I sought an explanation and it came to me, “The New World”! On second thought, I wondered if the men were tired of staying here at the Riverside. I scowled for a moment, I hope not. My friends laughed at the idea of the men being taken to The New World, but seconds later they all rested their hands on their cheeks dreamily. I shook my head in disbelief and immediately assumed the same position as them. That was all we ever dreamed about; when we were older we made a pact to leave our poor remote Island. Soon we returned to playing our games and forgot all about what had happened.

Later that night, I eagerly told my mama about what had happened. She seemed stunned and broke down, that wasn’t the reaction I expected. She should have been happy they were taking the men to The New World. She walked towards the wall and looked at the picture of a man hanging from our mud hut in our poorly lit room. She was crying so I asked her what happened. She found it difficult to say anything, so I asked if my father was ever taken in one of the ships down at The Riverside. She nodded her head and wiped away her tears with the edge of her wrapper. I knew the answer already; I just wasn’t sure why I decided to ask. I couldn’t wait to tell my friends, I was sure Bola, Seyi, Deola, Dayo, Shola, Ife, Eze, Titi and Naomi would all be jealous by the time I told them my father had been to the New World before :). Mamma didn’t say a thing and I soon returned to playing moonlit games. Every day I would go down by The Riverside, hoping one day the men would take me away in their ship to their own world, just the thought of that made my face light up with a smile. I was going to the see the world beyond the one I grew in. I ran to shore, I could see the ship in the distance. They were soon out of sight. Until then, I intended to enjoy my childhood maybe they would take me away one day.

@ShyTalkative

***********************************************************************************************************

#MyThought –> How blissful it was to be a child, having not to worry and think about all these many things that dance all up in my head now. The innocence back then was without blemish and yes! We all were once as naive as the little girl in the story.  :p

Thank you for reading! 😀 Please make use of the “Thought box” below and tell us your own naive childhood tale. Yes! You have one! #GodisWatchingYou