You come and go
Like the weather
Never static
Always dying.

First, you come
Heralding great joy.
Then, you go
Leaving iya in pains.

It was your birth
She long awaited
And yet you have shown
More times than the nine
She thought she’d carry you.

‘Iya’ is heavy again
‘Ifa Lalada’ has advised
If the ‘omo’ returns with
The ‘Pele’ we had drawn on Shalewa
Before she left,
Bring him to the shrine
On the eight day.

You come and indeed with the Pele
The eight day arrives
We kill an ‘adie’ on your behalf
We cleanse your head
And offer prayers to the gods
Prayers that are heard
Because although, you are never flogged
You grow up strong and healthy.
You are twenty five today
Ökö has come to take you home.

You were once abiku
But yet, you lived.

©Opara Chizaram Adaobi 2017

Abiku*–means Reincarnated child. One who dies and xomez back again.

Thanks for taking time out to read this post.:mrgreen:

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Keep the change bruh

If you are in Nigeria and especially in Ibadan at the moment and you have no idea what #keepthechange is about then you must be really antisocial. Anyways, I’m here for you:mrgreen:

Here’s a couple of pictures to describe what went down, how it went and the effect afterwards.


So apparently, the guy was pained and was trying to diss the girl. But as a strong black woman, she showed him she was above dissing


See the good tidings that befell the girl




Dunno how true this is



Boy got the bitter taste of his own medicine back.



I particularly was inspired and excited about the girl’s response.
Guys can’t keep taking us for granted. We should be independent and strong.

Moral lesson: Don’t mess with an independent woman.

NB: It really happened. The lady is a 300l student of Sociology in my school.

Meanwhile, you can check out a featured post I have on Terrabuz

Thanks for taking time out to read this post.:mrgreen:

Tell me what you think of it in the comment section.

I Eat Amala Every Mondays Now


Above, is a picture of the plate of already finished amala(yam flour) with ponmo(cow skin) remaining. It occurred to me  to take the picture when I had finished eating.

So, I realized or I’ve always known that I could be as routinized as anything. I sit at the same place every time unless something comes up and yadi yada yada. Anyways, I always order jollof rice or white rice from the canteen/cafeteria everytime. And I’ve been talking about how I stop that( to myself).

It all started to change, on a beautiful Monday, when I had to go to JSA( a place I teach as a volunteer) in the evening after a long tiring day coupled with a fast.

As I was returning back, I happened to notice a cafeteria. My plan was to eat rice as I normally would. However, the seller confessed to me that the rice was smaller in comparison to the amala* at whatever price.

After seeing her serve a lady a hundred Naira’s worth of amala, I jumped on the opportunity. And that was how, with two hundred Naira I was fully satisfied with Amala.

I decided there and then, to be eating amala every Monday, on my return from JSA. So, here you have it, I now eat Amala on Mondays. Its been about Four weeks now and it feels real good.

If like me, you are a creature of habit and routine, you could try changing your usual diet. Stop ordering the usual and do something new!

Amala*…Plantain flour made into moulds to be eaten with Soups. Its from the Yoruba tribe.

Ewedu and Gbegiri*… Green leaf soup and beans paste soup that go really great alongside Amala.

JSA*…Jump Start Academy. A place where I get to interact with some really great and intelligent kids.

Thanks for taking time out to read this post.:mrgreen:

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I Think I Can Act😁


Hey lovelies!
So today, I’m talking about the acting skills I think I possess.
Hehehe. If you’ve been following my posts or know me really well, you’ll know by now that I could be dramatic sometimes. Thing is, I’ve always believed I have an acting talent but my shyness would not allow me showcase myself.

To help myself, I joined the drama unit of my church…not essentially for drama but for poetic recitations. We are called Creative Impact, so everything creative works for us.

They’ve made me feature in about three acts but I’ve only gotten roles where I don’t get to talk so much. This is because I told them I’m not much of an actor.

Anyways, back to the gist. The director of Creative Impact, who happens to be my friend, was informed of an audition for some drama series or film( I think). I decided to follow her for moral support.

On getting there, I decided on a whim, though a bit unsure, to try out too since the auditions were free and you didn’t have to have registered before hand. I even got the encouragement of the receptionist in charge of the registration of the actors there to audition.

In panic and anxiety, I waited. It was with so much joy that I received the food packs that were given to us, those who registered, before we even had to go in for our turns( imagine I had not registered. I most likely wouldn’t have gotten food).

Anyways, it got to my turn, I acted the roles I was told to play. I didn’t do too excellent enough to wow them. But I did real good(in my estimation). I felt so much joy and excitement to have overcome a fear that I have  always had.

So now, yes, I think I can act. And I’m excited about it!:)

I’ve not been called back. No one has. But even if I don’t get called back. It is an achievement to me. Maybe I’ll still act. Lol.

I have been made a superwoman, wanting to do everything I can lay my hands on.

Wish me well.

Thanks for taking time out to read this post.:mrgreen:

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Her V Him: A message to both genders

TELL IT TO HER  By Ibrahim Evergreen

Tell it to her
When she was birthed
She had neither gold nor silver
She came not with diamond
Nor bronze and colourful fits
She came without shelter
Nor the ride she crushes on
The life she wants to catch
Is a day to catch her

Tell it to her
When she grows nipples
And homage is paid to her flat chest
As hair fill her pubic
When she wears paints and chains
And when foundation takes her face
Her grandma grows scars
As she patently waits for death to come
Say it to her when her pride is high
‘Your grandma was once like you’

Tell it to her
When the man takes her home
To an under-roof she loves to be
When she bares him the seed of the womb
And her beauty fades with every birth
When her days are counting over
As she celebrates her children upon grace
Say it to her ears with pride
That her days are over soon

Tell it to her
When her resting home is dug
Feet below the earth surface
And her children weep
As she’s prayed paradise upon
When her face is covered with sand
And her mouth could not open to say
‘All the lies and all the truths told
All the secrets she told to none
All the looks that she threw
And all the things she made gone’
Say it to her grave with pride
“Life is not a bed of roses”

Continue reading

The Prison


The prison is a sad place to be.
The prison is an unhappy place. It’s a cage. First you start off trying to survive. Later, you get used to it.

Freedom gets lost in your vocabulary especially when you are faced with a life imprisonment sentence.

You are faced with a life imprisonment sentence because you killed a man. You killed a man and you do not remember why or how.

First you were both drunk, arguing. Later, he was on the floor with blood spilling out of his head and a broken bottle in your hands. You did not know what happened. You still don’t.

You had never been a passionate person when arguing. Perhaps it was the alcohol. The alcohol. It was your first time consuming it. It was going to be your last.

You had been angry or rather depressed. You had lost your job of twelve years the same day. You had also lost your girlfriend to a sickness she had long battled- cancer. To make it worse, you had been robbed of your car when you stopped at a store to get some grocery. You were simply devastated.

You had gone to the comfort of the bottle you never once admired. You had heard people drowned their sorrows with it.

You wanted to drown your sorrow. You needed to drown your sorrow. You did drown your sorrow. But you got another sorrow.

You have been two years in the prison. You no longer have light in your eyes. You are employed but for the state. It’s some hard labour that you don’t get paid for. Except you decide to count the sad story of a meal that you get served twice on a daily basis. You no longer engage in arguments. It is the reason you are here in the first place.

You are now a “girlfriend” to a man like you who has constantly raped you till you gave into it “will-lessly”.

This prison is a prison. Its a sad life behind the wall. The walls. You sit and wait for the walls to either crumble or vanish.

“Mr Frank, your lawyer is here to see you”. This is the voice of the prison warden.

You go to see your lawyer and you are blessed with good news. News better than what you’ve gotten for two years.
You have been released on parole.
Now you can see the light of day.
The wall has finally crumbled!
The prison is behind you and now you can smile.
Continue reading

For Pastor Ken

I’m typing this post after many tears. Its not that someone died, but someone who has made impact in my life
(My Pastor) is leaving and will be missed.


For Pastor Ken

Who’d be my friend
My smiling partner
My leader and my Pastor
Like you have been?

Who has seen a pastor like mine?
Had one like him?
Have you ever been hugged so good
That your fears disappear?
Or preached to so much
That your faith has no choice but to show up?

Have you ever been pushed so hard,
For a success that is even yours?
Or helped out in your responsibility?
Or given help when money seems to be absent?

Have you ever been told
‘I love you’
With that cute sincere smile?

He gave me his shoulders to lean on
And wasn’t ashamed to lean on mine
He drove to school once
Showcased me as though I was the most promising star.

He saw me as a star
I am the most promising star
If I cry a bucket of tears
It is not for you to mock.

Have you had a pastor like mine,
Who cared about your feeding dislikes
And would modify the feeding plan,
Just to suit your taste?

A man so selfless,
Someone who gave his all.
He lived for others
And I’m sure he still will.

Who will share my love for law,
And laugh at my immature acts,
Drawing me close in those loving hands,
Where perfect love resides,
Casting out my fears?

I have cried a bucket.
I’ll most likely cry more.
This void you’ve left,
It’ll take time to be filled.

©Opara Chizaram Adaobi

Thanks for taking time out to read this post.:mrgreen:

Tell me what you think of it in the comment section.