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How Men Think Or Not

She quickly dressed up as fast as she could in her favourite dress. A simple knee length maroon gown.

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She was almost at the door when she remembered the proposal she spent all night working on.

This must be it, she thought as she slipped on her gold wedge sandal.

She had only worn it once, to the church for the new-year thanksgiving and now for him.

She flew out of the room and hurried to the main road to hail a cab.

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He was already seated at a table in the back and ordered orange juice when she got there.

“You are as gorgeous as ever,” he said by way of greeting as soon as he sighted her.

He scanned her face as if searching for some answers to some hidden quest.

She smiled nervously and placed her right hand in his outstretched palm. He looked as handsome as ever with very impressive eyes.

She loved his eyes, especially on her.
“Sit Love, Were you able to finish the proposal?”


She brought them out. “Here, all done.”

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He took them without taking his eyes off her face. Her chest hammered away as his eyes fanned her already flushed face.

She was so happy, her fear has been allayed. He felt the same way she pinched her right palm to prevent her face from betraying her thoughts.

She studied him silently as he went through the proposal.

He was all she has ever wanted in a man.

Charming, neat, humorous, and intelligent, he is not as tall as the man of her dreams or as successful, but he had almost everything else.

The rest can be managed or added along the line.
Wow! This is great. You are too good, angel. She beamed in response.

“Man, she is too perfect, intelligent and wify. She sure has them all.

Confidence, intelligence, ambition and wife materials are bad combo, he thought as he placed the proposal on the table.

He shook his head as if to wave the thoughts away.


How do you like the closing?
It’s perfect, just like you.

“God, girl, are you sure you are not falling in love with me?” He scanned her face again for that answer she couldn’t fathom.

Her heart skipped several beats she lost count.

He leaned closer to her, so close she could feel his warm breath on her lips.

She licked them, they were getting so dry. She scanned his face too after mustering enough courage.

“Would you like a drink first?” She nodded yes. Well, he said first, that means there is more.

The best is happening today, I can feel it. She pressed her eyes shut so hard to prevent herself from laughing out loud.

He left to get her a canned beverage. He resumed his previous position after placing her drink in the small space between them, leaning closer than before.

How Men Think Or Not – A Short Story


“Please, dont.”

” Don’t what?” She held her breath, waiting, anticipating.

“Whatever you do, don’t fall for me, please.”

Everything froze, even the air stilled as she couldn’t breathe; she felt suffocated and gasped for breath.

Those eight words snuffed out the all air in the eatery. She wanted to reach for the drink and gulp some, but her hands were too numb.

She swallowed hard and inhaled deeply to prevent her bruised pride from crawling out.

But instead of saying what was on her mind, she smiled as she couldn’t trust her voice to keep her secret.

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“I love you too much. I can’t date or marry someone I love. It would be bad and too distracting for my –ambition.”

“I–I need someone who wouldn’t– be too needy.”But instead he said, I cant be in a relationship with someone like you.

“We are too much alike, we will destroy each other.”

He wished so hard that he could tell her how much he loved her, but knowing how determined she was, she would never stop until she made him accept his true feelings.

” I would end up hurting you and you hating me. So, you cant love me, please.”

He hoped to hell he doesn’t sound as much of an asshole as he felt right now, but it’s better to hurt her with this truth than with a lie or break her heart.


She managed to dig up a smile,. “What makes you think I can ever fall in love with you? That’s absurd.”

She picked up her drink and gulped it to calm the storm in her stomach.

For the first time she realised how watery these so called canned drinks are, even chilled they don’t sate your thirst or justify their cost, or the risk to health.


“That’s because there is this glow in your eyes today. You look so—dazzling.”


Really?” She summoned every strength and acting spirit in her to help her through the next few minutes.

I know you love me; I can see it in you, but I wont push you. “Hmm about that, I have a date,” she blurted.

Before he could reply, she added. “A date, can you believe that? I’m going on a date.”


“A d–date?”
“Yeah. Gosh! I’m late already.”

She quickly grabbed her clutch and sprang to her feet before he could add something else or ask a question she wouldn’t be able to answer.


“Oh, okay. Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure. Like hell, she mumbled inwardly.


She walked as fast as her stiff legs allowed.

She sighed loudly as the security guy closed the door after her, wondering why men are so dumb, and the worst is they think women are the dumb ones.

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The Day I Met The Man Who Killed Me

When you are face-to-face with the man who killed you what do you do? Fight or flight?

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What do you say to him, to the one who turned your life around and remoulded you?

Today, I saw the man who killed me for the first time, yet I can’t remember his face.

I had pictured him so many times in different ways. With three horns- one stout horn on his forehead, two on either sides with flames oozing out of all his visible orifices.

Or with an axe-like-head, one moon-like eye, wide mouth with pointed fangs and ears the size of pancakes.

Sometimes, I saw him in my dreams, short and dark with a long walking stick having a cobra-like head.

But when I saw him today, he is a man, a person like me, not a monster.

He killed me and he doesn’t even know it.

He took my life but never looked back, not even once. Not even today, after two years when I saw him for the first time.

And right there, everything I had planned to say to him just vanished.

All the questions I had played over and over in my head melted away.

Everything went still, they all held their breaths, waiting.

But I had no words.

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A True Life Story


He stopped about ten feet away from me.

I saw his mouth opened and then snapped shut like a rat trap, then someone shouted from behind. It was my sister.

He turned back and started walking, he kept walking, with his head bent.

I wanted to run after him but I had removed my prosthesis, even if I didn’t I couldn’t.

My head did, but my body refused to comply, most of the parts had got their own mind since he killed their owner.

I willed him to look back, so I can see his face, to memorize it but he wouldn’t.

I kept staring at his retreating back until he disappeared into the old bungalow.


I wanted to tell him about my once sweet, simple family.

He snuffed out the light and kept us all in a dark, airless room where all we see are evil and chaos.

Every sound we hear outside is of mayhem and death.

Everybody who goes out would either not come back or met with a gruesome accident.

He made us so safe in our dark airless room.

We are prisoners trapped in our own heads with fierce, menacing monsters, living our worst nightmares over and over again. Click To Tweet

We are all trapped in that day, when he shattered my world without looking back.

We are stuck in that minute when he decided to nap at the wheel.


I wanted to tell him of how he turned my world upside down, murdered my sleep and replaced them with nightmares and days where realities mingle with dreams.

I wanted to ask him if he ever thought about me.

If he wondered how I lived, if I’m in pain, what happens to my dreams

Did he ever imagined me as himself, an unmarried woman with a broken, mal-union pelvis, one bad leg and a half.


If he ever thinks of the children I might never had, my unborn family and my crushed dreams, of all he snatched from me.

I wished I could ask him why he never once asked what became of me.

I wanted him to see that I’m a person like him, another mans daughter, who would have been another mans wife.

I wanted to hear his side of the story, to see it through his eyes. But he took that away from me too.

I said nothing.

I didn’t fight or flight, I just sat still and watched until he disappeared from sight. I never knew why he stopped or why his lips moved, nor why he didn’t say anything.

If I see him again, I wouldn’t know him.

However, I am grateful that the man who killed me would remain faceless.

The Day I Met The Man Who Killed Me: A True Life Story

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I Shall Not Die 3 – A True Life Story

If you are joining us for the first time, this is the third part of the story or the third chapter of the book South West 1 “I Shall Not Die”.

You can read the first part here and the second here.

“We are here. Wake up, we are going to move you into the vehicle now.”

They did. And it was the most horrible thing I had ever felt in my life, at least for that moment.


I had no idea where I got the strength to scream that much.

The pain started from my waist and surged into my head and then they met again in my back simultaneously.


I was blinded by it at first and then I saw flashes of light and various colours.


My waist was on fire and my back was protesting, because someone was pouring hot oil on one of its members.

They carried me in through the boot of the vehicle.
I felt first then saw my left foot dangling as someone pulled me in.
“Don’t look I said to myself over and over again. “if you look you will not be able to endure it.”

But I did it anyway.

I Shall Not Die – 3 A True Life Story


The inside of the car was like a bed of gravel to my back.

Everywhere aches. Each breath I took was like hot razor scraping my side.

I would scream and groan at every bumps and pothole and there was a whole lot of them.

It was as if there was not a single smooth ride on the way to the hospital. I was in agony, but I had no tears, no fear.

I had forgotten how to be scared, I couldn’t cry.

I had just one goal. I had to see my family. The thought of them filled my head, my mind.

“Dear Lord if this is the end, forgive me all my sins, but grant me the grace to see my family before I leave.

That was my prayer as we journey to the hospital.


The man cradled my head on his laps. He would soothe me and assure me that the journey was almost at the end.

“Hang on, we are almost there, he said.

“What about about my friends?” I blurted out.

“Your friends? There was nobody with you. It was just you.”

“No, there were two people with me. My friends, we were walking together.”

“To where?”

“Right where?”

I had no idea, so I did not respond. I couldn’t remember. But I was sure there were two people with me.

So, I insisted like a petulant child. “My friends were with me, two guys.”

“Calm down, you are not in the condition to about anybody now. We are almost at the station and then we’ll go to the hospital.

“We are Not at the HOSPITAL? Oh I am going to die.”

There were two guys with me, my friends. What happened to them?”

“Just save your strength, we are almost there.”

I must sound crazy was my thought. He thought I was hallucinating or going crazy. Maybe I am.

Maybe this is all a bad dream and I would wake up and everything would be fine. I just need to calm down, truly.

His next question confirmed my fear.

“Where do you live? Do you remember your house?”

I did not answer, my only thought then was what had happened to my friends and why he thought I was not sane.

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Anomaly: A True Life Story

I was eight years old when I met Abiodun.

It was one sunny Sunday afternoon in 2003.

I went out for a walk in my new neighbourhood to get acquainted with the natives and was starting to relish my new freedom from the series of domestic violence, courtesy of my father when I came across Abiodun. 

Abeycity, as almost everyone in Under Powerline called him before his before demise few years afterwards.

My grandmother’s rented apartment was located at one of the notable area in Under Powerline, a few minutes walk will get you to where Abeycity lived if you take the shortcut.


He stood outside his parents house that afternoon glaring at me as I was walking towards him a couple of yards away starting to like this new environment.

I noticed the hostility in his glare but chose to ignore it as I walked past him.

He made a grunt and I turned to know what his problem was from quite a reasonable distance.

He was laughing impishly when I made a quizzical face which I shrugged off as a dumb joke bullies make probably because we were age mates or a year ahead of me because he was a bit taller than I was then.

“Hey” he said. He was holding a stone the size of a glutton’s morsel and flung it at me before I had the chance to even comprehend his intention.

The stone hit me slightly above my left eye brow with what I later termed ” Dexterous Accuracy.

I was disoriented at the moment as my hand pressed the bruised flesh.

The mood changed quickly when blood began to ooze out of the cut down the left side of my face like a leaking faucet.

Upon seeing the blood from where he stood, he bolted and jumped on the available little path exit at his right side and I dashed after him.


Abeycity was Schizophrenic but I didn’t know that until later. I chased him to every nook and cranny of the community with my blood masked face.

Anomaly: A True Life Story

He was running as fast as he could and I was surprised I could keep up with him even though he was a good runner.

He finally went back to his house to save himself from my wrath but got disappointed when I finally caught up with him the same place we met and was on him in a few seconds.

I tried so hard to disfigure his face more than what he did to mine but couldn’t because his father came out and pulled me away from him.

He was hospitable and humble despite my mother and grandmother’s perpetual bickering that day.


Time passed as I began to subconsciously admire Abeycity’s crafty endeavours.

He was very talented at his age he could make any monument from home materials.

Some of the tools and toys he made then were Spindles, toy cars, dolls and so on.

Most of these were made from cassette recorders, broomsticks, soda bottle caps, rubbers, threads and so on.

He never had a friend in the neighbourhood, no parents wanted their children to mingle with a mad boy.

What we believe then was that there was a demonic spell on him from birth and people with his condition shouldn’t mingle with normal people.

When people like him bite a normal person, the demonic spell would be transmitted to the victim. That was our believe then.

I got to understand eventually hoe superstition has ruined a lot of lives and ignorance is an unbridled malady in our society.

If only I had known it was just a scientifically proven mental condition. Abeycity was hardly violent then.

He was a blessing but we rejected because of his difference.

If they had looked beyond Abeycity’s condition, his legacy might have lived on.

It would have been more than that of a menace to the society.

But his death was like a big relief for everyone.

The society still bask in ignorance even with a vast and available knowledge a click away, they just can’t just see the good in every anomaly.

Written by Sam Sundays.

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My Journey: A True Life Story

Hello all, hope you are enjoying my blog, Changing Lives With True Life Stories?

Today’s Inspirational Story is submitted by Sarah Feinberg Sverdlin.

You have been invited to a glimpse into Sarah Feinberg Sverdlin’s Journey. Enjoy.

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So, every life story has a beginning and mine began when I stepped onto the gangway of the big ship, the one headed to the golden Medina, America.

This is not a village tale, nor a shtetl story, no it’s bigger than that. Bigger and grander than the little shteeb I came from.

So there it was, the funny blue Hamburg sky , the painted curtain behind which lay the staircase of our descent Into the dim light of steerage. We were just so many steer, steeds, cows, bulls, and old bearded goats.

I have nothing to tell about the middle passage. I only tell you the excitement I felt as I stepped onto the deck eying the great liberty lady bearing the torch, making a shining pathway In the murky water of the east river guiding me from A life of darkness ignorance and persecution onto the teeming shore of opportunity, money and enlightenment through education.

I could neither read nor write. I had nothing in my hands but a few rags, and my hat. And my other hand holding papa’s. My handsome papa.


Why he chose me, a 14 year old uneducated unaccomplished girl, to accompany him was an enigma, a blessing, a riddle.

But papa had nothing but girls and his oldest was Molly who had preceded him to America where she got married.

So I, being the next available healthy girl, was lucky. I left mama, Dora, Ruthie, and little Eva, behind. We would work and bring them over.

We worked long days and we did bring them With the help Of our one true God, master of the universe, Allowing us to do his work.

However, I had no time for prayer, less time to keep kosher, and Papa was barely able to say his own obligatory prayers.

I was a Mandela, a maiden girl, so I never wore a shetel, the ugly wig meant to lessen A married hausfrau’s attractiveness.


We worked in the sewing factory, the sweat shop, much like the one that burned down with the mostly female machine operators inside, (the infamous Triangle Shirtwaist factory.)

We worked 7 am to 7 pm with a 30 minute lunch and bathroom break.

To the Jewish newspapers we entered story contests, wrote pathetic questions seeking romantic advice and reading Yiddish stories full of pathos and bathos, whatever that means.

I started my own towel route on my floor. 5 cents per towel per week or some other small amount for a fresh clean towel.

Each day of the workweek . We worked 6 days per week. Do the math.
I had two skirts and two shirts. Not much else . Wash one outfit daily and wear the other while it dried on the fire escape, our iron staircase balcony.

We went to the Yiddish theatre, the movies, the vaudeville halls for our short hiatus from the hellish workload.
That is only the beginning of my journey, but where there is a beginning there is middle and beyond.

To Be Continued.

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I Shall Not Die 2

I Shall Not Die 2: A True Life Story.

This is the second part of this series. You can read the first part here.

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A dark shape appeared above and blocked what little light I had left to see, and then it spoke.

“Pele Aunty, sorry, what is your name?”

“Funmi. Please, help me. I raised my right hand, and he touched it.

“Calm down, I’ll help you. Your phone is dead. This is it” I couldn’t see anything. Do you know any number I can contact? I nodded.

“Okay”. I gave him my brother’s number. My dad was my first thought, but I could picture him falling apart. He would first rush to the toilet and back. Then he would go again, maybe three times before making up his mind on what to do.

“The number is not available. I tried it twice. Do you know another one?”

My tongue was getting heavier and harder to swallow. My throat was shutting down the passage to my voice box. I recited my dad’s number.

“Couldn’t he just get me out of here first before calling a family meeting?”

His voice broke into my thought. “Hello, omo yin Funmi, your daughter had been hit by a vehicle at Ojoo. Can you hear me? Hello, he cut the line. I can’t reconnect with him.”

“I’ll give you another one, my mother’s.” And I did.

 “Hello, your daughter has been hit by a vehicle. Yes, she was in an accident. We are taking her to UCH now, join us there. Hello, hello, she is not responding. The line is on but she is not talking.”

“My sisters, I know my sisters’ lines too.” He called them both but they all disconnected at the mention of UCH.

“Do you know another one? Funmi, answer!

“Yes, yes— 0805—5—” it was becoming awfully difficult to speak, to think. I couldn’t remember. The number was in there somewhere, my brother-in-law’s but I couldn’t remember.

Everything was dark and hot like my head. It was too dark to see anything. I couldn’t see the rest of the number. My mind was being wrapped in a thick blanket.

I Shall Not Die 2 : A True Life Story

“Hello”, his voice hauled me back from the deep dark hole. “Someone has called back, I think it’s your father. “—ehn, meet us at UCH, your daughter had been hit by a vehicle. Yes, we are going there now.”

“I told you to calm down, I have contacted your father, he would join us at the hospital. I’m going to get a taxi now. My own broke down, but my friend is near. I’ll just call him. I’ll be back.”

I wanted to tell him not to leave me but I couldn’t see anything. So, I closed my eyes maybe the dream would fade and when I opened them I’ll be home in my bed.  

My waist kept burning, and the warm thing kept trickling.

I remember the man’s voice. Was I hit? But how? Where was I coming from? And where am I? Why can’t I remember? Did he say Ojoo? Okay, I was going to school, to UI for a lecture walking with my friends? My friends, where are they? Were they hit too? I have to ask him.”

When did I leave home? My head was too clouded to process anything. And the warm fluid wouldn’t stop trickling between my legs.

“My legs! Why can’t I move or feel my left leg?”

Then another realisation set in, the heat was coming from my leg. It was in my left leg. Now, I wanted the dream to stop. The chill was overpowering me. I was becoming the chill.

But I have to be strong, I just knew it. It was all I had to do, all I could do even as the bright light was being swallowed by darkness just like I was being swallowed by the chill.

To be Continued in I Shall Not Die 3

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A True Life Story: The Day I Took Back My Freedom

Today’s episode of Changing Lives With True Life Story is written by Deborah Hamsho.

Title: The Day I Took Back My Freedom.

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It all began so many years ago on a beautiful spring day, one year to the day that I graduated Brooklyn College.

I had been in a funk since October and Now came March.

Emerging out of my bedroom, the cocoon of a black hole of a depressive episode, I returned to my previously failed job search.

I enrolled as a Kelly girl. The Temporary office work company got me a temp job and my mother and I went clothes shopping only to find I had dropped two sizes down to a 10/12 medium. 


          Dressed in a beige pair of  slacks and a clingy muted colored top, I  entered the World Trade Center Elevator bank feeling happy.

Little did I know then that what was about to hit me was a tornado from another mother.

Gingerly entered, I pressed the 34th floor and swooshing slowly, then shakily, the car deposited three of us ,all women, into a suite of elevators.

It was the now defunct bankers trust co. I had walked into. I blissfully was unaware of the rumblings of a tsunami far out at sea. 

At lunchtime entering the employee cafeteria, a brown gentleman approached and sat down at the table near the chow line.

I ordered my food, grabbed the tray and sat down. As I passed the brown man He smiled at me.

I ate my food alone, happily gazing at my photo employee card, when the same man approached me from behind and sat down in front of me asking to join me.


I should have ran, flown, yelled, plunged, gagged, gotten away from him, if I had Only known then what I know now, 50 Some odd years later.

I was like a bug in a hotel room nearing to enter the baited “room” or roach motel as they called them.

I was a fly clinging to the silken but spiked edges of A Venus flytrap.

Falling into the precipice of attraction, amusement, and unwary of consequences of drinking the kool aid offered up to my supplicating eyes, the lips On my mouth closed against each other like prostrating monks.


Oh to be spoken to in poetry like he did, third rate sentimental hogwash written on a Winston cigarette box, a relic of my coming destruction.


This is only the prelude, The intermission consisting of a steamy day of lovemaking , just heavy kissing, in my cave, my boudoir smelling faintly of lanvin and rose talcum.

Changing Lives With True Life Stories

Since you have come this far with me, I seek to favour you with a happy ending.

I will not drag us both through the muck and mire and filthy debris left when the tsunami of our marriage hit.

Suffice it to say it was a 5 year hiatus into the illness of a depraved and sadistic mind. 


He never broke any bones, and he always rested content in the sarcophagus of his madness.

I suffered a bump in the head from a heavy glass object, was forced to clean out an intentional mound of defecation left in the bathtub as a punishment for some tribulation I put him through.


The waves kept coming until finally after 5 years we broke land and our ship crashed into the reef that held the shattered glass of our misery. 

I don’t know what the provocation for this last sad episode was, but i remember running into the hallway to escape his wrath.

He followed me and the heavy front door of our apartment locked automatically without either of us having taken the key.

We stopped and turned in horror as we both heard the siren call of our two year old child calling out in a high pitched scream,

“Mommy, mommy, mommy” I don’t recall how we got back in.

But while kneeling and speaking to my little girl who was behind the locked door, a vision of myself appeared and I saw how low I had come in my life with this man, my husband.

I was crouching down with my ear and mouth alternatively shushing and crying silently while her father sought out the janitor.


That was the day I took my freedom back. How I did it is an unnecessary detail.

But I remember the shopping cart full of his possessions next to the front door and A suicide threat written in a letter pleading with him to leave or I’d kill myself and our  child.

It worked!  

I returned home a few hours later to find that the blessed tide had sucked back into the raging sea the shopping cart with the desperately written letter tucked inside the clothing. 


So the end was happiness until the longing came back several years later.

But I won back my freedom and the rest is just another chapter to be continued God willing.

Thank you so much Deborah for trusting me with your story. Although, I can relate a little I learnt a lot.

And it also assured me that I am on the right path. And I believe many women and girls would tap from your courage and strength.

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Changing Lives With True-Life Stories

Changing Lives With True Life-Stories

True-Life Stories is one of the best tools we can use to Inspire, Motivate, Heal, and even to Save Lives.

I know when something happens to us, people around us in their efforts to console and comfort us they make use of examples of people who have been in such situations before especially those that triumphed at the end.

We make use of true-life stories to comfort mostly so that this new person who suddenly finds herself in a situation she has never been in before can know that they are not alone.

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So, Changing Lives With True Life Stories has been the main focus of this blog. Although, I have been sharing my stories alone. For Instance, “I Remember” is a true account of what happened on the morning of the day of my accident

Most of the others have been moments, A Day in My Life, My Life As An Unbalanced Mom or just using the things I have been through as illustrations in my posts. they are all true-life stories or accounts.

Now, to start on the journey of using true-life stories to reach out to people in their challenges and struggles in life and letting them know they are not alone.

I have decided to start with mine and take you on the journey that is my life

I shall share with you those moments, time and events that brought me here today.

The title of my story is “South West 1”.

I still intend to change it though when it becomes a book, God willing.

And it’s going to be in series, so keep watching out and subscribe to my newsletter to stay updated.

The First Episode is Titled “I Shall Not Die” Please, Read on

I am cursed. I am not sure of much for now but of this one fact; I am cursed. And by the time you finished reading my story, you would believe me.

This was my first thought when I came to, I was not sure of that too. All I knew at first was the sun was bright, and fierce, intending to scorch.

It was searing, everything was hot my body was ready to combust. However, I was cold too, somewhere within I could feel a weird chill clutching my heart.

The noise was too much, too loud; so many people speaking, screaming in one voice but different tongues.

I couldn’t get up, couldn’t move anything, save my right hand.

Some parts of me were missing, numb or malfunctioned. The first on my list was my waist downward. I couldn’t feel it.

Later, I was with my sisters; we were sitting outside, chatting and laughing. I do not understand what we were laughing about.

Then I was in our backyard arguing with my brother. He became upset walked in and banged the door after him. I hissed and stormed into the kitchen.

The kitchen transported me back to the street, I looked up and saw Tope. He was my childhood friend, I hadn’t seen him in six years.

The last time I saw him I hadn’t seen him in ten years. Six years ago was in Ife at Adventist School of Nursing.

I was standing at the gate and then I saw him, but I only waved at him because I couldn’t stop to talk to him.

I was heartbroken. Dumped all over again by the guy who disappeared with my heart three years before.

He called me that day to tell me why he broke up with me.

I had spent those years thinking it was all my fault. I should be relieved that it was not my fault after all but I wasn’t. My heart was being smashed all over again.

That was the last time I saw Tope until that day on the street where I wanted to buy Daniel Defoe “Robinson Crusoe”. We hugged and exchanged pleasantries.

Then I was back home with my younger sister. She wanted to come with me to the campus to print her project work.

It would be cheaper there.

Everything became bright again, and hot.

A bizarre thought crept into my head; something had sliced me into two.

Everything froze at that moment. I felt something warm trickling out of somewhere between my thighs.

It was oozing in a strange beat, the same with my heart as if it was being pumped by my heartbeat.

A nightmare was my next thought, I needed to wake up, but I couldn’t move, every breath was like the last.

Something terrible is wrong with me; I had no idea what. I wanted to cry but no tears. I was as dry as clay soil in the harmattan.

Maybe I died and landed in hell. That would explain the noise and the absence of anybody to help or tell me where I was.

Nobody came, there were so many people, voices everywhere but no one to help. I felt so tired, thirsty terrified.

“I am going to die or I am dead already, and in hell! But why is my mouth filled with sand and stones?”

I felt like I was hit or pinned down by something. A strong, cold hand gripped my throat and clutched my heart; it was fear.

Night was beckoning fast though the sun was still shining so bright and fiercely hot. I was not ready for its embrace.

 “I am not going to die here,” I said to myself, “not yet, not on the street like a dog.

I’ll see my family and say goodbye to them. I’ll find out what happened to me. ” I said to the bright sun and the looming night.

I have no idea why I had the thought that I was not yet dead.

However, the thought gave me hope and this gave me strength.

A dark shape appeared above and blocked what little light I had left to see, then it spoke. (To Be Continued)

Changing Lives With True-Life Stories

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A Letter to Human Race

Letter To Human Race

Dear mankind,


This is my first letter and might as well be my last letter you.

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In previous years you had paid less attention to things around you. I choose to write to you at a time like this so you can have a better understanding and importance of the message I am sending to you.

Ever since the break out of the covid 19 pandemic, I believe that you have come to realize that nothing is more important than the life we breathe in.

A Letter To Human Race
A Letter To Human Race by Ayobami Samuel Ogunola

Nothing is more important than our lives. Even though ;

   Whether white or black, rich or poor, literate or illiterate, good looking or ugly, famous or anonymous; none of this matters to us at a time like this. Because our thinking have become uniform. 
We all think of how to put an end to this pandemic, we all care about how to survive the night to live to see the next day.


   Once upon a time, I was a slave master enslaving many races around the globe. 

I forgot we all belong to the same human race. All I care about is to be a notable slave merchant. 
If I had known a time like this would come when the earth will seize to move, I would have been kinder to other human race.
I would have shown more respect to other races and clans around me. I wouldn't have lived as a racist because now I have to take the same vaccine with those I had looked down on. 
What if they have the cure, will I survive this if they decide to pay me back for my deeds? 



   I remember when I was rich, I never paid attention to the poor whenever they approached me to beg for alms. 
I believe the world I live in is different from theirs and nothing would bring us together. 
I travelled to get treatment abroad anytime I have a slight fever but now I have to share the same hospital beds with the poor people I never paid attention to. 
Lying down with them on same sick beds sharing the same thoughts on how to over come this. I never knew a day like this would come. 

   I remember the days I became a public figure because I was adorned with this heavenly beauty. I became center of attraction to people, my cosmetics are different and specially made. 
I never imagined a time like this would come when I would have to use the common nose masks those who are not as pretty as I am are making use of. 

  When it comes to the question of our life none of this matters to us, we only think about living the next day.

We are are suffering
We can’t get our three square meals
We can’t chase our dreams
We can’t ride exotic cars
We can’t buy our dream mansion
We can’t fly in planes
We can’t go for beauty contest
We can’t take part in talent show.

But none of this is important to us at a time like this. They mattered more yesterday.


All that matters now is how we overcome this deadly virus. So we can reunite with our loved ones.

No one can tell when life would switch sides, let’s be nice to those around, let’s live our lives for other people.
We shouldn’t care about ourselves alone, let’s be our brothers keeper. Let’s embrace ourselves for we are the HUMAN RACE.

Written by Ayobami Samuel Ogunsola

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How To Survive When Tragedy Strikes

Tragedy in this context is an event or occurrence causing great suffering or distress as a result of accident, loss, a natural catastrophe and so on.

It is one thing in life that no one ever prays for, wishes to know or experience.

But we do know tragedy. We do experience it. We all have, and at some point in time we all will.

Do not grudge pain. It holds on its hot blanket the evidence of life; handled and well managed, life from it takes its meaning

Olufunke Kolapo

We can say all we can do is be prepared for when it strikes. But we can never be prepared, not really.

When tragedy strikes, it knocks you off your feet and sometimes paralyses you so that you will never rise again.

It leaves you out of breath, numb, terrified, and disoriented that you can’t even remember how you got where it flung you.

And as if you never happened it whirls by in search of its next victim.

You are left in a daze, in the middle of nowhere turning in a gyre of agony and confusion.

So you say to yourself that you are not someone who gets knocked down, whose life is turned upside down, who is lost in the middle of nowhere with no compass or light to find your way to yourself.

You keep telling yourself you are not the one.

It is supposed to happen to someone else, someone without a face or name.

Someone other than you. It has happened, that is the truth.

When I was hit by a truck that took my leg and damaged my pelvis, it took me a while to accept the truth.

That I was the same person who left home that morning, the same person who had made so many plans the previous day, or the month before.

Sometimes, it still feels like a dream or another lifetime, I still imagine that I would just get up and walk without grabbing my walker, or crutches or buckle my leg on before walking.

But it is true, it is not a dream and I am not dead. I am not saying it is going to be easy because it’s not.

I am not asking you to snap out of it, to get up and move on. Or that you will get over it, because I haven’t.

Do you know why?

Whatever you have lost still remains a loss. Your job, limbs, opportunities, marriage, friendship, freedom and so on.

You can get a replacement but the tingling of the first loss remains just like phantom pain.

The person you lost is gone forever, the space they have left in your life and heart still remains vacant.

Take your time, catch your breath, you are the only one who knows how deep the hurt is, how painful the agony is. You set the pace.

Do remember though, don’t get lost in your tragedy, in your grief, don’t let the storm take you.

Cry if you must, scream if you can or if you want to. I kept it in for so long and ended up screaming in .y head. Believe me, it is unpleasant and exhausting

And remember, it is important to keep living on for as long as life gives you breath because that’s the only way they keep living on, in you, through you, your memories of them.

So, like an amputee grab those crutches or walker, fasten your leg and keep moving. Because you know it is the only way you get to move at all.

I always do that to remind myself, that as long as I’m still here, as long as I can move, I can get wherever I want.

I can be me because I am still me, just one leg short. Whenever I am down, I would move. I would get up, walk and breathe in some fresh air.

Whatever you can do that will not hurt you or someone else, if it keeps you going, keeps you hoping and living, do it.

Whatever you are doing right or that you can do to make you feel alive, make you human makes you feel you, keep doing it.

Keep moving one small step at a time; one day at a time.

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