Well, we have all bargained before, while buying something, especially in an open-air market. However, I have an issue with those guys who park their top of the range vehicles or any other respectable car by the road then go ahead to bargain for a cob of roasted maize so heatedly as if their life... Continue Reading →


TATA MADIBA SAID Give us all our rightful education, and we will offer the future world direction, Boys and girls without discrimination, all must get it for the mind’s emancipation, As a girl I ask for no favor in education, since I have already focused on my destination The most powerful weapon is education, which... Continue Reading →

Weekend Edition – Dear Writer, You are weird. Plus Good Reads and Writing Tips

So True this.

Live to Write - Write to Live

Writers are not normal people.

Image from Screencraft Image from Screencraft

It started when I was a kid. I would often carry a notebook with me, scribbling everything and nothing on its welcoming pages as I sat alone in a quiet corner of the playground, or – later, when I was older – at the end of a long table in study hall. When I entered the working world, my notebook accompanied me on the commuter train and was my lunch date on the Boston Common. Now, in my life as mom and freelance writer, my notebook is an even more constant companion. Tossed in the back seat or tucked into my bag, it is always at the ready. Whether I’m idling in the pick-up line at school, sitting at the edge of the arena watching my daughter ride, or waiting in the doctor’s office, my notebook is never far away.

Just yesterday…

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The Silent Housewife

Interesting read. Uncle Barry was right. Treating women as second-class citizens and not letting half of your team play is simply stupid!


The chaise lounge in Mrs. Akintola’s office is rather uncomfortable. It is my first time seeing a marriage counsellor. She sits in the large armchair facing me and asks if I would feel more comfortable sitting on a chair. I decline, telling her that I am fine in this position.

“How can I help you today, Mrs. Obiagwu?”

She sounds so pleasant that I take a moment to steady myself for what I am about to say.

“Doctor,” I sigh. “I want to kill my husband.”

There is a slight pause and I can see Mrs. Akintola struggling to keep her composure. I sit up to study her face and I begin to doubt the newspaper articles that said she was in her forties. She looks so much younger that I have to remind myself that she is one of the country’s best marriage counsellors. She is also a psychiatrist…

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