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Share your story ... change the world
Share your story ... change the world

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That day, I wished I was not born, with everyone watching, I bent down to pick up the broken pieces of my life with the money and went into the school.
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Like many children so easily distracted, I forgot for a moment my duty and played. Some minutes after a male teacher walked by, observed me for a while and with the beginnings of a frown said, “Chasing butterflies, think you’re still a child?” Subdued, my once happy demeanour was replaced with stern concentration as I darted off.
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The house was shaken with screams from Olamma that night. I could not bear the sight for long before leaving her to ask my mother what Mama was doing. Whatever it was, I hoped I wasn’t a victim of it. She had said it would make Olamma to be... faithful to her husband and that I would grow to understand better. I longed for more explanations but got none. When I went back to the room, Mama was rubbing the burnt part with coconut oil and sheer butter while Olamma slept and tears lingered in her shut eyes as she sniffed and heaved continuously.
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I had gone to his bicycle hire shop to hire my favourite BMX bicycle, but had to wait as he needed to fix a new tube for the rear tyre. As I sat there waiting, I couldn’t take my eyes off his disfigured face glistening with perspiration in ...the midday sun. “How did your face get burnt?” I sounded out before I realized I was even talking. He paused for some seconds, his eyes though still fixed on the tyre, were focused on somewhere distant, somewhere in the past. Slowly, he dropped the tyre, clasped his palms on his laps and shut his eyes. His breathing had become deep and slow at this time. “English language” he muttered almost inaudibly. Then he turned, looked at me straight in the eyes and repeated loudly this time, “English language!”
Uncle Boniface
Uncle Boniface
storried.com
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Enter the Storried Monthly Competition #SMC for January 2015 with the theme: "My Survival Story" and stand a chance of winning $100 or its equivalent.

Please visit http://www.storried.com/smc to enter and learn more.
SMC
SMC
storried.com
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Few metres to the gate I felt a tap on my shoulders, turning round I saw this man in uniform. Gosh! The devil finally played his trick. At first glance I thought he was a police officer, well-aware of my offence I felt I could talk my way o...ut of it. Then I looked round and saw this big and bold waste management task force building, I knew I was in trouble. How I didn’t notice the big building before then still baffles me.
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That morning, daddy preached about love, about doing everything with love. He told us that he was sick and tired of the way we fought each other at the slightest provocation. He told us that if we loved ourselves, we wouldn’t be at each oth...er’s throat all the time. Aside from that, he stressed that quarreling always brought bad luck. If we wanted to do something and we were angry or quarreling with another person, our energies become scattered and what we planned to do would fail. He asked us to maintain harmony amongst ourselves and also to keep quarrel and fighting at bay. If we loved each other, bad things wouldn’t happen to us, but if we didn’t, then certainly, a lot of bad things will be happy to come our way.
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Growing up as a Nigerian has taught me the importance of unity, to be able to come together as one irrespective of our ethnicity, tradition, norms and appearance. United they say, we stand and divided we fall.
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Everyone wanted to be superman. We often climbed trees and jumped with the hope of flying like superman. Only God knows how many arms and legs were dislocated during these attempts.
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From the day you were born, I could not stop kissing your little face. I would spend, what seemed like hours, just looking at the precious gift Heavenly Father had blessed me with. You were, and are, the pride and the love of your mother. So many memories are running through my mind, at this time.
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