https://www.youtube.com/@Africaloresandtales?sub_confirmation=1

Africa lores and tales, Charlotte, NC (2025)

06/25/2025

Housegirl’s Diary Episode 7 : The Night It Happened

Dear Diary,

I’ve never known fear like I did tonight.

The kind that turns your throat to cotton. That makes your breath feel like it’s not yours anymore. That wraps your heart in thorns and squeezes.

We were so close. The plan was perfect.

After school hours, Mofe excused herself, telling the driver she forgot her sweater inside the church hall. I followed her in, carrying a polythene bag with snacks... and the SD card hidden at the bottom.

Miss Ene was sweeping the far end of the room. She looked surprised to see us, but not alarmed.

Mofe whispered, "She’s the one."

I walked up and handed her the bag.

"Please ma," I said, barely above a whisper. "There’s something inside. Something you need to hear. If you believe us, please call this number."

I passed her a folded paper with Chioma’s auntie’s contact. She nodded slowly, seeing the seriousness in our eyes.

"Go," she said. "I’ll call you tonight."

We walked out like nothing happened.

The rest of the day dragged like a leaking tap. I swept. I chopped vegetables. Madam shouted about her hair. Mr. Durojaiye watched the news.

But something had changed.

We had passed the point of no return.

---

That night, we waited. Mofe stayed in her room. I sat near the hallway, pretending to iron uniforms.

It was 11:23 p.m. when the front gate creaked.

A visitor?

At that hour?

Then I heard voices.

One was Madam’s. Angry. Loud.

The other…

Was Miss Ene’s.

"That girl is lying!" Madam screamed. "She’s trying to destroy my family!"

"I listened," Miss Ene said calmly. "The recording is clear. That man is hurting your daughter."

"You think I don’t know my own home?! She's confused! She's manipulated by that village girl!"

My chest burned.

They were talking about me.

About Mofe.

I heard a slap. Not the sound... the silence after it.

Then Miss Ene said, "You can deny all you want. But I’ve already submitted the evidence. If you want to protect your husband more than your child, then God help you."

Footsteps. Door slam. Engine roar. She was gone.

Madam ran up the stairs, screaming Mofe’s name.

I froze.

Then I heard it... a crash. Something breaking. Mofe yelling.

I ran up. I didn’t care about the rules.

Madam had thrown Mofe’s school bag across the room. Clothes were scattered. She held Mofe’s wrist, shouting, "What did you tell that woman?! What lies are you spreading?!"

I pulled her hand away. "Leave her alone! She told the truth! You just didn’t want to hear it!"

She turned on me. "You ungrateful thing! I took you from nothing! Brought you to Lagos! Fed you!"

"You brought me to prison!"

Then he appeared.

Mr. Durojaiye.

At the top of the stairs. Calm. Dressed like nothing was happening.

"What’s going on here?"

Madam looked at him like he was her savior.

"She lied about you! She gave Ene a recording! She’s destroying us!"

He looked at me. Then at Mofe.

Then he smiled.

"Then we need to act quickly."

I didn’t like the way he said that.

He turned around. Picked up his phone. Made a call.

"Yes. Tell him to come now. Take her away. The house help. We’ll handle the rest quietly."

I panicked.

"He’s trying to send me away!" I shouted. "You can’t just throw me out! Not after everything!"

He looked at me coldly. "You should’ve kept your nose where it belonged."

I ran. Down the stairs. Into the night.

To where? I didn’t know.

But I ran.

For Mofe.

For Fumi.

For me.

To be continued...

If you’re following this story, don’t stop now. Follow Africa lores and tales and share this chapter. The louder it gets, the more it matters.

06/25/2025

🪘 African Proverb of the Day🪘
“The pot that refuses to sit on the fire remains raw forever.”

Talent is great. Experience is powerful. But without humility, none of it reaches its full strength.

Growth comes through correction.
Refinement requires pressure.
If pride keeps you from learning, you’ll stay stuck... unpolished and unprepared.

Whether it’s feedback, failure, or uncomfortable truths, don’t run from the fire. Sit in it. Learn from it. Let it make you better.

This proverb encourages us to stay teachable because even gold needs heat before it shines.

📍FB Africa lores and tales

06/25/2025

You’re allowed to be a work in progress.
To grow slowly.
To learn through mistakes.
To feel things deeply and still move forward.

Growth isn’t always graceful.
Sometimes it's one step forward, two steps back… and that’s still progress.

Don’t let perfection pressure you. The most powerful transformations happen in the quiet, messy middle. Give yourself grace today. You’re becoming, and that matters.

📍FB Africa lores and tales

06/24/2025

Housegirl’s Diary Episode 6 : A Plan in the Dark

Dear Diary,

There are nights when fear has a sound.

It creaks in the hallway. It breathes through closed doors. It hides in the spaces where justice has never walked. Last night was one of those nights.

After recording Mr. Durojaiye, I didn’t sleep. I held that phone like it was my only child. Every creak made my heart race. Every shadow outside my window looked like punishment coming.

Mofe didn’t sleep either. She curled up on her bed, still, silent. I saw her once through the crack of her door. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing.

This morning, Madam returned from her salon, humming gospel songs. She complimented the house scent. She even smiled at me. I wanted to throw up.

It made me wonder... how can a woman live in the same house as pain and never smell it?

By afternoon, Mofe and I sat in the backyard behind the clothesline.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

I had already thought it through.

"There’s a teacher at the church school near the gate. Miss Ene. She once helped a girl escape a bad home. Chioma told me last week."

Mofe was hesitant. "Can we trust her?"

"We have no choice."

We decided to go the next day... after school hours. I would pretend to buy soap from the kiosk nearby and pass her the phone, with a note hidden inside the nylon. It would say: "Please listen. We need help. Don’t tell anyone yet."

We practiced the words. Wrote the note. Charged the phone again.

But that evening, something happened.

Madam knocked on my door. She never does that.

"Adaora, come to the living room."

My heart sank.

I walked in. Mr. Durojaiye was there, drinking tea.

Madam folded her arms. "Where did you get that phone?"

Time stopped.

"Which phone, ma?"

She hissed. "Don’t act stupid. Dara told me you were hiding a phone under your bed. You know the rules. No devices except what I give."

Dara. Innocent little Dara had peeked in when I was making the bed.

I felt faint. My throat went dry. "It’s just an old phone I found, ma. I only use it to check time."

Madam snatched her bag and brought out her hand. "Give it to me. Now."

I hesitated. Just one second. Then ran to my room.

I took the SIM card out, crushed it with my heel.

Then I brought the phone out.

She collected it. Checked the gallery. My breath caught in my chest.

Nothing. The video file had been moved to the SD card. I had done it this morning.

And the card? It was still in my jacket pocket.

Madam scrolled through, frowned, then tossed the phone aside. "If I catch you with another device again, you’ll go back to that bush you came from."

"Yes ma. Sorry ma."

I bowed. Walked away. Hid in my room. Collapsed.

The card is safe.

But now we have to move faster.

---

Tomorrow, Mofe will tell her teacher she forgot her sweater in the church hall. I will follow, pretending to help.

I will give Miss Ene the SD card directly.

No more soap kiosk. No more games.

This has gone too far.

---

Diary, my hands are shaking as I write this. I know we are close. But close to what?

Salvation? Or destruction?

I’m just a girl who came to clean floors. But I’ve uncovered stains no mop can fix.

Still, I believe we will get out.

We have to.

To be continued...

If you’re following Adaora and Mofe’s fight for truth, follow Africa lores and tales to stay close to every episode. Share this chapter. Someone out there needs to believe girls like these exist.

06/24/2025

🪘African Proverb of the Day🌍
“The cow that tries to run like the leopard will break its legs.”
We live in a world that moves fast, and expects us to move faster. But not every path is yours to sprint.

In today’s fast-paced world of trends and comparison, many feel pressured to keep up with others' success or lifestyles. But everyone has their own pace, strengths, and journey. Trying to live another’s life can hàrm your own.

This proverb reminds us that : not every pace fits every purpose. When you chase someone else’s journey, you risk damaging your own

🛑❌Don’t force speed where grace is needed.
🛑❌ Don’t measure your worth by someone else's timeline.

Your journey is sacred. Walk it with wisdom, not pressure.
✅ Walk your path...run your race.

📍FB Africa lores and tales

06/24/2025

Just because it’s taking time doesn’t mean it’s not happening.

The dream is still valid. The progress is still real. Even slow steps count, especially the ones no one sees.

We’ve been conditioned to applaud speed, but some of the strongest stories are the ones that took the longest to build.

Stay consistent. Stay rooted. The pace may be different, but your path is still divine.

📍FB Africa lores and tales

06/23/2025

Housegirl’s Diary Episode 5 : What Mofe Said

Dear Diary,

They say courage is when fear has no choice but to speak. Today, Mofe finally spoke. And what she said will never leave me.

It was just after lunch. Madam had gone out for her salon appointment and left strict instructions: no TV, no visitors, no nonsense. She said she didn’t want "lazy energy" in her house when she returned.

Mofe was in the kitchen, picking at bread and butter. I was washing the blender when she suddenly said, "You saw the journal, didn’t you?"

I froze.

I turned slowly, hands dripping soap.

She didn’t look at me. Just continued, "Fumi wrote in it every night. Before she died."

I nodded.

"She wasn’t sick," Mofe whispered. "Mama lied. Baba was visiting her room. Then she started to bleed. One night, they rushed her to the hospital. She never came back."

Tears welled in my eyes. But I didn’t cry. Because Mofe wasn’t crying either. She was dry. Empty. As if her tears dried up years ago.

"You tried to tell someone?" I asked.

She nodded slowly. "I told Mama. She slapped me. Told me never to open my mouth again. Said I was trying to destroy this family."

My chest tightened. I sat beside her.

"And now?"

She looked at me for the first time. Her eyes looked older than her age.

"Now, it’s me. He visits my room too. Sometimes when everyone’s asleep. I lock my door. But he has keys."

I reached for her hand. She let me hold it. Her fingers were cold.

"We can do something," I said. "We can record him. Get proof. Then go to someone who will believe us."

She shook her head. "Who? The police? They’ll say it’s a family matter. Social welfare? Mama knows everyone there. And who will take care of my siblings if we blow up the house?"

"But you’re not safe. None of us are."

She looked at me, defeated. "I haven’t been safe since I was eleven."

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to scream, break the plates, drag Madam back and force her to listen. But I knew silence had already built its throne in this house.

So we made a plan.

A quiet one.

That night, I charged the old phone Dara had left in the playroom weeks ago. I hid it under my wrapper. We waited.

Mofe would leave her door slightly open. I would stay nearby. If he entered, I’d record everything. If nothing happened, we would try again the next night.

We didn’t sleep.

At 12:17 a.m., I heard footsteps.

Careful. Familiar.

I crouched in the hallway, behind the curtain.

The door creaked.

He entered.

My hands trembled as I tapped record.

Inside, I heard Mofe whispering, then silence. Then movement. The sounds weren’t loud, but they were enough. Enough to tell the story of what had been happening for years.

He stayed for about ten minutes. Then left, quietly, as if he had only gone to fix a bulb.

I hid the phone under my mattress. Mofe locked her door. We didn’t speak until morning.

We now have something.

Not just memory. Not just pain.

Proof.

But we have to be careful. Madam must not know. If she finds out, she will destroy it. Or worse.... us.

I’m scared. Not just for me. For Mofe. For the truth. For what happens when the storm hits the house that pretends to be perfect.

But I’ve decided. I will not be a witness in silence. I will not let this house swallow another girl whole.

Tomorrow, we act.

To be continued...

If you’re walking this journey with Adaora and Mofe, follow and like our page Africa lores and tales to stay connected. Share this episode. It might be fiction, but it echoes real lives.

06/23/2025

🌞 African Proverb of the Day🪘

"The sun does not wait for the late riser to begin the day."
— African Proverb

Life doesn’t slow down for hesitation. While you delay, second-guess, or wait for motivation, time is already moving. Opportunities don’t knock forever. They rise, shine, and pass… just like the sun.

If you keep sleeping on your goals, don’t be surprised when the world moves on without you.

This is your reminder to rise with purpose and show up with intention.Your moment is now... don’t miss it.

📍FB Africa lores and tales

06/23/2025

Not every message needs a reply. Not every moment needs a reaction.

Taking a step back to process your emotions isn’t weakness... it’s wisdom.
The pause between what happens and how you respond? That’s where maturity lives.

Sometimes the strongest thing you can do… is say nothing until you’re ready.

🧘🏾‍♀️ Your peace matters more than a quick comeback.

📍FB Africa lores and tales

06/22/2025

Housegirl’s Diary Episode 4 : The Forbidden Room

Dear Diary,

There are doors in this house that never open. Not to cleaners. Not to children. Not even to fresh air.

But today, one of them did.

It began quietly. As always.

Madam and the children had gone out for church service. Mr. Durojaiye stayed home. He claimed stomach pain. I knew it was a lie. The air around him today was thick... not with sickness, but something else.

He was in the study. I stayed in the kitchen.

After washing the dishes, I went to mop the back hallway. That’s when I saw the door.

The one beside the staircase. Usually locked. The one Madam had once warned me never to touch.

But today, it was slightly open. Not wide. Just enough for a whisper to escape.

I shouldn’t have looked. I know. But Diary, when something hides for too long, curiosity grows legs.

I pushed gently. The door creaked.

Inside, the room smelled of old paper and lavender. The curtains were drawn. On the table were framed photos... most of Madam and her husband. One, very old, was of a teenage girl I didn’t recognize.

There were two drawers under the table. One was locked. The other opened with ease.

Inside: Letters. Ribbons. A small black book.

I opened it.

The first page said: "Oluwafunmilayo Durojaiye. Born 2002. Died 2016."

My chest tightened.

A daughter?

No one ever mentioned another child. Only Mofe, Timileyin, and Dara.

The next few pages were journal entries. Beautiful handwriting. Girl-like. Raw.

"He comes into my room sometimes when no one is home. I tell Mummy but she says I'm imagining things. I try to sleep early, but the doorknob always turns. One day, I won't wake up here anymore. One day, someone will believe me."

I dropped the book.

My hands shook. My legs almost gave way.

Footsteps. Fast. Coming down the stairs.

I pushed the drawer shut, rushed out, and yanked the door closed behind me.

Just in time.

Mr. Durojaiye turned the corner.

"Adaora," he said slowly.

"Yes, sir?"

His eyes darted to the door behind me.

"What are you doing here?"

"I...I was just… cleaning the hallway, sir."

He looked at me hard.

Then he smiled.

"You're very hardworking, Adaora. But remember your boundaries."

I nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."

He walked away. Calm. Too calm.

I ran to my room. I locked the door.

I cried. Not loud. Just quiet tears that knew too much.

There was another girl.

A girl who tried to speak.

And now… she was gone.

---

Later, when Mofe returned, I cornered her in the corridor.

"You had a sister?" I asked.

She froze. Her eyes narrowed. "You went in that room?"

I nodded.

She swallowed. Her voice shook. "Her name was Fumi. She was my older sister. Mama says she died of malaria. But I remember the bruises. The way she cried at night."

Mofe looked at me then, really looked.

"He used to visit her room too. Just like mine."

I grabbed her hand. "We can do something. We can go to someone."

She pulled her hand away. "And say what? That our perfect family is rotten? That our father is a monster? They won’t believe us. They never did."

I didn’t know what to say.

But I made a vow.

Even if no one else believed us, I would.

And somehow, I would find proof. Something that wouldn’t just whisper, but scream.

For Fumi. For Mofe. For all the girls who couldn’t finish their diaries.

To be continued...

If you’re following Adaora’s story, follow and like our page Africa lores and tales so you don’t miss an update. Please share this with someone who needs to read it.

06/22/2025

🪘African Proverb of the Day🪘
“The farmer who waters only when the sky is cloudy will harvest weeds, not crops.”

Consistency is the difference between dreams and results. If you only show up when it’s easy or when conditions feel perfect, don’t expect a rich harvest.

Real growth happens in ordinary moments like the early mornings, the quiet sacrifices, the unseen efforts. Don’t wait for inspiration or applause. Water your vision daily, even when no one’s watching.

Because one day… the harvest will speak for itself. 😎

📍Follow Africa lores and tales for more deep-rooted truth and cultural wisdom.

06/22/2025

You can be at peace with your past and still want a better future because, acceptance doesn’t mean settling. Ambition doesn’t mean rejection.

True growth is when you hold both gratitude for where you’ve been, and hope for where you’re going.Your healing and your hunger can exist side by side.

Let peace anchor you, and let purpose pull you forward. Happy Sunday ALT FAN-MILY 🙂

📍Follow Africa lores and tales for more grounded wisdom that speaks to your journey.

Africa lores and tales

06/25/2025

06/25/2025

06/25/2025

06/24/2025

06/24/2025

06/24/2025

06/23/2025

06/23/2025

06/23/2025

06/22/2025

06/22/2025

06/22/2025

Address

Website

Alerts

Contact The Business

Shortcuts

Share

Category