Eminence World Magazine/ voice newspapers

31/05/2024

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22/09/2023

Happy Birthday to a distinguished statesman and former governor! 🎉🎂 Your legacy in our state continues to shine brightly, and your commitment to public service is truly inspiring, your love for humanity is alarming. You have shown, resilience, doggedness, you have fought battles and conquered. May this special day be filled with well-deserved recognition, happiness, and the warmth of loved ones. Here's to many more years of success and accomplishment!". Happy birthday from all of us at Eminence magazine.

11/09/2023

A wise man once said, "an unexamined life is not worth living". But this saying does not only apply to human beings but to the society at large. The society needs to examine its policies, its policyholders, politicians, and government officials to check their performance in years past, to note areas that need improvement and areas they have excelled in so as to offer the needed commendation and recommendations.

Eminence Magazine has taken it upon itself to sample the opinion of the Eastern Society to see how people feel about their legislators, ministers, and governors of South East extraction who just concluded their tenure, and also those still serving in various capacities in the state and country.

You may want to know how we arrived at this conclusion.
Our team conducted an extensive research, and interviewed various personalities including politicians, government officials of various capacities, and the citizens whom these officials are representing, to get results that are very inclusive and unbiased at best.

10/09/2023

15/08/2023

The transformed mind

Check Out Our Website: https://overcomingdaily.org/ to download sermons, get powerful interpretations to hard biblical texts and download inspirational messa...

18/07/2022

27/09/2021

Published by yours truly..

21/07/2021

Let us know how we can serve you better

21/07/2021

Post-covid 19 lockdown, God is still faithful

21/07/2021

You can trust us with your individual/company profiling and publishing.

21/07/2021

Behold our latest addition

24/10/2020

Today we are celebrating a great mind, an erudite scholar and a quintessential trail blazer. Your kind is rare, your intelligence is overwhelming and your charisma is so strong, you've been part of the eminence magazine, you've supported us greatly and we are grateful. On this occasion of your birth anniversary we wish you heaven's choicest blessings. Soar greater heights!
Happy birthday Honorable Pastor Ralph Afoaku.
From all of us Eminence World Magazine/ voice newspapers.

04/10/2020

A fantastic piece by Ten Esan.

Sadly not many people know the true story behind the lighting up of the Burj Khalifa by UAE to celebrate Nigeria’s independence.

A few months ago the UAE suspended granting visas to Nigeria (shortly after the arrest of Hushpuppi and co during Covid lockdowns.)

For the sake of one criminal and a few miscreants the UAE made that move unilaterally to discriminate against all Nigerians without consulting with the Nigerian government or considering diplomatic impact. There were also reports of Nigerians being maltreated in the UAE.

After lockdowns ended and flight resumed, the UAE reopened its borders to other countries but maintained the visa ban on Nigerians and said nothing about the maltreatment of Nigerians in the UAE during the covid lockdown period.

The Nigerian government (much to my surprise) refused to take that insult sitting down. The typically redundant government swung into action and issued an immediate ban on all Emirates flight from Nigeria (which happens to be the 3rd biggest revenue stream for Emirates airlines)

From the 23rd of September the Nigerian government refused to allow any Emirates plane touch Nigerian soil and banned flights from many other country’s airlines who do not regard Nigerians with thesame courtesy that we regard them.

7 days later, the UAE reversed the Visa ban and yesterday announced that they will now allow Nigerians visa access to UAE in the hopes that Nigeria restores Emirates flights. The lighting of Burj Khlaifa was a symbol of goodwill to appease Nigeria.

Im not often proud of the Nigerian government. But on this one, I say kudos. That’s the story behind the lighting of the Burj Khalifa.

Happy Independence Nigeria.

03/10/2020

🟡 Remember her? 🟡

💥Name: Natalie (Nadya) Suleman, 44 years old.

💥She began IVF treatments in 1997, when she was 21 years old, under the supervision of Dr. Michael Kamrava, a fertility specialist.

💥In 2001, Natalie gave birth to her first child, a son.

💥In 2002, she gave birth to her first daughter.

💥She continued IVF treatments which resulted in three further pregnancies (including one set of fraternal twins) for a total of six children (four sons, two daughters).

💥In 2009, Nadya had six embryos left over from her previous IVF treatments.
She requested that all of the remaining embryos be transferred into her uterus at one time.
Dr. Kamrava complied.

A woman her age would normally have a maximum of two or three embryos transferred.

💥In January 2009, she gave birth to octuplets (six boys and two girls), making her a mother of kids ( ten boys and four girls).

💥In October 2009, Dr. Kamrava was expelled from the American Society for Reproductive Medicine.

💥In June 2011, during a California Medical Board investigation, it was found that Dr. Kamrava had actually transferred embryos, which the board found to be an "extreme" departure from standard of care.

💥After reviewing Natalie's case, in combination with three other cases, the Medical Board of California revoked Dr. Kamrava's medical license, effective July 1, 2011.

💥The octuplets are now 11 years old.


Source: Wikipedia
PhotoCredit: TMZ, InTouch

15/09/2020

Do you know?

Ethiopia is the only country in the world with 13 months and their New Year starts on September 11 (September 12 in leap years), which implies that they are 7½ years behind Nigeria.

As a matter of fact, they are two months into 2013 while Nigerians are in 2020.

01/09/2020

DIFFERENT MEANINGS FROM THE TALKING DRUM

Is it B’OLUBADAN BA KU, TA NI O JOYE?

One of the most astounding works of Art from Africa is the Yoruba talking drum. It is an hourglass- shaped wood with an inner cavity, covered on both ends by goat skin, and beaten by a curved stick called gongo.

The fact that its pitch can be regulated makes it exceptional as messages to be passed by the drummer to the listeners. There is the Iya Ilu, Omele and gangan with danceable rhythms apart from their messages.

One of the greatest drummers of all times was Oba John Adetoyese Laoye, the late Timi of Ede who reigned from 1946 – 1975.

He was not just an Oba but also a drummer with jaw-dropping dexterity which brought him a global fame. He learnt drumming from his maternal home.

In 1955, Obafemi Awolowo’s government popularised Radio system by introducing rediffussion boxes to the Western Region.

The boxes attracted people like light does moth, especially during the news hours. The popular tune that heralded the news was a creation of Oba Laye’s drum in 1956.

MI MI DO DO MI MI, RE MI MI RE DO!

This was given so many interpretations which included:

• B’OLUBADAN BA KU, TA NI O JOYE? – Who will ascend the throne when Olubadan passes on.

• O J’OGĘDĘ DUDU, INU TAKUN – He eats unripe plantain and suffers stomach disturbance

• KO S’ONIGBESE NIBI, LO SI’LE KEJI - There is no debtor here, go to the next house.

• BELO GBADAMOSI, OLORI OLE – Belo Gbadamosi - the head robber.

• EKO JĘ’BADAN LOWO, THIRTEEN POUNDS – Lagos owes Ibadan thirteen pounds.

WHAT OBA LAOYE ACTUALLY SAID WITH HIS DRUM WAS –

• THIS IS NIGERIA BROADCASTING SERVICE! 😃😃

Credit: Dotun Oyeniyi

06/08/2020

Origin of Holland textile (aka Ntoma or Ankara)

The story of Vlisco begins not in Dakar, Lagos, or Accra, but in the small Dutch city of Helmond, where, in 1846, industrialist Pieter Fentener van Vlissingen purchased a textile factory to sell upholstery fabric, bedspreads, and handkerchiefs abroad. Van Vlissingen began creating imitation batik fabric based on designs from Indonesia — then known as the Dutch East Indies — to capitalize on new roller printing technology that could affect the look of batik without all the labor-intensive work required to make the real thing. Batik originated in China and India in the 8th century, and it was refined in 13th-century Indonesia with the development of a new tool for applying hot wax to fabric known as canting, likely an anglicized form of the word tjanting. When Dutch imitators such as van Vlissingen entered the business, Indonesians noticed small flaws in their fabrics — namely a “crackle” effect, the result of small veins of pigment leaking through the wax resist — and the Dutch East Indies even went so far as to ban their sale in the 19th century. But other areas of the Dutch empire provided a ready if unexpected, marketplace. Vlisco fabrics became a popular item in a different part of the Dutch colonial ecosystem, starting in Ghana, which was then called the Gold Coast.

Between 1855 and 1872, approximately 3,000 Ghanian soldiers served in the Royal Netherlands East Indies Army. They returned home, as servicemen often do, with a taste for items they encountered abroad. As the story goes, the soldiers had learned to appreciate the look of genuine batik but didn’t mind the crackle of the van Vlissingen version, so they purchased bolts of it for their female relatives back in Ghana. By the turn of the century, despite the ceding of the colony to the UK, the sale of Dutch-made faux batik in the Gold Coast was robust. By the 1930s, it was being adapted to suit Ghanian tastes, not by accident, but by design. According to Dilys Blum, the PMA’s senior curator of costume and textiles who organized the exhibition, the trend was so popular that several companies based in England, France, and Switzerland began producing faux batik fabrics in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Van Vlissingen responded by consolidating its grip on the marketplace and buying up several smaller concerns. Thus, a fabric produced in Europe with Asia in mind never quite hit the mark in its intended marketplace but found an enthusiastic audience at the opposite end of the empire.

As fascinating as the mysteries of production is for textile nerds, the stars of this exhibition are the fashions and patterns themselves. While the aesthetic of Vlisco still evokes batik to this day, the patterns are full of culturally specific references and visual cues that communicate ideas and sentiments in the largely female world of its sellers and consumers. While Vlisco uses only stock numbers to identify its patterns, traders and buyers have invested many of them with narratives, and some have become iconic. The pattern known as “You Fly, I Fly,” which depicts a bird escaping from a cage, is a favorite of newlywed women, who wear it to advertise that faithfulness in marriage is a two-way street. In Togo, the Vlisco trade is controlled by a small group of families who have state-issued licenses, which are passed down from mother to daughter. One pattern is known as “Mama Benz” depicts that recognizable hood ornament in commemoration of the first Mercedes purchased by a member of one of Togo’s leading trader families. Blum argues — and it’s hard to disagree — that this complex dynamic is what makes Vlisco such a fascinating phenomenon of material culture: it represents an economy in which a global brand’s significance can actually be hyperlocal.

To some extent, the question of whether Vlisco is truly “African” or not is moot, because the fabric so readily and indelibly signifies the fashion and style of West African women; it might be like asking if denim is “really American” given the complex global history of indigo. At this point, Vlisco is about much more than just the fabric as an object of fashion. The ecosystem and visual language of its trade is a cultural phenomenon in which women entrepreneurs flourish, and individuals can forge and display their identities through design.
One of the masterstrokes of this small but rich exhibition is that, wherever possible, the designers of each pattern are credited near their fabric samples, and each dress or suit is likewise attributed. Some are of West African descent, some Northern European. All are bracingly original.

By Sarah Archer

03/05/2020

Madagascar Launches Africa’s First Herbal Remedy Cure From Covid-19
Madagascar covid organics

The president of Madagascar Andry Rajoelina officially launched a local herbal remedy believed can prevent and cure patients suffering from COVID-19.

The herbal remedy has been developed by Congolese Doctor, Dr. Jerome Munyagi in partnership with the Malagasy Institute of Applied Research and branded COVID Organics. President Andry Rajaolina presented the remedy to the press on Monday.

COVID Organics contains Artemisia, a plant cultivated on the Big Island to fight against malaria. In other parts of Africa, Artemisia is cultivated in Cameroon, Kenya,Ethiopia, South Africa, Mozambique, Tanzania, Uganda and Zambia – all in high-altitude regions and/or regions with a pronounced cool period.

“All trials and tests have been conducted and its effectiveness in reducing the elimination of symptoms has been proven for the treatment of patients with COVID-19 in Madagascar,” the president said.

The herbal remedy, COVID-organics is mandatory for children returning to school. President Rajaolina said Monday that it had cured two COVID-19 cases.

“The Covid-Organics will be distributed free of charge to our most vulnerable compatriots and sold at very low prices to others. All profits will be donated to IMRA to finance scientific research,” the president wrote on Twitter.

“I’m convinced that, in fact history will prove us, but today there are already two cases that have been cured with the Covid-organics, but we’ll actually see what happens next.”

“Covid Organics will be used in profilaxis, i.e. preventive, but clinical observations have shown a trend towards its effectiveness in curative, other clinical studies are currently underway,” he stressed at the launch.

As of May 1st, Madagascar’s case stats stood at 128 cases of which 92 had recovered with no deaths.

25/03/2020

A beautiful short story

‘You are leaving my house today,’ I heard my father say. I was the first of my mother’s six girls and for as long as I had known my father, he treated I and my siblings like he was doing my mother a favor. Once I summoned courage to ask my mom, if he was really our father. Her reply will remain forever fresh in my memory.

‘He is’. She had replied, sighed and continued, ‘Wuraola, no one choses who his parents will be. That is exclusively Gods prerogative but he has graced us with the ability to choose when our time comes, what kind of parent we want to be. You must never detest your father, age has very little to do with maturity.’

How she was able to defend him despite his ill treatment of her remains a mystery to me. If I was interested in Bullying as a profession, my father would have been a wonderful tutor.

I was fifteen when she became pregnant with our last born.

I was very upset with her when she told me. That day I returned from school exhausted, as I had branched by a neighbor’s to help her fetch water. I did this to enable me make some extra cash and save towards my education. My father had told me in clear terms he had no money to spend training a girl.

In order not to spend too much money, my dad enrolled us in a derelict public school in our area. I was never going to let that deter me, I made sure my younger ones were always well dressed for school and theirs and my academic performance was always enviable.

I had plans to positively disappoint my father. I was going to make him eat his words. I fetched water for neighbors after school and washed clothes on weekends. I was hard on my younger ones, sometimes I made the older ones follow me to work on weekends.

I paid them well and encouraged them to have savings.

‘How can you take in again mom? How could you allow daddy impregnate you, seeing what you went through during your last delivery?’

‘My precious Gold, you will not understand. I know if I can give your father a son, I am sure he will change and start treating my daughters well.’

I looked at my mom like she was my younger sister. She was too kind to think evil of anyone, talk less her dearest she-man. How could she not see that he was never going to change and even if she ever had a son, it was only going to make matters worse for us- the girls.

Initially, when he learnt she had taken in, he took great care of her that I almost began to think I must have been very wrong about him.

‘Mom,’ I called her one evening, the pregnancy was at an early stage then. ‘Use this opportunity well. Collect as much as you can from dad and buy your baby’s things. Enjoy this moment as long as it last. I don’t trust dad.’

Thank God she listened to me. She delayed going for scan until she was in her eighth month. The day she returned home in tears and announced on her knees that the scan had shown she was carrying twin girls, I saw the devil in my dad manifest.

One minute, my mom was kneeling down and apologizing for carrying baby girls in her womb, the next minute she went sprawling on the floor, clutching her protruded stomach and begging for mercy from the man who was busy kicking her with the intent of aborting the eight month old pregnancy.

I was not thinking straight, if I was a man I will probably have killed my dad that day.

‘Stop!! Somebody help me!!’ I screamed, lying on my mom and shielding her from his murderous rage. He was obviously possessed for he continued kicking me until his fury was spent. I had bruises all over my body, I was sure my fragile bones were broken because my body felt like it was on fire.

When he left, I dragged myself from the floor and discovered I had been soaked by her blood all the while. My mom was barely breathing. I must have experienced an adrenaline surge because I picked myself from the floor like someone possessed by a legion and ran out to get help.

I had her rushed to a private hospital owned by a woman, one of my customers and immediately an emergency caesarean section was performed. I had my heart in my hand all the while she was in the theatre. Her parents were old, poor, and miles away. She was an only child.

Who was I going to call?

She spent hours in the theatre but eventually, I heard the cry of the babies. I couldn’t jubilate because I had not heard nor seen my mother. I heaved a sigh of relief when she was wheeled out of the theatre.

She had tears in her eyes when she opened her eyes and saw me at her bedside.

‘Thank you, my precious Gold.’ She muttered weakly and all I could do was squeeze her hand. I felt so sad that my mother had subjected herself to her horror of a marriage. What normal man beats up a pregnant woman?

My mother had told me after their wedding, my dad had insisted, it was either her job or her marriage.

She chose her marriage, so he was the sole provider. He however with the birth of the girls only provided whatever he felt was needed. Whatever he didn’t provide was not necessary. He spent his money wherever he saw fit while his wife and daughters, starved at home.

Our neighbors got him arrested but the police after an exchange of handshake, asked that the case be settled at home as it was a family affair.

His brothers visited the hospital once. The visit was a short one, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

‘Don’t be upset with your husband our wife.’

They said.

‘Your brother almost killed me. Am I the maker of children?’ she wept.

‘You have to try and understand your husband’s plight too. True he went too far but as a man..’

‘haba uncle, what if I didn’t have any at all?’

‘That would even have been better,’ her co-wife who had come with them chipped in and I replied her with a look, hot enough to scald.

‘So female children are not from God abi?’ I chipped in while I boiled in anger.

‘No it’s not like that Wura, it’s just that…’

I stood up fuming, ‘uncles, she has to rest now.’

‘Wura…’

‘Please uncle, I wouldn’t want the doctors to come here and embarrass you. Please she needs to rest.’

And that was the last we saw of them.

The doctor took pity on me and slashed our bill by half- I paid the balance with my savings.

I was a girl who had been forced to become a woman.



My mom was discharged on the fifth day with lots of tutorials on how to care for the babies. The onus fell on me to make sure she was well fed and the babies cared for. My father had disappeared to only God knew where. Taking care of my mother, babies and my other siblings, coupled with school work, was not an easy task. I knew that if I didn’t take a break, I most likely will break down, so I stopped going to school.

I also had to keep working odd jobs to keep our stove burning. My mother’s health was unstable and we were in and out of the hospital until the babies were six months old.

My father returned home after six months announcing his marriage to a new wife.

‘She will move in by the end of the week,’ he announced as we ate dinner that night, while my mother fed the twins.

‘I expect you to welcome her with open arms and in preparation clear out your stuffs from my room. She is carrying my heir and I do not want her stressed.’

I watched in pain as my mother wept silently.

‘Father this is quite unfair,’ I answered him, washing my hand, the food suddenly tasted like rubber in my mouth. I believed it was time to stand up for my mom. You left mom, half dead, you cared less whether she made it or not. You haven’t been home in six months. Not once have you held these babies you fathered. I am amazed that you can do these to your own children..’

I didn’t expect the slap but when it landed, I staggered and felt my head hit the wall.

‘The next time you contribute without being asked, I will give you the beating of your life.’ he ranted at me.

While I struggled to regain my composure, from the corner of my eyes, I saw my mother set the babies down gently, stood up from the stool she was sitting on and tied her wrapper well. Then she faced my dad. Why did I even buy kerosene to cook that night? The heat emanating from her eyes was hot enough to boil water.

‘Who is this new woman’, I wondered, ‘definitely this couldn’t be my timid mother.’

For the first time in my life, I noticed my mother was way taller than my father. Where did the extra inches come from?

She towered above him and he had to look up to talk to her. Come to think of it, I had never really seen my mother stand while my father speaks.

Something was about to go down, I could feel the excitement in my bone.

‘Akinkunmi,’ I heard her call my father’s full name. I could see the shock in his eyes.

‘What?’ he asked, looking around like he was trying to find the source of the voice.

‘Let this be the first and the last time you will ever lay your hands on my daughter.’

‘Are you talking to me?’ he queried making an attempt to unbuckle his belt.

‘No not again,’ I pleaded. I had a feeling this was really going to get ugly. Something had happened to my mother on the inside. Her voice was cold and ominous as she commanded me. In the last couple of weeks, she was always going out. Could this drama waiting to evolve be a product of her outings?

‘Gold, take the babies out, you have played the mother and father long enough to know how to care for your younger ones. Get your younger ones and wait for me outside the compound.’

Now I was really scared. I had never seen my mother in this mood.

‘This has to end tonight.’ She muttered under her breathe as I picked the babies up. ‘Shut the door and don’t come back here.’

‘Mother please,’ I pleaded at the door.

‘Go now Wura.’

My mind began to play games with me. My imagination was running wild. I had read news about husbands killing wives and vice versa. If she was going to have revenge, I hoped she wouldn’t do what will land her in jail.

‘What happened to my mother?’

I was apprehensive as I walked out the door, I caught a glimpse of my father’s belt in mid-air.

Should I go back inside and shield my mother again? Should I go outside and call neighbors but it was dark already.

‘You must leave my house today,’ I heard my father’s voice piercing through the night and then silence!

I was stuck in mid strides. With trepidation and fear in my heart I called to my sisters.

‘Take the babies and wait in your room.’ I ordered.

I couldn’t hear any sound from the sitting room where I had left them. It was cold yet I was sweating profusely.

‘Where is daddy and mummy?’ one of my little sisters asked.

‘They are discussing in the sitting room, just follow Treasure and do everything she instructs you to do.’ I replied as Treasure backed one of the babies and handed the other one to our sister.

I then called her aside and intimated her on what was going on. She was just about two years younger than I was and was quite matured for her age.

‘Then what are we still doing here Wura? We should go in there and check on them!’

My sister was quite tough and smart too. Her life’s ambition was to become a female general.

‘Mom said to wait for her.’

‘What? Are you out of your mind? Wait here while she gets beaten to death? Why are you so gentle like this?’

‘Easy Treasure, easy does it.’

‘Don’t sell me that nonsense easy, easy message. Are you still standing there? This is the same easy, easy message mom kept preaching until she almost died with an eight month old pregnancy. Lord knows if I was home that day…’ she left the statement hanging as she rushed towards the sitting room.

‘Treasure, the babies!’

‘Get help!’ she screamed at me sprinting away.

I was talking to myself she was already at the door, hitting it with all her strength.

At that point I was quite confused. Who was I going to call on? The neighbors had hands off our family matter since the police released my dad.

I chose to join her at the door and hit with all my strength.

‘Do you ladies want to break down this door? Go to the bathroom and run your father a bath!’ she commanded.

‘What?’ I and Treasure exchanged looks that spoke volumes. I pulled my sister but she didn’t budge. She pressed her ears to the door and I followed suit.

Sweet relief washed over me as I heard my mother’s voice…and then my father’s.

‘Veronica what happened to me?’

‘I served you my revenge cold.’ she replied in a matter of fact manner.

‘For fifteen years, I have endured your kicks, your blows, your lashings. You have sent me many times to the great beyond but mercy brought me back.’ I heard her laugh derisively

‘I served you, your own meal and you didn’t even last a minute. I resuscitated you because of your daughters. The next time you lay a finger on me, I swear to God, you will not only blank out, you will die and go to hell’.

She bent down to his eye level. ‘Akin, I believe God gave me a second chance when you left me half dead six months ago so that I can live and raise my daughters well. While I will never encourage nor tolerate fighting, I will train them just in case. …who knows, there might be many more of you out there. You will feel sore for a couple of days…and yes don’t worry that bump on your head will go down.’ She added as I guessed my father touched his head.

‘Are you sure our mother is the one in there?’ Treasure whispered and I shook my head in the negative.

‘Hand over your ATM cards,’ she instructed. I peeped at the window and towering above him. I saw my father cower and swiftly obey.

I wiped my eyes for the umpteenth time. I couldn’t believe the scene playing out in our sitting room.

My father was sitted on the floor, with his shirt soaked through with water.

‘Sign the check book please and hand it over…good thank you.’

What could have happened to my mother?

‘Akin when a woman chose to be humble and submissive, you look for trouble when you take her for granted. For fifteen years, I allowed you to bully and ridicule me before my daughters. I have allowed you treat them like second class citizens. I have endangered my life over and again in the bid to give you a son. What was I thinking? It isn’t and has never been about what gender of child I give birth to, it has always been your quest for power, to subjugate and dominate my body and mind. That ends tonight.

And to every man who feels the woman is a weakling, a donkey to be pummeled into obedience, watch out for the day she will wake up, the day she will stop caring, the day she will realize her imprisoned strength. You see how this whole event looked like a dream to you that is how it be to them. You don’t get maximum output from a woman when you subjugate her and imprison her mind, you get the best from a woman when you set her free, love, respect and support her.

Akin God has blessed you with amazing children. If I come to this life again, I won’t mind if God blesses me with amazing daughters like this again, never again will I raise a timid girl child. I will make sure they can fight intellectually and physically, to save themselves from men who will take and wield gender as a whip to flog them. What would I have ever done without Wura, my ever shinning adorable Gold? Don’t you realize that the shinning face of every little girl is the signature of God’s presence?

Akin there are miracles in every child and choosing the one over the other is like denying yourself of God’s faithfulness. Girls are pearls, ladies are rubies, mothers are molders and women generally are just wonderful.’

As I listened to my mother, I had tears in my eyes and my heart overflowed with love for her. I looked at Treasure, she had tears in her eyes too.

‘You see these daughters of mine, they will go places. They will do so well people who had laughed at me will come and rejoice with me. Watch out for them. Come morning, I am withdrawing money from your account and changing their schools. I will get them proper clothes and feed them with good food. When your new wife delivers, don’t worry I will take care of her child like mine if she wishes, but there is no space for a second wife in this home.

I am going to take a job now for I have a great project before me. I advise you not to stand in my way Akin, there is more from where this came from.’

‘I am sorry Veronica,’ that was my father’s voice. To say I was shocked will be an understatement. My father never apologizes for any wrong doing. He was always right, he believed he wasn’t accountable to anyone.

I looked at my sister and she looked at me.

‘Please forgive me,’ he repeated prostrate. ‘I promise you, I am a changed man. We will raise these wonderful children together.’

My mother pulled him up and went on her knees and with tears in her eyes, she replied.’ I forgive you, Olowoorimi-my husband.’

My father pulled her up, looked into her eyes and they busted into laughter as I pulled Treasure’s hand and we slithered away.

The end.

AKINREFON ENO DORCAS
Di