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   Stories by Chukwudi Anagbogu (+2348061199777) In the heart of Nigeria, beneath the sweltering sun and among the lush green hills of Igbo land, lay the village of Umuokoro. Surrounded by thick forests that whispered ancient secrets and a river that flowed like a living vein through the land, Umuokoro was a place where tradition and the modern world intersected. The people here held fast to their beliefs, passed down through generations—stories of spirits, ancestors, and the unseen forces that governed their lives. But in recent years, something had begun to change. It was subtle at first, a sense of unease that settled over the village like a fine mist. People whispered about strange occurrences in the night, of shadows moving in the corners of their homes, and of voices that spoke from the air, calling their names. It was said that the dead were returning, walking among the living once more. At the center of the village stood the house of Chief Emeka, the village leader. He was a ma

  By Chukwudi Anagbogu  In the bustling city of Lagos, Nigeria, life moves fast. Among the endless honking of cars, the vibrant chatter of market vendors, and the warm tropical breeze, lived a young woman named Amaka. At twenty-four, she was a soft-spoken, diligent student of Accounting at the University of Lagos. Life for her had been a steady rhythm of family, studies, and church. Amaka had always been the dutiful daughter—never one to step out of line, and she upheld her moral values with a deep-rooted sense of pride. But like many young women her age, Amaka longed for something more. Though she was content with her life, a part of her wondered about love—the kind of love she read about in novels and heard about in songs. She had seen friends fall in love, sometimes stumbling and getting hurt, but other times finding happiness. Yet, she had always been cautious, holding her heart close and believing that love would find her when the time was right. That time came when she met Jide.

Chukwudi Anagbogu  Part 1: The Unraveling In the bustling town of Jos, Nigeria, where the air was filled with the vibrant sounds of market vendors and the scent of rich spices, lived a couple named Ifeoma and Chinedu. Their marriage was once a celebration of love, filled with laughter and shared dreams. Ifeoma, a spirited woman with ambitions of her own, worked as a teacher, while Chinedu, a mechanic, was known for his skill and dedication. However, as the years passed, the dynamics of their relationship began to shift. The pressures of life weighed heavily on Chinedu, who struggled to provide for their growing family. His long hours at work left Ifeoma feeling neglected and frustrated. Instead of discussing their problems, they began to drift apart, their conversations dwindling to everyday necessities. One fateful evening, after a long day at school, Ifeoma returned home to find Chinedu slumped on the couch, surrounded by empty bottles. Anger bubbled within her. “Chinedu! This is how

  Emeka was not just my friend, he was a friend to all. He was particularly handsome and had an aura of importance. That alone made me admire him. In my class, he was ‘worshipped’ and highly revered. Even some teachers openly gave him preferential treatment. First, our form teacher had assigned him to the front row in the class, but Emeka himself preferred to sit at the far end of the rear. Of course, he had his way. Emeka was the only student in class who had the freedom to eat in class whenever he felt the desire to do so. I was surprised when mid-way into a maths class, he opened his big food flask and began feasting from it. Everyone expected the Maths teacher, who was a renowned disciplinarian, to have reacted. Lo and behold, the Maths teacher feigned ignorance despite the fact that the aroma from the food was so obvious that a passerby would have mistaken our classroom for a kitchen. Chike, another classmate of mine had attempted to do a similar thing few days earlier. The same

 I was among the few privileged ones to have lived with my grandmother during my childhood. My grandma had visited us for the “omugwo” of my younger sibling. At the ‘expiration` of three months, she had opted to stay longer because as she would always say, “anywhere one stays is one's home.”  My siblings and I received news of her “extension” with mixed feelings. Our concerns were borne out of her strictness. She was so strict that sometimes you wondered how my mother-her daughter survived childhood under her watch. It was during her stay that my immediate elder brother and I stopped bedwetting. Hitherto, my parents had employed all manner of tactics to stop us from betwetting, all to to avail. First, my mum had tried reducing our water intake, especially at nights. According to her, not taking enough water would reduce the urge to urinate at night. The strategy seemed to work initially, as we did not bed wet for three consecutive days. On the fourth day however, the unthinkable ha

   Full Book Summary In the late winter months of 1801, a man named Lockwood rents a manor house called Thrushcross Grange in the isolated moor country of England. Here, he meets his dour landlord, Heathcliff, a wealthy man who lives in the ancient manor of Wuthering Heights, four miles away from the Grange. In this wild, stormy countryside, Lockwood asks his housekeeper, Nelly Dean, to tell him the story of Heathcliff and the strange denizens of Wuthering Heights. Nelly consents, and Lockwood writes down his recollections of her tale in his diary; these written recollections form the main part of Wuthering Heights. Nelly remembers her childhood. As a young girl, she works as a servant at Wuthering Heights for the owner of the manor, Mr. Earnshaw, and his family. One day, Mr. Earnshaw goes to Liverpool and returns home with an orphan boy whom he will raise with his own children. At first, the Earnshaw children—a boy named Hindley and his younger sister Catherine—detest the dark-skinned