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Growing up in a compound house is an advanced study in deliberate provocation with topics in applied core values of patience, respect, sharing and caring. No one lives and grows in a compound house without learning and passing these core values. If one fails, that person may probably be the agent provocateur or the paragon of disrespect with extra traces of incurable impatience. Anger management skills and social psychology must be the next course for that person to pursue immediately. I lived and grew up in a compound house and I believe I have passed the core values with distinction. A compound house is a term used to describe semi-detached building structures where occupants share a common compound and utilities. Occupants in most compound houses and their guests share a common bathroom. They share a single electricity meter, and tap water. That which they are to share in peace and love are the objects of divisions, quarrels and acrimony. My life in the compound ho...

Yes, life happened. The memory of the great times Louis and I had in our first few months of marriage is still fresh on my mind. Little did I know that happiness, like glass, breaks easily. The memory of happiness they say makes misery woeful. Maybe that’s why I am where I am now. I still remember the day my joy turned into horror as if it was yesterday and my life has never been the same again. It started like any other day. I was still in the first trimester of my pregnancy and you know what that comes with. I spent more time out of bed than in it at night due to bathroom breaks and some other pregnancy woes. This made me so tired and sleepy during the day. On this day, I called out sick so I could go see a doctor and probably get some rest. My husband did too, so he could take me. Loving and caring Louis would not let me drive in that state. Despite my mood swings and increased irritability, he still treated me like a princess. I was given some medication and assured it w...

Forget about the sly smile on my face, look deep into my eyes and you will see pain, even feel it. What happened to me has taken away every ounce of purity from my very being. That emotional pain has left nothing but scars that will forever remain. Hurt people they say, hurt people. That’s exactly what I have been doing. I killed my love, but I did not kill anybody, confused? Come along, let me tell you my story. It was a Tuesday, not just any Tuesday for me because it was my second day after my 27 th birthday. I had fantasized about making gestures with my left hand on that day just to show off my ring but that sadly didn’t happen. What could be compared to the sight of my boyfriend on one knee posing the question on my twenty-seventh birthday?  Tell me can anything be bigger than that for a bachelorette? You can call me desperate but I have no shame; I had waited for it long enough and I thought that twenty – seven would be a perfect age to get married. My boyfriend of...

In a floral off – shoulder romper with her messenger bag hanging on her shoulder, she walked towards her two friends at the beach with a pair of shades in one hand and her iPhone in another. With a few inches away from her friends, she looked on her phone and said: “Which one too is ‘dabi dabi ebeye yie? Mtcheew!” Wendy looked up after her long chuckle. She got closer to the table where her friends were sitting, sipping on cocktail drinks in wait of her. She was still in rage. “In this era that Brazilian, Peruvian, and Mongolian and other types of expensive hair are must-haves; where Apple and Samsung have new releases each year; in this era where Miami, Bahamas, and Dubai are a must for baecations (slang for lovers’ vacation) and in this Ghana that Kempinski and Movenpick are the standard places for birthday dinners; who would date a broke guy? Ah! I’m so upset, mtcheeew,” she lamented. Wendy is the first of three girlfriends who hang out at least once every week to have fun an...

I was exhausted and heavily drained after work that Friday. It was so bad I could hardly get out of my car when I finally reached home. Finding my keys in my handbag was another stress altogether but I managed that and walked to the door. I could not wait to get that cold shower and the good night rest I needed so badly. But I noticed something – the light in my bedroom was on. It wasn’t as if it was unusual because sometimes in my haste to get to work early, I forget to put it off. But I was pretty sure I switched it off that morning because I had to go back to the room and put it off after I saw it on through the window. I reached out for the doorknob and before I could insert the key, the door flipped open. Then my heart skipped. “What is happening?” I murmured to myself and dropped my handbag right at the door. I was alarmed, I couldn’t have left my lights on and the door unlocked, especially when a neighbour had been robbed and stabbed a few days ago. The most likely gues...