Storyscape With Oluwasegun

I never thought I’d find myself here, sitting across from you, baring my soul like this. But I can’t keep it inside anymore. The weight of what I’ve done is crushing me, and I need to confess. Maybe then, I can find a way to make things right if that’s even possible. Chijioke, my husband, he’s a good man. A kind, hopeful man who has always believed that if he just kept trying, if he just held on, things would get better. For 15 years, he’s worked tirelessly, trying to pull us out of poverty, always thinking the next opportunity would be the one to change our lives. But what he never knew, what I’ve kept hidden from him all this time, is that I’ve been the reason for our misery. I’m the one who’s kept us trapped in this cycle of poverty and despair. You see, I come from a line of women with dark powers witches. For years, I buried that part of me, tried to live a normal life. But as the years went on and our struggles seemed endless, I began to resent Chijioke. His optimism,

I met Tunde when I was 26. He was my first love, the man who made me believe in forever. We spent 11 years together, sharing dreams, laughter, and countless secrets. He disvirgined me, and I believed in our love so deeply that I sacrificed everything for him, even enduring the pain of aborting pregnancies six times because he wasn't ready to be a father. But now, at 37, I face the harsh truth my body can no longer carry a child. Tunde, ever the sweet talker, promised marriage, insisting that I had been the foundation of his success. I supported him through thick and thin, helping him rise in his career. But on the day of our traditional engagement, everything fell apart. His parents revealed in court that another woman was pregnant with his child, and they were already planning a wedding for him and this new woman. I was devastated, but my siblings urged me to continue with the marriage. "You've come too far to turn back now," they said. Torn between their

I sit alone in my small room, the Bible resting on my lap. The verses, once so familiar, seem distant now, as if they belong to another life. I close my eyes and try to find comfort in prayer, but the words catch in my throat. My heart is heavy with the burden of what I’ve done, and I’m unsure if I can ever truly forgive myself. The memory of that day is as sharp as the cane I used. I see Chibuzor’s innocent face, hear his cries, and feel the weight of the cane in my hand. It was meant to teach him a lesson, to correct him, but instead, I took his life. I can’t escape that truth, no matter how hard I try. The trial is over, but my soul is not at peace. Judge Olayinka was kind, I suppose, considering what could have been. He did not send me to prison; instead, he asked that I serve the community and care for the children, the ones I can still help. He also ordered me to support Nneka, to help ease the burden of her loss.  But was it fair? Was his decision just? I wonder if h

It was October 2010 when I joined a very popular school in my area. The school was well-known, and I was excited to be a part of it. I remember the first day vividly, and I might even have a picture of myself from back then. I’ll check my phone album tomorrow morning and drop it in the comments section. The school had a supervisor, a man from the Auchi tribe in Edo State. He was a close friend of the proprietor, who was unfortunately terminally ill at the time (he has since passed away). The supervisor’s two sons, David and his younger brother, Mark, were both on full scholarship, courtesy of the proprietor. The supervisor’s job was mainly to ensure everything at the school was running smoothly. It was the biggest and most popular school in the area back then, with separate locations for the primary and secondary sections. The supervisor’s wife, who everyone affectionately called Mummy David, was a completely different personality from her husband. She was a lovely soul—fun

One afternoon, I realized I had run out of sugar. The thought of stepping out to get some felt like an unnecessary bother, especially since it was such a hot day. As I sat on my porch, I noticed Adebisi, the young girl from next door, playing outside. Her laughter echoed in the air as she skipped along the path, her joy contagious. Without much thought, I called her over and handed her some money. “ Could you help me buy some sugar from the shop down the road, my dear ?” I asked her, my voice gentle. She nodded eagerly, always so willing to help, and dashed off toward the main road. I settled back into my chair, waiting for her to return, but within minutes, I heard the screeching of tires, followed by a heart-stopping thud. My pulse quickened, and dread filled my chest as I rushed to the road, hoping praying it wasn’t what I feared. But there she was, lying still on the pavement, surrounded by a growing crowd. Adebisi, the little girl with so much life, was now lifeless. M

My name is Ade, and this is the story of how a simple act of kindness led to a life-altering revelation and a decision that left me seeking advice from anyone who would listen. It all started about ten years ago when I received an unexpected call from an unfamiliar number. The voice on the other end introduced himself as Mr. Williams, a Nigerian who had been living in London for over two decades. He spoke with a warmth that was almost disarming, explaining that he wanted to build a house in his hometown of Abeokuta, Ogun State, and had been referred to me by a mutual friend as someone who could oversee the project. At first, I was hesitant. Managing a construction project for a stranger especially someone living abroad sounded risky. But Mr. Williams had a sincerity in his voice that was hard to ignore. He shared how he had sent money home to various people over the years, only to be disappointed time and time again. His trust had been broken by those who took advantage of

I’m Kemi, and my story is one of love, secrecy, and the choices that change everything. It all began when I was in my final year at the University of Lagos. I had always been the type of person who followed the rules, did what was expected, and never strayed from the path laid out for me. I was the pride of my family, the one who would graduate with honors, land a good job, and make everyone proud. Then I met Tunde. Tunde was the kind of man who could light up a room just by walking into it. He was charming, funny, and had an energy that was magnetic. We met at a mutual friend’s party, and from the moment we started talking, there was an undeniable connection. He was everything I wasn’t—spontaneous, adventurous, and unafraid to take risks.  There was just one problem: Tunde was married. When he first told me, I was shocked, hurt, and more than a little angry. But he was honest with me from the start. He said his marriage had been over in every way that mattered long before

Introduction : My name is Chioma, and Jude was my soulmate. We had spent five beautiful years together, planning our traditional marriage and dreaming of a future filled with love and laughter. Then tragedy struck—a year ago, Jude was involved in a fatal accident just before our wedding day. The news shattered my world; I couldn't imagine life without him. Conflict : Amidst the overwhelming grief, I discovered I was already two weeks pregnant with Jude's child. It was a mixture of joy and heartache—a precious reminder of our love, but also a painful reminder of what I had lost. My mother, in her concern for my well-being, advised me to terminate the pregnancy and move on, fearing I would tie myself to the memory of Jude forever. Decision : Jude's family, devastated by his loss, reached out to me with a heartfelt plea to keep the baby. They promised unwavering support, ensuring the child's well-being from cradle to college. They saw it as a way to honor Jude&

In a recent incident that has sparked discussions on social media, a Nigerian bride, Jessica Okah, shared her experience of being asked to remove her eyelashes by her pastor during her church wedding ceremony. According to Punch , the incident, which Jessica recounted on TikTok, has raised questions about the imposition of personal beliefs and aesthetics in religious ceremonies. Jessica revealed that the pastor had previously mentioned his objection to her wearing eyelashes before her wedding day. Despite this early warning, Jessica admitted to having forgotten about the pastor’s request and assumed it would not be an issue on her big day. However, to her surprise, the matter was brought up again right before the ceremony was due to commence. She said, “What would you do if your pastor asked you to remove your lashes in the middle of your wedding ceremony? It was like a movie, but it was happening for real. “After my husband’s family accepted me, that’s when my pastor reali

The 36-year-old narrated how his wife, Cynthia, approached him and asked if he could act as her husband for eight years and offered to be paying him N200k salary throughout said period. According to him, his wife’s mother was on her neck to get married hence her reason for making such request of him. The man then accepted the deal, which placed on a salary of 200k with strict conditions he must meet throughout their marriage, like never to cheat on her, to also take care of all the house activities. Upon completing the 8 years, she said she would give him N5million but he must never come to claim the children after they must have divorced. He added that the children have grown big, three girls and one boy and he has fallen in love with the woman and he can’t bear to let go with the contract marriage coming to an end and despite the agreement they had in the past. Read what he said: ‘ ‘I was 36 years when I got this offer from a lady. She said she needed a guy that will be her husband f