Godly teens

  Once upon a time, you would have thought she was a great nation, She was pregnant with inexhaustible gems and resources, the envy of all other nations. Her various cultures were the beautiful jewels that adorned her. Her skin shone brightly and none could ignore the beauty and wealth she weilded as a weapon. She had earned her place on the map and she was called the Giant of Africa. The western countries saw it and they came scrambling for a piece of her.  They set their greedy fingers on her and deceived her with things she had never seen, but things that could never have been compared to what she carried.  One after the other, they came to reap where they had not sown.  They latched unto her like eels and milked her year after year, refusing to let her go until they had had their fill... Until her children decided they had been cheated enough and fought for their mother's freedom. Independence! Or was it?  She never recovered from that exploitative experience. Now her eyes were

There's a pain that comes from seeing innocent people been killed on the streets by the very people they trusted to keep them safe; The pain we feel when we can trust absolutely no one, because dangerous people wear plain clothes but wield guns and matchets. It's the kind of pain that makes us feel like throwing up and keep our knees gummed to the floor in prayer so God can intervene very fast because we don't know how much longer this is going to take. The pain that clutches at our throats, threatening to choke us is the same pain we feel in our chests every morning when we wake up and see the amount of people been injured outside because they chose to fight for their rights to live. This kind of  pain makes our footsteps heavy when we walk the streets of our motherland. But the pain we feel the most is the one coming from seeing the river of blood.  We ask ourselves how many more people need to be killed, brutalised and manhandled before the message is passed. Innocent bl

I sat on the white plastic chair beside my best friend's hospital bed. Monitoring machines surrounded her, beeping steadily. Tubes of different shapes and sizes stuck in and out of her body. She looked so lifeless lying there with her eyes closed. It was all I could do to not cry out in front of her.  Vera was just thirty years old. She was too young to be dying. Her family's record was free of the disease so how did it manage to find a way to get her, slowing down her life in the process and threatening to bring it to a complete halt.  Peaceful Vera. She never picked a fight with anyone, but here she was fighting for her life. The door opened and I wiped my face just in time to see Vera's husband and four year old son. "Ellen," Vera's husband greeted. There were dark rings under his eyes. Proof that he had not been sleeping well. "How are you doing?" "I'm alright. How about you? How've you been putting up?" "Not too well,"