Tag Archives: writing prompts

Friday Fictioneers: Memories of Madam and Mustapha

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I stared at the picture, and my mind went to Nigeria, Lagos to be precise…

Mustapha at the gate waiting for madam to return…

It was 6:15 pm and she wasn’t back…

Mustapha peered through the gates for the 100th time… “She for don reach house now” he said to himself in Pidgin English marked with a heavy Hausa accent…

If she didn’t return before 8pm…it wouldn’t happen…

Honk, Honk

Mustapha sighed with relief and opened the gate…madam locked eyes with him as her Peugeot drove into compound…

Swiftly Mustapha went under the arches into a room…madam’s feet in subtle but steady pursuit…

They had about an hour before Oga returned…

 

Glossary of terms

Oga: Master

“She for don reach house now”: she should have been home now

Hausa: Northern tribe in Nigeria.

This week’s offering for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Ms. Rochelle

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Caught- Friday Fictioneers 12/14

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It’s time again for Friday fictioneers hosted by the ever gracious Rochelle, and this week’s photo is courtesy of Doug Macllroy…a very tough photo prompt, if you ask me. I managed to come up with a short story under 100 words.

Constructive criticisms and comments are very much appreciated. Please feel free to participate if you haven’t tried this before, it is so much fun, and a great way to get your creative juices flowing. Pardon the tiny French in today’s story. THANK YOU!!!

Image courtesy of Doug Macllroy

Image courtesy of Doug Macllroy

The nerve of that cheat to make house in the garage when he should be in a remorseful state…trying to work things out was a bad idea, but Father Paul thought to give him a second chance…I gave him one and he turns the garage to a bachelor pad…chatting on Facebook with Russian bimbos,playing with tools and shit…

The jerk even has this strange ball and chains in there…I hope I am wrong but I think he might have brought his S&M mess into the garage again…well, I will be here waiting for his sorry explanation…

*Note: I have nothing against Russians, nor do I think their women are bimbos…this is what my muse came up with..thank you*

Meeting Place- Friday Fictioneers 11/2

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Happy new month! May it be a great and safe one. Friday fictioneers courtesy of our new host Rochelle is on, and this week’s photo is from Ted Strutz. I had a tough time thinking of something for this prompt, hopefully this week’s offering is good enough. Comments and constructive criticisms are welcome, and please feel free to join in and participate. THANK YOU!

Image courtesy of Ted Strutz

It was the only time they could meet. After months of talking on the phone, Daphne was excited to see Connor, the man who had charmed her in college, again. It had been 7 years but he found her thanks to her cousin, Amanda’s Facebook photos. Now they were going to meet at the night market in her town.

Checking her make up one last time, Daphne walked towards the market…the weather and evening’s darkness was just right. Her husband, Pete was working late…everything seemed oddly in her favor. Strolling steadily towards the stalls, Daphne stopped dead in her tracks…

She recognized the silhouette…even worse the other’s…Pete, and her cousin, Amanda…holding hands…

Orişa òyìnbó- Friday Fictioneers 9/21

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Friday fictioneers courtesy of Madison Woods is up and running, and this week’s photo is by Lora Mitchell. I have a poem that went over the 100 word limit this week, many thanks to the image that had me thinking ancient/traditional myths, African gods and such. Comments, and constructive criticisms are welcome. Feel free to participate in this writing challenge. Thank you always!

Image courtesy of Lora Mitchell

Orişa òyìnbó
Humbly we come
Heads bowed in utmost supplication

Visit our lowly lands
We pray thee
Make them as pure as yours is perceived
For often we are told your streets are gold
Money growing green on your giant oak trees

Orişa òyìnbó
Spread your three winged might over our infants
Fast removing their sad plights and inherited misfortunes
May they grow to be innovators and leaders
Like the white man’s sons
Death far away from them

Orişa òyìnbó
Heal our hearts
Make them white and pure
Polished like the color of your sculpted image

Meet our needs
We ask thee
Peace superseding all greed and ills
Let our lands know growth like your people’s
Grace us with your goodness and elegance
May our lands be bountiful
As we come humbly
Thoughts bowed in adulation
Offering sacrifices befitting our ancestral gods
Ogún and Ṣàngó

Revive our lands
Orişa òyìnbó
Show superiority over the shortcomings of our gods
Make us whole
We beseech thee

Orişa òyìnbó
Iwin nlá
Make us whole
Heal these lands and revive our hearts

AUTHOR’S NOTES: As with many cultures, there are ancient gods, traditions, and myths. I saw this image and the idea for this poem came to mind. Before many Africans became christians; they worshipped diverse gods…I wrote this with the mindset of a person who visited Greece or some other western world, and assumed this creature to be a god, and considering the white man’s “assumed” influence, he imagined perhaps that their gods might carry the same influence over his own gods. Many of the unfamiliar terms here are in Yorùbá, one of the three major languages in Nigeria. Here are the meanings of the words:

Orişa òyìnbó– white man’s god
Ogún– god of iron
Ṣàngó– god of thunder and fire
Iwin nlá– (big) strange “out of this world” creature

Where Are You?- Friday Fictioneers 8/31

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It’s that time of the week again. The prompt is up, and Friday Fictioneers  are ready to go…even though it’s still Thursday. This prompt is brought to you by Madison Woods and this week’s photo is courtesy of Stacy Plowright.

This week’s photo brought some personal feelings to the limelight for me…it was a reminder of many questions that I have been pondering upon the past few months. I came up with about 3 stories and a poem, but fret not…I am only sharing 1 story and the poem (Please indulge me).

Comments, and constructive criticisms are welcome! The story is my state of mind, it’s not to bring up any arguments or debate. THANK YOU!

WHERE ARE YOU?

Every so often I wonder about heaven and where it is…

Last summer some girlfriends and I drove to Canada, and as we sped down highways lost in different conversations, I noticed the clouds gathered dark and somber…my heart fell silent as I looked in the skies.

Speaking softly to the clouds…I whispered “God, where is heaven, and where are you?”

“Is there someplace else beyond these clouds?”

“Is that where heaven abides and you reside?”

“God where are you?” I asked out loud…My friends laughed and said assuredly…he is right beside you.

I hope they are right…for some days I don’t know what or even if I believe… anymore…

THE CLOUDS GATHER FOR TO COLLECT EARTH’S LOST SOULS

The clouds
Somber pale
Beautiful and gray
Gather

They gather for to collect
And usher in earth’s lost souls

Souls who for too long have strayed
In these parts
Seeking rest and shelter
In uninhabited areas

Never finding any

They hover over green pasture
And oceans deeps

They waft about hi-rise penthouses
And urban buildings

Roaming and wandering they drift
With the hope they would find
Rest for their lost and weary souls

Chidinma- Friday Fictioneers 8/17

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It’s that time again to get the creative juices flowing, courtesy of Madison Wood’s prompt. This week’s photo is courtesy of Lura Helms, thanks Lura, and many thanks to Madison for always setting this up.

This week, I came up with a story, pure work of fiction. As always feel free to participate, comments, honest and kind critiques are welcome. THANK YOU!

tree

Chidinma kept running…they were following her no doubt.

Ever since the village priestess had told her husband she was carrying twins, plans were been made to banish her “evil” seeds once they were born.

In Umuofia, twins were an abomination…

Chidinma kept running…if she could find that old tree mama had taken her when she was five…the tree where her Chi dwelt, they would save her.

Still running fast she stumbled to the ground…tears blinding her as she looked up…right in front of her was the tree.

Chidinma remembered what mama did here several years ago…she got into character, and started to evoke her Chi in Igbo “Onye kwe chi ya ekwe…”

Five minutes later, over Umuofia thunder blazed like fire across the skies…

AUTHOR’S NOTES:
Igbo language is spoken by the Igbo people an ethnic group in the southeastern Nigeria
Chidinma is a unisex name meaning God is great.
Chi is a person’s spiritual guide or god
“Onye kwe chi ya ekwe…” means “whoever believeth, achieveth”