Lagos Memories: The untold stories about my holiday in Lagos – Mirabelle Morah
You know, in Calabar you can afford to catwalk when crossing Calabar Road or Marian market, but in Lagos, even if a car is still 20miles away, mbok just run for your life because some…
Familiar African Tales | Ekpo in GSS Exam By Mira Morah
“Psst! Pssst! Nora!” I didn’t want to turn towards her so I pretended not to hear her. I felt a tap on my back. I pretended it was just a housefly perching on my back.…
Familiar African Tales | MY PALLY PALLY BY MIRA MORAH
She was my pally pally, as we called it back in school. We walked back home together from school, we sat close to each other in class, we stayed in each other’s houses till night,…
Familiar African Tales | Pressurized By Mirabelle Morah
I don’t know how I survived high school without a boyfriend but hey! I survived. One young man kept on pressurizing my life right from my first senior class down to my last. Even my…
Once Upon A Girl By Mirabelle Morah
Cynthia was always nice to me. She had the prettiest smile and the prettiest hair, not that I knew many girls but Cynthia lived next door. “You, come out and play with me.” She’d call…
My Crack By Mirabelle Morah
I’m not actually a wonderful person. My name means wonderful, but many times I’m less than wonderful. I’ve been told of my pride, about my snobbing. These were the periods when I prayed most to…
Midnights by Mirabelle Morah
As she slept through the night she heard it again. This thing—whatever it was—that kept her awake and kept her scared. She’d gone to sleep at a friend’s house once, hoping it’d stop, but rather…
Together We Are Better
Last Sunday, I sat in church and listened to Pastor Tony teach, “Together we’re better,” he said. I thought about life with Elizabeth Ita, how together we did so many things. I thought about how…
I’ve Got My Love Now by Mira Morah
I just want someone to hug, and I’m wondering if it’s too much to ask for. I’m not sure I can ever remember a time in my life when I woke up sad every morning…
A Boubou For Momma
I see them hanging on a rope — all so beautiful. “Five-Five hundred Naira!” The seller announces from behind his wares of beautiful boubous and dresses. I’m thinking of momma, all she’s done for me.…
Waking up in Biafra
I wrote this story exactly when I was 16 and put it on my first blogspot account, as inspired by Chimamanda Adichie’s book, Half Of A Yellow Sun. I opened my eyes and there I…
Too Many Friends Too Many Wahala by Mira Morah
Keep yourself going with this quote. Sometimes, we need people to direct us in life. “So many friends so many wahalas. The caliber of friends you have also matter.” Let me tell you a small…
This is The Compelling Reason Why I Smile The Way I Do :)
Growing up people asked why I liked to smile the way I did. Upper gums visible, upper and lower teeth visible, cheekbones high and eyes almost squinting. So I thought it was bad to smile…
THE WRITER’S FRUSTRATION
I’m restless… I want to write! I pick up my pen,I pick up my paper But there are no words! Everything is in disarray. Where have the words flown to? Why can’t I write? What’s…
Short Story: Terror in The Woods
Olaedo was not from a rich home. In fact, his father was a poor palm wine tapper who met his untimely death just a few months after Olaedo was born. Not withstanding, one could say…
Short Story: Poisoned
I just couldn’t stand all their noise and palaver. I never wanted to be the kind of girl to get married, have kids, have trouble with my husband, divorce and leave broken kids behind. No!…