by Dexter Joseph
“My name is Jonathan N’ike, or better yet, Jonathan Ndubuisi,”he spoke through gritted teeth, eyes on Maazi Ibe. Once he sensed the confusion from those before him, his gaze and finger turned to Ikemefula. “I’m his son.”
by Jennifer Nwanede
It was obvious that he was not just a good hustler but he was also trying to make sure he made sales. My friend and I were moved to buy the vegetables even though they didn’t look so fresh.
by Mayowa Oluwashanu
She slammed the knife on the counter and rubbed her temple with her forefinger and thumb. He was stressing her again and he knew it. Rather than have them iron out the issue, she would lock up again. He wasn’t expecting her to, but she spoke up.
