Yoruba Girl: A Short Story

Among the many tribes found in Africa, the Yoruba People of Nigeria are among the most popular and well known. The Yoruba are the tribe that many Africans confess that their family roots started from and therefore follow the religion and culture of the Yoruba. These people are indigenous to the Southwestern parts of Nigeria and Benin. They may not be the only tribe in Africa, but they certainty have an interesting culture along with one of the oldest ancestry lines.

I asked my mom “what’s wrong,” she replied with a sorrowful “your Aunt Lisa is in trouble, we must leave now.” The worst part of all of this was my Aunt Lisa’s son was with us, Matthew. He did not know what to think or believe. No one knew the world would slowly start shattering beneath all of us that morning. We drove to her house, we saw ambulances and police cars driving by, that did not help our nerves at all. We finally arrived at her apartment, we never thought all of those emergency vehicles would be going there. My brother and I stay in the car since I was only eight and he was only eleven. My mom and cousin run into the apartment hoping to only find my Aunt had fallen and is unconscious, or she is passed out drunk, just let it be something that is not permanent. What they come to find is that my Aunt is laying on the floor, unconscious, but cold as ice. It was not from someone killing her, or us getting there too late. She had died twenty-four minutes before that phone

And then, the day I had feared of most, finally arrived. We lost our father, the only figure I truly felt safe with. After months of mourning and painful transformations, our mother fell sick. In those terrible days, days during which I was locked in the basement most of the time, for my safety and even more: for the safety of my family, I was incapable of helping. To this, I regret even today.

I recall, vividly, our thin bodies. All of our family were skin and bones frames, running without the slightest notion that there could be something better for us out there. Quickly, the school year came and my mom got a job at Onaga as a tech-lab teacher. As I was six, I became enrolled in kindergarten. One day, during that same year a few months in, my mother discovered that her husband of ten years, had developed an extramarital relationship with a coworker. Tears spilling down her sallow cheeks and rubbing off her light makeup, in the teacher’s lounge, she had bumped into the one and only, Mr.Hannah, her school principal. Barreling right into Mr. Hannah in her emotional state, she stumbled back, only to have his hearty, long arm ring her shoulders. With his big heart, he listened to her painful homelife tragedy and overwhelming tribulations, as well as, allowed her the indecency of blubbering into his shoulder for about ten full minutes. After she began to regain control of herself, he sat her down in the nearest blue, plastic chair and clasped her frail hand in his large, warm one and sat before her. He looked at her with his amiable, cerulean eyes, lined with crows feet and wrinkles of time, he told her definitively, “I will take care of it.” With two long strides, he left her stupefied in the empty lounge, vague beeping sounds from the microwave across the room on the counter bringing her back to reality. Unbeknownst to my mother, other coworking

The following months a winter, cold and gloomy, surrounded the house. My grandmother came to stay with us since my father had fallen into depression and needed help taking care of my sister and I. When my grandmother went grocery shopping my sister would struggle with homework without my grandmother’s help. One day when my grandmother left to go grocery shopping my sister approached me, which was unusual of her since its very rare for her to come to me. Her dark brown hair and big eyes reminded me of my self when I was younger. “I’m hungry” she complained, a question she’s never asked me. My father sleeping and my grandmother away, I was the only one left to take care of her and that terrified me. I had never cared for or known how to care for someone else. All I knew was how to evaluate whether or not someone was caring for another correctly.

I heard a feminine voice call out to me as I blazed out the front door. "Good morning Amber! Oh, where are you--" I cut her off with a sharp slam. I couldn't look back. With each step towards my car, I inhale painful sobs of air. I feel as if I don't know who I am, as if I was that 18 year old girl hearing the news of his death for the first time. I couldn't think of the name that belongs to me, or any one else but my father. Any face my subconscious offers had the resonance of a total stranger, then was replaced with the haunting image of

Throughout life we, as humans, are forced to deal with many aspects of death, whether it be losing

Warily, I walked over to where my father was standing right outside the school, waiting for Cole and I, when I saw he had shades on, I knew for sure that something was wrong, due to the fact he never wore shades. When we were to the pick-up my whole family was in there. Noticing, when I jumped in the pick-up, my mother also had shades on. Anxiously, I sat there attentively for the longest second of my life, then my father stammered to us that grandfather had passed away. Countless emotions were running through me, overwhelmed; I didn’t know what to think, raving; owing to they said he was going to be adequate, grieving; due to I didn’t get to talk t6o my grandfather before he passed

“It is a shame that her father left her...this happened because her mother failed her job as a wife...she is so young...what was her father thinking?”, my relatives whispered as they sipped their tea. My cousin’s face turned pale like the white blanket of snow falling outside the lodge at the camp in Lake Tahoe. Her expression held so many emotions as if it was a canvas of a painting to be gazed upon. I could see that she felt frustrated and tired of these rude remarks, and all I did was just stand there and caressed the back side of her hands, so I could comfort her. Suddenly, it felt like the air had thickened so much that even a hammer could not slash it into tiny bits. My cousin had not yet known why her father left the house yesterday.

A long time ago, before humans, the earth was covered entirely with water. Then, the God, Chukwu, created the first human family which included Eze Nri, his wife, and his children. Eze Nri and his family stood upon a small anthill feeling extremely hungry and without a place to live. Chukwu, who felt bad for them, gave them a yam and they found it to be very good. The next morning, the family was hungry again and begged for more yams from Chukwu. The God then gave them some yam seeds but there was no place to plant them. Chukwu told Eze Nri to call for the Akwa blacksmiths to blow away the water. Eze Nri was then told to sacrifice his eldest son and daughter to plant the seeds in their graves. Some time later, the yams were ready to be harvested and Eze Nri gave them to all the Igbo people (Ohadike). Today, the Igbo people are the third largest ethnic group in Nigeria and they make up 18 percent of the population which is over 32 million (The World Factbook - Nigeria) and about the size of Afghanistan (The

How would you feel if you were forced to marry someone you had met a week before just because your parents told you to? Arranged marriages are one of the most important traditions within the culture of the Igbo tribe. Even though this tradition has been sustained within few ethnic groups around the world, society has been evolving and changing over time, which may lead one to believe it’s only a matter of time before everyone has succumbed to the more modern lifestyle. The view that certain tribes have on marriage and how it has changed in certain places over time can be seen within the short story, “Marriage is a Private Affair.”

As I watched my house crumbled into a million pieces, my legs started to quiver to the point where I could no longer stand on my own two feet. Everything… everything I’d ever loved was inside: my diary, my family photos, my childhood memories. I couldn’t take the pain any more so I began to thrash around the frozen, forlorn floor like a fish on a hook. As my pupils rolled back, flashbacks rolled in. The picture of a child lying in bed while her parents read her a bedtime story replayed in my mind. Images of a primary school girl showing her parents the pictures she drew of them, as a family, wouldn’t fade away. All those memories…now gone. Forever.

We all were together in a room for the first time since eight years ago. IT was silent, however, I could feel the sadness in the room. My father and mother had two very strong opinions but all that disappeared as they mourned the loss of their

The year was 1969 in what is today eastern Nigeria in Lagos. It was the height of the Biafran war. Outside you can hear the ear tickling sound of gunshots and screaming. My father had to cover had to cover my mother's face with charcoal to trick the Federal Government army to think she was sick so they wouldn't take her. With six kids in the midst of danger, my father, mother and the six children had to run away. It was miraculous how my father and his family dodged the many federal government military officials on the way. Although he was lucky on this end, he wasn't so luck on others. My father's children were starving and had not eaten in weeks. Their throats parched. My mother had to sell of belongings like jewelry and often had to beg

I ran my fingers across the glossy wood as hot tears dribbled down my face, I watched her pale ghost like face hoping she would wake up. She is such a beautiful women, nobody ever suspected her sadness. It makes me feel as if I did something wrong, I was a terrible son. I felt chilled goosebumps cover my body. My own mother overdosed herself on pills, I never knew that when she fell asleep on new year 's night, that she would never awaken from her slumber.