#africanstories

Some wives actually tend to destroy justice in some homes ,some husband are seductively charmed from knowing what is right and...

He pretended to have a sick mother ,where as that was a trick to visit his original wife...

Seriously, I never knew that the woman I called my mother in-law was my co-wife

AI generated picture Otunba rushed out of the king's chambers, clutching his skin bag and a machete in his right hand, his eyes fierce like those of a madman and bloodshot. Some villagers had gathered

Hi...I'm Tlatso-Son. A 3D Artist and Animator... I basically aim to provide high quality animated shorts, dance videos and animated short series for everyone to enjoy and critique. Thank you for taking

Hi...I'm Tlatso-Son. A 3D Artist and Animator... I basically aim to provide high quality animated shorts, dance videos and animated short series for everyone to enjoy and critique. Thank you for taking

I love reading African stories writing by Africans, not the likes of John Locke, Joseph Conard and others who penned down a disturbing account of our Africa. The stories told by our own Chinua Achebe,

Last night, I stood leaning on my bedroom window peering at the pouring rain fighting the urge to call you. Loneliness hugged my soul and the desire to overlook my pride tiptoed in my mind seductively.

He sat alone at 'their favourite' place. The wind hit his face in moanful soft breeze. He slightly opened his arms and half closed his eyes to welcome the cold wave on his perspiring skin. He relaxed for

He sat next to the dying fire staring right into the now slightly glowing residue. At the family table, his father requested to talk to him and Mutiso was unsure about what. His father wasn't a talkative

The Kalenjin warriors made some war cries heading his way. Kakaya knew it was best that he hid his young bride. She was with child and rumours were flying around they were raping women regardless of their

Halima was determined to pamper her favourite girl. She called her around ten on the Valentine's day morning and asked if they could hang out. Her mum agreed only after making her promise to let her go

Something shook the bed and consciousness flooded her mind. It was unreal and disturbing. Her mind struggled to stay alert but somehow her bed was moving, fast. For less than a minute, she floated in the

Source :) It was a chilly morning on that memorable Thursday. The courtroom had a few souls when I arrived. I sat in the back bench facing the dreaded bench and a huge wall clock dangling right underneath

Kamae Borstal Girls Institution Photo taken last December 2017. H signals her driver to bring the truck behind the old garage. She is sitting at the edge of some special seats. She has had them since she

Source :) Paint. Wet paint. Dripping seductively. Ever actively. On the canvas that is life. Life. The unending strife. With unsolicited thoughts. From their pessimistic doubts. When they try to poison

Source :) It was Saturday morning and too early for whatever his neighbour was doing next door. The irritating rattling noise felt like it would split his head in two. He could imagine her in those screaming

Image is mine! He fell on one knee and sang the next paragraphs to her ears. His eyes fixated on hers, conveying his soul's sincerity. This was what allowed his moving lips to cast a spell on her... 'Before

Source :) It was a cold July night. She sat silently close to her burning stove for warmth. Firewood would've been better but recent weather meant none if you didn't save up during May. She flinched at

Growing up in Africa meant a lot of things to me. To my generation. We were raised with a whip and aware no one questions what adults did or said. They (and with they I mean the whole village grownups)