Showing posts with label Young Adult. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Young Adult. Show all posts

Sunday, 30 June 2024

The Good Man

 

Chapter One



Once upon a time in Okeani village, in Oko, a town in the Eastern part of Nigeria, lived a man named Adimchimkp Onochie, a palm wine tapper. An occupation he inherited from his grandfather and father, Maduka, who had made names as men of honour and integrity in the community.

His father, Maduka, named him Adimchimkp, meaning, “I am important to God.” As an honest man and a devout Christian, Maduka taught his only son to develop a deep sense of responsibility and trust in the unfailing power of God. 

Maduka instilled into his son the belief that a good name is weightier than gold or silver and that righteousness exalts a man. Adim, as the people fondly called him, imbibed his father’s moral instructions and did his best to live a righteous life like his father.

Because of his good moral conduct, people referred to Adim as a good man, which he vehemently refuted. Whenever he did a good deed in the village, and they commended him, Adim would gaze at the people and inquire, “Who is truly good and perfect? Only God,” he would answer. He maintained no one should lay claim to goodness, or being perfect. It is only God who is good and perfect in His ways.

Initially, his friends teased him, and whenever they spotted him, they jokingly called out “Who is good and perfect?”

“Only God,” Adim would answer them with a smile. 

Gradually, the villagers, both old and young, turned it into a mode of greeting whenever they met Adim on the way, morning or evening. After many years, it took over his name. Some younger people in his community didn’t know his name was Adimchimkp. Children would run out of their houses on seeing him coming just to shout, “Who is good and perfect.” As always, he would answer, “Only God.” 

He was a man of the people, there was no community within Oko and its environs, he would go to supply palm wine that people would not come out to greet him with his famous greeting.

Adim carried out his business of tapping and selling palm wine with a cheerfulness that earned him many customers, even beyond his community and village. He was among the few palm wine tappers who did not dilute their wines with water to increase the quantity for more profits. He firmly believed in the goodness of God and trusted that divine providence would take care of his needs.

Every day, when the sun sets, casting long shadows on the village, Adim would go into the forest with his machete, climbing rope, and empty wine gourds. Within the lush expanse of forest, countless palm trees awaited his attention. He would climb them one after the other, skilfully scaling and scoring each bark to allow the sweet sap to trickle into his awaiting gourds.

In the morning, Adim would go around the palm trees, collecting his gourds full of fresh palm wine. While he worked, he would sing to himself, his voice floating through the forest like a gentle breeze. 

People on their way to streams or farms would hear his voice and shout, “Who is good and perfect?” 

“Only God.” Adim would respond cheerfully from the top of the palm tree. They would walk away with smiles on their faces.

Before the sun rose to begin its daily journey, Adim would return to the village with his gourds full of fresh palm wine. He would supply his regular customers who owned bars within the community, then carry the rest to the market to sell to his customers from neighbouring villages. 

As he went about supplying his palm wine, people would greet him, “Who is good and perfect?” Adim would respond, “Only God,” with a cheerful smile. The people loved him, for he was a jolly, good fellow who laughed and joked with everybody he met on the way. 

But not everyone was happy with Adim’s cheerful disposition. Some people were jealous of his success and popularity in the community, especially fellow palm wine tappers. They felt Adim overshadowed their business with his presence. It was not of his making that his goodness and undiluted fresh palm wine attracted many customers to him.

When Adim takes his wine to the market, others only sell theirs if he finishes selling his wine. Often, people booked his wine for occasions, and when that happened, he would not have leftovers to take to the market. Other sellers are happy on such days because his absence means they will sell more drinks.

Despite the attack from some of his colleagues, verbal and sometimes diabolical like when they poisoned him, and he couldn’t tap wine for a month, Adim loved his trade. He was proud to continue the occupation, which his father passed down to him. He was happy to preserve the tradition of palm wine tapping that had run in his family for many generations.


Ebook  links

 https://selar.co/777v0x

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CXYJR4MT

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CXYJR4MT

https://www.amazon.fr/dp/B0CXYJR4MT

https://www.amazon.co.jp/dp/B0CXYJR4MT

https://www.amazon.in/dp/B0CXYJR4MT




Monday, 31 July 2023

THE PRINCE AND THE WITCH

A powerful king captures Prince Ebuka while on his way to bring home the Ikenga, the village symbol of power. 

After working as a slave on the king’s farm for a while, the king decides to set Prince Ebuka free on one condition.

The prince must tell him within a year what he will do to make his wife happy or forfeit his head.  

In his search for the answer, he visits an ugly witch who tells him he has to marry her to get the answer. 

And so, Prince Ebuka finds himself between a rock and a hard place, and time is ticking away. 

Friday, 16 February 2018

Fighting Emotion (Young Adult Romance Series 1)



About the book



When a man loves a woman, he will do anything to win her love. Fred is ready to play the fool to get Ifeoma to accept his love for her is genuine.

Ifeoma is afraid to lose her heart to a man with a reputation, one who has left a trail of girls heartbroken. She has to fight her emotion and fight him off to avoid the inevitable.



You want to read the rest of the book? keep a date here or get a free copy @
https://okadabooks.com/user/Ladyzizi

Tuesday, 30 January 2018

Fighting Emotion (A Novella))



Chapter One


Few meters to the school gate, Ifeoma trotted to a halt. With both hands on her waist, she took a deep breath, bent a little, twisted her waist to the right and to the left a couple of times and then straightened. Flexing both legs and hands outwardly, she started walking leisurely towards the campus gate.
Passing through the side entrance, she threw a cheery good morning to the gateman, who returned her greeting with a jaunty wave. The campus was astir; she could hear the hum and buzz of students though unseen. It was a Saturday; no morning lectures for most and so no early morning bustling activities at the entrance.

The few students she encountered were those coming back from an all-night party or an all-night vigil. As they walked briskly past her, she examined them and could tell from their dressings where each person had been to.

As she bounced forward, every pulse in her body vibrated with the energy gleaned from her morning jog. She wasn’t jogging to lose weight; she had no extra ounce of flesh around her dainty frame.
While a sprinter in her secondary school days, she relished the wheezy feeling and adrenaline rush that comes with running and the sound of air whooshing through her ears, like a lover's whisper, always thrill her body.

Her Saturday jogging exercise was a luxury she cherished so much when she could afford to indulge in it, it inebriated her spirit, eased off pent-up stress and put a spring on her life for the rest of the week.
Approaching the T-junction, leading, one to the hostel and the other to a small field beside the art studio, she spotted a lone figure, facing an easel, not unusual as many art students’ paint in the morning. As she got closer, she couldn’t tear her eyes away, there was something arresting and compelling about the rapid movement of his hand that made her bypassed the route to the female hostel and gravitated towards him. She stood behind him fascinated, as she watched him capture the rising sun on his canvas in rapid strokes of a brush.

“You like it?” His voice boomed out suddenly.
Startled, she asked. "Like what? Oh, your painting?”
Turning his head, he gave her a side glance, his brown eyes cringing at the edge. "What else do we have here?"

It took some seconds for her to recover from the cockiness in his voice to mutter an answer.  “It’s nice.”
"Yeah, I guess it is." His hand continued its rapid movement, while she stood behind him and wondered what on earth brought her there.

She took her eyes off the canvas to assess him. Tall and lanky with a slim waist tucked into a faded and paint-stained jeans trouser, and a small towel casually draped over his shoulder. With what she saw, she grudgingly had to admit there was a natural masculine elegance about him.
She was still gawking at him when he turned sideways to pick a brush from among several brushes scattered on a small foldable table within easy reach of his hand. Apart from brushes, there were paints, watercolours, a straw hat, a dark sunshade, an insulated water-bottle and a small bucket of water.
Angry with her fascination with him, she lifted her leg to leave when he spoke again.  "I can see you're in sports gears, practising for any Olympic competition?"
She could hear laughter in his voice. “Yes.” She answered indignantly.
“Which?” he asked casually.
“Gymnastics.”
His hand halted, slowly he turned, a mocking smile on his face. He started from the legs and looked at her way up. When their eyes met, Ifeoma lifted her brow and looked straight into his eyes audaciously.
***
 “Wow!” slipped out of his mouth and the smile etched stupidly on his face. Stripped of action and words by the fire in her eyes and her cheeky combat-ready stance, he shook his head and turned back to his work. No girl had ever made him hot and stupid before.
He knew the moment she walked away; he felt cold air in place of her warm presence behind him. Turning he watched her retreating back. A word jumped into his head, Spitfire.
***
Ifeoma sulked into her room without any cogent reason for her anger other than his over-confidence and pomposity; by her deduction. But was that enough to provoke an emotional paroxysm in her life? Or was it that his roguish manner and charm touched a chord in her body that has never been stroke before.
When she calmed down and felt normal again, she tried to push him behind her. However, his image and voice stayed within the periphery of her thoughts all through the week.

Links:  https://okadabooks.com/user/Ladyzizi
           http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/ngozi2000
          https://www.amazon.com/…/B077PC2GXH/ref=cm_sw_r_fa_dp_t2_N-…
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