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We Block the Drainage, Then Blame the Government
Every rainy season in Nigeria comes with the same routine: flooded streets, stalled vehicles, ruined shops, angry citizens—and one familiar conclusion. “The government has failed us.”
That conclusion is lazy. And dishonest.
Yes, government has responsibilities. But so do citizens. And on the issue of blocked drainage, Nigerians are not victims. We are accomplices.
Walk through any street after rainfall. You’ll see gutters packed with sachet water nylons, food wrappers, plastic bottles, nylon bags, even household waste. None of these fell from the sky. Human beings put them there deliberately.
The irony is painful:
The same person who throws a sachet of water into the gutter is often the first to curse the government when flood enters their compound.
This isn’t ignorance. It’s attitude.
The rules are simple. Do not dump waste in drainage.
Not complex. Not colonial. Not oppressive.
Yet someone will finish drinking pure water and without shame drop the sachet into the gutter. Not because there’s no bin nearby. Not because they don’t know better. But because they don’t care.
And when that same person is fined or punished, suddenly it becomes “wicked government,” “harassment,” “this country is hard.”
We want order without discipline.
Development without responsibility.
Clean cities without personal sacrifice.
That is not how societies work.
We praise foreign countries for their clean streets, their functioning systems, their discipline. But we ignore the truth: those systems work because citizens obey basic rules even when no one is watching.
In many of those countries, you don’t need a policeman to stop you from littering. Shame, culture, and consequence already do the job.
In Nigeria, we resist all three.
We complain about flooding, yet we block water pathways.
We complain about poor sanitation, yet we throw waste anywhere.
We complain about enforcement, yet we break rul
09/12/2025
Nkem was in the middle of the room, singing loudly and dancing to a song on the television. She held an imaginary violin to her chin, swaying and moving with dramatic flair. She didn’t even notice him walk in.
Samuel leaned against the doorway, watching quietly. He had no idea she could sing—or dance—with so much soul.
When she finally turned and saw him, she gasped and stepped back, expecting a shout or slap.
Instead, he gently lowered the volume.
“Nkem, don’t leave the door open when you’re alone,” he said softly. “Someone can walk in and harm you.”
She nodded quickly.
Later that evening, as they ate, he asked, “Do you like music?”
Her eyes brightened. “Yes, Uncle. I love it. I like singing… and I like how violin sounds.”
“You like violin?” he raised a brow.
“Yes. And I didn’t know you understand my language. Are you Igbo?”
Samuel laughed. “No, I just learned it. Your language is beautiful.”
That moment deepened their bond. The next week, he registered her in a musical school to learn piano and other instruments. After church, he sometimes practiced with her.
Nkem blossomed. She sang in church, played small instruments, joined school sports, and became a child everyone admired. People who didn’t know Samuel often assumed she was his daughter.
One day she asked him, “Uncle, what do you do when you go out? I always see you pressing your laptop at home, but when you leave, I don’t know where you go.”
Samuel smiled. “I’m a farmer.”
“Can I follow you to the farm? I can work well,” she said confidently.
He studied her tiny hands. “You’re too young to work. But on Saturday, I’ll take you so you can see it.”
Samuel’s Reflection
Nkem came into my life when I was a struggling graduate. Since then, everything changed—my finances improved, my farm became more productive, and I found joy in responsibility. Watching her sing in church brings tears to my eyes sometimes.
My mother always says, “You’re lucky to have a child before marriage.” Nkem is talented, kind, beautiful, and disciplined. Truly a blessing.
By the third term of JSS1, Samuel had already planned to take her to his village for Christmas.
“And you will also visit Aunty Ada,” he told her.
“I’ll go only if you stay with me there,” she protested.
“I’ll stay,” he assured her.
During Christmas, they traveled to Ada’s village. When Ada saw Nkem—healthy, glowing, full of life—she was overwhelmed.
“Samuel, thank you,” she said. “You have taken a heavy burden from me.”
After the visit, Samuel took Nkem to his own village, where they spent the New Year with his family. She laughed, played, and felt loved—something she had long forgotten was possible.
And in those moments, Samuel knew his life had changed forever.
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09/12/2025
Back in Port Harcourt, Corper Samuel lived in a small one-bedroom apartment. The day he took Nkem from Ada, he didn’t take her home immediately. Instead, he drove straight to his mother’s house in another part of the city.
“I just need one week, Mama,” he told her. “Let me arrange my place so she can stay comfortably.”
His mother nodded. “Leave her with me. She will be fine.”
That one week, Samuel worked tirelessly. He rearranged his room, bought foodstuff, cleaned the house, and went to the market for clothes—small dresses, shoes, even hair ribbons. He also walked around his neighborhood searching for a private school he could afford. He checked on Nkem every day at his mother’s place.
After a week, he brought her home. It was late September. The next morning, he took her to the school for registration.
Nkem held his hand tightly as they walked in. She couldn’t believe a stranger could show her this much kindness. Ada had loved her, yes—but the fear and pain she endured with Kelvin still lingered inside her. This new treatment felt unreal… like hope she never expected to have.
Sometimes, Samuel called Ada.
“Ada, talk to her,” he would say, handing Nkem the phone.
“My daughter, how are you?” Ada asked one day.
“I’m fine, Aunty,” Nkem replied shyly.
Those calls comforted Ada. Knowing Nkem was treated well eased her heart.
Nkem settled quickly. Every morning Samuel prepared her for school, and whenever he couldn’t pick her up, he paid one of the school staff to bring her home.
Aside from his online gigs, Samuel was also a farmer. He had a large piece of land in a nearby community where he grew cucumbers, ginger, pepper, and tomatoes. On days he went to the farm, he always made sure Nkem had food waiting for her. Whenever he returned early, he sat with her to do her assignments.
One Friday, he went to check the farm and didn’t return on time. When he finally got home, he opened his door and froze.
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Money doesn’t change your character — it amplifies whatever you’ve been quietly practicing when nobody was watching.
If you’re careless, it magnifies the waste.
If you’re disciplined, it magnifies the growth.
Most people blame money for who they become, but the truth is money only exposes who they already were.
30/11/2025
THE CHILD SHE LEFT BEHIND PART 2
Nkem Meeting Corper Samuel Episode 1
Nkem was a beautiful young girl, the only child of the late Amara. When her mother died, her mother’s best friend, Ada, took her in out of loyalty and love. Ada begged her husband, Kelvin, to let the child live with them. At first, Kelvin reluctantly agreed, but with every passing day, his patience wore thin.
Nkem’s presence became a constant source of irritation to him. The poor girl did nothing wrong, yet Kelvin treated her like an intruder in his own home. Whenever Ada wasn’t around, he would beat Nkem for the slightest reason. Sometimes, even Ada’s presence couldn’t stop him.
Ada was torn apart caught between keeping her dead friend’s wish and preserving her own marriage. Her relatives urged her to send the child away. “You’re risking your home for someone else’s child,” they warned. But every time she looked at Nkem, she saw Amara’s eyes staring back full of innocence and fear. Her heart couldn’t bear to abandon the girl.
It was a cruel balance between compassion and survival and Ada walked it alone.
In the same quiet community stood a small government primary school. That was where Samuel, a young NYSC corp member, was serving.
When Samuel first arrived, he despised the place. The school building was falling apart, the blackboard was cracked, and the pupils often came barefoot. “How can a graduate teach in a place like this?” he often complained to his colleague, Esther.
But Esther encouraged him to stay. “Sometimes,” she said, “you don’t choose where to serve — destiny does.”
Will Corper Samuel be kind to Nkem
what do you think about this episode
comment below 👇
that's a winning smile
21/11/2025
NEW AFRICAN FANTASY RELEASED!
THE SILENT ELEPHANT OF THE DEEP PATHS
By Ibeniboye S. Amakiri
👇 Read Chapter One — FULL STORY BELOW
Don’t rush this. Let it pull you in.
CHAPTER 1
Long before the white sands of the Delta were scarred by foreign boots and iron ships, the small fishing settlement of Oru-Okpokun breathed quietly beside the river Nun. Life moved at the pace of paddles cutting through water and at the rhythm of drums calling fishermen home at dusk. The people lived by the laws of the tides, the whispers of the forest, and the blessings of Egbesu, the spirit who watched over warriors and hunters.
Oru-Okpokun was not rich, yet it was content. The river provided fish in abundance, the raffia palms offered wine that sweetened every festival, and the mangrove forests protected them from storms. But the people always spoke with caution about one thing—the Deep Paths, a forbidden channel winding into the thickest parts of the mangroves. Only elders spoke of that place, and never loudly. Spirits were said to walk there in their true form.
Into this world was born Kpokpo lean, restless, fearless even as a child. His father, Ogbologbo the mask-carver, said the boy carried too much fire for his small body. His mother, Zuokumor, often warned: “This one will either save Oru-Okpokun or bring it trouble. Nothing in-between.”
By ten, Kpokpo was already wandering where children had no business being—deep forests, sacred shrines, forbidden docks. Bold, reckless, but fiercely loyal. The kind of boy who broke rules but defended the weak.
Then came the season of the first sign.
THE FIRST SIGN
Rumors spread of a massive elephant wandering the outskirts at night silent, enormous, unnatural. Some swore its eyes glowed. Others claimed its feet never touched the ground.
The elders dismissed the tales.
Until destruction began.
• Yam barns crushed
• Canoes shattered
• Huts shaken at dawn
Yet no footprints. No sound. Only terror.
One calm morning, Kpokpo and his friend Ibiso went fishing early. The river lay still as glass. Then they saw it.
The elephant.
Its skin shimmered like moonlit water. Its breath made no sound. Its eyes glowed faint orange. It looked at Kpokpo as if looking through him.
Then it vanished.
Not walked away vanished.
Fear spread, but one truth remained:
The spirit-elephant had marked Kpokpo.
A SETTLEMENT UNDER THREAT
The elephant appeared again and again—sometimes walking on water, sometimes inside dreams. For many, it brought terror.
For Kpokpo, it brought messages.
Where others saw destruction, he saw guidance.
Where others feared it, he felt drawn to it.
His dreams changed him.
And then came the night everything broke.
THE NIGHT OF BROKEN DRUMS
The elephant returned—not silently, but with thunder.
It appeared in the center of Oru-Okpokun in full spirit-form.
Warriors struck it with spears—every strike passed through it.
Then it turned and stared at only one person:
Kpokpo.
The elders summoned him. The priestess spoke:
“A spirit hunts only what it is bound to.
The elephant summons you… to the Deep Paths.”
Refuse, and the settlement would continue to suffer.
Accept, and he would walk a path no one had survived in generations.
That night, by the river, the spirit-elephant appeared again—soft, waiting, patient.
Kpokpo asked only one question:
“If I follow you, will you spare my people?”
The elephant bowed once.
A promise.
Kpokpo took a trembling breath.
“Then take me.”
He stood, wiped his palms, and followed the silent elephant into the forbidden Deep Paths.
✨ To be continued…
If you want Part 2, drop a 🐘 in the comments.
👇 COMMENT your thoughts
❤️ LIKE if you enjoyed this
🔁 SHARE to support African storytelling
📌 FOLLOW for the next chapter
21/11/2025
NEW AFRICAN FANTASY RELEASED!
THE SILENT ELEPHANT OF THE DEEP PATHS
By Ibeniboye S. Amakiri
👇 Read Chapter One — FULL STORY BELOW
Don’t rush this. Let it pull you in.
CHAPTER 1
Long before the white sands of the Delta were scarred by foreign boots and iron ships, the small fishing settlement of Oru-Okpokun breathed quietly beside the river Nun. Life moved at the pace of paddles cutting through water and at the rhythm of drums calling fishermen home at dusk. The people lived by the laws of the tides, the whispers of the forest, and the blessings of Egbesu, the spirit who watched over warriors and hunters.
Oru-Okpokun was not rich, yet it was content. The river provided fish in abundance, the raffia palms offered wine that sweetened every festival, and the mangrove forests protected them from storms. But the people always spoke with caution about one thing—the Deep Paths, a forbidden channel winding into the thickest parts of the mangroves. Only elders spoke of that place, and never loudly. Spirits were said to walk there in their true form.
Into this world was born Kpokpo—lean, restless, fearless even as a child. His father, Ogbologbo the mask-carver, said the boy carried too much fire for his small body. His mother, Zuokumor, often warned: “This one will either save Oru-Okpokun or bring it trouble. Nothing in-between.”
By ten, Kpokpo was already wandering where children had no business being—deep forests, sacred shrines, forbidden docks. Bold, reckless, but fiercely loyal. The kind of boy who broke rules but defended the weak.
Then came the season of the first sign.
THE FIRST SIGN
Rumors spread of a massive elephant wandering the outskirts at night—silent, enormous, unnatural. Some swore its eyes glowed. Others claimed its feet never touched the ground.
The elders dismissed the tales.
Until destruction began.
• Yam barns crushed
• Canoes shattered
• Huts shaken at dawn
Yet no footprints. No sound. Only terror.
One calm morning, Kpokpo and his friend Ibiso went fishing early. The river lay still as glass. Then they saw it.
The elephant.
Its skin shimmered like moonlit water. Its breath made no sound. Its eyes glowed faint orange. It looked at Kpokpo as if looking through him.
Then it vanished.
Not walked away—vanished.
Fear spread, but one truth remained:
The spirit-elephant had marked Kpokpo.
A SETTLEMENT UNDER THREAT
The elephant appeared again and again—sometimes walking on water, sometimes inside dreams. For many, it brought terror.
For Kpokpo, it brought messages.
Where others saw destruction, he saw guidance.
Where others feared it, he felt drawn to it.
His dreams changed him.
And then came the night everything broke.
THE NIGHT OF BROKEN DRUMS
The elephant returned—not silently, but with thunder.
It appeared in the center of Oru-Okpokun in full spirit-form.
Warriors struck it with spears—every strike passed through it.
Then it turned and stared at only one person:
Kpokpo.
The elders summoned him. The priestess spoke:
“A spirit hunts only what it is bound to.
The elephant summons you… to the Deep Paths.”
Refuse, and the settlement would continue to suffer.
Accept, and he would walk a path no one had survived in generations.
That night, by the river, the spirit-elephant appeared again—soft, waiting, patient.
Kpokpo asked only one question:
“If I follow you, will you spare my people?”
The elephant bowed once.
A promise.
Kpokpo took a trembling breath.
“Then take me.”
He stood, wiped his palms, and followed the silent elephant into the forbidden Deep Paths.
✨ To be continued…
If you want Part 2, drop a 🐘 in the comments.
👇 COMMENT your thoughts
❤️ LIKE if you enjoyed this
🔁 SHARE to support African storytelling
📌 FOLLOW for the next chapter
21/11/2025
THE CHILD SHE LEFT BEHIND
Episodes 4
Nkem Meeting Corper Samuel
Nkem was a beautiful young girl, the only child of the late Amara. When her mother died, her mother’s best friend, Ada, took her in out of loyalty and love. Ada begged her husband, Kelvin, to let the child live with them. At first, Kelvin reluctantly agreed, but with every passing day, his patience wore thin.
Nkem’s presence became a constant source of irritation to him. The poor girl did nothing wrong, yet Kelvin treated her like an intruder in his own home. Whenever Ada wasn’t around, he would beat Nkem for the slightest reason. Sometimes, even Ada’s presence couldn’t stop him.
Ada was torn apart caught between keeping her dead friend’s wish and preserving her own marriage. Her relatives urged her to send the child away. “You’re risking your home for someone else’s child,” they warned. But every time she looked at Nkem, she saw Amara’s eyes staring back full of innocence and fear. Her heart couldn’t bear to abandon the girl.
It was a cruel balance between compassion and survival and Ada walked it alone.
In the same quiet community stood a small government primary school. That was where Samuel, a young NYSC corp member, was serving.
When Samuel first arrived, he despised the place. The school building was falling apart, the blackboard was cracked, and the pupils often came barefoot. “How can a graduate teach in a place like this?” he often complained to his colleague, Esther.
But Esther encouraged him to stay. “Sometimes,” she said, “you don’t choose where to serve — destiny does.”
Follow for more episodes on The Child she left behind
21/11/2025
Episodes 2
AMARA'S TROUBLES
Their friendship drifted slowly into something deeper. It felt harmless at first… until lines blurred and emotions took over. By the time Amara discovered she was pregnant, she was terrified—but still hopeful. She believed Emmanuel would stand by her.
She was wrong.
When she told him, his expression hardened instantly.
“What are you talking about?” he asked coldly.
“It’s your child, Emmanuel,” she whispered, fighting tears.
He stepped back as if she had accused him of something shameful.
“Don’t involve me in this,” he snapped. “I won’t let you ruin my future.”
Her world shifted. The boy she trusted became a stranger in seconds.
Weeks later, her family found out—and the reaction was brutal.
Her father’s anger filled the house like fire.
“You’ve disgraced us! Do you know what you’ve done? If the church hears this, our name is finished!”
Amara trembled.
“From today,” he said, voice shaking with rage, “you are no longer my daughter. Leave this house tomorrow. Thank God that foolish pastor’s son denied you.”
Her mother stayed silent. Her siblings avoided her eyes. That silence cut deeper than the shouting. She begged relatives to intervene; they refused. Friends disappeared.
Only Ada—her former neighbor—stepped forward.
“I’m in a rural community now,” Ada said. “It’s not fancy, but you can stay with me. You won’t be alone.”
The next morning, with the little money she had, Amara travelled to Umuede in Anambra State. Life there was tough, but she pushed through. She sold plantain chips by the roadside—enduring teasing, pity, and long days under the sun. Ada, despite her own struggles, bought small baby items when she could. Together, they survived.
Months passed, and Amara gave birth to a baby girl. She named her Nkem—“my own.” It felt right. They only had each other.
When Nkem turned eight months, Ada gently suggested, “Maybe you should try to go home.
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