Bliss resort

 – By Lolu Elegbe Ask five different people what success means and you’ll very likely get five different answers. The answers will probably range from money, to achievement, to marriage, to family, etc. But no matter how different the definitions are, they’ll usually centre around money and achievement. But success isn’t (only) about money – or achievement. If it was, there wouldn’t be so many rich people or high achievers going into depression or even committing suicide. Instead, I believe success is about fulfilment. That may or may not involve money – and it may or may not involve achievement. But it will (or should) always involve fulfilment – so the question is, what is it that gives you fulfilment? Is it money, career, business, family, ministry, all of the above, none of the above? Whatever it is, you get to define it. What is your vision for yourself and how do you fulfil it? Someone said success is coming face to face with your vision. Imagine your vision is stuck to t

By Ola Vincent Omotade   Wakeful long after midnight, I looked out in the early hours to see frost forming in the air between the trees, over the grassy bank above the reservoir: little clouds and tendrils of mist sparkling where the last few lights still burning caught them aslant, like some gift of stillness… I picked up my phone, and quickly noted down these few words, somehow trying to remember what I’d seen. It was quite warm in the room, and yet the still cold touched me with a kind of grace. Things are not the same in an air frost, without becoming. Silence is not the absence of noise, merely, but the place where change is, before things change, or else remain. It is only necessary, and the hardest thing, to keep very still. Dionysius, known as the Areopagite, wrote... ...the mysteries of God's Word lie simple, absolute and unchangeable in the brilliant darkness of a hidden silence. Amid the deepest shadow they pour overwhelming ligh

 – By Eric Arthur I just got my sack letter. I walked out of Mr Greg’s office feeling browbeat, speechless and weak. I was dispirited, yet angry. Gregory Atkinson had handed me the printed letter with ‘his deepest regrets’ and apologies, but I knew better. In this business, it’s kill or be killed. The competition is excruciatingly neck tugging. I felt cheated, manipulated and played on. Not after all I had done for this firm. Needless to say, there was a raspish outburst… a loud exchange of words before I stormed out of his office. But I was soon disgruntled at my childish behaviour. Gregory only did what every other shark would have done. Albeit my anger, I knew that I had to apologise to Greg for my inappropriate language and temper. A few seconds later, I was back at Gregory’s door. I knocked twice before pushing the door open and wheezed in. I stopped abruptly, catching my breath as I froze. What I saw left my senses in disarray. Gregory was dead… strangled on his

– By Rosaline Gudugba Having previous working experience is the No 1 most frustrating reason why most graduates seeking entry-level employment can’t find jobs today. The popular saying that  “you can’t get a job without experience and you can’t get experience without a job”  couldn’t be truer and you will find plenty of memes on the internet that registers this frustration not only experienced in Nigeria. As unfair as it seems, frankly, it is only logical for employers to seek out candidates who can prove that they have the abilities and competencies required to perform the job. This is not to say they are not aware or understand that as a recent graduate, you would be lacking in the experience department, they, however, are not willing to gamble with someone who cannot demonstrate or prove that they have the necessary skills and abilities to succeed in their company. So instead of thinking,  “where will I get the experience when no one is willing to hire me?”  change your

By Stallone-Obaraemi Samuel (SOS) The expression “employee engagement” has been used so many times that some people are beginning to think that it is gradually losing its meaning. To human resource practitioners, it is a key expression considering the fast-moving nature of the job world. When talking about engagement, to most people (especially Nigerians) what readily comes to mind is marriage. I do think that it is a fitting example of what true engagement is. Even when we talk about marriage, the weight attached to the commitment varies from one society to another. For some, it is just a contract based on convenience but for others, it is a lifetime commitment without the option of easy-get-out. In the latter case, spouses stay in the relationship with the fundamental knowledge of “we are in this together, and must/should always find a way out together, for better, for worse”. Now with that mind-set in place each party endeavours to make sure the union stays long and strong.

SOLITUDE – By John Chizoba Vincent These cascaded tears are black in complexion, I started arranging them when I was fourteen. These broken stars are the horizons of fear, I started numbering them when I was ten. These words were the scars seen in the smile of my mother after my father left, I started counting them when I was only six. Mother left at a tender age leaving me in the hands of the wind. Father was killed on the battlefield, I held my fate myself and they fell like a pack of sands yesterday. Tomorrow is the spaces between my fingers, Today is the map of gory miseries that have come, I learnt the act of singing a lullaby at the sight of walls of emptiness – Solitude. How did we become pains in the eyes loving like the hungry wolves in the jungle? Those that know me knew where to find me at the river bank, by the dark corner of a dark room, remembering the torture of yesterday, remembering a hole created inside of me, remembering a piece of meat left in the mouth of t

By Esomufu Ebelenna Father, oh holy Father, I cannot see your face, but I know you’re not faceless. I will perhaps say to you that I am worse than Darko’s Poison if you hear this sin I committed when I was in secondary school many years ago. But I will confess this filthy sin to you because I have learnt the importance of being ernest. I committed this sin when Chimaraoke Mbadinuju was destroying Anambra State like anthills of the Savannah. I wanted to confess this sin to one Catholic priest named Emma through so long a letter I wrote in 2004, after my uncle’s demise, but two things restrained me: Pride and prejudice. I viewed the Roman Catholic Church through a wrong lense. This sin, Father…this sin is dirtier than the diary of a young girl, perhaps dirtier than even the sin caused by the picture of Dorian Gray. It is horrible, this sin. It refuses to free me from its prison. It haunts me, it haunts my house, it haunts my office. It even invades my dreams in the form of owls, ho

By Olumide Kuti It has been three years since the Nyanya bomb explosion. Brother Femi has forged his way into the military with the obsession of bringing to justice those who were responsible for the death of our parents in the blast. It has been an excruciating twenty four months staying with Uncle Okoro, our old neighbor. Alienated and abuse beyond words, who am I to tell that one my brothers, who thinks he is our benefactor, took my virginity by inserting a cucumber into me. He drove it through me on that very day, saying he does not want to feel the guilt of taking something of pride from me. I prayed every day for Brother Femi’s return. It’s been 18 months and I still haven’t heard a word from him. Words fall short at times like these when the world drives you to your knees. Today I finally got a letter and Brother Femi is coming home. Uncle okoro is scared, begs me to say nothing. Can I afford to keep silent? The door opens and Brother Femi steps in. I should be happy t

By Favour Okere Sweet Miracle, I am writing this beside your grave. I can’t do this at home because all the show of pity and sympathy is almost choking me. Indeed, most humans are hypocrites. Yesterday, I watched some of them shed genuine tears whilst others wept like crocodiles. Remember Mama Ejima, the woman that said you were an imbecile because I had used you for money rituals, she was one of the weeping crocodiles. I can swear I had heard her laughter ringing in the compound some minutes before she came in, wearing a ridiculous long face and cursing death atop her voice. They expected me to wail too, and curse death for snatching you but I didn’t. I smiled instead. You should have seen the bemused expression on their faces. They all think I’m going mad but I won’t stop smiling. Your life should be celebrated, not mourned. Baby, I will never forget the beautiful moments we shared; even though the ugly ones still remain entrenched in my memory. Like when your teacher calle

By Jason Abbaly Everyone has a dream, every dream has a message, and that message gives hope. Now that’s the good part. But then, some people have good dreams, while others have nightmares. Believe me, there is nothing good about nightmares.  We live in a time where everyone hopes for something. Some get it, while others just don’t. For Billy, life was a good dream. Billy was a young, cute and good looking male goat.  He was so energetic and fun to be with. Had a lovely “bleat” sound he made every time which drove the female goats all crazy. He also had a well-trimmed goatee that gave him this sexy look.  There was no doubt that Billy was well taken care of. But, the big question was, for what? Hold unto that thought. Billy had an owner Mr. Badmus AKA the bad man. People called him that because, when it comes to butchering of animals, he was the perfect man for the job. He was also into rearing and selling of goats. He had a little daughter Cecilia. She loved her father but h

By Maryam Olaitan The village became extremely quiet and every mother had instructed their children to go to sleep. I was the only one outside; I sat under the oak tree in front of our house. A few minutes later, Mama peeped through the window, and saw that I was still outside. ‘Won’t you come inside?’ I looked at her and smiled, rouse and pretended as though I wanted to go inside and sleep. When I realised that she was no longer at the window, I ran back to the tree. Sooner than I would imagine, I fell asleep. Suddenly, a thunderous sound woke me from sleep; I opened my eyes when I heard a noise that sounded as if the world had torn apart. Before I could calm my heart to identify the cause of the noise, I was already at the door; banging it and screaming. ‘Ebiere! Ebiere open the door before I open my eyes. I am about to die, open it.’ I shouted. I guessed Mama was fast asleep and she did not come to my rescue as quick as I expected. Tears filled my eyes and I could not help c

By Osahon Let me tell you something about Amina, the girl next door. I wish I can say I know her well, but I don’t seem to understand her, not one bit. She came in to the flat next to mine a month ago and upon seeing her, I knew she was trouble. She walked in with her bum shorts and her long dreadlocks that flipped around and reached the floor. When I saw it, I had to reach for my own hair and wonder if we both came from the same country. And she’s not an half-caste, I’ve asked since I can’t seem to mind my business. So back to the gist, this Amina girl, I discovered she likes to paint, not even the normal self-portrait that can be used to make money in this economy, but one- kind abstract nonsense. She didn’t go to the university and she has no other degree; I found that one out by doing some rounds of gossip. But the paintings were still beautiful, I can’t lie. The first day she knocked on my door and showed me her work, I was transported to another world. I felt like I was