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Poems and Tales

Tears of Nelson Sousa And The Blood Field – An African War Story



Summary – This is an imaginative story about a Rwandan and Nigerian born called Nelson Sousa.

Directly or indirectly, the characters are in no way referred to any one at all, but 100% imaginative. If you like this post, I will write more.

African War Story

In the dark era of apartheid, Nelson Sousa was born in Nusenga to a Rwandan father and a Nigerian mother. After a childhood primary and secondary school education in Nigeria, enduring lost of civil wars and economical crisis, his family moved to Rwanda for a greener pasture and peaceful environment.

Facing the first scornful looking military personnel along the border sparked an awkward and scary sensation deep down their nerves. Rusty waste along the street, widowed women mourning loudly, hungry kids pulling the cloth of passerby, the Nelson’s family regretted a once happy decision.

With eyes filled with blood, little Nelson looked up to Dad and ask, “Papi Papi are we going to die? Why are people running like wild antelope like those in Kupentog forest?”, “Please answer me, I want to …” rapid gun fire filled the air. The dark angry Rwandans dread bands were on the move, robbing and carrying societal vices. Some looking so young, carrying heavy guns and leaves tied around their waist, they kept shooting mercilessly.

Grabbing Nelson and having his wife follow them closely, seemed a brilliant and safe idea. 15 minutes of zik zag running for safety, she dropped flat. She has being gunned down. Nelson watched his mum drop down like an antelope shot in the wild. Seeking safety beneath a truck, Nelson was faced with life reality. “Papi papi, look mami is dead” he said crying.

Seven (7) years later, Nelson lost his father due to stroke, he was now an orphanage in his homeland, making Rwanda the home of peace was his vision. From local school head to a community activist, he won the hearth of the masses and joined the country politics. Throw back to the memories of an African War Story .

Subsequently, after three (3) years of political struggle, he was assassinated by an unknown assassin. His death was acclaimed to be from the opposing party. Today, his written poem is stilled used to honor him for his courage and service to humanity.

This Is an African War story & it is associated with a poem. Click link below to read poem.

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Naabiae Nenu-B is an Epic Photographer and a Passionate Writer. His Epic Nature Photos and Writing Skills has Awarded lot of Recommendations and Online services.

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Poems and Tales

Hunger Send Kids Begging Amidst COVID-19 Pandemic – A Poor Apocalypse Tale



Your about reading a pitiable tale, get your emotions in tact, get your tears wiper nearby, hold your phone firmly, and please share this article too.


Don’t Forget To Read The Disclaimer 📖 


With stomach protruded, palm hard like nut, a 13 years teen stretch her palm pleading, “Uncle abeg gimme 1 sugar, I won eat”. Only the devil could smile at a half blind girl, begging breakfast for dinner ……..


Welcome to ZKwako

With the COVID-19 Pandemic threat hitting African most metropolitan city, an indefinite ruled got passed for everyone to observe a self lock down and quarantining.

Undeniably sending millions behind doors and home bars, this is a story of a poor African community struggling for survival.

ZKwako a poor city boast of its dorminanc in poverty and daily death toil. A greater epidemic then Corona Virus rules – HUNGER.  

Die Surviving

On the coast of Lagos mainland bridge, a poor community built on stilts dwels. Far from land, poverty has pushed the families to the Lagoon mid unit.

Survival has being for the fittest, Fear from drowning grips the poor neighborhood and empty pots rattling in the air dominates the poor settlers music industry, the broadest smile showed no teeth – no joy was ZKwako nick name.

Dying while surviving inscribed on the only bill board reminded Walking dead survivors their fate.


Beyound The Boarders

Across the power lines lies a thousand poor wooden homes floating on water, zooming in, this is the story of ZKwako, a poor community with one leader – HUNGER.

After a Governmental order for stilts demolition, over 3000 persons roomed homeless. Poverty level heightened, death from hunger made survival game of thrones. Drinking the dirty salty water felt nourishing.


Shut Down

Pitiful, empty rattling empty pots made no magical meals of them, paddling my canoe, I got struck with a lot of heart stabbing realities.

With stomach protruded, palm hard like canel, a 13 years teen stretch her palm pleading, “Uncle abeg gimme 1 sugar, I won eat”, only the devil could smile at a half blind begging girl.

In a bid to help, stone throw was a kid groaning in pains, running to inquire, he has neither taste water nor food for for 48 hrs. Thinking of myself, I have only chewed 2 handful of Garri with the sour tasting river water.

Eyes up, they cloud turned dark, once happy family moaning in agony, a deadlier virus has struck.

From Sun To Rain – Helping A Kid On His Feet Back Home With Emotions


A Deadlier Virus

Stirring my canoe further north ward, 7 kids frowned at me –”what’s wrong, I shouldn’t follow that road I ask?”… “Head shaking no response was ultered”.

Assumably, the elder kid face fell with tears, seconded by 6 kids silently before me. I felt like they were mourning my future death if I took that water routh.

Reversing to return west ward, one said -”Bloda dash us food”, amused I ask, “where mummy dey” ?

Standing at the door was an elderly lady with torn cloth, “we don drink Garri tire” she responded.

Blames on poor sensitization, a widow who already lost her husband to suicide after depression and 2 kids to hunger needs no blame at such point.



Returning to my well ragged corner beneath the bridge, I watched hundreds of homeless persons return to varying corners. Face pale, I was among the millions sleeping with an empty stomach.

Government and the elite knew not millions were sleeping alife and waking up as corpse.

Lying hungry beneath the noisy flyover bridge, I recall the the story of a depressed Father who died leaving poor kids without a mum.

This was a greater epidemic, o poor ZKwako I screamed on my entire asset of rags.


A Song To ZKwako

Sleeping hunger was normal, but waking up hungrier was painful.

Lying down sluggishly with hope to die soon became an anthem.

The salty river with hundreds of dead childhood friends became our only water source – What a science of recycling.

Forced vegetarians we became, the grass a new herb or death a new bed. Beneath the bridge and parks an awesome self contain for hundreds.

Born poor was firm, should I dye poor in my birth place too? – ooo ZKwako.

Unavoidably, we are forced in a pagentry contesting for “Face of Poverty”.


Sharing Is Love 💕



This tale and experience recorded is completely imaginative except for reference to poor indigenous coast tallying with a real time location at the onset.

If material relate to you or a third party, it’s 100% coincidence.

After reading large on increasing mortality rate because of HUNGER, this article is to create awareness to the world what some persons face daily.

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Poems and Tales

Last Dying Days With The Deadliest Pandemic – Hunger



Selemi Mubalaj


It was about noon, then I saw a lad with barebody, likewise the feet. He was gazing on a Pawpaw tree.

Maybe he could be among the street boys gallivanting for heaven knows why, so were my thoughts. To feed my rising thoughts, I threw the regular question ” hey! What are you doing?”

Staring at me, was all he could do. I drew a bit closer, c’mon are you ok? I asked again.

Now I felt the fear that was covering him and rendering him dumb instantly. He muttered in a faint voice and my ears could only fathom the cry of a helpless being, “brother abeg, make I take one abeg”.

Exposed – Top5 Viral Flu Contagious Movies Reflecting COVID-19 Pandemic


At this point I lost my sense of humour, I could barely say a word as I was able to boost of the sky coloured paper (In Nigeria parlance).

I wanted to help with all I had but,will I trek back to my destination? Should I just ignore? You wouldn’t be so wicked, my faint heart whispered in dismay.

It was roughly a 45mins stay with him. I really wish I could unlock my doors of riches and lavish love on him, at least, cover his tiny bones with some flesh, get off the rags he was adorned in mockery. Lord! Help me do this, I could only pray.

The boy in his calmness as he has seen me acted reiterated, “brother please Na, I never eat since. My mother no cook anything”. This struck my heart and I felt the cold traveling from the crown of my head to the sole of my feet. I shifted my vibrating lips and asked but why?
I couldn’t have imagined anything other than the worst tho.

Sadly enough, the narrated story presented to me by my some minutes old friend gave me a topnotch on my emotions.

I knew a lot under this, I, myself I’m not a victor to this virus called poverty for I see the syndrome. My ineptitude to helping others clearly marked out the difference.

Maybe I’m getting relieved or in a less lower case. Most assuredly, there are most presentable nobles who have got the vaccine to delineate this but they’ll greedily hoard it from us and bury it in their chambers for their families.

Indeed! Human race must survive from the virus and least, we shall sail no more in societal class. Govt for one, gov’t for all.

Hunger Send Kids Begging Amidst COVID-19 Pandemic – A Poor Apocalypse Tale

Hunger! A Common Synonym With The Poor

A Poem –

Worst designing its aesthetic on the poor

As they gradually walk closer to death even in their dearth

Oh! A painful tragedy

Should the pity be directed to piety?

Should the fewness be counted in scarcity?

Oh! what a doom in the community of the poor?

That so unfortunately, their hope turns pale

Fate has alliedly desecrated the obscured hope

Rendering the arms of the dictators potent

With the burden they bear

The pain they all share

All aggrieved in fear and deep sorrows

The pains of feeling among but isolated

The fear of being dejected and worst rejected

They all groom their hearts to bear in emptiness of their spirits

With one ultimate question”God when?” just for a hopeful answer

Surely, none can explain to their best of experience

Those in anticipation crave for emancipation

Being freed from total independence

Surely, hope will arise in resolution

And the deadly virus will lose its existence

Just but a day! the endemic virus will cease its existence

Emotional Poems about Broken Heart, Life Struggles, Love and Pain


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Poems and Tales

From Sun To Rain – Helping A Kid On His Feet Back Home With Emotions



On a sunny noon, I found myself walking a 45 mins journey to my school prominent junction “Uniport Junction”. It was more painful when I walk past the first bus park “Abuja park”, but a young broke guy has nothing to worry until he arrive to his destination.

30 minutes to my painful journey, I stumbled upon a kid around “12 years” my conscience will never let me walk past his red swollen eyes. He looked so cute, innocent, lackadaisical and slothful.

My knees down, I asked “My friend what’s wrong?”, his pitied looked won’t let me stand the fact am a man, my weak emotions were already reacting to his crying intonations, my fragile tears glands without my permission filled my eyes with tears like rain yet to pour from the cloud.


The sun was damn so hot, he was bear footed, he trousers were falling from his waist as he has no belt, he was putting on a feminine top, whereas he is a guy. I knew family conditions weren’t so comfortable.


With tears, he hugged me uttering “I lost the money my mummy gave me to buy slippers”, my cloth already stained with his sneeze – I wasn’t concerned at all.

Emotional Poems about Broken Heart, Life Struggles, Love and Pain

Concentiously, my tears glands spilled all the stored cloud rain. I didn’t know when I found myself backing him to “Uniport junction market”, his money has being picked by someone else, the coal tar heat was unbearable for his feet, he had no dad – what will a good Samaritan do? I just had to back the light weighted guy.

In 10 mins time, we arrived. I deeped my hands in my pocket, gave him the micro penny I had. I smiled at him, but I knew deep in me I have saved him from lashes at home – I told him “Keep whatever change that remained”, foolishly some will say “Without zeal for happily losing my little kobo, I walk it all back for about an hour”.

I knew he was happy, but my emotions was mixed with depression, stress and joy.


The Story Of Nenu-B.

A Real Tale.



I took no photo of him, I consider that to be privacy infringement on a minor.

How My Village People Ruined My Relationship – A Hilarious Tale 


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