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COVE's library, Ibadan (2026)

24/09/2025

The Unbreakable Bond: My Selimat Story
I met Selimat in JSS 2 at Saint Theresa's College (STC), Ibadan. We clicked like two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly bonding over science class stuff and sharing secrets like only besties do. We were crazy inseparable back then.

Trust me, we'd have mad arguments over stupid things like who won a debate in class or something. But after every fight, we'd come back stronger. We were besties through thick and thin that’s us, no doubt!

We balanced equations together, supported each other through tough tests and projects. Selimat wasn’t just a friend she was like my guide in those crazy secondary school days.

Our houses are just like #500 bike ride away in Ibadan not super far, but we’re both busy so we don’t meet that much. I miss her crazy smiles, her jokes, how kind she was to me.

She’s met someone new, I feel it like harmattan winds blowing change. I feel kinda fragile worried someone’s gonna take my spot in her heart .

Selimat, if you’re reading this you’re my bestie. No matter where we are, no matter how far we go, you’ll ALWAYS be my bestie. Like, I believe God brought us together from birth but we only met at STC. You’re not just my bestie you’re my twin sister in heart. My soul fits with yours like two perfect parts.

19/09/2025

"The Girl Who Didn’t Know What She Loved"

She didn’t wake up with a dream.
No burning passion. No childhood obsession.
Just a quiet ache that whispered, "There has to be more than this".

She watched others chase music, medicine, fashion, tech.
They spoke with fire in their eyes.
She blinked, smiled, nodded then went home and stared at the ceiling, wondering why she felt so… blank.

One day, she made a decision.
Not to find her passion.
Just to find something she didn’t hate.

She tried painting. It was messy.
She tried coding. It was confusing.
She tried writing. It was… okay.
She kept going.

She didn’t fall in love.
She fell into curiosity.
And curiosity, unlike passion, doesn’t demand perfection.
It just asks you to show up.

So she did.

And slowly, something shifted.

She stopped chasing passion like a soulmate.
She started building it like a house.

Brick by brick.
Mistake by mistake.
Until one day, she looked around and realized

She didn’t hate her life anymore.
She liked it.
She loved parts of it.
And that was enough.

18/09/2025

🛵 Ibadan Speed Demons: The Hausa Bike Rider That Made Me Reconsider My Life Choices

If you’ve ever entered a Hausa okada in Ibadan, you already know it’s not just transportation. It’s a full-blown action movie. One minute you’re calmly saying, “Oga, please no rush,” and the next minute you’re gripping the bike like your future depends on it.

I once entered one at Mokola. The man greeted me with “Sannu,” smiled sweetly, and said, “I go carry you well.” I believed him. Big mistake. We took off like he was chasing destiny. We dodged potholes, zoomed past Danfo buses, and flew over speed bumps like they were decorations.

I didn’t even know my heart could beat that fast. My prayer points tripled. I started promising God things I wasn’t sure I could deliver.

Now, I don’t just enter any bike. I interview the rider like I’m hiring him for a job:
- “You sabi road?”
- “You dey calm abi you dey fly?”
- “You go carry me like person wey get future?”

Because in Ibadan, your okada experience can either be a smooth ride or a full-blown spiritual awakening.

If you’ve ever held your bag tighter, screamed “Jesus!” mid-ride, or landed at your destination two minutes early and ten years older drop your story below! Let’s laugh and heal together.

17/09/2025

🎙️ How I Learned to Speak Up Without Stepping Out of Line
Navigating Respect Culture Without Losing My Voice

Growing up, I was taught to respect elders, stay quiet when unsure, and never interrupt even if I had something important to say. Respect wasn’t just a value; it was a rule. And in many ways, it shaped me into someone thoughtful, observant, and careful with words.

But when I started working, I realized something: silence doesn’t always mean respect. Sometimes, it means invisibility.

There were moments I wanted to speak up about a mistake I noticed, an idea I had, or even just how I felt. But I held back. I didn’t want to seem rude, too forward, or “disrespectful.” I watched others speak freely, while I swallowed my thoughts.

One day, a customer misunderstood something at the counter. I knew the issue, I knew how to fix it but I hesitated. I waited for someone older to step in. They didn’t. So I did.

I spoke clearly, respectfully, and calmly. And it worked.

That moment taught me something powerful: respect doesn’t mean silence it means knowing how to speak with care.I didn’t have to shout to be heard. I didn’t have to challenge anyone to make a point. I just had to trust my voice and deliver it with grace.

Now, I speak when it matters. I ask questions. I share ideas. I still respect the culture I come from but I also respect myself enough not to shrink.

You can honor your roots and still rise.
Have you ever felt torn between speaking up and staying respectful? How did you handle it?

17/09/2025

💊 How to Handle Work Stress When You’re Just Starting Out
My Story from the Pharmacy Counter

I started working at a pharmacy on August 16 last year. No experience, no training just me behind the counter, learning as I went.

As a sales rep, I don’t give medical advice that’s the pharmacist’s role. I attend to customers, pack medications, and keep things running. It sounds simple until you’re doing it daily, standing for hours, juggling requests, and trying not to mess up.

At first, I felt I had to be perfect. I pushed myself hard, smiled through exhaustion, and tried to learn fast. But the truth? It was stressful.

Some days, I’d come home with aching feet and a heavy head, wondering if I was doing enough. I didn’t know how to say “I’m tired” without guilt or ask for help without feeling weak.

Eventually, I gave myself grace. This is my first job and I’ve shown up consistently. That’s something to be proud of.

I also hold onto my dream: nursing. This job is preparing me. It’s teaching me patience, communication, and calm under pressure. It’s not just work it’s training for the future I want.

Now, I take breaks when I can. I talk to people I trust. I give myself room to grow. And I’m proud of how far I’ve come.

School didn’t teach me how to handle work stress. The pharmacy did.

If you started working young, what’s one thing you wish someone had told you?

17/09/2025

How to Be Igbo in a Yoruba City
My Story from Ibadan

I was born and brought up in Ibadan. From the outside, that might sound simple. But for me, it’s a blend of cultures, languages, and quiet lessons that school never taught.

At home, I’m Igbo. My parents speak it fluently, and I understand every word but when it’s my turn to reply, I stumble. I speak Igbo like someone who’s been listening all her life but never got enough practice. Yoruba? Same story. I hear it every day in the streets, in the market, in the bus parks but when I try to speak, it comes out slow and careful. I understand both languages, but I speak them like I’m walking on a tightrope.

In school, I joined the Igbo cultural dancers. We tied our wrappers, painted our faces, and danced to the beat of our heritage. It felt like homelike I was part of something ancient and proud. But after school, I’d follow my mom to the buka down the road and eat amala with gbegiri like I was born in Oyo State. And honestly? I loved it.

That’s the thing about growing up Igbo in Ibadan. You learn to carry two cultures in one heart. You learn to greet elders in Yoruba and pray in Igbo. You learn to celebrate New Yam Festival and still show up for Owanbe. You learn that identity isn’t about choosing sides it’s about honoring all the pieces that make you whole.

I’m not confused. I’m complete. I’m an Igbo girl, raised in a Yoruba city, fluent in understanding, growing in expression, and proud of both worlds.

School didn’t teach me how to live between cultures. Ibadan did.

If you’ve ever lived outside your tribe’s region, what’s one thing you had to learn the hard way?

16/09/2025

The Wave That Wasn’t Meant for Me

Yesterday, I embarrassed myself in the most innocent way possible and I know I’m not the only one who’s done this.

I was walking into the office, feeling good, minding my business. Then I saw someone waving enthusiastically in my direction. I didn’t even think twice I smiled, raised my hand, and gave them the warmest wave back like we were long-lost friends.

Only for them to walk right past me…
And hug the person standing behind me.

I stood there like a confused traffic warden, hand still mid-air, trying to act like I was stretching or checking the weather or… anything but waving at a stranger who wasn’t waving at me.

I just casually turned it into a neck exercise and walked off like nothing happened. But inside? I was screaming.

Why do these things happen to me?

😂 Let’s be honest…

If you’ve ever waved back at someone who wasn’t waving at you, please share your experience in the comment section

16/09/2025

“This isn’t just a story. It’s a warning.”
Don’t ignore the voice inside.

Yesterday started like any other day at work until Blessing didn’t show up.

She’s a quiet, prayerful woman whose office is across from mine. People often say, “That girl carries God.” Seeing her by 8 a.m. is routine. But yesterday… nothing.

I waited till closing time. Still no sign. Her phone was switched off all day. Her colleague tried reaching their boss no update. We hoped for news the next day.

And we got it but it shook me.

This morning, I asked her colleague, "Where’s Blessing?”
He said quietly, “She was robbed.”

Later, Blessing came to work. She looked worn and distant. I approached her gently, offering comfort. She hesitated, but eventually opened up.

That morning, she’d forgotten to oil her hair something she does daily. As she locked her door, a voice inside nudged her: “Go back and rub the oil.”
She ignored it.

At the junction, she had two paths: the long way and her usual shortcut.
Again, her spirit whispered: “Take the long way.”
She chose the shortcut.

A taxi pulled up. She told the driver her destination… and that’s the last thing she remembers.

She woke up confused, wandering near Oju hospital. Her bag was filled with sand. Her phones, ATM cards gone. No money. No memory of how she got there.

A kind stranger gave her transport fare. She got home, saw her loved ones… and broke down in tears.

"If only I listened,” she said. “If only I obeyed the voice inside…"

We often ignore that small voice the nudge, the gut feeling, the whisper from God. But sometimes, it’s a lifeline. A divine warning before danger strikes.

Next time you feel that urge to wait, turn back, or take another path…
Listen.
It might save your life.

16/09/2025

I've always wanted to write stories, but then I realized that it's not for me

You know the feeling of when you're not happy while writing stories, yeah that's exactly how I feel whenever I'm writing stories.

But, there's one thing I'll try to know if it works for me or not and that's writing detailed stories about and not fiction nor imagination that I'd be creating.

If I'm happy with it, I'd continue and if I'm not I'd stop it as well

Stay blessed ✌️

COVE's library

24/09/2025

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