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R.c's library, Oyigbo, Port Harcourt (2026)

16/01/2026

I came across a picture today, and it reminded me of Aunty Bisi.
Aunty Bisi was a vibrant young woman who had just gotten married to the love of her life, a tall, dark-looking uncle named Mr. David. They lived at the end of our street, and back then, everything about their marriage looked warm and hopeful.

After giving birth to two girls, Aunty Bisi couldn’t conceive again. Not long after, her husband’s family began to pressure him to take a second wife. They were afraid there would be no man to carry on Uncle David’s legacy after he left this earth.

Terrified of losing her husband, Aunty Bisi ran to the hospital again and again. This must have been the hundredth time. Tears rolled down her eyes as she begged the doctors to help her at any cost, anything at all, just so she could save her marriage. But the doctors stood their ground. She was advised not to get pregnant for now due to complications from her last pregnancy. Another pregnancy could cost her her life. Bisi returned home broken.

One evening, she overheard her husband assuring his family that he would take a second wife. And that was it. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing her once-lovely marriage, the love of her life. So she made a decision like Queen Esther.

“If I perish, I perish.”

She laid with Uncle David and became pregnant. Her in-laws were overjoyed. Suddenly, she was treated like a queen again. They cared little about the effect on her body; all that mattered was their heir.

A month to her due date, she felt a sudden, sharp pain. Then the blood started flowing. She screamed for help and was rushed to the hospital. The doctors discovered she had suffered a uterine rupture. Her womb had torn, and she was bleeding internally. They rushed her into surgery, fighting to save both mother and child but the damage was already done.

Aunty Bisi lost her life.
The baby she never saw.
The marriage she didn’t keep.
Phew.

I even heard that Uncle David got married again last week to a rich woman who chose not to give birth herself but opted for a surrogate. Uncle David and his family reportedly agreed without hesitation.

It’s well.

Sending light and hugs to every woman out there going through a similar situation. 🤍

It's Day 5 guysssss💃

Today marks Day 5 of my consistency journey in writing.

See you tomorrow for Day 6 🤗

14/01/2026

Dear Diary,

Today, I took another long break alone to meditate. I really needed to know who I am or I'll end up living someone else's life. Just then, my fourteen-year-old cousin walked up to me. Her eyes were swollen like someone who had been crying for days. Concern etched itself across my face as I turned fully to

"What's wrong Bimbo?" I asked.

She opened her mouth is to say something but instead a tear dropped from her eyes. As if that was a signal to ignite the tear glands, it came pouring followed by a sniffled sob. She was trying so hard not to attract the attention of the others.

I quickly took her into a tight hug, my heart aching with worry. What could have made the poor girl hurt this much.

"What's wrong my dear?. You're scaring me"

"He...he... he.... called me ugly" She finally said, her voice breaking. “I even tried extra hard to look pretty just to get his attention.”

I paused.

Did I just hear right?. She was crying this way because of what a stranger said?. She literally interrupted my thoughts just to whine about this?. Ah!

I disengaged from the hug as I restricted the African mum spirit from taking a hold of me because just one soundless slap on her chin, is enough to give her a factory reset. But another glance at her face made me pause. There was confusion and hurt registered on her innocent eyes. She looked like someone who just got sentenced to being ugly all the days of her life and she needed someone to come to her aid.

I felt tears sting my own eyes. I softly held her hand and sat her down.
“What if I told you that you’re a boy?” I asked, my face completely serious.

She stared at me like I had suddenly grown horns.

“Are you trying to be funny? Why would you joke at a time like this?”

“I’m not joking,” I said. “I’m serious. You’re actually a boy.”

Her disbelief deepened.
“Why would you say that? I’m obviously a girl. It’s a fact.”

I smiled gently and asked,
“Then why is it so easy for you to believe a boy who called you ugly but so hard to believe me?”

That question made her pause as reality dawned on her.

How quickly we trust unfamiliar voices to define us. How early we begin to hand over the power of defining us to people who don’t even know us.
Not everyone deserves the power to name you. Especially not someone who hasn’t taken the time to know you.

Whose voice have you been trusting to define you?

Day 3/30

's_journal

13/01/2026

Today, I decided to start something, something I’ve been thinking about for a while but never really committed to. For the next 30 days, I’m going to write. Every day. Not just thoughts or random notes, but stories. Stories that might feel like fiction but are really stitched from the little truths I’ve lived, heard, seen, or felt.

Why? Because I want to be productive, intentional, and consistent. Because I want to grow my voice, not just for me, but for anyone who might see themselves in my words.

It will be tilted "Dear Diary series"🤗

I don’t know exactly where this journey will lead, but I do know that showing up is the first step.

So, dear diary, here we go.

Day 1/30.

's_journal

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Oyigbo
Port Harcourt

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