Personal story

The Girl From Yesterday…personal

Yesterday I witnessed something that disturbed me so much. At about 6pm I was driving down the highway and my car came to a screeching halt ‘cos a few meters away, right in front of me was a model-slim beautiful well-dressed black girl standing in the middle of a six-lane road.

Several cars stopped as well, ‘cos no one was sure of what was going on. She wasn’t attempting to cross the road, she was suicidal. Two brave men went and pulled her out of the middle of the road, but I’m afraid that if this young lady fails to get help, she will end up doing something painfully disastrous.

This incident messed up my brain cells a little and made me jittery. I was literally shaking with a thousand thoughts racing through my mind all at the same time. It triggered a rush of horrid feelings.

Many of you may not know this, but I have a history with a road accident and yesterday’s incident shook me, robbed me of my sleep and gave me a traumatizing nightmare.

I spent my sleepless night wondering what could have triggered such a young lady to such extent of mental anguish that she has chosen to get run over by a car?
I wondered if she has a family and where they were?
I wondered how she would get help in this forsaken place?
I spent part of my sleepless night recalling my accident and the young man I had inadvertently killed in the middle of a road several years ago.

Now I wish I had been strong enough to come down from my car to talk to this girl. To tell her that all is not lost. That there’s always hope and that she’s not alone. Maybe all she required was another listening ear. Now I am left sending silent prayers to this disturbed lady and hope that grace and mercy will abide with her. I hope that she finds succour.

Featured Blogs

Featured Posts – Share Your Post Links

Sharing, Blogs, Networking, Growing Readership, Connection, Bloggers, Blog Posts


Today’s featured blogs are:

Life brought me here

This is a lovely blog that I am getting to know. In the writer’s words below:

It’s about life’s curve balls… Its sweet, sweet aromas & everything else between.

To a young man that I will always love

Some posts just hit you that you find yourself grappling for the right words to say what you want to say. Here’s what I had to say:

Gosh! This is sad and hard.

Mental ill-health – the unseen ailment – is often treated with kid’s gloves and people tend to look down on those who struggle. We live in a society where everyone is expected to be A-okay and that’s even more pressure on those who are not.

Suicide is no joke and that goes to show how frustrating it can be for those who are struggling with mental health issues, it’s not so easy to tell the person to snap out of it.

I am so sorry for your family’s loss. This is devastating experience that only time will soothe such pain.

Wonderful tribute and do stay well.

Esther’s humble boldness

Some mistake meekness for lack of confidence and being a fool, but having read the Bible and watched the movie of Esther there’s a lot to learn from humility and boldness in faith.


A smart twist of simple words. Brief and deep.

If yoga were a guy

Filled with humour and almost sexy. Now I see yoga as a tall, handsome gentleman with that deep signature baritone of Barry White 😉

Do step in, explore these blogs and show some love.

Do you want more eyes on your words?’

Well then, add your LINK INTO THIS LOOP.

Comments are disabled here to keep the loop tidy. Any comments or link you want to send can be added through the link in the post.

Thank you for your understanding and regards.

‘Remember, we create a cohesive community when we come together.

Guest Posts

Connecting With Jeanette Hall. A Personal Interview

If there’s something that holds me spellbound to blogging is the immense connection that is possible in this space. Every day, I meet and interact with new people to such a large extent that I literally want to meet a whole lot of them outside the blogosphere. Today, Jeanette allows us to know more about her and I am truly honoured that she granted such a candid interview.

Thank you, Jeanette, I laughed, sighed, cried, felt sad and angry reading this unedited interview 🙂


A Bit About Me

Have been rotating the universe on the 3rd rock for over 42 long years. Was born in Sparta Illinois Community Hospital several weeks overdue, because I was smart enough not to want to meet my father! Was tucked up as backward as I could get in my mom’s belly. Had a fat head that had to be cut out! Caused both of my two little brothers to be born via cesarean as well, because back then once you delivered one that way your other kids had to be born the same way.Jeanette Hall Picture

Lived in the Marissa area (half way between St. Louis, MO and Carbondale, IL) in a farm house on Route #4 in IL. For the first 16 years of my life. Had a great apple tree (didn’t produce any decent apples, but I used to hide up in its branches when I got old enough to reach the bottom branch!

The fact that I was a female, when the doctor had told my mom I was a male pissed my father off. I was the first female born on my father’s side about in a century. I was released from the hospital a few days before my mom came home. The first night I spent at home, my father is reported to have given me my first spanking because I was crying!

Was reading by myself by the time I was about three years old. Learned the truth about Santa Claus by reading the funny papers over at my father’s parent’s house.  Mom used to read the poem “Twas the Night Before Christmas” to me before I went to bed each night. She thought she could cut through it faster by trying to leave parts of the story out until I corrected her telling her the rest of the story word for word in protest. So she had to find a different book to read to me!

Started kindergarten at the wise old age of 4 years old. Mom made me wear a dress that day (went to class each morning by riding the school bus (had a great bus driver who I became good friends with him and his wife)). Was too short to reach the bottom step of the bus, so either my mom or the driver would have to physically pick me up so I could climb on! My father saw me wearing a dress and for some sick reason, he was turned on by a little child’s body.

He started sodomizing me when he had no luck trying to cut me down below in my private parts to force my body to accept him in me. He had flunked out of college in pursuit of a veterinarian’s  diploma. So we all became his little experiments. Thankfully, he had enough knowledge from working with animals to know how to hide the scars that would usually form from cuts and other types of visible abuse. So he continued sodomizing me on a regular basis.

Once I started having my periods (you know the normal female problem that involves discharging blood every so often) it occurred to him that I must be big enough now! So he began to rape me whenever he could get me alone. He used a condom, but this started to make him dip into his personal supply for use with my mom, so he tried to have mom take me to my doctor to get me on the “pill” that would stop the chance of me becoming pregnant. I refused to visit the doctor because the doctor kept telling me all my problems were in my head (been having symptoms of my multiple sclerosis since grade school). So never went on the pill.

My grandfather on my father’s side fell off the roof of our hay shed at the main farm and damaged his legs extremely bad. Was at my church’s youth group’s Christmas party at church when my mom showed up early to pick me up, because I would have to help with milking. (Had never milked a cow in my life!) Thankfully all our animals are extremely tame, I used to be able to stand at the edge of the gates to the milking parlor and call them in for milking each night. Sometimes there would be stragglers who ignored me, but that just meant I got to go out for a stroll in the pasture lands to get them. One might have delivered a calf out there unexpectedly or an animal might have scared them like a coyote or fox, who knew what was going on in their minds?

So I went home with her to change clothes (had to get out of my good clothes and put on my work clothes) put on my rubber boots and went with mom to our main farm to do our afternoon chores.
Called the cows in for milking. Mom ran the cleaning cycles in the milking parlor to sanitize the pipes before milking. My brothers fed the older calves in the lower area while I handled the baby calves who had to be bottle fed. So had to wait for my father to actually get out of whatever he was up to at the time, so we could start milking.

Thankfully, it was not too cold out yet! Since the heater in the barn was not very good at keeping the cement building warm. Had to wash each animal’s udder to remove all the dirt and manure from them. Dip each clean teat in a chemical sanitizing dip. Then had to get the milk flowing from the teat by hand before placing the milking machine on it. (For the record, contrary to the kids on the school bus claim being able to do that is NOT an advantage when dealing with the opposite sex!) Grip required to strip (that is what getting the milk flowing is called) a cow’s teat is way too strong and tight for a male to endure! So this began my start to milking cows twice a day EVERY day began.

We had a hired hand that had been my unofficial adopted big brother since early  grade school named Jeff. He had Sundays off. So I was stuck being introduced to the process of milking by the man that terrified me! Was a VERY LONG two and a half hours. Made it through intact. Was cursed out several times, but words hurt less than his fists.

Started driving on farm property when I was around 12 years old. My grandpa was short too, so there was already blocks on the truck’s brake and gas pedals. By the time I turned 14 was driving on public roads (the local state police officer knew about it, his only comment was that I was probably better than most of the local drunks driving on the roads in our area!).

So since the next day was Monday (no school because of Christmas break) still had to get up at 4:30 AM for morning milking. Hadn’t had to do that before on days we had no school. Normally got to sleep until around 7 in the morning. Once I and my father got dressed he drove us over to the main farm for morning milking. I got the cows in while he got the pipes cleaned before we could milk. Jeff was due in at 6 to help.  At least when Jeff took over he changed the radio station to something besides ancient country music! Like most people I enjoy a variety in my musical tastes. A little AC/DC never hurt anyone! (Down the road Jeff and I would do a little experiment, the cows actually produced better with rock music as opposed to country music! Not sure why, but it is worth noting.) Once my father came in from eating breakfast (at his parents just across the driveway) he sent me in to eat mine. When I was finished went back out to help clean up the barn from milking.

As the winter wore on, I ended up catching a case of pneumonia from being in the poorly heated barn with a wet shirt from it getting soaked while cleaning the animal’s udders. This became a yearly event for me as long as I resided in the state.

Between my Junior and Senior year in High School, we traded houses with my father’s parents. So now we lived on our main farm, where the dairy parlor resided. This meant I was ALWAYS at work! Never got to go home after work. My grandparents modified our old house and chopped down my apple tree!

Love innocent animals and young kids over the age of 4 years old. Enjoy helping others learn how to do things. Dislike my father, for obvious reasons.

A Bit About My Blog

My blog is Saint P. Blogging. Since I reside in Saint Paul that is where the name comes from. Dislike the way our city is entered into various electronic devices (the whole G.P.S. phenomenon) it wants you to fully spell out the Saint. When filling out government paperwork you have to fully write out both words. So I chose to spell out saint (which I AM NOT!) and shorten Paul to the first letter. My purpose has changed so many times (am female, after all!). Originally was supposed to help make money through a program called GVO (STAY FAR AWAY FROM THIS COMPANY!) Wasted several thousand dollars we didn’t have with them. Then I tried affiliating with S.F.I. This time was smart enough not to waste any money on the company. Which might be why I never made a clipped penny with them. They claim it is possible to make money without an investment, but after sticking with them for several years logging on each day and following their suggestions, never made a dime. So now, I just blog!

Try to help other people with my blogging. Have taken as many free classes as I can from WordPress and other companies. My goal is to teach other people how to blog if they have a passion for writing like I have had since early grade school. Also, I write about living with chronic diseases. Am fortunate enough not to be cursed with Fibromyalgia like several of my friends are, or any type of diabetes like my mom has or several of my other friends suffer from.

I have several blogs:

Here is my About page from one:
Here is one I haven’t touched in a while:
Here is another I started posting on last month:

My main blog is here:

Went to college at Southwest Missouri State University on a scholarship my writings had helped win for me.  Between my Sophomore and Junior year of college met a guy.  We started dating.  Asked him to marry me before my senior year of college began.  He flat out turned me down! He wanted to ask my father’s permission first.  Told him if he asked my father, I would not marry him.  If he wanted my family’s permission he should ask my mother’s father.  So when we traveled back to IL we went to my grandparents for Sunday lunch like normal.  After we ate asked grandma to come sit in the front room with me to give my boyfriend a chance to speak with grandpa.  Jason came into the front room after a while full of smiles .  Grandpa had given him his blessings provided he promised to take care of me for the rest of my life!  We got married the day after my college graduation.  Was a long weekend!  That was way back in December of 1995.  Been together ever since!

Jason is actually 6 foot 3 inches tall to my 5 feet 1 inch.  We are sort of a funny looking couple back when I could still walk.  Came up to his elbows.  We would go investigating the caves of southern Missouri.  I had no problem getting in them, but he occasionally would hit his head from not paying attention.

Loved going caving, even though am claustrophobic.  As long as he was there, felt safe.

Another thing he had to promise my grandpa was that I would finish college before we got married.  That is why the wedding was the day after graduation!  See my mom married my father before completing college.  She never went back until I started taking courses at the through the local college while still in high school.  I was her live-in tutor.  Never gave her answers, just explained how to find the answers in a way she understood.  (Algebra terrified her.  So I worded the problems like she was just altering a recipe.  She was a great cook, so just put her on familiar territory.)  She ended up getting an A+ in algebra.

Motivation and Challenging Moments

I love writing since I was little! My parents told me it was a waste of time, so I destroyed my earlier works, Then I entered junior and senior high school  – small town graduating class, a number of 34. Started writing reports and essays that took 1st place every time. Saved them to help me later in my college career.  Upon graduation from high school was the Salutatorian (the one who received valedictorian cheated on her chemistry finals, or I would have won it).

It is just another daily habit for me!

When my site was hacked was a challenging moment. Had to get my hosting company to restore the site from back 4 weeks earlier. Lost a lot of work over that mess. Now I personally back up my site every other day!  Live and Learn!

YES!! I would encourage anyone to blog because everyone has something to add to the world. They may know something the rest of us don’t know. They might be the next best selling author! They just have to pick up the pencil or type on a keyboard like I do to let it out where we can read it.

A Typical Day Spent With Mejason-picture

Get up each morning when the alarm on my cell phone goes off if I did not wake up before it went off like normally happens.  Go use the bathroom and change my underwear (you said you wanted to know what I do…)  Then go back in the bedroom to make sure my husband gets up and moving. Get dressed for the day.  Venture out into the front room to put my daily pill case on the arm of my recliner, make sure the humidifier still has plenty of water in it.  Then head into the kitchen,  Get my morning breakfast shake out of the refrigerator.  Head back to my recliner.  Turn the morning news on the television (Mon. – Fri.).  Take my asthma medicine.  rinse my mouth out with water afterward by swishing the water around then swallowing it.  Take the rest of my medicines (I am still able to swallow pills thankfully!) The weather report should have been on and over with by the time I am finished.  Go water and feed my demon, devil cat named Dash.  (Humane society in Hastings named him Dash.  He earned the rest of his many nicknames!)  P.I.T.A. is one (Pain In The…You get the idea)  He was adopted back at the end of 2010 after my cat Tennyson passed away.

Back in 1997 while we lived up in Lombard, IL following my job we adopted 2 kittens from the Downers Grove Humane society. Mine was jet black with 5 solitary white hairs. Tennyson His looked like Sylvester from the Looney Toon’s cartoons. The 2 animals journeyed with us through all our moves. From Lombard, we moved to Colorado in 1998. First to a crappy apartment. Eventually, we tried purchasing our first house at 1717 S. Mobile Street, Aurora, CO. It was on a cul-de-sac. The neighbor directly across the street had a girl and a little autistic boy. The girl came over to use our computers and I taught the little boy how to write on snow with a squirt gun filled with water colored with food coloring during the winter. During the summer had the kids decorate our driveway with the colored chalk I gave them. Had the boy practice writing his letters where he could easily erase them by washing them off. Lived there until 2004.

When my husband decided we had to move to WI to try buying a bar. Mind you I am a recovering alcoholic and he will occasionally drink a little.  (He is not a mean alcoholic, or he would have gotten the crap knocked out of him.  We both took Taekwondo  classes while we were dating.)  That disaster ended with us filing for bankruptcy and me calling a friend to say goodbye for the last time since I was planning on committing suicide.

Her husband called to local police where we were currently living.  Was in the process of getting the medicines lined up that I planned on overdosing with when I heard a knock on the front door.  Figured it was a stranded driver on the highway on which we were living, so I answered the door.  Turned out to be a state policeman coming to take me to a mental lockup because I was considering suicide.  Took years for our marriage to recover from that evil place.  We left there after living there only 8 L–O–N–G months.  We retreated with our tails figuratively between our legs to live in my deceased grandparents on my mother’s side of the family’s house.  We spent over a year there with my father having keys to our place of residence.  As soon as we had accumulated enough money we returned to Missouri where we had met and married .  His cat passed away while we lived there.  Lasted about a year there before Jason decided he hated the city so we relocated to Hastings MN.   Lived in that non-handicap accessible HADES for around 7 years.  Tennyson, my cat passed away there back in November 2010.  We adopted the cat that I have lots of names for at the end of December 2010.

Short Stories

Forever 16

Maria placed the bouquet of lilies by the corner of the bridge that she had turned into a little memorial. Opening the small forget-me-not box she added another note to the growing pile of notes tied in little ribbons.

Each year she did the same thing, but each year neither made the pain easier nor took her guilt away. No day passed without her thought racing a thousand times to Lily.

Today is Lily’s birthday. She would have been 24 but she remains forever 16. Today is the 8th year that her daughter had drowned in the cold river.

Leaning on the brown cobbled wall of the old bridge, Maria allowed her salty tears to flow freely like the breeze that fluttered her hair.

She never ceased to wonder why; why she hadn’t noted that her daughter had needed help; why Lily had chosen to jump into the river.

The guilt that she had failed as a mother sat like an unwieldy boulder in her soul.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha


Thank you, Joy, for the photo and Priceless Joy for hosting this charming platform where we unleash our stories:-)

Support me, buy my book

Stream of Consciousness Saturday.

Suicide and the Artful Mastery of Self-Deceit – Stream of consciousness Saturday.

It was startling and extremely disheartening to learn that a friend’s husband committed suicide three days ago. He shot himself and it wasn’t by mistake. It was a premeditated action.

To say the least, my mind meandered from pillar to post. I couldn’t even begin to fathom the horror his wife and daughter must be living through. I couldn’t even begin to think of how brokenhearted they must be.SoCS badge 2015

It’s a nightmare that never goes away. The questions of ‘why’ will forever dance around in their heads. The first question that popped into my mind was equally why and the second question as foolish as it might sound was ‘how did he get a gun?’ 

Guns are not easily obtained back home in Nigeria and I have only ever had a gun close to me when armed robbers pointed it to my head and I found myself staring into the nozzle of the gun and praying as fast as I could in my mind.

Jokes apart, I stared my death in the face and I grew cold. I know that it’s Grace and Mercy that saved me. That Grace and Mercy stopped the robber from going trigger happy and coldheartedly shooting me.

In my ruminations, I realised that for a partner or anyone to decide to take his/her life then their sense of despair must have been horrendously hopeless. It’s just sad. It also makes me realise that a lot of artful concealing of emotions and self-deceit must have played a role until things got out of control.

The worst deceit that one can indulge in is the artful deceit of self. Indulging in such cover-up cheats one of the ability to be true to themselves and to reach out for the help they need. The saying ‘fake it until you make it,’ has always made me ask the question, to what extent should someone fake it until they have to pause and take stock of their fakery?

How long should one walk around wearing an artfully decorated mask that smiles, laughs, chit-chats and conceals the pain going on behind their mask? There are days that I felt a small wild animal growling in my head about one thing or the other but yet, I apply my gloss, wear my glad rags and get on with my to-do list like the World is all bright and beautiful. However, I’ve learnt to express and share my emotions when I feel overwhelmed and it’s not only cathartic to do so, but also offers the opportunity to hear good counsel as well.

Here was an upwardly mobile young man, who by all appearances had things going well for him, but for some reason, his thoughts fell apart to such an extent that he felt suicide is the only way forward. If he had sought help is it possible that he wouldn’t have resorted to this?

In core African societies, mental ill health is grossly overlooked and neglected and it’s almost seen as a taboo to insinuate that a person has Bipolar disorder or PTSD. Its results are far-reaching though suicide is not particularly a common phenomenon possibly due to the strong social and family system in existence, nonetheless, the dearth of professional care in this regards especially with the increasing level of stress and societal dysfunction in our present World makes this a cause for concern.

SOC’s prompt for this week coincided with my thoughts on the art of masking emotions based on the suicide incident.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

P.S. You are cordially invited to our monthly blog party happening right now. Join in through this link.

Below is my first Poetry Book “Out of the silent breath” which is available on Amazon and Smashwords.

When you buy my book, you support me in an invaluable manner.

Out of the silent breath

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha’s poems portray images that stare us right in the face. Images of love, joy, death, pain, challenges, violation, and freedom. She writes in a language that’s rich in imagery, earthy, honest, vulnerable, yet full of the promise of hope, of loving and of Grace. A collection of light and dark soulful prose.

Featured Blogs · Share A Link

Featured Posts # 68…Share your post links.



Today’s featured blogs posts are:

Please do step in and show some love.

Fear, procrastination paralyzed: Afraid, yes, but do it! Yes you can. A short and great advice.

The Sad saga of the beak-less, tail-less, gizzard-bobbing, one-leg hopping Chicken: A humourous farm tale. Good read for a good chuckle.

Why our teens have lost faith in us: A MUST-READ for every parent. My comments to the post says:

Say it aloud! Well done ma’am. As a parent this is really a bothersome phenomenon. The rate is too high and says something unsavoury for the society. I don’t buy the idea of putting all that pressure on my children. I encourage them to be and do their best in whatever they are doing and I discourage blind competition or comparison with other people’s children. It only breeds bitter sentiments. Well said.

The embodiment of stories: The power of expression in the written word and the power of oratory belongs to man. Stories are the building blocks of our society and no matter how long man lives and the advent of all things technological, the art of writing is not in a hurry to die. This is my opinion on this well enunciated article.

Save the daughters: “When you raise a female, you raise a village, a town, a city, a Nation.” How can a wounded bird fly? These are questions and thoughts that go through my head when I read such articles and wonder why the female sex are constant recipients of abuse?

‘Do you want more eyes on your words?’

Well then, add your LINK INTO THIS LOOP.

P.S. Comments are disabled here to keep the loop tidy. Any comments or link you want to send can be added through the link in the post.

Thank you for your understanding and regards.

‘We create a cohesive community when we come together.’

Below is my first Poetry Book “Out of the silent breath” which is available on Amazon and Smashwords.

When you buy my book, you support me in an invaluable manner.

Out of the silent breath

Discover Challenges · Personal · The Daily Post

Stumbling Forward…personal


Obstacles. No single existence is devoid of hurdles to jump as they journey through their path in life and these encompasses all living things. The strength of a plant is predetermined from the state of its seed, thus even before we make our grand entry into this World, we possibly started our struggles right from the womb that bore us.

These hurdles come in different forms and in various shapes and sizes. Some knock us so hard on our backside, flat on our faces or at the cusp of a precipice where we are left grasping for release from the clenching holds that threatens to suffocate us to death.

Every human enjoys having a good sense of well-being and in the midst of these trials, a human can literally clutch at straws in the bid to stand upright. They either turn to the bottle, drugs or the Lord, seeking for strength.

Severe depression and suicide are the end result of a life that finds no glimmer of hope at the end of the turbulence that they are passing through. At that point in time, it seems as if the demons that they battle overwhelms and the only way to end the torment would be to stop living.

I have been in very deep pits. I have battled mental health, mental torture, and depression. There have been points in my life where the misery that permeated every pore of me was a living, breathing pain.

One of the instances, I would briefly share for now is when I lost my pre-term child. Please believe me when I say that the pain is beyond words. I carried this beautiful being inside me, but for some reason that I don’t know, I left the hospital after hours of horrendous labour with empty hands.

Fortunately, I have no head for drinks, no penny for drugs and never felt suicidal. I clung to the Cross and to writing. With every fibre in me, I held on and my husband held me.

God, family, friends, books and writing, have been my greatest support. When I am crossing one of my many rivers, I look up above, I look around me and I look forward. Life is a constant battlefield in our minds and except we personally buffer ourselves and wage an onslaught to find peace, we remain subjugated by these trials.

What I have learnt over the years is not to wait for the boat to get rocked, but to be mentally prepared to steer the boat as it rocks, so that I don’t capsize.

A couple of books that helped me when I struggled through these obstacles are, The battlefield of the mind, Your best life begins each morning, Purpose driven life, Women Of Faith Bible and lots more.

Writing my own books has been a challenge of doubt, of wondering if I am good enough. Of constantly questioning myself about who would want to be bothered to read my words when there are billions of books out there, but you know what, I said to myself, Jacqueline, you may not get it right, you may not be the best out there, but my girl, you are definitely more than good enough.

So that’s another hurdle jumped. Publishing my first poetry book is a positive affirmation that indeed, I might stumble in my quest but instead of the obstacles making me fall behind, they will cause me to stumble forward and give me some fulfilment.

Buying my book will go a long way to support me and clicking to purchase from any of those links will possibly earn me a commission of a few cents, but this is yet another curve in my journey. Finding ways to break through the obstacle and earn from the sweat of my brow.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Obstacles, The Discover Challenge


Creative Writing · Fiction · Short Stories · The Daily Post



The loud bang of the gun shot startled and sent Habiba racing in the direction of the sound, her Ferragamo slippers clattered as she rushed along.

In disbelief, her bulging eyes stared at Hamid’s body scattered at an odd angle. His gold plated hand gun on the floor beside his slackened hand.

Dead! Hamid died from a single well aimed shot to the temple; blowing parts of his crown to pieces.

In horror she screamed endlessly. The catastrophe before her eyes horrified her senses.

The ruckus alerted the maid’s and the children; who all came rushing to the scene.

Why? Why? Habiba sobbed and mumbled incoherently in Arabic.

She had noticed his withdrawn and restless attitude for days on end but his heated discussions over the telephone had not appeared any different from other days when he was brokering a deal.

She had paid no mind to it at all. Her days were consumed with the usual shopping sprees, yacht meet ups with friends, an occasional private party trip to the casinos in Monaco and the high-life of a pampered wife of  a stupendously wealthy industrial giant.

“No! Y’Allah!” she yelled at the Philippina nanny’s. ”Take them away from here.”

She didn’t want them to see the mind numbing horrifying sight. It would scar their psyche for the rest of their lives.

The note simply said: “I am sorry. It’s all gone. I lost it all.”

She frantically called her brother Majid on her gem-studded Vertu phone; he would know what to do.

Nothing made any sense to her befuddled mind.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

This story is total fiction conjured from an article in The National: online United Arab Emirates news about a major jewellery line owner who has been jailed for fraud.

The Daily Post prompt Ripped from the headlines.

Head to your favorite online news source. Pick an article with a headline that grabs you. Now, write a short story based on the article. 

Societal Issues · The Daily Post

Yes, There Are Boundaries…

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Too Soon?.”

Can anything be funny, or are some things off limits?

Title banner off-limits

A well developed sense of humor is something I think I possess.

I am a Christian but not a dour faced sanctimonious one!

I love good jokes any day and will even laugh at myself with ease.

There is no need sweating all the stuff (hard and small) because life is already hard enough and rather too short!

However, there are jokes that I will not be shining my teeth at ever at all!

I find such funnies to be insensitive and in very bad taste!

Things to do with Child Sexual Abuse, Domestic Violence, Terrorism of any sort, Rape, Murder are an absolute NO! NO! for me.

I am aware that some comedians thrive on such tripe and I do question at times if they are perpetrators of such acts themselves!

I am very doubtful that victims and survivors of certain obscene act would be laughing it off. Bad jokes

If that is the case, we won’t hear of women who often fall to pieces and commit suicide after acts of sexual molestation.

If it was so funny, we won’t have so many issues of troubled children who were abused till they lost their sense of self and are left battling with hangovers of such issues.

If it were hilarious, we wouldn’t have so many dysfunctional families due to domestic violence.

If it were rib-cracking, our jails will not be spilling over with perpetrators of nefarious crimes.

Indeed, there is a limit to a joke and a fine line should be drawn on such jokes that are in poor taste!

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha