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Estelle DeSouza, Uyo (2026)

18/02/2026

Cedric just needed a place to stay this winter 😂😂

BTW, this must be a skit cuz wetin she pack for behind so?

18/02/2026

"I have this lady that I want to marry. She is 42 years old and I am 40 years old.

The lady has money. She has a big company where they are producing peanut. She has so many workers.

Since I started dating her, she has been spoiling me with money. On my last birthday she bought a car for me.

The issue now is that I am afraid. I don't want my wife to be richer than me.

I am the man and I am supposed to be richer than my wife for my respect.

We are supposed to get married this coming Easter but I asked her to transfer the ownership of her company to my name if she wants the marriage. But this lady refused.

Don't forget that she is 42 years old. I reminded her that she was old but she insisted that she won't change it.

That she will give me whatever I want in life but she won't change it.

I don't want her giving me something. I want to be the one giving her. I am a man.

I feel like this is a red flag. Should I stop the marriage or continue?

Please I want advice from matured men. I don't want all these poor feminist ladies to advise me ooo.

I don't want the angry single ladies".

18/02/2026

Post for me Ma'am.

"On 14th February 2025, I was so happy that my husband would be taking me out for Valentine.

I made a beautiful hair and also bought clothes waiting for him to come back so that we could go out.

This man didn't come back. I called him severally and he didn't pick his calls.

Around 8:00pm, he picked up and told me that something came up.

That he was with a client that came all the way from Cameroon.

I was angry 😡 but he promised to make it up to me some other time.

Well, I ate my food and went to watch movies.

Around 10:00pm, my phone rang and it was my husband.

I picked up the call and a Police officer said that I should come to the Police station.

I rushed to the station and saw my husband with bruises.

One of the Police officer told me that a man caught my husband having ###x with his wife his house.

Turns out the man works offshore but decided to surprise his wife for Valentine by coming home.

The man invited area boys and they all wanted to unalive my husband. My husband lost three teeth that day.

The man still accused him of stealing money from him.

That was when I went to the man and begged him to increase the money.

I explained to the man that I don't have anything doing.

The man told them that my husband stole his N5m.

It wasn't a small thing but my husband paid. He has the money.

The man graciously gave me N3m and asked me to go start something and took N2m.

My husband is still asking me how I got money for my business.

God works in a mysterious way my sister.

Last year Valentine favoured me well well"

01/10/2025

October 1st.

Another Independence Day.

The flags are flying, the anthems are being sung, and leaders will mount podiums to speak of unity, progress, and hope.

But beneath the colors and the ceremonies lies a truth that cuts deep into the soul of this Nation, a truth we cannot keep pretending doesn’t exist.

65 years after independence, Nigeria still bleeds. We bleed from the open wounds of insecurity that refuse to heal.

Today should be a day of pride, but for many, it is a day of silent mourning 😭

65years after freedom, her citizens are still living in fear, hunger, neglect, abject poverty, and hopelessness.

Insecurity stalks our streets like a shadow. Families are torn apart by violence.
Lives are cut short daily by bullets, and kidnappers’ ropes.

The promise of safety feels like a distant dream 💔

September 11th, 2025 will forever remain indelible in my memory ... A day I was almost kidnapped.

My crime? For just walking on the street!

Just two months back... Itaketo Bassford experienced what any Entrepreneur would dread.

Armed robbers stormed once her peaceful home and carted away with her properties, gadgets and electronics worth millions.

And early hours of today... They broke into her house again, packing what was left of her struggle to start all over.

How about Sommie the Arise TV Staff?

She left a country she was very comfortable in to come back home because she believed in Nation building.

Today, she is gone. I doubt if she would ever get justice.

A few days back, our sons, daughters, sisters and friends were called to Bar.

But a happy day, meant to celebrate achievements and be merry turned to a day of heartache, filled with anxiety.

Our express roads are no longer safe. They are now kidnappers dens.

And then, the health sector, a place supposed to be our place of refuge in times of pain... is itself pain to us.

Oftentimes I wonder what the oath they took to save lives is really all about.

Was it only for the paparazzi?

A patient runs to a facility for an emergency treatment... But is stonewalled and left to fate.

It's 2025...

65yrs after Independence, our hospitals are without power, clinics without medicine, and patients dying in waiting rooms.

Because doctors are overworked, underpaid, or SIMPLY NOT THERE.

Pregnant women pray to God more than they trust the system.

The poor are left to battle sicknesses with herbs, hope, and heartbreak.

But every year, our leaders travel abroad for medical care.

They leave behind the very hospitals they starved of funding, the very doctors they underpaid until they fled the country.

It is not that Nigeria lacks talent, our doctors and nurses are among the best in the world.

But the country they love has made them strangers to their own soil.

And the poor, who cannot afford a visa, are left to face the cruel reality of sickness with nothing but prayers and chance.

So what exactly are we celebrating today?

Is it the waving of flags while blood stains the ground?

Is it the sound of trumpets while our hospitals echo with silence?

Is it freedom, when we are chained by fear of kidnappers, neglect, and hopelessness?

Because what is freedom, if we are not free from fear?

What is independence, if the Nation cannot protect or heal its people?

Independence should mean more than speeches and fireworks.

It should mean SAFETY in our streets and homes, dignity in our hospitals, and hope in our hearts.

Until then, October 1st will remain a day of painful reflection, a reminder of promises unfulfilled and dreams deferred.

Because the true measure of independence is not in how long we have been free from foreign rule...

But in how well we protect, heal, and preserve the lives of our own people!

I Pray Again...

MAY NIGERIA 🇳🇬 NOT HAPPEN TO US 💔

© Estelle DeSouza

30/09/2025

THE VENUS CHRONICLES – Episode 2

Grandma’s eyes bored into Venus like sharp needles.

“I asked you a question,” she said, her voice low, shaky.

Venus swallowed. “I… I just wanted to see what was inside.”

Grandma rushed forward, snatched the box, and shoved it back onto the wardrobe.

She locked it with trembling fingers and turned to Venus.

“Never touch that box again. Do you hear me?”

Venus nodded quickly, clutching the key tighter in her palm, hiding it behind her back.

That night, she lay in bed wide awake. The silence of the house pressed against her ears. But then… she heard it.

A whisper.

At first, she thought it was the wind. But it was too clear. Too close.

Venus…

She sat up sharply, her eyes darting around her room. The curtains swayed lightly, but the window was shut.

Venus… open it…

Her gaze shot to her wardrobe.
No, not the wardrobe, the walls. The whispers were coming from inside the walls.

Her breath quickened. She pressed her ear against the cool plaster. And she heard them more clearly now.

Voices, tangled together, murmuring, like a conversation from another world.

The box… the truth… don’t trust her…

Venus je**ed back, her small body trembling. She clutched the key in her hand, her only weapon, her only proof that she wasn’t imagining things.

Then... three soft knocks tapped against her wall.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Venus’s heart jumped into her throat. She wanted to scream, but her voice was locked.

And just when she thought she’d burst from fear, the whispers faded into silence.

She crawled back under her blanket, her eyes wide open until morning.

Only one thought burned in her mind:
The box is hiding something… and the walls want me to know.

The following morning, Venus could barely eat her breakfast.

Every spoon of pap felt heavy in her throat. The whispers from last night wouldn’t leave her mind.

Grandma kept stealing glances at her across the table, her eyes sharp, as if daring her to mention the box. Venus kept quiet.

But when Grandma went outside to dry clothes, Venus whispered to her mother, “Mummy… who is the man in the picture inside Grandma’s box?”

Her mother froze. The spoon slipped from her hand, splashing pap on the table.

“Which picture?” she asked carefully.

Venus leaned closer. “The one where he was holding you. You looked younger. He looked… happy with you.”

Her mother’s face turned pale. She opened her mouth to speak but just then, Grandma’s voice boomed from outside:

“Venus!”

The girl jumped, almost choking. Her mother quickly grabbed her wrist. “Don’t ever talk about that picture again, Venus. Promise me.”

“But why... ”

“Promise!”

Venus nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. Her mother let go, her hands shaking.

That night, the whispers returned. Louder. Clearer.

She’s hiding the truth… about your father…

Venus pressed her palms against her ears, but the voices pushed through.

Then, something even stranger happened.
She heard her name spoken in a man’s voice. Not the whispering crowd, but just one voice. Deep. Steady.

Venus… I am closer than you think.

She jolted upright, her tiny chest heaving.

Through the window, across the moonlit compound, she saw a shadow. A man standing under the mango tree, watching the house.

Her heart pounded as the figure slowly raised his hand… and waved.

© Estelle DeSouza

Intriguing episodes on 👉 Stories My Mother Told Me

29/09/2025

THE VENUS CHRONICLES

Venus was 10 years old the first time she found the silver key.

It was a Saturday morning, and the sun was already sneaking through her pink curtains.

She stretched, yawned, and felt something cold under her pillow.

At first she thought it was one of her hair beads that slipped off during the night.

But when she pulled it out, her eyes widened.

It was a small silver key. Smooth, shiny, and heavier than it looked.

She sat up in bed, turning it over in her hand.

She knew every single toy she owned, every single thing in her drawer. She had never seen this key before.

“Mummy?” she called, rushing into the kitchen where her mother was frying akara.

“Yes, my baby?”

“Did you put this under my pillow?” she asked, holding it out.

Her mother frowned. “No, darling. Where did you find it?”

“Under my head, when I woke up.”

Her mother laughed softly, shaking her head. “Maybe you’re keeping treasures in your dreams now.”

But Venus wasn’t laughing. Her mind raced.

Later that day, she asked her father. He said no.

She asked her grandmother.

Grandma just stared at it too long, her lips tightening before she finally replied, “No, child. I’ve never seen it.”

But Venus didn’t believe her.

That night, after everyone went to bed, Venus sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the key.

It wasn’t ordinary. She felt it. Like it was waiting for her to do something.

And then she remembered, Grandma always kept an old wooden box in her room. A box she never allowed anyone to touch.

Venus’s eyes widened.

She slipped the silver key under her pillow again and whispered to herself: “Tomorrow, I’m going to try".

The next morning, Venus woke up with her heart beating fast. The key was still there, cool under her pillow.

She waited until after breakfast.

Grandma was in the garden, plucking bitterleaf. Mummy had gone to the market, and Daddy was reading the newspaper in the sitting room. Perfect.

Quietly, she tiptoed into Grandma’s bedroom.

The room smelled of dust and old perfume.

Sunlight cut through the faded curtains, lighting up the wooden wardrobe in the corner. On top of it sat the box.

The box she had always wondered about.

It was dark-brown, polished, with carvings of birds around the edges. The kind of box that looked like it could hold secrets.

She dragged a stool closer, climbed up carefully, and reached for it.

Her small hands trembled as she pulled it down. It was heavier than she expected.

She sat cross-legged on the floor and stared at it. Her heart pounded. The key in her palm seemed to hum, as though it wanted to try.

She slid the silver key into the lock. It fit.

Venus swallowed hard and turned it.

Click.

The lid creaked open.

Inside, neatly folded, were old letters tied with a red ribbon… and a black-and-white photograph of a woman who looked exactly like her mother, only younger, with someone’s arm wrapped around her shoulder. A man’s arm.

Venus froze.

Suddenly, the door creaked.

“Venus!” Grandma’s voice cut through the room.

Venus gasped, snapping the box shut. She turned, clutching the key in her hand.

Grandma’s eyes locked on her, wide with something Venus had never seen before: fear!

“What are you doing with that box?” Grandma whispered, stepping closer.

Venus couldn’t answer. The key burned in her palm.

Complete Episodes on 👉 Stories My Mother Told Me

29/09/2025

Oh God... Indabosky and his members are not okay 🤣🤣🤣

Wetin be this one like this? 😂 😂 😂

29/09/2025

She slid into his inbox with charm... Soft words, stolen pictures, and a smile that wasn’t hers.

To him, she was love at first sight.
To her, he was just another target.

She thought she was playing the perfect game.
Romance was her bait, lies her weapon.

Weeks turned into months. Money flowed, promises piled, and emotions ran deep.

She swore she’d be his wife, he swore he’d protect her forever.

Money was the goal. But one wrong move flipped the script.

The man she scammed wasn’t just a victim…
He was dangerous.

What started as sweet talk in the DMs ended with blood on the floor.

Love turned to betrayal. Betrayal turned to rage.
And rage birthed tragedy.

Not every scam has a happy ending.
Sometimes, the hunter becomes the prey.

It began like every other romance game:
sweet words, midnight calls, and promises dipped in sugar.

She played him for a fool, convinced his heart was her ATM.

But she miscalculated. The man behind the screen was no ordinary prey.

When lies fell apart and truth spilled out,
their final meeting wasn’t flowers and kisses...

It was screams in the dark, shadows on the wall, and silence that tasted of tragedy.

💔 Romance Scam.

Amara thought she was untouchable.

With beauty that drew attention and lies polished like diamonds, she had mastered the art of deception.

Her game was simple: find lonely men online, promise them love, and bleed them dry.

That’s how she found him.

Michael wasn’t different at first glance: another wealthy man seeking companionship, another heart eager for attention.

He showered her with gifts, sent money at her slightest complaint, and whispered words that made her laugh behind the screen.

To him, she was the woman of his dreams.
To her, he was nothing more than a jackpot waiting to be emptied.

But love, even fake love, is unpredictable.

Weeks turned into months. Michael grew deeply attached.

He spoke of marriage, of meeting her family, of flying her abroad to “start a new life together.”

Amara played along, carefully feeding the fantasy, carefully draining his wallet.

Then came the mistake.

One night, while juggling conversations with two other “victims,” she sent Michael a message meant for someone else.

A pet name. A different tone. Suspicion was born, and from suspicion came investigation.

Michael wasn’t the fool she imagined.

He had contacts, resources, and a darkness that lay quietly beneath his calm charm.

When he uncovered the truth, her lies, her manipulations, the money trail...

Something inside him snapped.
The “victim” wasn’t the naïve man she thought.

Behind his sweet texts was a temper forged in violence.

And there it began...

Romance Scam Gone Wrong!

© Estelle DeSouza

Find out what happens next on 👉 Stories My Mother Told Me

29/09/2025

One month after donating blood for a patient, the doctor called me to tell me that he tested positive to HIV.

I love to give out a pint of blood or two every six months to help save lives.

On this very occasion, I arrived at a hospital and asked them if anyone needed some.

They took me to a man who needed 4 pints desperately and I agreed to give him my blood.

A sample was collected and tests were done. In the next minutes, I was done with it and left.

One month had gone by and I had forgotten I did something like that when my phone came alive.

It was a strange number, I answered and a voice said "am I speaking with Mr Arinze?" yes you are, I replied.

He reminded me of that very day and asked me to come to the hospital ASAP.

When I got there, I was told that the patient I gave out my blood to had tested positive to HIV.

I didn't panic because I have very little to do with s*X and I have my personal clipper and I also know it takes about 6 months for the virus to show in the body of the new host.

Though I know there are other ways I could get it, but I was sure of me.

I quickly took a test in two different labs close to the hospital and it all came back negative.

I left in anger only for the doctor to call again in two days time asking for my forgiveness.

According to him,the patient admitted having the virus over the years while also covering it up so the wife and kids wouldn't know about it .

And so, I became conscious of who I give my blood to cause y'all be lying against people just to cover up the aftermath of your mischievous lifestyle.

Be careful.

Copied!!

29/09/2025

Because out there!

29/09/2025

Just imagine the level of wickedness!

He saw ₦100,000 in a young boy's account, took him to a POS operator and forced him to transfer ₦98,000 to you.

Dismissal is not enough for this level of wickedness.

Cuz they literally just released him the other go into the community and become a full blown Anini.

29/09/2025

After my Mother-in-law sent me a wedding dress 'her son would prefer"...

I decided It was time to stand up for myself.

Weddings are meant to be joyful celebrations, moments that unite families, ERED ignite love, and mark the start of forever.

But not every walk down the aisle ends in a fairytale.

Sometimes, behind the smiles and satin, drama brews just beneath the surface.

Since I was a little girl, I dreamed of walking down the aisle.

I'd wrap white sheets around myself, pretending they were lace, and march barefoot ERED through the backyard, imagining petals underfoot and music in the air.

That dream stayed with me through heartache and heartbreak until I met Ikenna. With him, it finally felt real.

Ikenna was his mum's, Dame Felicity's only Son.

She had other children, 3 daughters but she doted on him and her world revolved around him.

She literally scrutinised his female friends, and dictated who he was hanging out with.

We met at a work summit in Dubai, where we both were representing our respective companies and it was love at first sight... Something magical. ERED

We kept in touch afterwards and within a short period of time, we became inseparable.

He proposed on our first anniversary and I said Yes.

Ikenna was supportive, attentive, career driven just like me, and a Jesus' boy but not when it comes to his mum.

On the day he took me home to meet his family... he calmed me down as I was fidgeting assuring me that his family would love and accept me.

He also said his mum could pass off as being overly protective of him and she's clingy.
But I should be me and not worry.

The events that followed afterwards gave me palpitations.

Dame Felicity was always in our business...

She knew everything in our would-be matrimonial home as her son tells it all.

She'd visit during weekends and cook a different meal for us and insisted Ikenna eats that instead.

She would go on to sleep in our bedroom, rejecting the well furnished guest rooms.

8 months later, the wedding plans were in full swing.

She decided EVERYTHING. I didn't have a say.

She altered the colours we had previously picked and changed the event planners, vendors and organisation.

So the day we pulled up to the bridal shop, my heart raced with excitement...ERED

The feeling of... "My dreams of walking down the aisle as a little girl" is becoming a reality.

Ikenna gave my hand a gentle squeeze. I smiled until I saw her.

Dame Felicity. His mother.

She stepped out of the car like she owned the place, pearls sparkling, judgment already on her face.

"She's coming too?" I whispered.

"She just wants to help," Ikenna mumbled.

Help. Right.

Inside, I tried to hold onto the magic... clouds of lace, veils that danced on the air.

But the moment I stepped out in the first dress, Dame's eyes narrowed like ERED I was some kind of project she needed to fix.

"Too much shoulder," she said.

"Doesn't flatter your figure."

Then the dreaded tsk - like I wasn't even worth a full sentence.

Ikenna just stood there, silent as usual. I turned to both of them and said I'd return another time, alone.

The next day, I heard a knock at the door. I was surprised when a delivery man handed me a big white box. "For Emily," he said.

I hadn't ordered anything.

Curious, I opened it.

Inside was a wedding dress, ivory satin, long sleeves, high collar. Stiff and plain.

Definitely not my style.

Taped to the top was a note in delicate handwriting:

"I think this dress will match Ikenna's suit better. You'll look good beside him. Love, Dame."

My breath caught. I wasn't even a person to her... just a prop!

A pretty frame for her perfect son.

I shoved the box into the closet, fvry and sadness tangled in my chest.

Ikenna would never stand up to her. But me? I could still stand up for myself. And I would. ERED

On the morning of the wedding, I wasn't nervous. I was calm. Like the sky right before a thvnderstorm.

Dame barged into the hotel room, ERED lipstick too bright, pearls perfect. Her eyes scanned the room and landed on me, still in jeans.

"You haven't even put the dress on?" she snapped.

"He'll wait," I replied coolly.

She huffed and left in a cloud of perfume and entitlement.

I opened the closet. There it was, my real dress. Not from the boutique. Not from her box. One I chose on my own.

Silk. Black. Bold.

"You're really doing this," Cynthia, my best friend whispered.

"I am," I said. "It's time."

When the music began, I stepped into the aisle.

As I walked majestically, gasps rippled through the crowd. Whispers buzzed like bees.

A bride in black? Unheard of in our town.

I didn't care. My dress ERED shimmered like a storm cloud. My veil trailed like smoke.

I walked slowly, not for drama, but because I finally owned every step.

Dame's face was priceless, her eyes wide, and jaw tight.

Ikenna looked stunned. Confused. Scared, even.

Perfect.

The Officiating Priest smiled nervously. "Emily, do you take... "

"Wait," I said, holding up a hand.

The room fell silent.

I turned to Ikenna. "Do I take you?" I repeated.

"No. I don't."

Gasps again.

"I loved you. I did. But I need someone who stands with me and not behind his mother.
I need to be seen. ERED Not just matched to a suit."

Ikenna opened his mouth, but no words came.
I turned to the crowd, voice calm and clear. "This isn't a wedding. It's a goodbye."

I handed my bouquet to Cynthia and walked away, my black dress flowing behind me like a banner of freedom.

The next morning, I woke up. Sunlight poured in through gauzy curtains.

My mum handed me coffee without a word, and we sat together in silence.

For the first time in years, I felt peace. "You shocked the whole town," she said, half-smiling.

I let out a laugh. "Good. Maybe someone else will remember they deserve more, too."

My phone buzzed. Dozens of messages. Friends. Family. Even wedding guests. ERED

"You were brave." "You did the right thing."

One from Ikenna : "I'm sorry."

I didn't reply. Some stories don't need extra pages.

I looked at my empty hand. No ring. No regret.

Just me. And that was enough.

- Estelle DeSouza

Estelle DeSouza

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