Short stories


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I want to tell a tale, the tale of how I allowed personal worries Rob me. It’s a tale that makes me cry every time I recollect the event. I caused it because I allowed sentiments to override my spirit. When I had the prompting I didn’t know what direction it was headed but alas, my Ibrahim was the victim. Here is my story.

There’s this young man in my street, his mum owns a big frozen food store and I love patronizing them because they are never out of fresh stock. Ibrahim is a regular street boy- those tough looking boys, but who are nevertheless tame-able.

I try as much as possible not to be involved with street matters and so there’s hardly anyone I talk to on the street. Every time I go to this Ibrahim’s store, I see ladies, throng around him, obviously looking for his favour but he doesn’t seem to notice them. I’ve always known he was interested in me as a person but though he was tough, he never had the courage.

I knew what he wanted and so I tried as much as possible to avoid any personal communications. Every time I go there, he’ll attend to me in English, even though his default language and other of their customers is Yoruba. Ibrahim treated my demand for things specifically and I knew it. During my IT at the court, he somehow got to know and every time I was at their store, he’d ask me how my day went and if I was getting the rest I needed.

He still wouldn’t come out straight and so reduced my patronage at the store. I didn’t want to give a street boy any ideas and so I kept my boundaries. But there was a but…

I found myself thinking of him and I kept binding the devil. I was somehow drawn to him but I know it wasn’t sexual and yet I couldn’t place my hand on it. So I did what common sense would have me do, I stopped going to the store.

Earlier this year, I needed to get meat and I couldn’t find every where else. I did not have an option but to go to Ibrahim’s place. I got there and for the first time, I actually allowed him talk to me without feeling like I wanted to leave. Small talks and that was just about it. He kept grinning till I left and as I was leaving, I heard his friends making fun of him.

I wish I had paid more attention.

The following week, I was there and for the first time, he wasn’t there. I wanted to ask for his whereabouts but I didn’t want the attendant thinking anything and so I kept my mouth sealed.

Two Weeks later, I was there again and Ibrahim wasn’t. This time around I was wondering what my own was with him but this time, I couldn’t suppress it. I didn’t know when I said, ‘where’s the young man that is always here?’

I thought he’d gained admission finally and though I would have been happy about it, I felt somehow that I deserved to know.

The attendant answered :

‘He is late’


Me : late bawo? Where did he go? When is he coming back?
Attendant : He is late
Me :. Late from where now? He’s gone to school?
Attendant : He died two weeks ago, on Sunday.
Me : How can he die? He can’t die! Please, this joke is too expensive. Please, when is he coming back?

At this stage, I was shivering, my voice was shaky. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. Ibrahim can’t die. Please, Ibrahim, don’t let this be true. You can’t die. We were supposed to talk. I was supposed to influence you. We were supposed to be friends. You were supposed to gain admission. I was supposed to help you get connected to purpose.

Ibrahim, you cannot die!

The attendant guy was talking, but I wasn’t listening. He can’t die. It can’t happen. I’d just lost a colleague. I can’t lose Ibrahim too. Ibrahim, please let this be a nightmare. Wake me up.


How I got home, I couldn’t say. The guy was trying to console me but I was in no mood. I got home, I told my sister, she was shocked. We were all speechless.

Then I heard how he died from a neighbor. He’d worn a particular shirt and some guys accosted him. The cloth apparently belonged to a cult but Ibrahim wore the cloth innocently. They traced him home that Sunday night and though he tried running, they caught up with him and hacked him to death.

I couldn’t believe it. Ibrahim didn’t just die peacefully, he died a gruesome and painful death.

I just entered my room. I wept for Ibrahim that I didn’t get to know. I didn’t see him on Saturday and he died on Sunday. I should have dropped my number for him that Saturday. I should have reached out but I allowed my fears over power the promptings in my spirit.

I wept that night. Ibrahim shouldn’t have died.

No matter the apologies, Ibrahim won’t come back to me. I lost this Ibrahim. My first Ibrahim died.

I have learnt my lesson, though it’s at the expense of my first Ibrahim. Never again am I going to let this happen intentionally. Even when I don’t know why I’m drawn to a person, I’d pray for them. I won’t let my emotions be cloud the promptings in my spirit.


What are you doing with your Ibrahim?
Your Ibrahim might have an ulterior motive, but have you asked why God is drawing him/her to you? Don’t lose Ibrahim like I did mine.

Don’t let your Ibrahim die before you learn like I did.

# help someone find Jesus


Your love, now and always

Mercy Oluwafemi Adeniyi


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