African Folk Stories Novels & Stories

It was said that the cries of Ekwensu could make a living things run mad. Mbakwe was convinced. If the village storytellers were right, then the trees in this area would be dead as well, or perhaps running mad. If a tree can run mad. Sometimes he wonders how much of those stories are true. Where were those men when it happened? How accurate were their tales? Or are they just made up, to scare children who wouldn’t obey their parents? Howbeit, the silence of animals in this area seemed to testify the truth in the stories of the village raconteurs, but he wouldn’t forfeit his destiny because of some fairy tales.

Even though I had experiences in putting Xavier and Clayton to sleep, I only knew of the story of the three little pigs and of course Cinderella but my boys weren't ever interested in that second one. Upon starting the story, I saw the uninterested gaze of the two children. What do I do now? Why did I have thus feeling, like I didn't want to disappoint them. I cleared her throat and said, “I don't have any good stories. How about I sing you a song?” I asked them. Franklin and Sophia's eyes lit up as they nodded enthusiastically. With that, I began singing a folk song from Loang, it was the little village I stayed with my mother. My voice was not as beautiful as the sounds of nature, but a

The old woman shivered and held her paper bag close to her chest. “Can’t you hear me? "Keith exploded. “Please let me go. I have very less money and I’m a needy person. I have purchased my bread for tomorrow morning. Please have piety on me!” The old woman cried with teary eyes. “This is the last time I'm warning you to hurry up” Keith moved the knife closer to her face. The old woman took out her valet but kept it in her hand. “Please” The old woman begged. The tension between them increased and Keith pushed the old lady down the road and snatched her valet. He ran away as fast as he could and didn’t turn around.

"Then how do you know what she looks like?" Bailey smiled as she looked down and then back into my eyes, wrapping her arms around her knees. "That's right. I forgot that you haven't heard the stories." A crease formed between my eyes. "What stories?" She shrugged. "The stories of our people." She sighed as she looked out over the stones but saw a time long ago, a time far away. "Long ago, two children were walking in the forest. Night fell, and they became lost. A black wolf came, and the children shivered, sure that they were about to become a meal for the black wolf. But then a huge white wolf came and scared off the black wolf. When he was gone and the children were safe, the white wolf t

For that… could kill them. The little orphans of the slums bundled together, a hand for each ear. They remembered the old myth and deemed it the cause. It was one of the oral folktales of Antacast, passed from one generation to another. The demigods of lightning and thunder fighting again for the wind goddess’ favor, as the old tales had told.