African Stories Novels & Stories

let's meet father to tell us a story before going to our beds," she pleaded, she knew that it will take almost all of them to persuade their father who was already ladened with a large bowl of Amala(cultural food) to tell them a story, the girls approached their father and pleaded that he tells them a story, their father was in a good mood, he agreed to their offer, looking around he said, "then get something to sit on, I shall be telling you girls a short story." Hearing this, Bimbo's face lit up as she plastered a smile on her face, her father had agreed to tell them a story, she quickly

No wonder Jesus told them the poor they will always have among them. ‘See for instance what’s happening in Nigeria, a country blessed with abundant resources, Southern Sudan, Malawi, DRC just to mention a few. This proves to any well-meaning human being including stupid fools that Africans do not know what they want. They are like monkeys looking for already ripe bananas all over the world. Don’t we see them in America and Europe crying for citizenships and visas?’ asked Bradford.

through the waves of time,and the influence by other cultures. This book,aims at capturing a set of activities through a narrative,where Enkanasa village represents the African roots,from where a young man leading an almost hopeless life,falls into great hands and becomes a great man not only to his village but to his community and country.It brings out the harsh life that some boys go through in a bid to secure their parents wealth,and to protect the community,as worriors.

If they really want to escape, they do. Moral of the story. People living and working around here are in big five country. Consider yourself to be in a cage, while the animals are free. This is the reason why tourism in Africa flourishes. Because of the elephants, buffalo, rhinoceros, leopard and the king of the beasts. Lion.

Photographs covered the walls portraits of strangers caught mid-smile, moments of stillness, and little stories told without words. “Wow,” I breathed. “It’s beautiful.” Ethan shrugged lightly. “It’s just life through a lens.” He motioned toward a chair near the window. “Sit. Want coffee? Or tea?” “Coffee’s fine,” I said, and he disappeared for a moment, returning with two steaming cups. When I took the first sip, he leaned against the table across from me and asked, “So, how’s your story going now?” I smiled. “Better, actually. The words are finally moving again.”

“Oh! God I'm sitting completely nude on my brother's lap as he kneads my boob and his friend is touching my core. God ! Please forgive me for my sins.” Nicolas finally slid two fingers inside my core and started moving it back and forth earning a moan from me. “Ahhhgh…” I moaned. Clover was licking all over my back. Nicolas started nibbling and sucking my nipples while he fingered me and soon Clover stripped off his pants. Nicolas removed his fingers and Clover slipped his manhood inside me in one go. “Ahhhh….” “No…No. Clover isn't wearing any condoms.” “Don't worry sis, we already got the contraceptive pills for you.”

In 1890, my great-grandmother Takoda was only a child when her ancestors told her stories while they huddled around the campfire with handmade blankets from buffalo hide. Later, she told my mother the same stories about humans who could walk on all fours and pale skins and drink your blood. Nowadays, no one talks about the past, which leads us to believe they are just scary stories the tribe elders tell for fun or to put fear into the youngsters so we won’t enter the woods outside our borders. However, I believe nothing they say. But my grandmother does and never lets my family forget it. I usually get grounded for laughing at her, thinking she’s a crazy old woman.

And besides, those endless water droplets that I always match in the kitchen make my hair spike, I don't like it. Even wearing flip-flops is taboo as well, in a typical African home, but I can't hold my body from wanting. I wear my flip flop and then go ahead to do the chores I wasn't ready to do, the dirty dishes were like a map to a whole new world. As I slowly drift into my little world of imagination, that little world in my head where I talk to people and also laugh, just like the couples I saw earlier, that would be the best day of my life, I would share all my stories and guilty pleasure with them.

Ralph walked with the guys into an isolated old building that seemed hunted. “You got the money?” a gruff voice spoke. I could hear the conversation going smoothly between Ralph and the kidnappers. “How about we make another deal?” the gruff voice said. I couldn't help but ask, why was there another deal? I smelt a foul play, just as Ralph had said. “These bloody pigs can't keep to their words, can they? ” I mumbled, my fist clenched. “Raymond, start the vehicle,” I could hear him mutter. “The keys are beneath the car, hurry. ”

This led to a debate about the accuracy of sexual stereotypes. Ross had declared, "Most of them are myths made up by people who are outsiders to the group." The two students had discussed how inaccurate the stereotype about all Asian women being promiscuous was. They talked about the myth that Frenchmen were great lovers but concluded that the myth was probably made up by French men trying to get laid. Ross had said, "I'd say that thing about Black guys having big cocks was a myth, but I don't have enough data to reach a conclusion. The only Black guy I've seen naked in real life is my roommate, and he's hung like a Clydesdale."