Lalata Hausa Novel Complete Novels & Stories

hold of this woman who had been destroying the good hand works of Eledumare, the freemar even with her great power could not kill her, she forced out the god who had possessed her, and destroyed it, and so the woman was freed from the wicked spirit, she became extremely bittered when she saw the ruin of the earth she had wasted, she could not stand the guilt, and one day she killed herself, and so the last of the first human race died, and ended it all, such is the fate of Oyinda the love of Agbara life." Atinuke has heard many tales that had scared her when she was a kid, but had never been more scared hearing this story, she shivered and asked " Please my friend Opolopo, tell me, what sho

"Don't waste your time James. I am not here to die. I only followed you here because you are unfamiliar with Igboland. I didn't come here to put my life at risk. As you can see, I have a beautiful wife and and three young children who are still growing up. I already lost a wife, it will be bad if my children find out that their father died trying to destroy the gods that their ancestors worshipped. It will be too bad James. Count me out of your plans. Stick with Umuise. They don't have a chief priest who would challenge you. They are simple faithful worshippers of their gods. Every man and his own shrine." James grabbed the book he was reading and flipped the pages quickly. Then he turned to

Sèdonoudè came in from time to time, though he too began to spend as much time as he could away, creeping furtively back to his bedroom, studiously ignoring Lala as well, both of them, unwilling witnesses, ashamed, frightened of the pity they could feel surrounding their beating hearts. No, this was no glorious death such as was found in the pages of Aldous Huxley’s last novel, Island. It was instead a quiet, sad, and futile giving up of all that there is. There would be no obituary.

"You think I wanted to prepare food, you're the one cooking today and please add pepper very well." "I know!" Wunmi laughed and went to the kitchen to prepare Lara’s favourite food, Beans and Plantain. She came back to the room and saw Lara on the bed with her laptop. “What are you doing?” Lara gestured for Wunmi to sit beside her. "Congratulations." Wunmi raised her eye brows. "For what? Did I finally win the Wattys?" "What is Wattys?” Lara chuckled. “You've got a job now." "What job? How? I don’t get you.”

the aged security man said "We're here to see Hajiya" "Oh you're welcome. You can go inside please" the man said to them and open the door for them "Thank you" they both ambled inside the shop and walk straight to the receptionist place. The young lady at the desk was busy reading novel on her title "Zaheera" a novel written by Zainab Abdulkadir. She was so engrossed in the novel that she didn't see them until Khady finally spoke "Good morning" Khady greated

Promise closed the notebook. Let them judge, she thought. The girl who broke the silence had learned to carry her own eyes inside her, steady as flame, and to measure herself with those. She lay back on the thin mat, the ceiling above her alive with shadows from the kerosene lamp outside. The air in Ajegunle was restless—arguments trickling through cracked walls, a child crying until its voice thinned, laughter flaring suddenly like a match. Lagos did not sleep; it only shifted weight from one side to the other, and she was learning to rest inside its noise.

At some point, I felt sorry for the trepadised doctors observing how frightened they would become whenever Leonardo noticed my features contorted in pain so I did my best to mask the pain I would feel as I recieved my injections. After the doctors left, Leonardo called a maid who had my bath prepared after which we both had dinner in my room. He had his arm wrapped around my shoulder with my petite figure hauled against his large frame. He was reading me one of the books I did not get the chance to complete before I got hit by this dreadful illness. It was tittled 'Faceless' by Amma Darko, a Ghanaian novel. I really loved the novel. It portrayed the phenomenon of the street child especially

An hour of listening to the old rusted engine of my grandmother's car— like the stranger had mocked me last night. I shivered at the thought of him. Thinking of him wasn't going to do my marriage any good. He was my past now, and it had to stay that way. "Good morning, Mrs. Michelle Constantine." I greeted the woman who sat behind the desk. She seemed to be going through some documents when her eyes reached up to me. "And you are...?" She tilted her head to the side in askance. "Lyla..." I said, beginning to feel nervous. "Mrs. Lyla Atelo. The new staff."

Once again I thank the Lord for blessing me with the pigment melanin. (Iyawo- means new wife in Yoruba a Nigerian language) "Mommy stop teasing her na" Dili joked with a mild laugh. I have seen playful and cheerful Dili a lot. But this Dili right here looked more cheerful than I have ever seen him. It did something to that my organ that pumps blood round my body. Yes I was talking about my heart.

And after all, what's a lie? Tis but the truth in masquerade." -Unknown ... "No ma, no be how much I de sell am," (no ma, that's not how much I can sell it) the dark tall and slim Hausa trader spoke to Doris and Martha in pidgin with thick Hausa accent dripping as he spoke. "Ok, give us for one thousand five hundred naira..." (Give it to us at the price of one thousand five hundred naira) Martha tried bargaining with him.