West African Folk Stories Novels & Stories

“The very same powers you and I just happened to be discussing just last week.” “Yeah,” Leesa admitted. “That’s how this came up.” “Tales of the waziri are most common from Eastern Europe. They were a small, very reclusive clan. It’s said they used their powers for good, against the forces of darkness, outside the view of humanity for the most part. The tales seem to have died out more than a hundred years ago.” Leesa listened closely. So far, all this fit with what Rave had told her. The part about the waziri acting as a check against the forces of darkness was new, though, and very welcome.

" And just walked away, there the goddess sensed she must have lost her brain and had successfully brought to life a genuine saint, she then remembered it was a success after all, a perfect human for the activation of the shadowfighters. A BETTER STORYTELLER There was a rumors sirculating among people of Osin and the wealthy land of peace, a story teller who tells story of great interest, all children and youths loved her stories, they called the greater story teller of all time, and where she had heard all these stories became mystery, most of these stories happened and real, but she could not have knew about them, unless someone who witnessed them told it to her. But even during the war

" Wait, guys. Hear me out. I met someone today at the market. I asked him about the war in the west. The woman told me that the war had ended but things are not the same again. My cousin that traveled through the west a few months ago told me, throughout his journey through the west, he never crossed paths with anyone. Everywhere was quiet and no one can ever say life exists there. Humans remain everywhere. I then asked him about those warriors, Nguni, and tribes. His response was so absurd that I still can't comprehend which I know that is what is going to be the case for you guys also. He said it seems the neighboring nation, Afghanis, has enslaved them all. How is that even possible? Othe

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "Um. Well, it was a gift and he wanted you to always have a piece of him" she lied. "Okay, I heard a story. A werewolf married a human, Terra. He was known as Supreme Genzzi. Now I want to believe those names don't have anything to do with my parents?" I asked again. How can she lie to me now that she obviously knows everything? "What kind of a movie is that?" She smiled. "This house belongs to my father! Why are you lying to me!?" I shouted. I was done with her lies. She is still lying to my face.

The warnings and the lullabies. “Luntian.” She called for the old woman as she played with her fingers. “Ca—can I tell you something.” Luntian looked up to Accashia with a smile. “What is it, my dear?” The young lady seemed unsure of herself. And she did not know how to form the words that she was about to say. She bit her lips then looked at Luntian, her eyes pleading. “There’s this legend that everyone from my village knows about. The legend of the beast from the East.”

Leah also gave a look of disapproval. "Callie, I agree with them. I just wasted my time." I got up when I remembered that I was on my way to the garden. "What? Those stories are pretty lame, to begin with." "Not when nana tells them." The kids retorted. Nana arrived soon to tell a different version of the first werewolf that happened in Egypt where people considered shapeshifting a gift and not a curse. I grew up listening to nana's stories, about demon kings and dragon queens and all things fantasy. My all-time favorite was the story of my mother, except for the part where she dies.

His father brought some clarity to him and insisted that it’s a collection of Middle Eastern and South Asian folk tales that were originally published together during the Islamic Golden Age. “Honestly dad, this isn`t a story, I see it more like a biography and a bizarre one of course. Begging a man with one thousand and one stories not to die, is funny. Would you please tell me a story of its own in its own originality? Junior pleaded at the end and for the second time. “But son, I must tell you something. Scheherazade according to myth was a fictional character. A make believe. That is an imaginary character” While laughing with her husband.

“Well Amaka is dead now eh, fairytale did not prepare her for someone like Mugabe or she wouldn’t have worked for him in the first place.’’ Shango snapped finally losing his infinite patience. Babybaby was silent, her lower lip quavers, everybody stiffened in apprehension, waiting for the dam to break. But the thunder god sighed and awkwardly patted her on the head like she was a dangerous beast. “I spoke rashly child, forgive me, fairytale is not silly, neither is folklore for both teaches its own lesson, the hours draw near witching hour, it’s not time for a baby to be up.’’ “I’m not a baby,’’ Babybaby protested between sniffs and yawns. “Tell me another story please a mixture of fairytale

he said. After Ibekwe joined the rest of the children and sat down, the storyteller crossed his legs and opened his mouth and began to sing a song. The art of storytelling in Igbo land was as old as the language itself. Some of the folklores were derived from imaginations, history, fear, and strange beliefs in the ability of animals to speak, which added texture and beauty to the stories when told. Other stories were mere myths that were intended to scare children or dissuade them from doing a particular thing.

"The Yemoja (fish people) has always been a vital part of the Yoruba belief system. The Yoruba's believe that there are worlds within our world and the underwater realm of the Yemoja is just one of them. What you would call myths and superstitions are indeed stories lost in time. Most African languages had no written form, so our ancestors passed down their knowledge, wisdom, and documentation of their experiences through oral tradition. The people of this town have always had contact with the water people and they have always lived among us," Baba Fatomi explained.