Ife’s Toilet Crisis

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As Ife cleaned the toilet, she thought of how lucky these people were who could afford to travel and stay in fancy hotels when there were so many people there in Kampala who don’t have the luxury of private toilets.  Her daughter went to a school which didn’t have any toilets.  This meant that she had to use the bushes as a washroom.

Just recently, Ife’s ex-husband was charged and fined when he was caught urinating against a wall outside of a government building because there wasn’t anywhere else to go.  The toilets in buildings were locked and they wouldn’t let people off the streets use them.   She, herself was caught using this one by the Japanese businessman who occupied this suite.  In order for her to keep her job which she needed in order to support her daughter and herself and to use the toilet, she had to agree to his proposition.

She heard him now moving about in the bedroom.  He called out to her.  She flushed the toilet, washed her hands and joined him.  He was lying in the bed, waiting for her.  She took a deep breath and got undressed.

Two hours later, she went home.

200 Words

This story is in recognition of World Toilet Day which is today, Nov. 19.  Apparently, the toilet crisis is most severe in parts of Africa and Asia.  One in five primary schools and one in eight secondary schools globally don’t have any toilets, according to WaterAid.  World Toilet Day addresses the plight of millions who don’t have access to proper access to sanitation and whose lives are at risk.  The goal is to ensure that everyone has access to a safe toilet by 2030.

This was written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

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Waiting for God

Wait on the LORD; Be of good courage, And He shall strengthen your heart; Wait, I say, on the LORD! – Psalm 27:14

It takes a lot of courage to wait. When you are waiting for God to answer a prayer or to help you with a situation, you are tempted to jump ahead of Him and try to work things out yourself because you are getting anxious. You find it hard to wait and want to do something. It has been a year since you were laid off. You have been applying for countless job offers and only got a handful of interviews. Each interview seemed promising but in the end you didn’t get the job. You applied to the colleges of your choice and you are waiting to find out if you were accepted in at least one of them.

You prayed to God for a godly man but you are still waiting. It’s hard to be around your friends who are dating or married. Some of them didn’t have to wait long to meet their special someone. You have been waiting for two years now. You are celibate because you want to do what is right and pleasing in God’s sight but it’s hard…

What do you do when you are tempted to act? You pray and ask God to keep you on the path. You think about the friends and the people you know who rushed into relationships because they couldn’t wait and are living in regret. Remind yourself that God’s plans for you are for your good and they will take time. Remind yourself that God’s timing is always perfect. He will provide you with what you need when the time is right and not one moment before.

It takes courage and a lot of willpower to wait on God but in the end, it will be worth it. Hang in there!

woman sitting on suitcase

No Makeup

He watched her as she approached him.  Beautiful with the face of an angel.  She made his heart sing and his eyes dance.  Her hair fell in luxuriant waves over her slender shoulders, cover most of her arms and the top she was wearing.  She looked like a mermaid walking on earth.  He stood there, arms folded, just watching her.  A broad smile broke on his face when she stopped, folded her arms and watched him.

It was his cue to go to her.  He quickly closed the distance between them.  It was when he was standing in front of her, that he noticed the makeup.  It was the first time since he knew her that she wore it.  Bright red lipstick, blush and eyeliner.  His expression became very serious.  “What have you done to your face?” he asked quietly.

“I wanted to look beautiful for you,” she replied.

“You don’t need makeup for that,” he told her.  “Here, let me take it off.”  He took out his handkerchief and gently rubbed off the blush and the lipstick.  “Much better.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “My girlfriends told me that makeup enhances women’s looks, making them appear more attractive in the eyes of others.”

He stuffed his kerchief in the back pocket of his jeans and held her face between his hands.  “It was your fresh, scrubbed clean face that I fell in love with,” he told her.  “You don’t makeup to bring out those amazing eyes of yours or the natural glow of your cheeks or the shape of your mouth.”

She smiled up at him.  He always said the most romantic things to her.  Right now her heart was fluttering and she was more in love with him than ever.  “No makeup then,” she said.

He smiled.  “No makeup.”  He lowered his head and kissed her.  Her lips tasted sweet and he drank them like they were nectar.  These are the lips that I want to kiss for the rest of my life.

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Escape/Shadows #writephoto

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Copyright Sue Vincent

It was like a prison.  This institution or fortress with its many gates.  Were they keeping people out or people in?  She stood in the shadows, watching and waiting, hoping to one day, slip through those gates and disappear.  What would she be leaving behind?  Only misery and intolerable conditions.  She hated it.  How she wished she had never been brought here.  She had put up a fight and protested vehemently but her efforts were ignored and her cries fell on deaf ears.  Big, strong hands had lifted her up and deposited her resolutely into the carriage.  Away, she went, from the place she had called home since she was a child, clutching her rag doll, her eyes wide with fear and a sense of foreboding because she was going to a strange place miles and miles away from home.

The journey was a long and tedious one.  As the carriage bumped along the unending and twisting roads which were illuminated at one point by the sun and then the next by the moon, she felt her eyelids growing heavy.  She had fought to stay awake because she wanted to see where she was going so that she could find her way back home but sleep won.  The next time she opened her eyes, she was here.  The carriage had stopped in the courtyard and the building loomed above her like an ogre, the light of the moon giving it a ghastly look.  She shivered not from the cold but from what might be inside those walls.

The door creaked open and a tall, willowy blonde woman emerged.  She spoke to the driver, took the suitcase from him and then turned to her as the carriage drove away.  “Hello, Janet,” she greeted the little girl who watched the carriage disappear into the night along with her hopes.  “You must be weary from your journey.  Come along.”  She held out her hand.

Janet took it and allowed herself to be taken through the enormous door, into a large foyer and up a staircase.  She was taken to a room which had rows of beds.  The lady led her to a bed in the corner and put her suitcase beside it.  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

Janet was but she shook her head.  Her brown eyes large in her small face.  She was ten years old but looked younger.  She removed her bonnet to reveal a head of shocking red hair which matched the freckles on her face.

“Very well, then.  After you have unpacked, you may turn in now and I shall see you in the morning.  My name is Miss Foster.” She left a candle burning although, the room was adequately lit by the moon and left, her long skirts making a bustling sound as they brushed across the floor.

For several minutes she had stood there, wishing she were far away.  Then a yawn galvanized her into action.  She unpacked her suitcase, changed and slipped under the covers.  In less than five minutes, she was fast asleep.

That was the beginning of her nightmare.  She stood there now in the shadows, gazing beyond the gates, longing from freedom.  Then, she heard the bell, signalling that recess was over.  She turned and headed toward the building, her mutinous gaze caught sight of the sign above the door, Ravenwood Institution.  Yes, one of these day, she was going to run away from this miserable place.  The only person she would miss was Miss Foster who had been very kind to her.

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt – Shadows  at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

Source:  Fantasy Name Generators

Safer

under-bridge

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

I huddled under the blanket two kind strangers brought for me along with a coffee and sandwiches.  I was very grateful to them.  They stayed and chatted with me for a while.  They asked me questions about myself and then talked about God.  I listened and before they left, they promised that they would return to check on me.  They left a pocket-sized Bible.  Their visit encouraged me.

It’s been a year now since I lost my job and was evicted.  I went to a shelter but left and came here where I feel safer.  I reach for the Bible.

100 Words

This was written for the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields For more details, visit Here. To read stories of 100 words based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Property Values

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“I’m going to do something about this,” Winnifred declared angrily as she looked out the window at the construction site.  “How dare they think that they can build a casino here?  This is a respectable neighborhood.  Do you know what kinds of people a casino will draw?  I’m going to the meeting and voice my objections.  Are you coming, Thomas?”

Thomas lowered his newspaper.  He personally didn’t see what the big fuss was.  If a casino brought more business to the community, why get bent out of shape about it?  He wasn’t going to attend any meeting just to hear folks spewing up like volcanoes, talking over each other and not really getting anything.  Besides, he was quiet comfortable relaxing in his easy chair reading his paper.  “No, Dear,” he said.  “I’ll pass.”

Winnifred spun around.  “How would you feel if a bunch of rowdy under-aged crowds came here, bringing down our property values?”

He shrugged.  “The property values went down the day your sister and her family of misfits moved here.”

172 Words

This was written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy. For more information visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  NBC New York;

The Missionary/Calm #writephoto

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Photo by Sue Vincent

 

“When you went off on a missionary trip to Africa, we certainly didn’t expect you to come back with a wife,” Mrs. Cartland exclaimed, her expression one of disdain as she looked at her son.

Rolf sighed.  “Naija isn’t my wife, Mother.  I’m not sure why you think she is.  I’m sure I was clear in my letter that if I didn’t do something, she was going to be taken out of school and married off to a man old enough to be her grandfather.  In Nigeria, girls like Naija and younger are given in marriage without their consent.”

“And so you decide to bring her to England.  What about her parents?  I can’t imagine that they would let you just whisk their daughter away like that.”

“Her parents and I came up with an arrangement which will benefit all parties.  They were going to give her away in marriage because they are poor and need the money.  The man they were going to marry her to, has money but I offered them more money in exchange for marriage that Naija come to England instead.  I will put her through university.  After, she graduates, it is up to her if she wants to remain here or return to Nigeria.  Her parents agreed that if she should return, she is not expected to be married off but can get a job so she could continue to support them.  While she is here, I will send money to them on a regular basis to keep them.”

“You’re going to send them money?” Mrs. Cartland was aghast.  “And how long do you propose to do that?”

“Until Naija can afford to support them herself.”

“And when exactly will that be?”

“When she finds steady employment after graduating from university.”

“I fear, my Dear, that she’s going to take advantage of your generosity and you will find yourself supporting her for longer than is necessary.  You’re far too indulgent and gullible when it comes to the dregs of society.”

Rolf’s lips tightened but he held his temper in check.  “Mother, I appreciate your concern, but Naija isn’t like that at all.”

Mrs. Cartland didn’t look at all convinced and was about to say something else when her daughter, Rosalind spoke up.  “Rolf, let’s go for a walk.  It looks absolutely gorgeous outside.  Mother, please excuse us.”

Grateful for the interruption, he rose to his feet and after excusing himself, he followed her out of the room.  “Thank you for that,” he said to Rosalind as they walked down the hallway.

She glanced at him.  “No problem.  I could see that you were trying very hard not to blow your top.  And Mother can be very irritating at times.”

“At times?”

Rosalind laughed.  “All right.  Most of the time.”

Rolf’s lips twitched.  They were outside now and it was a gorgeous day.  “Let’s take a walk by the stream.”

“What a splendid idea!”

The stream was about a ten minute walk from the family’s mansion.  “Do you remember when Dad used to bring us here on a Sunday morning?  While he and I fished, you fed the ducks pieces of bread from the egg and cheese sandwiches Mrs. Hogwarth made?”

“Yes and I remember getting pecked by one of them and Dad had to bandage my hand with his handkerchief.  I was scared of the ducks after that.”

“Yes, that’s how Mrs. Hogwarth found out that you fed her sandwiches to them and she clobbered you.”

“Yes, I was scared of her after then too.  Oh, Rolf, what a riotous childhood we had.  I miss Dad.”

“I miss him too.”

“He would be so proud of you, being a missionary and all.  It was something he himself loved.  He always regretted leaving the field when he married Mother.  She never understood his love for it.  She preferred being the wife of a government minister rather a missionary’s.”

“I love being in full-time ministry, helping communities in London and overseas.  It’s how I met Naija.”

“You’re in love with Naija, aren’t you?” Rosalind commented, looking at him closely.

He blushed.  Nothing ever escaped her.  “Yes,” he admitted quietly.

“I see the way you look and act around her.”

“Can you imagine how Mother would react if she knew?”

Rosalind waved her hand dismissively.  “It doesn’t matter what Mother or anyone else thinks, Rolf.  You have to follow your heart.  It’s your life, your future and your happiness that are at stake here.  Remember, Mother wanted me to marry Reginald but I married Maxwell instead?  Reginald was a good man but I didn’t love him.  I was mad about Maxwell and we have been happily married for twenty-six years now.”

“I think you made an excellent choice.  Maxwell is an exceptional man.”

“Thank you and yes, he is.  Does Naija know how you feel about her?”

He shook his head.  “No.”

“Don’t you think that perhaps it’s time you told her?”

His heart lurched.  “I don’t know,” he said in alarm.

“Come on, Rolf, don’t be such a coward.  Sometimes, happiness comes by taking chances.  I took a chance with Maxwell and looked how that turned out.”

What she said made a lot of sense but the thought of revealing his feelings to Naija was daunting.  He would have to think about it some more.  “I’ll think about it,” he said after a while.

Rosalind slipped her arm through his and smiled.  “All right,” she said.  “Sleep on it, then.”  They continued walking alongside the river, enjoying the sunshine and the quietness.

****************************************************

Naija was already at the park, waiting when Rolf got there the following afternoon.  He had just come from a staff meeting.  She smiled when she saw him and the large brown paper bag in his hand.  He smiled as he sat down beside her.  “Have you been waiting long?” he asked.

She shook her head.  “No.  I got here about five minutes ago.  Thanks for getting this.  I’m starving.”

He opened the bag and took out a box of Fish and Chips and handed it to her along with a plastic knife and fork.  He took out the other box.  On the bench between them, he put the cups of flavored milk tea and the straws.   After he said Grace, they tucked into the food.  It tasted as good as it looked and smelled.  As they ate, they talked about different things.   And all the while, he was thinking about what Rosalind had said.  He wanted to tell Naija how he felt but he was terrified.

“What’s wrong?” Naija’s question startled him.

“Nothing,” was his quick response.  A pause and then, wanting to shift the attention away from himself, he asked, “What are you plans after you graduate from university?  Will you stay here in England or return home to your family?”

She thought about it.  “I’ll stay here,” she said.  “I’ll find a job or I can become a missionary and work for you.”

“Being a missionary is an admirable vocation but what are your dreams?  What would you really like to do with your life, Naija?”

“I like writing.  I like to write about what I see around me.”

“Sounds like you’re thinking of becoming a journalist.  That’s very good. Perhaps, you’ll let me see some of your writings.”

“I will,” she promised.  “I keep a journal.  It’s almost full.  I write about university, what I observe on the campus, what I hear on the News and the conversations I have had with my host family.  I’ve written a lot of things about you as well.”

His eyebrows arched.  “Really?  And what exactly have you written about me?”

“How you’ve been so good to me and how blessed I am that you came into my life.  I will always be indebted to you, Rolf.”

A muscle began to throb along his jawline.  “I’m the one who’s blessed,” he replied.  Their eyes were locked.  His heart was racing.  This is foolish, he thought.  I’m behaving like a lovesick fool over a girl almost half my age.  She just sees me as her benefactor, nothing more.  All she feels towards me is gratitude. 

“That isn’t all I wrote about you,” she said shyly.

He swallowed hard.  “What else did you write about me?”

She looked nervous now.  “Rolf, I know that I’m only eighteen years old but, I–I was hoping that our age difference wouldn’t matter to you.”

“What are you saying, Naija?”

“What-what I’m saying, is-is that I want us to-to be more than friends.”

He expelled his breath in an unsteady sigh.  “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his expression tense.

She nodded at once.  “Yes,” she replied.  “It’s what I’ve wanted since we met.”

“Oh, Naija,” he cried, his cheeks suffusing with color.  He set the empty boxes aside and rose to his feet.  He reached down and pulled her up.  “It’s what I want too.”  He pulled her against him and his eager lips found hers.  Overhead the setting sun cast its crimson glow on them.

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt –  Calm at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

Sources: Erika and Eva Toh TravelsLondon City Mission