THE PITEOUS FEELINGS
Written by MICHAEL AGBAH
This yarn is about some fortunate lovers that occurs between three wonderful friends.
Namely: MICHAEL as MUMMIES, EMMANUEL as ACCURACY and finally LILIAN as TREASURE.
The beginning of the anecdote goes like this,
One peaceful Sunday morning 5:30 am when the three friends had a conversation that lead them from friendship to lovers.
ACCURACY: Good morning bro
MUMMIES: Morning, how are you doing today?
ACCURACY: Am superp and how are you copping for the day?
MUMMIES: Normal ooo , what are we doing for today's church services?
ACCURACY: We will do better than last week ok, hope you are leading the praises team?
MUMMIES: No ooo Treasure will be leading them
ACCURACY: Why should she? When she is not even aware of it.
MUMMIES: I love to see her sing and how she used the stage looks beautiful.
ACCURACY: Hope you are not falling in love with Treasure ooo?
MUMMIES: She is one in a million bro, hardworking, intelligence and hospitality.
ACCURACY: If only you said so, all best your new love bro.
MUMMIES: Thanks bro let me call her and inform her about it then return to you ok.
TREASURE PHONE RINGING
TREASURE: Hello brother
MUMMIES: Hello dear , how are you doing?
TREASURE: Why this call this early morning? Am good and you?
MUMMIES: Sorry for the disturbance, l just want to inform you about leading the praises team today.
TREASURE: But I didn't plan for that today ooo.
MUMMIES: I know just that my condition is getting worst that is why please.
TREASURE: Then I will go through my songs and do my best.
MUMMIES: Thank you very much l really appreciate, that's why I love you.
TREASURE: What did you just vomit out?
MUMMIES: Nothing l just said thank you.
TREASURE:Ok dear thanks,see you in church wai.
MUMMIES: Ok l will.
CALL HUNG UP
ACCURACY PHONE RINGING
ACCURACY: Hello brother man
MUMMIES: Yh everything is settled she will ok.
ACCURACY: You hmmm, who are you? Your nature is different.
MUMMIES: Am the son of the soil, even the Bible says ' what ever the tongue wishes that it shall grant to it'
ACCURACY: Let me prepare and meet you over there bro.
MUMMIES: Sure brother then small time ok.
CALL HUNG UP
AFTER CHURCH SERVICE
TREASURE: Brothers please wait for me ok.
MUMMIES: Sure we are
ACCURACY: Bro make wad and tell her how you feel about her
MUMMIES: I will try and do my best other to stop hurting myself now days, my pillow will rest today.
ACCURACY: I can see and am sure she too she likes you because of how her eyes were on you l swear bro.
MUMMIES: You too you see?
ACCURACY: I did am not a child naa I know what I saw.
MUMMIES: Hi Treasure
TREASURE: How are you feeling now? l even get you some medication here take
MUMMIES: Thanks, am better now with your melodious voice, l feel stronger than ever.
ACCURACY: Song of love testimonies, my brother has found love.
TREASURE: Why that comment?
ACCURACY: My brother loves you very much and he just wants you to sing in church so that he will be happy.
TREASURE: Is he telling the truth?
MUMMIES: Yh dear l have feelings for you and am ok too.
ACCURACY: ( Shouted) that's the voice of a man.
MUMMIES: Yh bro thanks for that and I appreciate.
TREASURE: I also have feelings for you but just waiting for you to approach me first, am sorry.
MUMMIES: Then if so dinner at my place and all are invited Treasure the kitchen is all yours.
Thanks to you brother and Treasure l really appreciate you all.
So it's comes to pass after the dinner, MUMMIES proposed to TREASURE and she accepts and they live happy as a family forever and ever.
Say no to smoking
By Believe Livingstone DAGBEY
In youthful vigor, we stand tall,
Futures of our town, one and all.
But smoking's snare, a deadly trap,
Lures many in, with harmful rap.
Your health, a treasure to preserve,
Don't let nicotine's grip deserve.
Breath fresh, energy abound,
Live life to the fullest, unbound.
As your peer, I urge you to see,
A smoke-free path, the best decree.
Let's serve each other, hand in hand,
Supporting dreams, in our land.
Your dreams await, like morning dew,
Don't cloud them with smoke anew.
Be wise, be bold, choose life's way,
And shine, come what may.
Join me, in this noble quest,
Let's make our town, a healthier nest.
Say no to smoking, yes to life,
And together, we'll thrive and strive.
You have the power, make the call,
Live healthy, stand tall.
We're the future, shining bright,
Let's keep our town, a smoking-free sight.
THE BOY WHO CAN
By Believe Dagbey Livingstone
Synopsis:
In a world where extraordinary abilities are rare and often feared, a young boy named Ernest discovers he possesses an unparalleled gift—he can do anything he sets his mind to. Whether it’s mastering skills overnight, bending reality with sheer willpower, or even defying the laws of nature, Ernest's abilities make him both a marvel and a target.
As he grows, he learns that his power comes with a price: the more he uses it, the more the world around him begins to unravel. Dark forces, envious rivals, and even those who claim to be allies seek to control or destroy him. Ernest must navigate a treacherous path—learning the limits of his power, the meaning of responsibility, and the true cost of being the boy who can.
Chapter 1: The First Miracle
Ernest was just five years old when it happened.
He had been playing in the dusty courtyard of his grandmother’s house in Accra when a ball rolled into the busy street. Without thinking, he ran after it—only to freeze as a speeding truck bore down on him.
Time seemed to slow. Ernest’s heart pounded. He didn’t want to die.
And then—he didn’t.
One moment, he was in the path of the truck. The next, he was standing safely on the sidewalk, the ball clutched in his small hands. No one had seen him move. No one understood what had happened.
But Ernest knew.
He could.
And that was only the beginning.
Chapter 2: The Secret
Ernest’s grandmother, Mama Ama, was the first to notice.
She had seen many things in her long life—spirits in the wind, dreams that came true, men who could speak to snakes—but nothing like this.
"Ernest," she whispered one night, pulling him close. "What you can do… it is a blessing and a curse. You must never tell anyone."
"But why?" Ernest asked, confused.
"Because the world is not ready for a boy who can do anything."
And so, Ernest kept his secret.
But secrets, like fire, are hard to contain
Chapter 3: The First Test
Ernest's secret remained hidden for two years—until the day his best friend, Believe, fell from the tallest mango tree in the village.
Believe’s scream pierced the air as he tumbled. Without thinking, Ernest willed him to stop.
And he did.
Believe hovered mid-air for a heartbeat before gently floating down. The other children gasped. Some ran. Others whispered: "Juju!"
That night, Believe swore never to speak of it. But secrets, once loose, never stay buried.
Chapter 4: The Stranger
A week later, a man in a dark suit arrived in the village. He asked questions about "unusual occurrences."
Mama Ama’s grip on Ernest’s shoulder tightened. "That man is not from here," she murmured. "He is from the Society."
Ernest didn’t understand—until he saw the man’s eyes flicker with unnatural light.
Chapter 5: The Escape
The stranger returned with armed men. Mama Ama hid Ernest in a root cellar, whispering, "Run to the river if they find you. Do not look back."
Boots stomped above. Ernest’s heart raced. Then—a hand yanked him into the light.
But it wasn’t the stranger.
It was Believe.
"Go!" Believe shoved him toward the trees. Ernest ran, tears blurring his vision. Behind him, a gunshot rang out.
Chapter 6: The River’s Secret
Exhausted, Ernest collapsed by the river. A voice startled him: "You’re the one they seek."
An old woman with silver scars sat beside him. "The river brought you here for a reason," she said. "It knows what you are."
She pressed a pendant into his hand—a tiny, glowing stone. "This will hide you. But not forever."
Chapter 7: The Hidden City
The pendant led Ernest to a place between worlds—a city of crumbling towers, visible only to those with gifts.
"Welcome to Adinkraland," said a boy with mirrored eyes. "Where the forgotten ones live."
Ernest touched a wall; it hummed under his fingers. This place remembers me, he realized.
Chapter 8: The Society’s Hunt
The stranger from the village appeared at the city’s edge. "Ernest," he called, smiling. "We only want to help you."
The mirrored-eye boy hissed, "They lie. They cage people like us."
Ernest’s pendant grew hot. A choice loomed: trust or flee.
Chapter 9: The First Fight
Ernest ran, but the stranger’s men surrounded him. Desperate, he willed the ground to shake.
It did.
Stones flew like arrows. The men screamed. The stranger’s smile vanished. "You don’t understand what you’re playing with, boy."
Ernest’s nose bled. His vision darkened. Too much power, he realized. Too soon.
Chapter 10: The Price
Ernest woke in a hut, the old woman from the river watching him. "You stirred the storm too fast," she said. "Now the Society will hunt you to the ends of the earth."
She pointed to his pendant—now cracked. "Next time, it won’t save you."
Ernest clenched his fists. What am I?
The woman sighed. "You’re the boy who can. And that’s the problem."
Chapter 11: The Marked Boy
The cracked pendant pulsed like a dying heartbeat. The old woman—Auntie Yaa—warned Ernest: "The Society brands those they hunt. See?" She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a scarred symbol. "You’re marked now, even without their ink."
Ernest touched his chest. A faint glow shimmered under his skin.
Chapter 12: The Mirror-Eyed Guide
The boy from Adinkraland, Ato, became Ernest’s reluctant guide. "They call me Seer," he said, tapping his mirrored eyes. "I see lies. Yours? You’re drowning in truth."
Ernest bristled. "What’s that mean?"
Ato smirked. "Means you’re terrible at hiding."
Chapter 13: The First Lesson
Auntie Yaa taught Ernest to "weave" his power—like threading a needle. "Pull too hard, the fabric tears," she said, as he levitated a rock.
The rock crumbled to dust.
"Exactly," she nodded. "Now you understand limits."
Chapter 14: The Bloodhound
A Society tracker, Dogo, found their hideout—a man who smelled magic. Ato’s eyes flashed. "He’s coming. Run."
Ernest hesitated. "What about Auntie Yaa?"
Ato yanked his arm. "She knew the cost."
Chapter 15: The Sacrifice
Gunfire echoed. Ernest turned back just in time to see Auntie Yaa raise her hands—and the earth swallow Dogo whole.
Her last words: "The river will guide you."
Chapter 16: The Broken Bridge
Fleeing north, Ernest and Ato reached a collapsed bridge over the Volta River. Ernest gritted his teeth. "I can fix it."
Ato grabbed him. "No! You’ll bring the storm again—"
Too late. Ernest’s power surged. The bridge reformed… but the water beneath turned black.
Chapter 17: The Fisherman’s Omen
A weathered fisherman, Nii Okai, pulled them from the poisoned river. "You woke the Nkontim," he accused. "Spirits of vengeance. They’ll hunt you now."
Ernest’s hands shook. What have I done?
Chapter 18: The Bargain
Nii Okai offered a deal: "I’ll hide you if you heal my daughter." The girl’s legs were withered—a curse from the Society years ago.
Ernest touched her knees. Power flowed… but her skin turned to bark. "No!" He recoiled.
Ato hissed: "You can’t undo what you don’t understand."
Chapter 19: The Society’s Vault
Ato revealed the truth: "The Society hoards magic in a vault beneath Cape Coast Castle. They stole it from people like us."
Ernest’s blood boiled. "We take it back."
Chapter 20: The Heist Begins
Disguised as laborers, they infiltrated the Castle. But the vault’s lock was a living shadow—it whispered Ernest’s name.
Ato panicked. "It knows you!"
Chapter 21: The Stolen Power
Inside the vault, floating orbs pulsed with stolen abilities. Ernest reached for one—and a vision struck: A boy, screaming as his eyes were ripped out.
Ato’s voice cracked. "That… was me."
Chapter 22: The Traitor Among Them
As they fled, Believe reappeared—now in a Society uniform. "They promised to fix my sister," he pleaded. "I didn’t know they’d—"
Ernest’s fist connected before he could think.
Chapter 23: The Fall of Adinkraland
The Society razed the hidden city. Ato screamed as his people were dragged away. "This is your fault!" he spat at Ernest.
The pendant shattered completely.
Chapter 24: The Split
Ato vanished into the smoke. Ernest stood alone, clutching the stolen orb. Its power slithered into his veins.
"Now you’re a thief too," whispered the shadow-lock’s voice.
Chapter 25: The New Enemy
The orb’s original owner, Efia, tracked Ernest. Her hands burned with blue fire. "That power isn’t yours," she seethed.
Ernest tried to return it—but the orb fused to his palm.
Chapter 26: The Bargain Revisited
Nii Okai returned, offering a cure: "A witch in Amedzofe can sever the bond. But she’ll demand a price."
Ernest’s stomach churned. What’s worse—the curse or the cost?
Chapter 27: The Mountain of Voices
The witch, Mawu, lived inside a talking mountain. "Ah, the boy who steals," she crooned. "I’ll help… if you bring me the Society’s First Book."
Ernest paled. The one guarded by the Shadow-Lock.
Chapter 28: The Reunion
Ato ambushed them on the trail, gaunt and furious. "You owe me," he growled. "Help me free my people, or I’ll drag you to the Society myself."
Ernest had no choice.
Chapter 29: The Plan
They’d strike during the Festival of Masks, when Society elites gathered. "We free the prisoners, grab the Book, and run," Ato said.
Efia crossed her arms. "And when the shadow-lock kills us?"
Ernest flexed his glowing hand. "Let it try."
Chapter 30: The Storm Breaks
As fireworks lit the sky, Ernest faced the vault again. The shadow-lock grinned. "Welcome home."
This time, Ernest stepped forward—and let it swallow him whole.
Chapter 31: The Shadow’s Embrace
The vault’s darkness swallowed Ernest whole—but instead of pain, he felt awakening.
Voices whispered:
"You are more than they told you."
"You were never just a boy."
When Ernest opened his eyes, the shadow-lock knelt before him.
Chapter 32: The First Book’s Secret
The First Book wasn’t paper and ink—it was alive, bound in human skin and whispering in a dead language.
Mawu the witch hissed, "It speaks of you, Ernest. The ‘Hollow Child’ who drinks the world."
Ernest’s stolen orb pulsed in agreement.
Chapter 33: The Society’s Origin
Ato deciphered the Book’s horrors: centuries ago, the Society’s founders were ordinary men who stole magic from a god. Their first victim? Anansi the Trickster, whose laughter still echoed in the vault’s walls.
"They’re not hunters," Ato realized. "They’re thieves."
Chapter 34: The Hollowing Begins
Ernest’s body rejected the fused orb—veins blackening, skin flaking like old paint. Efia tried to burn the corruption out, but the flames fed it instead.
"You’re becoming like them," she accused. "A thief of power."
Chapter 35: The Rebellion Rises
News spread: Ernest had survived the shadow-lock. Gifts hidden across Ghana stirred.
A one-armed girl who controlled storms arrived first. "They call me Sika," she said. "Let’s burn their castles down."
Chapter 36: The Siege of Elmina
They attacked Elmina Castle at dawn. Ernest shattered the gates with a thought—but the Society was ready.
Their leader, Ohene Nyarko, stepped forward, holding a chain attached to… Auntie Yaa.
"Yield," he said, "or she dies again."
Chapter 37: The Bitter Truth
Auntie Yaa smiled sadly. "Ernest, I was never real. Just a memory they trapped to control you."
Before Ernest could react, she dissolved into smoke.
Nyarko laughed. "All your heroes are ghosts."
Chapter 38: The God’s Whisper
Anansi’s voice slithered into Ernest’s mind:
"Break the Book, child. Break it, and I’ll give you real power."
Ernest hesitated. "What’s the price?"
The god’s chuckle rattled his bones.
Chapter 39: The Fracture
Ernest tore the First Book in half.
The world screamed.
Anansi’s laughter filled the sky as every Society member clutched their heads—their stolen powers ripped away.
Chapter 40: The Cost
Ernest collapsed, his body turning to stone from the feet up. Ato screamed, "You fool! Anansi tricked you!"
The last thing Ernest saw before petrifying: Efia’s tears hitting his stone hands.
Chapter 41: The Stone Dream
Trapped in darkness, Ernest spoke to the shadow-lock—now free.
"You’re not my prison," it said. "You’re my home. The Society made me to hold power… but you are power."
Ernest understood too late: He was the vault all along.
Chapter 42: The Witch’s Gambit
Mawu bargained with Anansi: "Free the boy, or I’ll bury your stories in salt."
The Trickster sighed. "Fine. But he won’t like what wakes up with him."
Chapter 43: The Second Awakening
Ernest burst from his stone shell—changed.
His shadow moved on its own.
The stolen orb was gone.
And his voice… wasn’t just his anymore.
Chapter 44: The New War
The freed gifts turned on each other. Sika’s storms clashed with a boy who could grow thorns from his flesh.
"We’re becoming what we hated," Ato realized.
Chapter 45: The Society’s Last Weapon
Nyarko unleashed the Silent Ones—children whose gifts were silenced into obedience. They moved as one, their hollow eyes fixed on Ernest.
Chapter 46: The Hollow King
Ernest’s shadow stretched, swallowing the Silent Ones whole. Their powers flooded into him—and he remembered their names.
"They’re not weapons," he roared. "They’re children!"
Chapter 47: The Choice
Anansi appeared, grinning. "Now you see. You can rule this chaos… or end it."
Ernest looked at his hands—one human, one shadow.
"I’ll break the cycle."
Chapter 48: The Unmaking
Ernest tore the shadow from his body and threw it into the sky. It exploded into a thousand shards, raining down as…
Stories.
Every stolen power returned to its rightful owner.
Chapter 49: The Aftermath
Ghana was forever changed. Some gifts faded; others flourished. The Society collapsed, but its poison lingered in whispers.
And Ernest?
He was ordinary now.
(Or so he let them think.)
Chapter 50: The Boy Who Still Can
In a quiet village, a girl lifted a rock with her mind for the first time. Ernest, now a wandering teacher, smiled.
"Like this," he said, guiding her hands—his own faintly glowing.
Some gifts never truly leave.
The end
Bad friend
By Believe Livingstone DAGBEY
A snake in grass, you slithered in,
Disguising deceit with a friendly grin,
Poisoning trust with venomous lies,
Leaving scars that never demise.
Like autumn leaves, our bond withered away,
Fading memories of brighter days,
Your betrayal stung like a hornet's bite,
Painful memories, an endless fight.
You wore a mask of camaraderie,
Concealing envy's dark symmetry,
A wolf in sheep's clothing, you deceived,
Shattering bonds, our friendship bereaved.
Like shattered glass, our trust was broken,
Reflecting shards of hearts unspoken,
Your absence echoes, a hollow sound,
A silence that speaks volumes unbound.
Moral Lessons:
1. Toxic relationships: Bad friendships harm.
2. Deception: Hidden agendas destroy trust.
3. Loyalty: True friends stand by, through thick and thin.
Simile:
- "A snake in grass"
- "Like autumn leaves"
- "Like shattered glass"
These similes compare bad friendships to hidden dangers, fading beauty, and broken trust.
Metaphor:
- "You wore a mask of camaraderie"
This metaphor equates false friendship to a disguise.
Alliteration:
- "Slithered in"
- "Shattered sound"
- "Silence speaks"
Alliteration adds rhythm.
Onomatopoeia:
- "Stung" (hornet's bite)
- "Echoes" (emptiness)
Onomatopoeia imitates sounds.
🎤 In His Appointed Time
🎤 In His Appointed Time
By Lilbed Wordweave
Some people receive their portion in the morning,
When the earth is still fresh and the skies are open.
When favor pours like rain upon new soil,
And their name is called early in the day.
Some people receive theirs in the afternoon,
When the sun is high and the world is watching.
Their path is revealed before many eyes,
And their blessing finds them in the heat of life’s race.
Others receive theirs in the quiet of the evening,
When the crowd has thinned and the light is soft.
Their joy does not arrive with noise,
But it settles like peace over a weary soul.
And then, there are those whose portion comes at midnight -
In the hour of silence,
When even hope sleeps,
When men have given up,
And dreams are wrapped in shadows.
It is then that God moves in secret,
Whispering miracles no man can explain.
We are different.
We were never meant to be the same.
We were not created to become what we merely wanted to be.
We were born by divine intention,
Breathed into existence by a God who sees beyond our timing.
As nature birthed us into being,
So were we released into different time zones of glory.
One may rise early,
Another may wait long,
But all shall rise in their appointed hour.
Therefore, do not envy another’s morning.
Do not curse your midnight.
Do not measure your journey with the ruler of men.
For what God has ordained for you,
Shall not pass you by.
It shall come,
Fully dressed in His glory,
And it shall come right on time.
Wait well.
Pray deep.
Stand firm.
Believe still.
Because your time -
Your time shall surely come.
💌 My Sweetest Blessing,
💌 My Sweetest Blessing,
If loving you was a prayer, I would be speaking in tongues every second. 😘
You’re my daily bread, babe—except you don’t expire, and I never get full.
When God said “It is not good for man to be alone,” He already had you in mind for me. He just took His time crafting an angel with hips, sass, and a laugh that slays demons. 😅
You're not just my heart; you’re my Psalms when I’m down, my Proverbs when I need wisdom, and my Song of Songs when I’m feeling romantic (and slightly holy-naughty 😏.
You bring peace louder than storms, and joy deeper than a Sunday worship.
Even the devil’s jealous of how happy I am with you—and honestly, he should be. 🤭
Your Lilbed King 👑 👑
So here’s my vow again: I’ll love you like Christ loves the Church…
Sacrificially, unconditionally, and with a smile that says, “This woman is fearfully and wonderfully mine.”
Forever your prayer warrior and cuddle partner,
Your Lilbed King 💍👑
💌 My Sweetest Blessing,
💌 My Sweetest Blessing,
If loving you was a prayer, I would be speaking in tongues every second. 😘
You’re my daily bread, babe—except you don’t expire, and I never get full.
When God said “It is not good for man to be alone,” He already had you in mind for me. He just took His time crafting an angel with hips, sass, and a laugh that slays demons. 😅
You're not just my heart; you’re my Psalms when I’m down, my Proverbs when I need wisdom, and my Song of Songs when I’m feeling romantic (and slightly holy-naughty 😏.
You bring peace louder than storms, and joy deeper than a Sunday worship.
Even the devil’s jealous of how happy I am with you—and honestly, he should be. 🤭
So here’s my vow again: I’ll love you like Christ loves the Church…
Sacrificially, unconditionally, and with a smile that says, “This woman is fearfully and wonderfully mine.”
Forever your prayer warrior and cuddle partner,
Your Lilbed King 💍👑
The lady Who Would Not Give Up
"The Woman Who Would Not Give Up
There once was a woman, handpicked by God—not for comfort, but for a calling. Her name was Elorm Abigail Klu.
Life didn’t unfold easily for her. The road was not always smooth, and the skies weren’t always clear. But she had something most didn’t: a quiet strength, a sacred determination, and a heart anchored in faith.
She fell sometimes—yes—but never without getting up. She cried, but never without praying. And every time the world tried to dim her light, she reminded it that her fire wasn’t manmade—it was divinely lit.
She walked with the burden of dreams too big for her shoulders, but the God who gave her the vision also gave her the strength. She didn’t ask for the easy path. She asked for the grace to finish. And every day, she showed up—not because life was fair, but because God was faithful.
People often wondered where her strength came from. They didn’t know she had been shaped in secret places—on her knees, in her prayers, in her late-night tears. She had wrestled with self-doubt, but God always whispered, “Daughter, I am with you.”
One day, she will stand on the mountain of her answered prayers. She will hold the fruit of her perseverance and say, “It was worth it.”
The seeds she’s sowing now—in hard work, in faith, in quiet obedience—will grow into a harvest she can’t even imagine.
To Elorm: keep going. Your efforts are not in vain. Your story is not forgotten. God is writing something beautiful with your life.
Don’t rush the process. The same God who began this good work in you will surely bring it to completion.
Your crown is being shaped in the shadows. And when it’s time, the world will see what heaven already knows:
You are more than a conqueror.
You are chosen, called, and crowned by grace.
Happy Birthday, Mr. Yaw Pee Yaw! 🎉
🎉 Happy Birthday, Mr. Yaw Pee Yaw! 🎉
Today, I celebrate a man who has become a true facilitator of greatness in my life. You are not just someone who speaks—you transform. Your words carry power, your actions reflect love, and your presence brings clarity and direction.
You have given to me—not just in gifts, but in mindset, in vision, and in confidence. You’ve helped me see that life can be easier, better, and more purposeful when guided by wisdom and the right mindset. You’ve opened my eyes to possibilities I never saw before.
Your kindness and generosity are unmatched. You’ve touched my life in ways that words can’t fully explain. Because of you, I now believe more in who I am and in what I can become.
As you mark this special day, I pray that the seeds you’ve sown into lives—including mine—will come back to you in joy, abundance, and divine favor.
Happy birthday once again, sir.
With deep gratitude,
– Lilbed
Amedzofe Is Calling — But Can Anyone Hear?”
📰 “Amedzofe Is Calling — But Can Anyone Hear?”
In the cool, mist-kissed heights of Amedzofe, a town known for its natural beauty and academic heritage, students sit with smartphones in the air, searching for that one elusive bar of signal. Some stretch phones out of their windows. Others climb small hills or walk to nearby roadsides, just to send a text.
This isn’t the past — it’s the present reality for many living in Amedzofe, home to the historic Evangelical Presbyterian College of Education (AMECO).
📚 A College on a Hill, Struggling to Connect
AMECO, founded in 1946, has produced thousands of professional teachers for Ghana. It stands proudly as one of the oldest teacher-training institutions in the country. Its mission has always been to enlighten minds — but now, the challenge is getting connected minds online.
> “On campus, there’s a small pocket of signal,” says Rita, a student in her final year. “It’s not strong, but it’s something. But once you step off campus — especially in town or in areas like Two-Two, it's a different story. No signal at all.”
Students in off-campus hostels like “Two-Two” struggle daily with dropped calls, undelivered messages, and failed transactions. In urgent times, some must travel outside town just to access stable network service.
> “I called Godsway many times,” says one frustrated student, “but the call wouldn’t go through unless he left his room and went to stand somewhere far away. It’s distracting and stressful that you can’t even be in your comfort zone to make a simple call.”
🔇 A Town Left in Silence
The challenge goes beyond students. The entire Amedzofe township suffers from weak or non-existent mobile network coverage.
Parents cannot reach their children.
Teachers struggle with digital resources.
Residents miss out on mobile money services.
Emergency calls are nearly impossible.
> “We are not asking for too much,” says Mr. Dela, a local shop owner. “Just give us what others in the cities have — a simple, stable connection.”
📡 Digital Ghana Cannot Leave Amedzofe Behind
It is ironic that a town known for producing education, discipline, and leaders is now lagging in basic connectivity. In a time when Ghana is pushing forward with digital inclusion, it is unfair that some communities remain completely disconnected.
We call on:
The Ministry of Communication and Digitalisation
The National Communications Authority (NCA)
Telecom companies like MTN, Vodafone, and AirtelTigo
Install proper masts. Improve reception. Extend coverage. We want Amedzofe to be part of Ghana’s digital future, not left behind in its beautiful silence.
🗣️ Final Words: Let This Cry Be Heard
Students, teachers, market women, and parents are all raising one voice: we need better network. Not just on campus, but in the town. Not just for students, but for the entire community.
Amedzofe is calling — will the nation hear?
> “If we can be seen from the mountain top,” says a student, “why can’t we be heard?”
SHE WALKS THE MAZE LIKE A QUEEN
SHE WALKS THE MAZE LIKE A QUEEN
By Obed Yadzo
Co-founder of Lilbed Wordweave
There are some people the world tries to silence—but the ink in their bones refuses to dry.
Adja Lilian is one of them.
I met her not with thunder or trumpet, but with something rarer: silence that carried wisdom, and a presence that whispered, "Watch me write what others fear to say." She was not just born with a pen in her hand—she was born with a mission etched in her soul.
Together, we built Lilbed Wordweave, not just as a name but as a heartbeat. A movement. A living, breathing echo of the words that live in the margins of pain and purpose.
When we co-wrote The Perilous Maze, it wasn’t just storytelling—it was survival. It was liberation in stanzas. It was fire disguised as metaphors. And within every chapter, Lilian did what most cannot:
She told the truth, and made it beautiful.
She Is Not a Writer. She Is a Force.
Where most see walls, Lilian sees windows.
Where most run from their scars, she sketches poetry out of them.
She’s the kind of girl who doesn't just enter the storm—
She documents it
...so others can survive theirs.
Every blog we’ve written together, every whisper turned into verse, carried her fingerprints—delicate but defiant. Her words don’t ask for attention; they demand remembrance.
She is the Lilbed Queen not because we crowned her,
but because she birthed the crown through resilience.
More Than Her Pen
Beyond the blog, beyond the book, beyond the name—Adja Lilian is a sister of strength. A builder. A listener. A quiet revolution wrapped in calm eyes.
To watch her write is to watch healing unfold. To hear her speak is to hear truth walk with elegance.
She doesn’t speak for attention. She speaks so the broken won’t break alone.
So Let the World Know
Let every library know her name.
Let every reader pause on her paragraph and feel the weight of her honesty.
Because Adja Lilian is not just an author—she is a movement in motion, a voice in the wilderness, and a queen in a maze that tried to confuse her—but never could contain her.
From Lilbed Wordweave to the world:
She came to write. She stayed to awaken.
And we are better because of her.
BY Lilbed Wordweave
We Live Differently (Full Version)
We Live Differently (Full Version)
We are all living—moving toward a future we believe in, a future we claim as ours.
Yet the paths we take are not the same.
Some reach their destination quickly, others slowly.
Even when we aim for the same thing, we approach it with different minds, different thoughts, different ways.
How I live my life, how I understand it, how I move through it—is not the same as how you do.
That’s why we are not the same.
We are not meant to be.
Our thoughts are built on different foundations, shaped by experience, pain, joy, and dreams.
We gather around life, not as one mold, but as many lenses observing the same scene.
So you can't be like me.
I can't be like you.
And that’s okay.
Still, we strive for a future that hasn’t yet arrived—a tomorrow we keep chasing together.
But it’s always just ahead, never fully in our hands.
That struggle makes us human.
And it also makes us different.
That’s why we must move through life with empathy, not just sympathy.
We must stop judging others based on what we think is right.
Life isn’t just about how we see things—it’s about understanding the reality of others too.
We’re not just living our own stories; we’re responding to decisions, histories, and unseen battles.
So before you judge, feel.
Before you speak, consider.
Life is not a straight line.
It is a web of paths and turns.
How someone sees life—how someone survives—isn’t for us to blame or correct.
It’s for us to understand.
The Christian man sees God differently than you do.
I see God differently than you see God.
I worship God differently than you worship God.
On the same religious base—or even a different one—
We see the same God through different ways.
On the same path of life, we are all moving, but my story is different from yours.
Still, it is a collection of life that makes it whole.
Blood flows. Water moves through the body.
Mindsets shift and grow.
We see God differently.
We are not what we are because of what’s common between us.
We are what we are because of what defines us—individually.
We are just people trying to understand the grace in our breath,
The mercy in our moments,
The truth in our trials.
It’s grace upon grace in this world we live in.
And still, we say, “Tomorrow is coming.”
Yet tomorrow never comes the way we think it will.
Still, we wait. We hope. We move.
Because we live differently,
But we all live.
So when you are judging the case of life,
When you are defining truth,
When you're analyzing or synthesizing the will of this world—
Don’t just look at it from your own eyes.
No, go deeper.
Try to understand.
Because how I see things—you don’t.
How I define God—you may never.
How I explain these matters—you may not be able to.
We are different—and if you are, and I am—
Then we must accept:
We may be facing the same direction,
But our minds are shaped by different lights.
We want the same result,
But we are using different ways.
We are not just the people we think we are.
We are more than what we appear to be.
We are seeing life through different truths and different wounds.
So don’t try to make someone be like you.
You can’t choose someone to be your mirror.
And you can never stand on someone to become yourself.
It’s just like how we all go to school—
We want the same path in life,
But some pass with A’s, some with B’s, some with C’s.
That’s how life grades us—not equally, but individually.
Life grades us by performance, by effort, by journey.
No one is idle.
I see it differently, and I work toward it differently.
That’s how my mind is wired.
There’s no standing firm without first collecting ability,
No strength without seeking knowledge.
We grow by learning—again and again, together.
It is like farmers on their fields.
Each one aims to harvest,
But some weed wide, some sow deep,
Some add hot fertilizers,
Others trust nature’s rhythm.
But all of them want the fruit.
They just take different roads to get there.
That is what I mean.
People are always looking for ways—different ways—to make it.
To survive.
To earn.
To live.
And there is no way to stand without first choosing to understand.
By OY
We Are Not Meant to Be Free
We Are Not Meant to Be Free
I don’t know why people say they’re busy as if being busy is a choice.
We’re meant to be busy.
Life is business.
Life is survival.
No one is supposed to be free ,not fully, not until death steals our motion.
We are here to keep moving,
to keep surviving.
Freedom?
That’s not the mission.
Survival is.
There’s no perfect system waiting for us.
No ideal space where we rest endlessly.
Only motion, only effort,
only the grind of putting things together
while everything else keeps moving.
Don’t tell me you’re waiting to be free
before you act.
You move while the storm is raging.
You fix the ship while sailing.
That’s the code.
Yes, rest is part of the rhythm,
but even that—sleep, a break—is brief.
Leisure is a comma, not a period.
We are not meant to live in pause.
So the next time someone says,
“I’m busy,”
understand:
That’s the point.
We all are.
We all have to be.
Because the only time we’re truly free
is when we’re asleep—
or gone.
Why Lilbed
Lilbed is a wave of emotional writing that blends motivation, spoken word, and truth with power.
Noun- Meaning: Pure services or Servant
#Dictionary
#University of Oxford
🎤 If You’re Wondering If God Still Wants You… ---
🎤 “If You’re Wondering If God Still Wants You…”
If you think you have to be perfect to come to God…
Don’t wait.
Don’t wait until your prayers sound poetic,
Or until your worship playlist has no skips.
Come as you are—
Even if your Bible app hasn’t been opened since last month,
And your last prayer was just, “God, help.”
If you’ve messed up again—
Don’t think grace gave up on you.
Grace doesn’t walk away like people do.
Grace stays.
Grace says, “Let’s try again.”
If your walk with God feels like a rollercoaster,
One day you’re on fire,
Next day, you’re in your feelings,
Watching Christian TikToks with a bag of chips and a guilty heart…
That doesn’t disqualify you.
It makes you human.
And God knew that when He called you.
Don’t think He only uses the strong.
He used Moses—a stutterer.
He used Peter—an impulsive hothead.
He used Paul—a former persecutor.
And He can use you—
Even if you forgot to finish that Bible-in-a-year plan… again.
He’s not waiting on perfection.
He’s just waiting on your honesty.
Bring the ugly cry.
Bring the doubts.
Bring the “I’m tired” prayer that barely has words.
Because real faith isn’t loud.
Sometimes it just whispers,
“I’m still here.”
So stop thinking you’re too far.
The cross already closed the gap.
Your shame isn’t stronger than His mercy.
Your history doesn’t cancel your destiny.
> Some of you are waiting to feel worthy.
But hear this:
You won’t always feel qualified.
But you’re still called.
And if you’re still breathing—
God’s not done.
Laugh at yourself sometimes.
Cry when you need to.
Worship even when you don’t feel it.
And keep walking.
You’re growing.
You’re healing.
You’re still His.
And if you needed a sign to keep going—
This is it.
If you needed someone to say,
“God still wants you”
I just did.
---
> So yes.
Even now.
Even after all that.
He still wants you.
🎤 Jesus, You Sure You Want Me?
🎤 “Jesus, You Sure You Want Me?”
They told me I should pray with big words.
Like “Hallelujah,” “Sovereign,” and “Thy will be done.”
But all I had was,
“God… I messed up. Again.”
They told me to worship with clean hands—
But mine?
Still got dirt under the fingernails of bad habits.
> And I laughed—
Because You’re holy, and I’m…
Well, let’s just say I’m the guy who tried to fast
and lasted ‘til 10:37 AM
when the smell of my mom’s jollof rice broke every chain.
> I’m the one who falls asleep mid-prayer
and wakes up like,
“Wait… where did I leave off? Was I talking about my job or asking for a wife?”
> But You—
You never rolled Your eyes.
You didn’t unfriend me.
You didn’t wait for me to glow-up spiritually.
> You sat in my mess.
In my doubt.
In my overthinking, over-worrying, over-complicating-everything self.
> You whispered,
“I’m not afraid of your shadows.
I’ll walk through your midnight until we find morning.”
> And man…
That moved something in me.
> ‘Cause I thought grace had a limit.
I thought joy was a myth.
I thought calling was for the chosen—and I was barely called to answer texts.
> But You called me.
Not the fake version. Not the Instagram-filtered, Bible-verse-in-the-caption me.
The real me.
The one who still wrestles with bitterness.
The one who’s still learning how to forgive Dad.
The one who smiles in public but cries in the shower.
> And somehow… You weren’t scared.
> You saw my anxiety and said, “Peace.”
You saw my past and said, “Still worthy.”
You saw my scars and said, “Let’s make this art.”
(Pause. Then lighter tone.)
> And yo—
Let’s talk about how You got jokes too!
Like when I said, “God, I’m ready!”
And You said, “Nope. Still cooking. Sit down.”
Or when I tried to run, and You tripped me with a Bible verse.
Or when I finally gave You my heart—
and You said, “About time. I’ve been holding the pieces.”
(Back to passionate tone)
> Jesus, You sure You want me?
> This cracked, chaotic, coffee-addicted child of yours?
> And still, You say yes.
Again.
And again.
And again.
> That kind of love—
It wrecks me.
Builds me.
Transforms me.
> So now I don’t perform.
I don’t pretend.
I just stand here—real, broken, laughing, crying—
and say:
> “Thank You. I’m Yours.”
Take Me There
![]() |
Take me there |
Take Me There
Close the door.
Let the world fade.
It’s just you… and the heat you made.
Eyes lock—no words.
Only breath and skin.
Your hands say, "I know where you've been."
Fingertips slow, like dripping wine,
Tracing paths that blur the line
Between what's yours… and what’s now mine.
You lift my chin—
No need to speak.
Your mouth writes poems across my cheek.
Pull me close.
No space, no light.
Just heartbeats wrestling with the night.
Slide in deep, not just your flesh—
But soul and sound and silken mesh.
Each stroke, a whisper: “More,” I plead.
You give, you take, you feed the need.
My nails, your back.
Your grip, my thighs.
A rhythm lost in moans and sighs.
I fall apart—
But you hold tight.
Guiding me through waves of white.
I lose my name.
Forget the day.
You break me sweetly, every way.
So take me there,
Where fire flows—
Where every scream is one that knows:
This isn’t play.
This isn’t show.
This is deep.
And real.
And slow.
I Didn't Give Up.
I Didn’t Give Up
I’ve been broken.
I’ve cried behind closed doors where no one could see me.
I’ve questioned my worth, my strength, my very place in this world.
The whys and when's
Of my new being, all keep whispering to me
There were days when I woke up and didn’t feel like trying. Days when I looked in the mirror and couldn’t recognize who I was becoming. I’ve been laughed at, underestimated, counted out… even by people I loved. I know what it feels like to fail. To fall. To feel forgotten.
But I’m still here.
I didn’t give up.
I Know what it means to be deceived or scammed
I kept moving, even when my legs were shaking.
I kept believing, even when doubt screamed louder than hope.
I kept breathing, even when it felt like the air was too heavy to carry.
Because something inside me refused to let go.
Something small—but powerful—whispered: "You were made for more."
Mother can only tell it all
Mother can only speak of it to those who have never been there
So sometimes, that thing in me, made me to stand up
Write and rewrite the poems, the stories I do tell
And maybe you’ve felt this too.
Maybe you're standing at the edge, wondering if you can keep going.
Let me be the voice that tells you: Yes, you can.
You can rise from pain.
You can rewrite your story.
You can become everything they said you couldn’t.
I am living proof that storms do pass. That hearts do heal. That broken wings do fly again.
So when you feel like giving up—remember me. Remember this moment.
And tell yourself: If they made it through, so can I.
Because I didn’t give up.
And neither will you.
(The voice behind this work is your good conscience)
I love you all...
Mom is always my love...
Born for more.
You Were Born for More"
Good [morning/afternoon/evening] everyone,
I want you to take a moment right now and breathe. Yes—deep in, and out. Let it remind you that you are here. Alive. Present. That alone is powerful.
You see, life doesn’t hand us a perfect script. There are no guarantees. No shortcuts. No promises. But what life does offer… is opportunity. Every single day we wake up, we are handed a blank page. And the pen is in your hand. The question is—what will you write?
Some of you may feel stuck. Some of you may feel behind. Maybe you’re carrying doubt, pain, or the weight of what others said you could never be. But let me tell you something: you are not your past. You are not the mistakes, not the setbacks, and not the opinions of those who gave up on themselves long ago.
You have greatness in you.
Yes—you. Not the person next to you. Not the person on social media. You.
You were born with dreams that matter. Ideas that count. A voice that deserves to be heard. It doesn't matter where you started. What matters is that you start. Start believing. Start moving. Start building. Because progress doesn't come from perfection—it comes from persistence.
When life pushes you down—and it will—you don’t stay down. You get up. Every time. With more fire. More faith. More fight.
We keep to walk to our destination, until we get there, we can't stop to survive
The world doesn’t need another copy. The world needs you—your story, your struggle, your success. So speak up. Stand tall. Work hard. And never, ever stop.
Because you were born for more.
Thank you.
Why the Strengthening Cedi is Good News for Every Ghanaian
PRESS RELEASE
For Immediate Release
Date: June 3rd, 25
Why the Strengthening Cedi is Good News for Every Ghanaian
Lilbed Wordweave Offers Clarity and Confidence in Ghana's Economic Progress
Accra, Ghana — As the Ghanaian cedi shows signs of gaining strength against the US dollar, many citizens are seeking to understand what this means for their daily lives and future. At Lilbed Wordweave, we believe in empowering the public through clear communication and responsible storytelling. Here are key reasons why Ghanaians should welcome this positive economic trend:
1. Lower Prices for Imported Goods
A stronger cedi means that Ghana can purchase more dollars with less local currency. This directly reduces the cost of importing goods, including essential items such as fuel, food products, medicines, electronics, and spare parts. As import costs fall, local prices are expected to stabilize or even drop, making life more affordable for the average Ghanaian.
2. Increased Investor Confidence
When a nation's currency strengthens, it sends a signal of growing economic stability and sound fiscal management. This boosts investor confidence—both domestic and foreign—which can lead to more business investments, job creation, and economic opportunities across the country.
3. Improved National Debt Outlook
Ghana’s debt repayments, especially those denominated in US dollars, become less burdensome when the cedi gains value. This can help the government reduce its external debt pressures and redirect funds into development projects like infrastructure, education, and healthcare.
Stay Confident, Stay Informed
While currency trends can shift due to global and local factors, this moment is a reminder that with prudent policy and public support, Ghana’s economy can chart a stronger course. Lilbed Wordweave encourages all Ghanaians to stay informed and hopeful. Economic recovery is a process—and together, we are making progress.
Contact:
Lilbed Wordweave Communications
Email: obedyadzo01@gmail.com
Website: http://obedyadzo01.blogspot.com
I was born in the Voice of poetry
I Was Born in the Voice of Poetry
by Obed Yadzo
I was born in the voice of poetry—
a rhythm deep as mother’s prayer,
a whisper carved from Ghana’s dust,
Volta's breath, Ghana's flare.
My cradle was a stanza’s edge,
my poem, a line set free to unlock the prison gate
Ink was milk; the page, my kin—
from the start, I learned to see.
I learned from him, my mentors voice , and he that was in me
I have the story—not just mine,
but of those whose names were never heard,
the market women, the silent sons,
the dreamers drowned in empty words.
I was born , trained, and now bold to fight
I suffrage not in silence,
but in verse that holds their cries,
for I have walked where shadows bloom,
and dared to lift the skies.
My future roars today because my past echoes in me, reminding me of the ages that I cannot really tell
The struggle of the men is mine—
the weight of hope, the push, the grind.
Their calloused hands, their sleepless nights,
are lines I etch between each rhyme.
This is Obed—scribe of soul,
storykeeper, truth untold.
I don’t just write—I bear, I build,
a world reborn through words bold.
So let the world stand still and hear—
not noise, but grace, not pain, but light.
For I was born in the voice of poetry,
and through its fire, I write.
Don't rush to race 'him'
Cos he has come not to reign
Grandma, 🥰 🥰 🥰. Obed Yadzo remembers that once the sun rises, there's hope for a change.
Happy Birthday 🎉🎉🎉 to myself.
Today, I Dance with Time
by Obed Yadzo
Today, I dance with time in light,
A candle crowned in morning bright,
The winds may age my skin with grace,
But youth still sparkles in my face.
A year verse for 23 vast land
I wear the years like royal gold,
With stories whispered, brave and bold—
Each wrinkle is a song I’ve sung,
Each heartbeat keeps me wild and young.
A year verse for 23 vast land
So raise a glass, let laughter flow,
Let birthday joy like rivers grow—
I’m not just older, I’m refined,
A masterpiece in progress, signed
A year verse for 23 vast land
The Word Still Speaks
The Word Still Speaks
— A Spoken Word Piece
I remember when Grandma whispered verses
like lullabies into the cracks of my soul.
When the Bible wasn’t just a book—
it was breath.
Bread.
Battle cry.
Back then, the Word of God wasn’t silent.
It spoke—
in the tears wept at altars,
in the hush of midnight prayers,
in the strength it gave when life screamed unfair.
I’ve seen pages turn like seasons—
from Genesis to Revelation,
from broken to breakthrough,
from wandering to home.
And still—
still it speaks.
See, the Word of God is not just ink on scrolls
or leather-bound theology.
It’s thunder wrapped in mercy.
It’s fire in the bones of prophets,
and peace in the palms of the weary.
It’s the "Let there be light"
that shattered darkness then—
and still shatters darkness now.
It’s the Psalms sung in pain,
the Proverbs that shaped my mind,
the Gospels that carried me
when I couldn’t carry myself.
Oh, I've clutched it like a lifeline
when the waves came too high.
Spoken it through clenched teeth
when the storm would not pass.
Because when the world is chaos,
when my faith is a flicker—
the Word stands still.
Unmoved.
Unshaken.
Alive.
Sharper than sorrow.
Stronger than silence.
Sweeter than honey from the rock.
It speaks in hospital rooms.
In prison cells.
In the back pew where you think you’ve gone too far—
it whispers,
“You are still mine.”
It’s not just ancient text.
It’s present truth.
Living Word.
Breathing hope.
So to the weary heart,
to the one holding on by a verse—
don’t let go.
Because His Word never returns void.
It plants.
It pierces.
It promises.
And it never forgets your name.
The Word of God is not just what was said.
It’s what is still speaking.
And beloved—
It’s speaking to you now.
The Mirror That Knew Too Much"
Lilbed Wordweave strikes again with Obed Yadzo's newest Tale
"The Mirror That Knew Too Much"
In a village wrapped in fog and whispers, there stood an old wooden house with a mirror no one dared to touch. They said the mirror could talk—but only to those brave enough to ask it the truth.
No one believed that anymore. Except Yoma, a quiet girl with ink-stained fingers and a wild hunger for stories. When she found herself inside the old house during a storm, she stared into the mirror and whispered, "Who am I really?"
The mirror shimmered, rippled, and spoke.
"You are not just who they see. You are who you choose to become. But beware—choosing comes with a cost."
From that night on, Yoma could hear other people’s truths when they spoke. Not their lies or their masks—their buried, aching truths. It made her powerful. It made her lonely.
And it made her stories so real, they could heal... or destroy.
Now Yoma writes with ink darker than night, and her readers swear her words know them better than they know themselves. Some say her tales are magic. Others say they’re curses in disguise.
All we know is this:
Obed Yadzo has written again. And the mirror is watching.
This literary work is protected under international copyright law. No part of this tale may be copied, distributed, or reproduced in any form without prior written permission from the author.
Become A Scholarly Writer
✅ STEP 1: Understand What Scholarly Writing Is
Key Traits of Scholarly Writing:
Formal and objective tone
Clear and concise structure
Evidence-based arguments
Proper citation and referencing
Original thought and analysis
📘 Action: Read examples of scholarly articles in your field (e.g., from Google Scholar, JSTOR, or academic journals).
---
✅ STEP 2: Choose a Specific Area of Interest
Pick a subject you are genuinely curious about. Scholarly writing requires in-depth exploration, so interest helps sustain your motivation.
📘 Action: List 3–5 topics you are passionate about. Narrow down to one for focused research.
---
✅ STEP 3: Read Widely and Critically
Good scholarly writers are also voracious and critical readers. Understand how others construct arguments and engage with sources.
🔍 How to Read Scholarly Texts:
Skim abstracts and conclusions first
Highlight main arguments, methods, and findings
Take notes on how the author supports their points
📘 Action: Read at least one peer-reviewed article per week in your chosen field.
---
✅ STEP 4: Learn the Structure of Scholarly Papers
Most scholarly papers follow a predictable format:
1. Abstract
2. Introduction
3. Literature Review
4. Methodology (if empirical)
5. Analysis/Discussion
6. Conclusion
7. References
📘 Action: Dissect a few articles and map out their structure.
---
✅ STEP 5: Practice Summarizing and Paraphrasing
Being able to restate complex ideas in your own words is essential. Avoid plagiarism and show understanding.
📘 Action: Take one scholarly article and write a 200-word summary in your own words.
---
✅ STEP 6: Develop an Argument
All scholarly writing should have a clear thesis or argument. You don’t just report what others have said—you analyze, synthesize, and critique.
📘 Action: Write a 500-word piece arguing a position on your chosen topic using 2–3 academic sources.
---
✅ STEP 7: Master Citations and Referencing
Academic writing depends on giving credit properly.
Common Styles:
APA (social sciences)
MLA (humanities)
Chicago (history)
Harvard (general)
📘 Action: Learn to use reference managers like Zotero or Mendeley.
---
✅ STEP 8: Write a Full Scholarly Essay or Article
Now combine what you’ve learned into a full-length academic essay (1500–3000 words).
📘 Action: Outline → Draft → Revise → Edit → Proofread.
---
✅ STEP 9: Seek Feedback and Revise
Share your writing with a mentor, teacher, or peer. Scholarly writing improves with constructive criticism.
📘 Action: Join an academic writing group or take a writing workshop.
---
✅ STEP 10: Submit for Publication or Share Publicly
Start with:
Student journals
Department newsletters
Academic blogs
Conference proceedings
📘 Action: Submit one polished paper to a relevant low-barrier journal or blog.
---
Bonus Tips:
Be patient—scholarly writing is a skill that improves with time.
Keep a writing journal to track your growth.
Stay updated with current debates and research in your field.
By Obed Yadzo (LILBED Wordweave Support system: Education.
🍰 Birthday 🎉🎉 Alert 🍰
🎉 Birthday Alert! 🎉
Let’s get ready to celebrate Obed Yadzo (Lilbed)! 🎂
His birthday is coming up on Friday, 30th May 2025! 🗓️
Mark your calendars and send him your love and good vibes! 💌💫
#LilbedBirthday #CelebrateWithObed #UPSA
#CommsA #CS1