Wise Saying|” Do Not Sell The Sun To Buy A Candle”- Jewish Proverb

“If we do not pay attention to the smoke oozing out from the rooftop, very soon it become an inferno that will burn down the house to ashes.” African Proverb

“Do not sell the sun to buy a candle,”- Jewish Proverb. 
This Jewish proverb is powerful and the message is clear to the wise. It means; Do not, consciously, give up something precious in order to bask a minute’s delight. In other words, do not give up something valuable in order to acquire something that has no lasting value.  A typical example of selling the sun to buy a candle can be seen in  the Holy Bible, where Esau sold his birthright to Jacob for a porridge.

“A man grows most tired while standing” Chinese Proverb

“When a child enjoys the privilege of a separated fight, he gets the wrong impression that every fight is enjoyable.”
African Proverb

“Throw the bone to the dog, do not stress yourself over the fight between the dog and the spirits.”
African Proverbs

“Don’t open a shop unless you know how to smile.”
Swedish Proverb.

This is very interesting and important. I often meet with sellers who do not know how to relate with their customers. They have great items in their shops but have no marketing attitude. By the way I have been walked out of a shop because I asked for discount.
Asking for discounts can be annoying to some sellers especially when they’ve done their best to give a discounted prize- good price. But then, as the proverb says, the right attitude is important. As they say, the customer is always right, you only treat them fine and you’ll have them coming back.

Some customers are too wordy, they could trash your good with their tongue. Don’t be provoked by their words, remain calm and convince them to buy your good. All you’re interested in is the money and to have them come back next time, not their bad words or bad attitude.
Give them your best smile 😁


Hellow Anger, I See You But Hate To See You

I have seen you in the eyes.

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You looked like a dire perdition burning down an entire existence.

Your passion heightened by seconds from smoky golden bronze to blazing sunny yellow to slashing red.

You tossed me off my feet into a horrible fiery unrest and instead of fleeing, I was rooted to a spot, shocked.

It’s stupid but I couldn’t move.

I only knelt down where I was, slowly with my hands in the air as if it was an order and as if you were a cocked riffle pointed at me.

How could I have escaped from those daggers which couldn’t possibly miss a target?

I have seen you in the muscles.

You had twitched so hard and vibrated to the extent that from a distance, it made my entire body feel tremor.

I had shrunk to the lowest level of my being and had embraced the earth, willing to fade into its core lest you dealt a blow.

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I have seen you in the hair.

You’re so powerful that you made it lose its spirit without a touch. It had gone stiff in no time and pointy like an arrow before my eyes.

I have seen you walk across the streets

You always walked in an urged wicked strides along and across the street. You frequently held a lethal weapon looking for blood to shed, worse still, the blood of the innocent.


I have seen you around the lips too

Even such things as the lips! I have wondered why the poor lips. That’s the last thing anyone would ever like to attack. You so much held it that it trembled involuntarily within your grip.

You make the skin bleed to death and turn to a ghost without having to die.

Why is that?

Your poisonous venom destroy our world and your fire burn down our dwellings.

Image by Stephen Radford, Unsplash.com


When will you extend a peaceful handshake to your outlaws?

How do we clear your aura off our individualities?

Can we ever stiffle you with brotherly affection?

Can we ever overpower you with tolerance and kindness?

I hate to see you angry Anger!

I hate to see you around as aggressive and intolerant as you have become.

I hate to see you rule our societies and decree what will happen.

I hate to hear you speak. I would rather you sat and listened.

You shouldn’t react too.

You should sit at a corner and breathe.

Breathe until you’re fit to correlate and disappear into harmony.

I know you’re part of humanity but all we need now is peace.

Image by Ian Schneider, Unsplash.com

Calm down now anger, give peace a chance.

© Florence Ezekafor

Every Writer Needs a Deadline to Complete a Project

Whether you’re writing for a client, writing as a team or writing your first book, time is your only enemy and if ever you want to achieve a completed project, you must set a deadline.

You probably have a job, family to spend time with, friends to keep up with, groups to meet with and so on.

These are time-consuming perfect sources of distractions and ground for excuses and procrastination.

I had these projects I worked on for three years before realising how much I needed to do something about it.

When I started, I was writing up to a chapter a day, and then a chapter in a week, then a chapter in three months and then, one year, before I knew it three years had passed without achieving much.

When I set a deadline and started working with it, I made some alarming progress.

Without a deadline, a writer will be looking for trouble.

What does setting a deadline do for you as a writer?

It snatches you away from your comfort zone and fights with procrastination until you’re done.

Assuming you had a lot of projects to write, for example, you’re writing for many clients, for sure there should be pressure here and there. Setting a deadline helps to reduce pressure to make your writing less stressful.

Deadline just like goal helps you to stay focused and work hard to finish a writing task within a stipulated time.

When you’re known with meeting up with deadlines, you become a reliable writer before your clients. You gain a good reputation and this means more respect, more and more clients, more work assignments and more money of course.

Set Your Deadline.

List all those projects you need to complete.

Starting with the ones you want to write first, write down the lists of projects you need to be completed.

It’s important that you understand that you are human and not some robotic machine. Take as much as you can chew at a time. One at a time.

Do not take too many projects from clients or decide to write ten books at a time. It won’t work.

Break up your projects into small manageable tasks.

Manageable in the sense that even if it’s large, you’re sure to finish within the stipulated time, otherwise you reduce the task.

Create a daily time table and stick to it

For example, you want to finish the draft of a book within a month or two months.

You may decide to be writing five or more pages a day. This five pages you have distributed among the 30 days in a month and will be coming up with 150 pages a month or 300 pages in two months. No more, no less. The key is in writing those five pages a day.

You need to be very disciplined to be able to stick to the deadline. Discipline is the key.

I remember the funny words of Douglas Adams, the author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,

“I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.”

You know it’s always easy to talk about deadlines and the need for it but hard to meet up with it due to the time factor and human weaknesses.

That’s when discipline comes in.

Need to finish a book or pressure from clients won’t make you work hard, it will only scatter your brain and makes it hard to concentrate.

Set a deadline, stick to it. That’s all you need to finish that project.

The Reckless Smoker

Eno looked at the countless number of cars stretched ahead of him, as far as the eyes could see. Impatient drivers manoeuvred their cars, shouting curses at each other, made movement impossible.

He looked over his shoulder to spy on his teenage boys sitting in the rear, discussing inaudibly with each other.

They didn’t care a hoot about the outcome of the heavy traffic. After all, it’s either they went to school or they didn’t. Either way, they had nothing to lose. It should be his headache if they went to school or not, he presumed.

His challenge that morning as was with every workday in a week was, to beat the heavy sluggish traffic, drop the boys off to school before heading to work. And he must reach his office in time to escape queries from his early bird of an MD.

His eyes were fixed on the fuel meter at the filling station by his right, but at the same time, his mind was at his office. He looked at the fuel tanker off-loading in the station and thought it was not supposed to be done during work hour.

As he looked on, his gaze caught a nonchalant young lady puffing cigarette a couple of feet away from where an attendant was filling her tank. Eno knew the smoker was taking a huge risk, even though the probability of the cigarette igniting the fuel was very low, a certain amount of fuel vapour existing there should not be ruled out.

Eno studied the smoker closely, she was a girl in her early twenties. The attendants were supposed to caution her and make her vacate the premises if she insisted.

“Look at that angel of death over there, ” he said and his boys looked at the girl.

“There’s no flame in her cigarette dad,” his younger son said.

” What the heck does she think she’s doing?” Eno almost shouted and his kids looked at him wondering why he was overreacting.

“Dad, I think she’s standing a good distance away from her fuel tank and meter hose. She should be needing a good amount of hot fuel vapour to be able to ignite the area. It’s almost impossible for cigarettes to ignite a filling station. Besides she must have done that a good number of times in the past to know it’s safe to do so,” said his fifteen-year-old, Eno Junior.

Eno studied his son and wondered where he got all that.

“Well, that’s not safe guys, that’s not safe at all. What if she catches fire doing that? Think about what will happen. If she catches fire, everything around her will and there will be explosions.”

“Not a chance dad. Stop fretting unnecessarily.” Eno Junior said.

“Do you see that giant cooking gas cylinder over there? Do you see that fuel tanker? They’re going to give the most disastrous damage to lives around here when they blow. Do you see this traffic queue? It’s going to burn to ashes.” Eno said.

“So, how on earth will all these happen? That’s not going to happen because of a mere cigarette with no flame,” his younger son said.

“There’s fuel vapour everywhere around that area boy, including her hands, clothes, car, surrounding and so on,” he argued as the traffic moved once like a snail. Eno sighed again. That meant another couple of minutes wait.

Eno watched the smoker puff non-stop. The attendant was about to drop the hose at the meter when he saw the smoker rummage for something in her jean pocket.

“Boys watch…watch her, she’s fighting another cigarette…oh, the girl is so damaged, how could she smoke like that at that young age? She must be doing drugs and probably out of her senses, ” he said.

“Well…that’s insane. Someone should hurry to stop her.” said his younger son.

“Watch! The security is rushing at her with an extinguisher… wow.. wow, her hands are on fire..she’s on fire….wow….wow. Move out of the car boys. Run to safety,” Eno commanded frantically.

“Easy dad. Stop panicking. This is a filling station. They should sure have measures, perfect measures to stop the fire. Please let’s not run for no reason.” Eno Junior said.

But Eno had no time to spare for unnecessary arguments. He quickly stepped out of his car, opened the rear door and dragged out his younger son who was giggling at him for his fearful rush.

Eno was fast, he screamed at everyone to run to safety as he began to run.

“Dad, everything is under control, look they’ve brought the girl down and have covered her with a fire blanket. The fire has gone off.”

” No Junior, her car is on fire too. Listen to your father” he said, already dragging the younger one along, screaming over his shoulder at Junior to follow suit. Better safe than sorry.

The smoker’s car blew up in seconds. Many motorists ahead and behind them stepped out of their cars in confusion and everyone began to run away from the station.

Eno thought about what next. It could be the fuel tanker that just arrived before the gas cylinder – he was sure both of them would blow up.

“Run! The gas station is on fire! He screamed to others as he ran down with his hesitant boys who thought he should have said fuel station instead of the gas station.

Boom! It was an explosion. Eno looked back at his Honda civic as fire engulfed it. Then something blew up again, this time, everyone up to ten meters away was swallowed up in thick smoke, including Eno and his boys.

“I tried Ernie. Goodbye, my love.” He said to his wife who wasn’t there and fell in the thick smoke, feeling the burns in his feet and listened to the moans and cries of many before oblivion set in.


Ernie rushed to the hospital without her shoes, crying uncontrollably. The doctor who called her said her family was alright. But she couldn’t just trust their comforting words. It could mean the opposite – a trick to get her to a safe corner to pass the bad news.

She cried when she saw them but it was another kind of cry. She was happy they’re alive. But sharp pain went through her heart when she saw their burns. Junior moaned non-stop. He was seriously burnt in the leg from the knee. but the doctors said he was going to be fine and would be able to use those legs again. Eno and his younger son sustained minor burns in the feet from the ankle.

Eno stayed very calm during the recovery period. He and his boys could have been laid to rest beneath the earth.

He had visited the scene of the disaster severally and had shaken his head all through during each visit. Over forty skeletal cars stood there – evidence of the damage that ravaged more than fifty people. The filling station looked like history from ancient times. One person and one-act can destroy the entire globe.

Life can end at any time. A time no one hardly expects..that was his most persistent muse and he often looked up to whisper- “You who pulled back the furious fire that nearly consumed me and my boys, I live for you alone my God!”


© Florence Ezekafor

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