It was a bright Monday morning at Wagadoo International Airport. Soldiers were positioned, vehicles polished, and the runway cleared. President Ibrahim Trrower was scheduled to board a private military jet for a crucial summit abroad. His convoy rolled in slowly, heavily guarded, surrounded by armed officers and protocol staff. The red carpet had been rolled out. The jet stood waiting, engines quietly humming, ready for takeoff. Everyone was in place. The national anthem began to play softly through the speakers. Then suddenly, everything changed. From nowhere, a woman in rags burst onto the runway, screaming at the top of her…
Author: town gist
“You’re my mom,” said the little girl to the doctor when she saw her hands. The front entrance of St. Jude City Hospital was bustling with noise. Nurses moved in and out, a patient yelled from a wheelchair, and a paramedic slammed the back doors of an ambulance. No one paid much attention to the barefoot little girl wandering the sidewalk. Her clothes were torn, knees scraped, and eyes swollen from crying. She was no older than five. Her skin was dusty, and her thin braids bounced as she walked unevenly, trembling with every step—until she collapsed right there on…
A poor Black boy saved a millionaire beaten in the street — but what she whispered made him cry. Jennifer Langston had everything, or so it appeared. Tech CEO. Self-made millionaire. Featured on Forbes Women Under 40 to Watch. But no one watched when she collapsed emotionally. For years, Jennifer had poured everything into building her empire. She’d burned through friends, assistants, even two marriages. Her only son, Austin, had grown up in luxury — but not in love. She thought throwing money at his future would make up for her absence: private schools, tutors, a Porsche for his 18th…
It was a bright afternoon in Wagadugu, the capital city of Burkina Faso. President Ibrahim Traoré had just finished a surprise visit to a local school. As he was heading back to the presidential convoy, something caught his attention. A man sat by the roadside, his back against a dusty wall, a tin cup in front of him. His clothes were torn and dirty. His hair had patches of gray, and his eyes were tired. People walked past him without a second look. President Traoré paused. Something about the man seemed familiar. He asked his security to wait and slowly…
The girl cried at her father’s coffin and said, “He’s still alive!” When the cops opened it, they freaked out. The funeral of Officer Daniel Reed was supposed to be simple, formal, final. The white marble casket lay on a polished base, surrounded by flowers and uniformed officers. The sun glinted off polished badges. The American flag draped across the coffin rustled lightly in the wind. Everything was by the book except the girl She didn’t cry like the others. She screamed, “That’s not my dad!” Six-year-old Naomi, Daniel’s adopted daughter, was nearly hysterical. Her small fists pounded the side…
The sun was just rising over the city of Wagadugu. Birds flew across the bright orange sky. The people were already waking up and getting ready for their day. But inside the presidential office, President Ibrahim Traoré sat quietly at his desk, reading a secret report that had just arrived. The report came from a trusted security officer named Captain Sorro. It spoke about something very strange. A large cargo ship called The Golden Arrow had been spotted at the coast of West Africa. It was not listed in any trading records. No one knew where it came from or…
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky over Abidjan, casting a golden glow over the busy streets. It was the kind of day when people slowed their pace, shops prepared to close, and warm breezes whispered through the trees. Two travelers—a man and a woman—walked quietly along the pavement. They each carried a small suitcase, rolling it behind them. They looked like an ordinary married couple, tired from a long journey, hopeful for rest. But they were far from ordinary. The man was Ibrahim Traoré, the President of Burkina Faso. The woman was his wife—graceful, calm, and quietly…
The sun was hot that day in Wagadoo. The streets were full of people—rushing to work, selling goods, or looking for help. Inside the national hospital, the atmosphere was quiet but heavy. Nurses moved around quickly. Doctors walked past rooms without smiling. The air smelled of medicine and sadness. President Ibrahim Traoré was not there on official duty. He had come quietly to visit an old friend who was recovering from surgery. He did not wear his uniform or come with many guards—only one assistant was with him. He didn’t want to make noise or draw attention. He just wanted…
The city was alive with noise—cars rushing past, horns blaring, and people flowing along the sidewalks like rivers. Skyscrapers gleamed in the sunlight as shoppers bustled in and out of luxury stores. Among them was a woman dressed in a gray coat and a soft blue scarf, her heels clicking against the pavement as she walked beside a little girl. The girl, about five years old, wore a purple dress with ruffled sleeves and carried a small stuffed bunny in one arm. Her blonde hair was neatly combed, and her curious blue eyes scanned everything around her. Her name was…
The sun was just beginning to rise over the narrow streets of Eastwood when the silence was pierced by cries—two infant voices, sharp and desperate, echoing near an overflowing trash bin. No one stopped to look. In neighborhoods like this, noise and pain were background sounds. But that morning, something was different. Inside a battered alleyway, a white man in a black dress shirt stood trembling. In his muscular arms, two crying Black baby girls squirmed in white onesies, their tiny fists clenched around nothing but air. He looked down at them, expression torn between rage and denial. “Not mine,”…