Azie Integrated Company

10/12/2025

THE RETURN OF A FATHER

After fifteen long years in the United States, Johnson finally booked a flight home. Every night in America, he dreamed of seeing his children again children he left as toddlers and had only watched grow through pictures and video calls. He promised himself that this Christmas would be different. He wanted to make up for lost time. He wanted to hold them again.

He packed gifts, memories, and excitement into his luggage. On the plane, he imagined the laughter, the surprise on their faces, the smell of Nigerian Christmas harmattan breeze, jollof rice, firecrackers on the street, and family.

As he arrived in Lagos and took another flight to the East, his heart beat faster. He rehearsed what he would say. “Daddy is home… Daddy is home.”

But the real story waiting for him was one he never rehearsed.

When Johnson finally reached his family house, he was surprised to find unfamiliar cars parked in the compound. Kids were playing outside his children but they had grown tall, with voices deeper and faces older. His heart softened instantly.

Just as he stepped forward, he saw a man come out of the house, holding his daughter gently by the shoulder. The voice was familiar. The walk was familiar. The smile was familiar.

It was his best friend Emeka.
The same friend he used to call every week.
The same friend who always asked, “How are the kids?”
The same friend he trusted more than a brother.

For a moment, Johnson froze.

His daughter saw him first. “Daddy…?”
Her voice cracked, confused, unsure.
The man beside her Emeka also froze, his face tightening with guilt.

Then the woman he had waited fifteen years to hug stepped out of the doorway his wife, Ada.
Beautiful, grown, but changed.
She looked at him like someone seeing a ghost.

Their eyes met, and a thousand unspoken stories passed between them.

He knew.
He didn’t need explanations.
He didn’t need excuses.

Fifteen years is a long time.
Distance is a long road.
Loneliness is a quiet thief.

Ada began to cry.
“I’m sorry… I thought you were never coming back. You stopped sending money for a long time. We struggled… I didn’t know what to do…”

Emeka stepped forward slowly.
“Brother… I didn’t plan this. It just happened with time… I took care of them when things got hard… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Johnson’s heart broke not with anger, but with a deep, painful understanding.

His children were looking at him like a stranger.
His home no longer felt like home.
His best friend was now the man of the house he built.

He took a slow breath, stepped toward his kids, and hugged each of them one by one.
Some relationships cannot be replaced.
Some bonds cannot be broken no matter how much life changes.

When he finally stood up, he looked at Ada and Emeka and said quietly:

“I came home to see my children… and that purpose has not changed.”

No shouting.
No fighting.
Just a man swallowing a mountain of pain for the sake of the children he crossed an ocean to see.

That Christmas became a different kind of reunion one filled with shock, confusion, forgiveness, and slow healing.

And for the first time in fifteen years, Johnson understood something deeply:
You can return to a place, but you cannot always return to a life.

10/12/2025

THE RETURN OF A FATHER

After fifteen long years in the United States, Johnson finally booked a flight home. Every night in America, he dreamed of seeing his children again children he left as toddlers and had only watched grow through pictures and video calls. He promised himself that this Christmas would be different. He wanted to make up for lost time. He wanted to hold them again.

He packed gifts, memories, and excitement into his luggage. On the plane, he imagined the laughter, the surprise on their faces, the smell of Nigerian Christmas harmattan breeze, jollof rice, firecrackers on the street, and family.

As he arrived in Lagos and took another flight to the East, his heart beat faster. He rehearsed what he would say. “Daddy is home… Daddy is home.”

But the real story waiting for him was one he never rehearsed.

When Johnson finally reached his family house, he was surprised to find unfamiliar cars parked in the compound. Kids were playing outside his children but they had grown tall, with voices deeper and faces older. His heart softened instantly.

Just as he stepped forward, he saw a man come out of the house, holding his daughter gently by the shoulder. The voice was familiar. The walk was familiar. The smile was familiar.

It was his best friend Emeka.
The same friend he used to call every week.
The same friend who always asked, “How are the kids?”
The same friend he trusted more than a brother.

For a moment, Johnson froze.

His daughter saw him first. “Daddy…?”
Her voice cracked, confused, unsure.
The man beside her Emeka also froze, his face tightening with guilt.

Then the woman he had waited fifteen years to hug stepped out of the doorway his wife, Ada.
Beautiful, grown, but changed.
She looked at him like someone seeing a ghost.

Their eyes met, and a thousand unspoken stories passed between them.

He knew.
He didn’t need explanations.
He didn’t need excuses.

Fifteen years is a long time.
Distance is a long road.
Loneliness is a quiet thief.

Ada began to cry.
“I’m sorry… I thought you were never coming back. You stopped sending money for a long time. We struggled… I didn’t know what to do…”

Emeka stepped forward slowly.
“Brother… I didn’t plan this. It just happened with time… I took care of them when things got hard… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Johnson’s heart broke not with anger, but with a deep, painful understanding.

His children were looking at him like a stranger.
His home no longer felt like home.
His best friend was now the man of the house he built.

He took a slow breath, stepped toward his kids, and hugged each of them one by one.
Some relationships cannot be replaced.
Some bonds cannot be broken no matter how much life changes.

When he finally stood up, he looked at Ada and Emeka and said quietly:

“I came home to see my children… and that purpose has not changed.”

No shouting.
No fighting.
Just a man swallowing a mountain of pain for the sake of the children he crossed an ocean to see.

That Christmas became a different kind of reunion one filled with shock, confusion, forgiveness, and slow healing.

And for the first time in fifteen years, Johnson understood something deeply:
You can return to a place, but you cannot always return to a life.

Watch out for continuous shifts… on my next post.

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06/11/2025

01/11/2025

🌟 HAPPY NEW MONTH FROM AZIENOSE INTEGRATED COMPANY! 🌟

Dear Esteemed Customer,

Welcome to a brand-new month filled with endless opportunities, growth, and success!
At Azienose Integrated Company (AIC), we remain committed to excellence in every service we deliver — from General Contracts, Imports & Exports, General Merchandise/Trading, Product Sourcing, Outsourcing, Event & Project Management, to being reliable Suppliers of General Goods and General Services.

This month, we’re excited to announce the expansion of our product portfolio to include the Sales and Supply of Petroleum, Oil, and Diesel Products, ensuring you get quality energy solutions you can trust.

Thank you for choosing Azienose Integrated Company (CRBN 625577) — your dependable partner in business growth and sustainable development.

Here’s to a prosperous and productive month ahead!
— AIC Management

10/10/2025

10/10/2025

28/08/2025

The Mansion of Broken Vows

David Williams was a man who had built his empire with his bare hands. In Lagos, he commanded respect, wealth, and influence. His supermarkets thrived, his logistics company expanded, and his real estate ventures flourished. Yet when his wife, Sarah, secured admission for her Master’s degree in the United States, he sacrificed everything without hesitation. He sold his businesses, liquidated his properties, and poured the fortune into buying a magnificent mansion in America—a palace he believed would secure their future.

But once in the U.S., Sarah began to change. The humility that once defined her gave way to arrogance. Surrounded by new friends, intoxicated by a different culture, she began to see her husband not as a partner but as an anchor weighing her down. She grew cold, dismissive, and cruel. The man who had once been her provider was now, in her eyes, an embarrassment.

David, wounded but perceptive, saw the storm gathering. In silence, he went to the bank and mortgaged the very mansion he had bought with his life’s savings. The loan was heavy, almost dangerous, but it gave him the freedom to plan an escape Sarah would never anticipate.

Soon, the inevitable blow came. Sarah filed for divorce and demanded the mansion. With icy contempt, she insisted that David leave at once. He did not argue. He did not plead. He simply walked out of the house he had built with sacrifice, leaving behind the woman who no longer saw his worth.

When he landed back in Lagos, the weight of betrayal gave way to resolve. With the loan funds, he bought new properties, restarted his businesses, and within months, his empire began to rise from the ashes, stronger than before. The city that had once missed him welcomed him back with open arms.

Meanwhile, in Atlanta, Sarah’s victory was short-lived. At first, she relished her independence, flaunting her mansion as a trophy. But letters soon arrived—cold, impersonal notices from the bank demanding payment. She ignored them at first, certain she could manage. Yet as the weeks passed, the truth clawed its way into her reality: the house was drowning in debt, a debt she could not pay.

Eventually, foreclosure officers arrived at her door. The mansion that had once symbolized triumph became a cage collapsing around her. Friends who had cheered her newfound freedom slipped quietly away, unwilling to stand beside a woman facing ruin. Alone and humiliated, Sarah watched the life she had chosen crumble like ash in her hands.

Across the ocean, David stood on the balcony of his new estate, watching the Nigerian sun bleed into the horizon. He was scarred, yes—but unbroken. He had lost a marriage, but regained his peace. And as the evening breeze swept across his face, he understood the cruel wisdom of life: not all victories are worth the price, and sometimes, the mansion you fight for is nothing but a monument to your own downfall.

28/08/2025

THIS IS A STORY OF MR JOHN ( A man who lose it all)

The Price of a Dream

Mr. John stood in front of the gate of his last house in Enugu, the warm evening air heavy with the smell of roasted corn from a roadside stall. He had just signed the final papers to sell it. A part of him wanted to weep—this was the home where his first son had taken his first steps, where his daughter learned to ride a bicycle in the yard. But he told himself this sacrifice was necessary.

“Papa, are we really going to London?” his daughter, Kamsi, asked with wide eyes.

“Yes, my dear,” he replied, forcing a smile. “You will go to good schools there. You will have a future brighter than mine.”

His wife, MaryJane, stood nearby, excitement dancing in her eyes. Unlike him, she didn’t look back at the house. She was already imagining London streets, shops, and selfies in front of tall glass buildings.

ARRIVAL IN THE UNITED KINGDOMS

The first months in London were filled with hope. The children picked up the accent quickly, their voices carrying a strange mix of Igbo and British tones. Mr. John worked nights at a care home, sometimes double shifts. He often came home with aching feet and swollen hands, but when he saw his children’s smiles, the pain melted away.

Ada, however, grew restless. She had a cleaning job in the mornings but spent most afternoons out with “friends.”

One evening, Mr. John returned home earlier than usual. MaryJane wasn’t back. The children sat in the living room watching cartoons.

“Where is your mummy?” he asked.

“She said she’s going shopping,” Kamsi replied.

Hours passed before MaryJane returned, laughing too loudly, her perfume heavy.

“Where did you go?” John asked quietly.

“Oh, stop it,” she waved him off. “Do you want me to stay in this house like a prisoner? This is London, not the village.”

His heart sank.

THE CRACK IN THE WALL

It didn’t take long for rumors to reach him. A friend from church pulled him aside.

“Brother John, forgive me for saying this… but your wife, she is moving around with another man. A married man.”

John’s face turned pale. That night, he confronted MaryJane.

“Is it true?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Tell me it’s a lie.”

MaryJane didn’t flinch. “And if it’s true? What will you do? You think I came to this country to suffer? To live like a slave? Look at other women—dressed well, living fine. But me? Because of your long hours and stinginess, I should look old before my time?”

The words cut deeper than a knife. John stared at her, the woman he once adored, the mother of his children, and wondered when she had turned into a stranger.

THE FALL

Not long after, MaryJane packed her things and left. She didn’t leave alone—she took the children with her. John begged, pleaded, even knelt on the floor.

“MaryJane, don’t do this. Think of the children. Think of what we sacrificed to be here.”

But she only sneered. “You can keep your sacrifices. I want my life.”

The door closed, and with it, John’s world collapsed.

ALONE IN A FOREIGN LAND

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. The children no longer called. The man MaryJane was with forbade it. John sent messages, gifts, even money, but his children were kept from him. He stopped attending church; he couldn’t bear the stares of pity.

His flat grew silent, the walls closing in each night as he sat staring at old photos. In them, MaryJane smiled brightly, the children clung to his arms, and his eyes carried hope. Now, those eyes in the mirror were empty.

He often thought about Nigeria—the sun on his skin, the laughter of neighbors, the properties he once owned. In London, he had exchanged it all for nothing but heartbreak.

One cold winter night, he walked home from work through the fog. His hands trembled, not just from the cold but from despair. He whispered to himself:

“I gave up everything… and lost everything.”

Tears blurred his vision, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away.

Mr. John had dreamed of giving his family the world. Instead, the world had taken his family. And in that lonely flat in East London, with nothing but silence to greet him, he learned the bitter truth—some dreams come at too high a price.

21/02/2025

21/02/2025

Very delicious!