Jhor_isha

In The shoreline prophecy , Anaya Assey’s life is upended when she moves in with her estranged uncle James and his daughter Ruth. Haunted by strange dreams and an unsettling sense of a dark force lurking, Anaya soon learns that her family’s history is anything but ordinary. Ruth, sweet on the surface but hiding a deeper, more sinister side, becomes a constant mystery to Anaya, and a potential threat to everything she holds dear.

As Anaya navigates the strange new dynamics of her family, she uncovers buried secrets, spiritual tests, and dangerous plots that threaten to tear apart everything she’s ever known. But with the power of faith and the guidance of her late Grandma Ama, Anaya must find the strength to stand firm against the darkness closing in around her. Will she be able to uncover the truth behind her dreams and Ruth’s cryptic behavior before it’s too late? Or will the shadows of the past consume her future?

A gripping tale of faith, family, and destiny, The shoreline prophecy  invites readers into a world where the spiritual and earthly realms collide, and where one woman’s courage can change everything.


please follow me on instagram
novelista_alta_

THE SHORELINE PROPHECY

My Grandmother's clothes were neatly arranged, and at the center was a well folded traditional kente. The fabric gleamed in shades of yellow with bold red, green, and blue stripes. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

On top of the kente lay a golden crown, a black slipper adorned with yellow beads –the ahenema sandals as they call it in Ghanaland. Blue hands and legs beads at the side too.

I remembered how, just last week, Grandma Ama had told me she had a gift for me when I come of age. My eighteenth birthday is today, but the thought of celebrating it feels hollow, especially since she passed away just a day before. In fact she died today since it was past 12 am.

Tears welled up as I realized this must be the gift she was talking about. I didn't want to celebrate my birthday at all, but I decided I would wear the kente to honour her memory.

I gently brought the kente out, and as I did, something small and metallic fell to the floor. Bending down, I picked a small locket.

Curious, I opened it, revealing a photograph inside. It showed a young grandma Ama , a man I haven't seen before, I guess it's my grandpa, a man who resembled uncle James and a woman with short hair who looked exactly like me.

I stared at the picture in shock. That must be my mother. Now I understand why Grandma never allowed me to cut my hair –it would have made me a replica of my mother.

But one detail struck me more than anything else. The kente in the photo was identical to the one I held in my hands. Does that mean this kente belongs to my mother?

MY MOTHER’S REPLICA