Sue's Imaginarium

  Children don’t naturally understand words like aura, energy, or presence — but they feel it every day. They know when someone is kind, calm, or happy… and when someone feels angry, tense, or negative. So instead of using complicated language, your role as a parent is to translate “positive aura” into something simple, real, and relatable. 1. Start with a Simple Definition Don’t overcomplicate it. Say something like: “A positive aura is the feeling people get when they are around you. It’s the way your heart and attitude make others feel.” Or even simpler for younger kids: “It’s your invisible light — how you make people feel when you’re around them.” Children understand feelings more than abstract ideas. 2. Use Everyday Examples Make it practical: “You know how you feel happy when someone shares with you?” “Or when someone smiles at you?” “That’s their positive aura.” Then contrast it: “And when someone is mean or shouting, how do you feel?” “That’s not a positive aura.” This hel...

  Once upon a time, in a village surrounded by tall palm trees and golden fields of millet, there lived a young girl named Tami . Tami was bright and energetic, always running ahead of her thoughts. She laughed loudly, played boldly, and sometimes spoke before thinking. In the center of the village square stood an old wooden table, and on it rested a large, beautifully carved calabash . It was smooth and polished, with patterns of waves and birds etched into its sides. The villagers used it to store grain during harvest season. But this calabash was no ordinary bowl. It had a reputation. The elders said long ago, a wise woman had blessed it with a simple purpose: it would never hide lies. Whenever someone spoke dishonestly near it, the calabash would react. Sometimes it rattled. Sometimes it shifted. And sometimes, if the lie was serious enough, a thin crack would appear along its side. Because of this, people were careful near it. Disagreements were settled honestly. Promises...

Fear is a feeling everyone experiences. It is the body’s natural response to danger or uncertainty. When something feels threatening or unfamiliar, the brain sends signals to prepare the body to protect itself. The heart beats faster, breathing becomes quicker, and the mind becomes alert. This response can help us stay safe. For children, fear is very common. Many things can make a child feel afraid. Darkness, loud noises, new environments, separation from parents, school pressure, or even stories they hear can trigger fear. Sometimes children cannot clearly explain what they are feeling. They may simply say, “I’m scared,” or show it through crying, avoiding certain situations, or wanting to stay close to their parents. Fear itself is not the problem. Fear becomes a problem when it begins to control a child’s thoughts, decisions, and confidence. When fear grows too strong, it can stop a child from trying new things, meeting new people, or trusting their own abilities. This is where fai...

Comparison starts earlier than many parents realise. A child looks at a friend and quietly thinks, “She is better than me.” “He has more than me.” “They are smarter.” “I’m not good enough.” These words may sound small, but they carry heavy feelings. They sit quietly in a child’s heart and shape how they see themselves. Over time, these thoughts can grow into insecurity, fear, and self-doubt. Comparison quietly steals joy. It makes children feel less valuable, less confident, and less secure. A child who once laughed freely may become anxious. A child who once tried new things may begin to hold back. Slowly, they start measuring their worth by appearance, achievements, or approval from others. At Sue’s Imaginarium , we believe children were never meant to compare themselves. They were created to grow, to shine, and to walk confidently in who they are — rooted in faith , not competition. This article explains how faith helps children break free from comparison and how parents can gen...

  Once upon a time—many seasons after Kito returned the extra cowrie shell—his name carried weight in the village. “Let Kito handle it,” people said. “He will do what is right.” Kito was older now, taller, steadier, and trusted with things far more valuable than groundnut cakes. On Market Days, he helped elders measure grain, counted cloth for travelers, and kept records when traders from faraway places arrived with camels and carts. Trust followed him like a shadow. One year, a great caravan came from the dry lands beyond the hills. Their leader, Baraka , wore a long robe and spoke with confidence. He brought salt, metal tools, and bright dyes—goods the village needed badly. The elders gathered. “Kito,” said Elder Ama, “you will help us manage the trade. Count carefully. Be fair.” Kito bowed. “I will.” The market buzzed louder than ever. Deals were struck, baskets were lifted, cowrie shells clicked like rain on clay. By midday, Baraka pulled Kito aside. “You are known for honesty...

Once upon a time, in a lively village where mornings smelled of roasted corn and laughter echoed between mud houses, there lived a child named Kito . Kito was known for two things: his quick feet and his quicker smile. Whenever Market Day arrived, Kito was the first child awake and the last to leave the square. Market Day was not just a day—it was an event. Drums beat from dawn. Women spread bright cloths on wooden tables. Men shouted prices with playful pride. Goats bleated, chickens flapped, and children ran between stalls like excited birds. This particular Market Day felt special. Kito’s mother handed him a small woven basket filled with groundnut cakes and said, “Kito, today you will help me sell. Remember, each cake is two cowrie shells . Not one more, not one less.” Kito nodded eagerly. He liked responsibility. It made him feel grown. “And Kito,” his mother added, kneeling to his height, “promise me you will be honest. Even when no one is watching.” “I promise,” Kito said ...