For stress, eat banana and watermelon.

-For good skin, eat cucumber, apple, coconut and carrot.

-For good eyes, eat carrot, apple and vitamin A.

-For cough, eat pineapple, garlic and ginger.

-For diarrhea, eat coconut and avocado and cabbage.

-For good gut, eat cabbage, garlic and onions.

-For hydration, eat cucumber orange and watermelon.

-For good kidney, drink 2-3 liters of water a day, eat beans and tomato.

-For good heart, eat avocado, eat Beans, garlic and onions.

-For good prostate, eat tomato, Sour sop and carrots and beans.

-For more red blood cells, eat beetroot, carrot and cucumber.

- For good erection, eat watermelon, Carrot and banana and nuts.

-For strong bones & immunity, eat eggs, fish and beef.

WISE SAYINGS

1. The anger of a p*nis cannot destroy the v*gina. (Zimbabwe)

2. The day a mosquito lands on your testicles is the day you will know there is a better way of resolving issues without using violence. (Senegal )

3. There’s no virgin in a maternity ward. (Cameroon)

4. A child can play with its mother’s breasts but not with the father’s testicles. (Ghana)

5. He who says that nothing lasts forever has never tried Hausa perfume. (Nigeria)

6. The man who marries a beautiful woman and the farmer who grows corn by the roadside have the same problem. (Ghana)

7. When you see a woman sitting with her legs open, never tell her to close them, because you do not know her source of fresh air. (Ethiopia)

8. The only woman who knows where her man is every night is a widow. (Togo)

10. If you go to sleep with an itching anus, you are sure to wake up with smelly fingers. (Kenya)

11. The monkey who tries to see the hunter clearly collects bullets in its eyes (Nigeria)

12. The frowning of a he-goat does not stop it from being priced.

13. If the sun claims superiority over the moon, let it shine at night.

14. A hen does not expect warning to hide it's chicks from the kite.

15. A man does not test the depth of a river with both legs.

These ones na najai oyibo

Word!!

Every plan of the enemy against your joy and progress scatter by fire. The Lord will preserve your going out and coming in, in the name of Jesus.

Iranian state TV says all U.S. citizens and troops in the region are now considered valid targets https://phoenix-browser.com/FYN43WFkKpb

My people good afternoon

Your rivers of joy will not dry nor get contaminated in Jesus' name.

Strategizing for a widal coverage of friends, family, colleagues, associates etc for more money making on gada.chat as we all gada on the net to chat.

Strategizing for a widal coverage of friends, family, colleagues, associates etc for more money making on gada.chat as we all gada on the net to chat.

I GOT ERASED BY MY OWN SISTER
FINALE
The door burst open, and Nneka stood there—alive, real, her eyes burning with a fire that had refused to die even in the darkest depths of the asylum.
Emeka’s breath caught in his throat.
"Nneka…?" His voice was barely a whisper, as if speaking too loud would shatter the illusion.
But she was real.
Her skin, once glowing, was now pale and thin. Her hair, once thick and lustrous, hung in limp strands. Her wrists bore the marks of restraints, her body frail from months of forced sedation. Yet, her spirit—*her will*—was unbroken.
Ngozi’s reaction was instant.
"NO!" she shrieked, her voice a guttural, animalistic snarl. "YOU’RE DEAD! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE GONE!"
She lunged, fingers curled into claws, aiming for Nneka’s throat.
The police officers, who had followed Nneka and her parents inside, moved swiftly. Two of them grabbed Ngozi, wrenching her back, but she fought like a rabid beast, kicking, screaming, spitting curses.
"SHE STOLE EVERYTHING FROM ME! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MINE!"
Nneka didn’t flinch. She stood tall, her gaze locked onto her sister’s deranged face.
"You did this to yourself, Ngozi."
The evidence against Ngozi was overwhelming.
1. The Poison Plot – The spilled wine was tested. Forensic experts confirmed it was laced with a lethal, untraceable toxin. Emeka’s glass had been moments away from his lips.
2. The Asylum Records – Nurse Adaeze testified, presenting forged documents Ngozi had used to commit Nneka under a false identity.
3. The Financial Crimes** – Bank statements revealed Ngozi had drained Nneka’s business accounts, spending millions on luxury
shopping sprees and parties.
4. The Fake Suicide – The "suicide note" by the river was proven to be Ngozi’s handwriting, not Nneka’s.
Ngozi’s defense crumbled.
The trial was swift. Ngozi, dressed in an ill-fitting orange jumpsuit, sat in the defendant’s chair, her once-perfect makeup replaced by dark circles and a permanent scowl.
When the judge read the charges—attempted murder, fraud, identity theft, false imprisonment—Ngozi’s composure snapped.
"SHE DESERVED IT!" she screamed, pointing at Nneka, who sat calmly beside Emeka. *l"SHE HAD EVERYTHING! OUR PARENTS LOVED HER MORE! MEN WANTED HER MORE! EVEN HER ****** BUSINESS WAS BETTER THAN ANYTHING I COULD DO!"
The courtroom fell silent.
For the first time, everyone saw the truth—Ngozi wasn’t just evil. She was broken.
But brokenness wasn’t an excuse for monstrosity.
The judge’s voice was steel.
"For your crimes, you are sentenced to thirty years in federal prison—twenty-five for attempted murder and fraud, and an additional five for the poisoning plot. You will be eligible for parole in twenty years, though given the nature of your actions, I doubt the board will look favorably upon you."
Ngozi’s face twisted in rage.
"NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!"
She lunged again, this time at the judge, but the bailiffs restrained her. As they dragged her away, she locked eyes with Nneka one last time.
"THIS ISN’T OVER!" she howled.
But it was.
Ngozi was sent to a maximum-security prison, where she would spend her days in hard labor, her beauty fading, her rage festering.
Her parents disowned her publicly.
"We have only one daughter now,"* her father said in an interview, his voice heavy with grief.
Emeka was haunted by guilt.
"I should have known," he whispered one night, holding Nneka’s scarred hands. *"I married her thinking it was you. I slept under the same roof as that monster while you suffered."
Nneka cupped his face.
"You couldn’t have known. She was that good at pretending. But now… we move forward."
Three months later, on a sunlit beach, Nneka walked down the aisle—this time, for real.
She wore a flowing white gown, her hair braided elegantly, her smile radiant.
Emeka, dressed in a crisp black suit, wept as she approached.
Their vows were simple.
"After everything… I choose you. Always."
The guests—family, friends, even Nurse Adaeze—cheered as they kissed.
They traveled to the Maldives, then Paris, then Bali—making up for lost time.
Nneka’s business, Naturé by Nneka, was relaunched. With Emeka’s support, it became even more successful than before.
Two years later, Nneka gave birth to twin boys—healthy, beautiful, with their mother’s bright eyes and their father’s strong features.
As she held them for the first time, she whispered:
"You will never know the kind of evil that exists in this world… because I will spend my life protecting you from it."
Ngozi remained in prison, her screams fading into silence.
Nneka thrived—her heart healing, her life full.
And as for Emeka?
He loved her more fiercely than ever.
Because after all they had endured…
They had won.
THE END.

FIFTY MILLION NIGHTS
PART 1
One heartbeat, Olivia Okoro was pressed against the cool window of her small Lagos apartment, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The humid night air, thick with the smells of frying plantains, diesel fumes, and distant Afrobeat, felt suffocating. Her brother Emeka’s terrified voice still screamed inside her head: "Livy! They’re coming! The Syndicate… hide! Don’t open the door! Fifty million… it’s bad… so bad!" Then silence. A silence colder than death.
The next heartbeat, the world shattered. Not a knock. A deafening CRUNCH-BOOM! Wood splintered like matchsticks. The flimsy lock tore free, clattering across the cheap tile floor. The door flew inward, banging against the wall so hard the framed photo of their parents crashed down.
Olivia gasped, stumbling back. Her bare feet slipped on the smooth tiles. Two enormous shapes filled the broken doorway, blocking out the dim yellow light from the hallway. They weren’t just big; they were walls of darkness dressed in expensive, perfectly fitted black suits. No faces, just shadows under sharp brims. They moved with a terrifying silence, like predators gliding into her tiny living room. Their eyes, flat and empty, scanned the space – her worn sofa, the small kitchenette, her – with chilling efficiency.
Panic, sharp and icy, shot through her veins. "Get out!" Her voice came out a thin shriek. "Who are you? GET OUT!"
She scrambled backwards, knocking over a small stool. It clattered uselessly. The man closer to her moved. He didn’t run; he simply flowed forward, impossibly fast for his size. A huge, calloused hand clamped over her mouth and nose, crushing her lips against her teeth. The smell hit her – stale cigarette smoke, cheap cologne, and underneath, something metallic and sharp, like old blood. It choked her. Her scream died in her throat, a muffled whimper.
The second man produced something from his jacket. Not a gun. A thick, rough-woven sack, dark as midnight. Olivia’s eyes widened in pure terror. No. No, no, no! She thrashed wildly, kicking out with all her strength. Her bare heel connected hard with the shin of the man holding her. It felt like kicking solid concrete. He didn’t even grunt. His grip tightened, lifting her completely off the ground as easily as if she were a bag of laundry. Her legs flailed uselessly in the air. Her thin nightdress twisted around her thighs.
The rough fabric of the sack descended. Scratchy, suffocating darkness swallowed her whole. The world vanished – her home, the faint city glow, the terrifying men. Only the crushing hand over her mouth and the terrifying blackness remained. She couldn't breathe! Panic clawed at her chest. She sucked in frantic breaths through her nose, the rough sack fibers tickling her nostrils. Tears, hot and stinging, welled instantly, soaking into the scratchy fabric pressed against her cheeks.
"Quiet." The voice came from the ruined doorway. Not loud. Not angry. Worse. It was a deep, resonant rumble, smooth as expensive whiskey but cold as the grave. It held absolute, unquestionable command. Olivia froze mid-struggle, paralyzed by the sheer authority in that single word. She could picture him – another shadow, taller, broader, standing framed in the broken entrance, watching. The real monster.
She felt herself being carried, her body limp with shock now, dangling over the man's shoulder like a sack of yams. Her bare toes brushed the splintered wood of her doorframe as they stepped out. The humid night air hit the sack, making it cling damply to her face. She heard the heavy, final thud as what remained of her front door was pulled shut behind them. The familiar sounds of Lagos at night – the blaring horns, the rhythmic music from a nearby bar, the shouts of late-night vendors – suddenly seemed miles away, sounds from another life. Her world was darkness, the hard shoulder digging into her stomach, the smell of the man carrying her, and the terrifying, silent presence of the one who had spoken.
She was dumped, not gently, onto smooth, cool leather. A car door slammed with a heavy, expensive thunk. The engine purred to life, a deep, powerful growl that vibrated through the seat beneath her. They moved off smoothly, accelerating. Trapped inside the scratchy darkness, Olivia focused desperately on the sounds. The steady hum of the engine. The occasional angry blare of a horn they ignored. The low murmur of the radio – someone crooning a sad Highlife love song. The grotesque normalcy of it made fresh tears spill. Emeka. You ******, ****** fool! What did you do? Fifty million Naira. An impossible fortune. A death sentence owed to the most feared criminal network in Nigeria: the Aro Confederacy. And they hadn't taken Emeka. They’d taken her.
The car drove. Time stretched and warped inside the suffocating sack. Left turn. Right. A long stretch on a smoother road. A stop at traffic lights? She couldn’t tell. The disorientation was complete. Her arms were pinned awkwardly, her neck aching. The rough fabric scraped her skin raw.
Finally, the car slowed. It turned sharply, then descended. The engine note echoed differently. The air grew noticeably cooler, damper. Concrete dust? They were underground. The powerful engine cut off. Silence, heavy and expectant. Car doors opened. Hands grabbed her again, hauling her out. Her bare feet landed on cold, smooth concrete. Goosebumps prickled her arms and legs.
She was marched forward, each step forced. The grip on her upper arms was like steel bands. Her captors walked with silent, purposeful strides. A heavy door hissed open – automatic? More walking. The sound of their footsteps changed. Sharp clicks now, echoing slightly. Marble? Polished stone? The air changed too. Sterile. Like a hospital, but underneath… something else. Cold. Powerful. Expensive. Like money and fear had a smell.
They stopped. Olivia braced herself, trembling violently inside her scratchy prison. A hand grabbed the top of the sack. With a rough yank, it was pulled off her head.
Olivia gasped, sucking in deep, ragged breaths of the cool, sterile air. She blinked, blinded by the sudden, harsh glare of bright recessed lights. Squinting, her vision swam, then cleared.
She stood in the center of a room so vast and empty it felt like a dream. Or a nightmare. The floor was gleaming black stone, reflecting the lights like dark water. One entire wall was glass – floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a dizzying, terrifying view. Far, far below, the sprawling city of Lagos glittered like a million fallen stars, tiny cars moving like glowing ants. It was beautiful and utterly isolating. The furniture was sparse, low, and looked like sculpted metal and cold, black leather. No color. No warmth. Just sharp angles and hard surfaces. It screamed of unimaginable wealth and absolute control. A gilded cage at the top of the world.
Before she could fully take it in, a figure moved near the vast window. He had been standing with his back to her, a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette against the glittering cityscape. He turned slowly, deliberately, like a king surveying his domain.
Olivia’s breath caught in her throat. This was the voice from the doorway. The monster.
TO BE CONTINUED...