Change of things

A woman's mind is cleaner than a man's: She changes it more often

One of the biggest mistakes I made in my marriage was letting other people, especially in-laws and family, have too much say. At first, it looked like they were only giving advice, but little by little, it became too much. I was always being compared and judged, and it started to feel like I didn’t belong in my own home... I ended up feeling like a stranger where I should have felt safe.

Fights that should have ended in private became talks for everyone. Every little problem was reported. Every decision had to be discussed with others. Slowly, the love we had changed into pain and pressure. Our marriage didn’t break just because of us—it broke because we let too many voices speak into our home.

Ladies, please learn from me. Don’t let others control your home. Set your rules early. Respect your partner and ask to be respected too. Keep your marriage private and safe. A marriage is for two people, not for the whole world. Don’t let others destroy the love you are trying to grow.

—Annie Macaulay

If the facts don't fit the theory, change the facts

It's Time again, Abuja Municipal Area Council Get Ready, It's High Time For a Positive Change in Amac.

I was reading a book called Your Brain on P*rn by Gary Wilson a few weeks ago... and let me just say, I haven't looked at my phone the same since, am still reading ,
The man explained things I wish I knew at 13. He said your brain reacts to p*rn the same way it reacts to cocaine.

Like, your neurons are not even being humble about it. The brain literally goes, “Ooooh dopamine!” and rewires itself to chase that high like rent is due.

It hit me deep when he said this generation isn’t just struggling with lust, we’re struggling with hijacked reward systems.

That’s why you can’t focus, can’t connect, can’t sleep, can’t love, your brain is fried, not broken.
And it’s not just science talking. I went into a rabbit hole after that.
Do you know centuries ago, philosophers were already warning about this stuff?

There’s a quote often attributed to ancient empires that said:
“If you want to destroy a nation, flood it with n*dity and broken families.
The rest will fall by itself.”
Even the Indian spiritualists and monks, people who’ve meditated more hours than I’ve been alive, said this centuries ago.

They warned that s*xual energy, if not respected, can ruin the strongest men and even empires.

These guys would fast, meditate, avoid eye contact, and sit under trees for 30 years just to avoid what some of us casually open on lunch break
They weren’t being dramatic. They were protecting their minds.

Because the mind is the battlefield, and p*rn is an invisible weapon.
Silent. Shameful. Easy to access. Hard to unsee.

I was addicted for years. Not because I wanted to be, but because I was lonely. Empty. Bored. Angry.
And it felt like the easiest escape.

I didn’t need to talk to anyone. Just click, scroll, watch, hide. Until hiding became a lifestyle.
But healing started when I realized:
I wasn’t just watching p*rn.
I was avoiding pain.

I was feeding my lust and starving my soul.
I was substituting quick pleasure for real purpose.
And slowly, I was losing me.
So I made some changes.
I blocked sites.

Deleted apps.
Got accountability.
Started journaling.
Working out.
Learning.
Creating.
Reading.

And building a life that doesn’t need escapism.
Listen p*rn is not just “bad for you.”
It’s a system built to keep you distracted, addicted, emotionally numb, and spiritually weak.
If you think it’s “just entertainment,” congrats. That’s exactly what the billion-dollar industry wants you to believe.
You don’t have to be perfect. But you owe it to yourself to be free.
This is your wake-up call.
You are more than a slave to pixels.
You are powerful.
Gifted.
Creative.
Loved.
And your mind was built to dream, not just scroll.

F O L L O W Blessed Mike

#YourBrainOnPorn
#DigitalDetox
#HealingIsRevolutionary #SelfControlIsSexy #NotEveryPrisonHasBars
#highlightseveryone
#BlessedNation

LAUGH WITH ME

1. When your child starts explaining with “I was just on my own...” forget it, He’s the guïlty one, kids are never on their own
2. Are you tirëd of this Nïgeria and you want to travel abroad ?
Put your phone on flïght mode‚ ständ on it and shøut vooom !
Safe journey !!!
3. Why do we change position when it’s actually the same hole. I don’t understand golf at all
Bros it’s not what you think
4. If our gïrlfriend know how many gïrls we ignorë in a day just becausë of them‚ they’ll be payïng us sälary.
5. Some gïrls are wiçked‚ I collected a gïrl number today‚ just to reach house and realize it was today’s date: O7O 11 01 2O24.
Can you imaginë.
6. 1O years in çultism no car‚ no house, no investment
Na only märk full your bødy
Bros wetin you gaïn??
7. Who is a rïsk taker ?
A rïsk taker is someone who has a rünning stomach and still want to mëss
8. I tell you... The ability to control teärs when food don’t get to you in an occasiôn is the highëst form of maturïty
9. “To those people complaining that fast food looks better in advertisements than it does in realïty...
Hmm aunty, look at your profile picture & then look in the mirror
Is it the same? No answer me na
10. Dear Sisters, don’t let any guy deçeive you that you look like “Angel”
Angel no dey bleaçh
11. Before I go, Do you know that???...
90% of rubber bands on ladies hair are from stock fish, plantains and takeaway packs
12. Dearie, If nobody cares to talk to you, Just know that you have Me, just appreciate your Favourite, by liking His Post and adding me as your Friend, Love you All

Hope I have Made your Blessed Söul Brightened

You wanna be My Best Friend right?
Follow Mas Ter

Papa and the Secret Money Bag

It was a quiet Monday evening in the Nkem household. Birds were singing, jollof rice was steaming, and Papa Nkem was relaxing on his favorite chair, counting his coins like a village banker. Mama Nkem was watching her favorite soap opera and shouting, This woman is a witnch, I swe arThe children were playing Ludo on the floor and cheating as usual.

Suddenly, The front door burst open like a Nollywood movie scene

A huge man with muscles the size of watermelons stormed in, wearing a sleeveless jacket and a tattoo that screamed, i did time He pointed a gun and growled, lNobody move This is a rubery

Papa Nkem jumped up so fast he nearly tore his tie. He ran to the rubber with shaky hands and said in his most begging voice:

Take, this is all the money I've in this house. Please don’t hurt us

The ruber snatched the money and frowned like it was small change for chewing gum. But before he could complain, something unexpected happened

Junior Nkem, Papa’s loud-mouth teenage son, stood up, raised his hands, and screamed

Ah Papa, you too oh! What about that bag of money hidden under your bed. Give him everything. I don’t want to die now oooh

The whole house went silent. Even the ubber paused and looked at Papa like, Is this boy serious

Papa turned to Junior, his eyes wide, mouth open, beard shaking. “lYou this boy. You’re the Judas Iscariot of this family

Mama Nkem shouted, Eh eh, So there’s a secret money bag under the bed and you didn’t tell me. My own husband has turned to a bank vault

The rubber laughed so hard he nearly dropped his gun. Oga, he said, Even your own family is snitching. Just carry the bag, abeg

Papa Nkem sighed and waddled to the bedroom like a defeated goat. He came back with a dusty bag and handed it over, whispering, This is my retirement plan

As the rubber left, still laughing, Junior smiled and said, At least we’re alive

Papa shouted, You will not be alive if I catch you after this

Mama added, And you, Papa Nkem, we shall discuss that secret money bag tonight

The night ended with everyone alive, Papa broke and sweating, and Junior proudly earning the title of Most Unloyal Family Member 2025

Hide your money. But if you have snitch children, better just use mobile banking

BREAKING: Tinubu Dump Shettima, To Pick Kwankwaso As 2027 Running Mate

President Tinubu is reportedly tipped to dump Shettima and pick Kwankwaso as his 2027 running mate.

NaijaOnPoint Nigeria reports that President Bola Tinubu is reportedly considering replacing Vice President Kashim Shettima with former Kano governor Rabi’u Kwankwaso in the 2027 presidential race.

This move, according to Business Day , is gaining support among some stakeholders within the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC).

The development may explain why APC national chairman Abdullahi Ganduje avoided endorsing Shettima during a recent party meeting in Gombe State.

It was learnt that discussions are ongoing to bring Kwankwaso back into the APC fold

He has reportedly met with President Tinubu, and efforts are underway to get him to rejoin the party in time to strengthen Tinubu’s re-election chances.

Kwankwaso, who leads the New Nigeria Peoples Party (NNPP) and controls Kano State politics through his Kwankwasiyya movement, is seen as a strong political force in the North.

With Kano being one of the largest voting blocs in the country, Tinubu’s team said his influence could be crucial in 2027.

In the 2023 elections, Kano recorded over 5.9 million registered voters, second only to Lagos.

Kwankwaso, who came fourth in the 2023 presidential election, is expected to help consolidate APC’s presence in Kano and across the North-West.

“Kwankwaso is being wooed to return to the party and has visited the President. But we need him to join early enough.

“He has what the President and our party need to ensure smooth re-election for President Bola Tinubu”, the source said.

Meanwhile, several political players in Northern Nigeria are working behind the scenes to take over the Vice President’s seat currently occupied by Kashim Shettima.

At least four governors from the North-East and North-West and two top lawmakers are believed to be positioning themselves for the role, as whispers grow within the All Progressives Congress (APC) about a possible change in the presidential ticket.

According to Punch , among those being quietly mentioned as possible replacements are the governors of Yobe, Gombe, Kaduna, and Katsina — Mai Mala Buni, Muhammadu Yahaya, Uba Sani, and Dikko Radda.

Speaker of the House of Representatives Tajudeen Abass and Deputy Senate President Barau Jibrin are also seen as interested in the seat.

Meanwhile, the opposition is not staying idle.

Talks are ongoing between former presidential candidates Atiku Abubakar and Peter Obi, who are working together alongside other political figures to form a new front against Tinubu.

The group is planning to register a new political party called the All Democratic Alliance (ADA) .

This coalition has attracted support from several influential politicians, including former governors and ministers such as David Mark, Nasir El-Rufai, Aminu Tambuwal, Rauf Aregbesola, and Babachir Lawal.

They have already set up a Platform Committee to handle the registration process with the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) and are finalizing the necessary documents.

The group decided to create a fresh party after failing to agree on merging with any of the existing ones.

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...

Afrobeats queen Tiwa Savage has opened up about her early days in music, revealing a surprising transformation from tomboy to sex symbol — all thanks to her ex-husband and former manager, Tunji “Teebillz” Balogun. Eyes Of Lagos reports,

Speaking on the Afrobeats Intelligence podcast with Joey Akan, Tiwa shared how her fashion and public image dramatically changed when she returned to Nigeria to launch her singing career.