• DEVELOPING YOUR ABILITY TO SEE IN PICTURES

    The clock displays a specific time, which may influence your current actions. If you are reading, you have chosen to focus on letters representing words; furthermore, these words convey ideas about physical and intangible objects. The images provoked in your mind depend on the words you read. You aren’t creating those images; they appear as a finished picture, like an Alsatian dog or a Dalmatian. Those breeds symbolise physical features that may seem tangential unless we provide more details about their age, gender, coat, colour, and context. As we string sentences together, those words enhance clarity, allowing us to create ideas over time.

    Do we simply take this skill for granted, that no other species can take descriptions and names and identify physical features? The most fascinating part is that your mind forms images and develops thoughts based on how you present those ideas. Not everyone’s mind is conditioned to think this way, as they may have a completely different depth of thought, or perhaps they haven’t trained their minds to consider the abstract aspects of life that require more explanation. Allowing our minds to freely contemplate details or abstract concepts aids in developing our thinking faculties to analyse information.

    I can pick up a book and read for ten minutes, and during that time, my mind absorbs words from the page that I didn’t put there; it engages in another person's thought process and how they perceive things. It's fascinating that not only can we create, but we can also be influenced by others' opinions through visual or linguistic codes. Yet the way they describe something or analyse it may indicate that they see it from a different perspective, or it may present new information, or it could confirm ideas you already hold. This illustrates the difference between the two minds. However, if those minds were shaped by different cultural, social, or economic contexts, how might their perspectives diverge based on their social locations?

    Imagine your physical space, exactly where you are now; you might be in your house, on the subway, at a café, in a park, or sitting at the beach. The first observation we want to make is that no one else in this world is occupying that small piece of the earth except for your physical body. You could be on a roller coaster about to start, experiencing something entirely different than Taylor Swift, who is choreographing her next music video. She hears different sounds, is immersed in the cultivation of creativity in dance, and frames physical objects to convey the meaning she wishes to impart to her listeners.

    But if we were to go even deeper, there may be a philosophy at another level that influences people's experiences. The rollercoaster rider is a go-getter who wants to enjoy having fun and may prioritise such experiences more than a religious monk on a meditation retreat, quietly seeking the source of their ideas. The monk isn’t on the rollercoaster because of a completely different set of values. Understanding that people’s priorities change based on various factors is important. A corporate businessman who is the CEO of his own company won’t find himself at a meditation retreat because he has a business attitude towards time. What I’m emphasising here is the ability to think in pictures and to create with words. I’ve just taken you on a journey of imagination, a skill given to you to replicate God’s image and likeness.

    No animal or any other species on Earth has a philosophy of life, can dissect truth, see in pictures, read the same object, or understand and comprehend language. These are our sources of wealth if we understand how to maximise and use them for God’s kingdom. We can take measurements and analyse if they match the plumb line and know where we are supposed to be from the numbers on a clock. We can navigate the roads of life and steer our lives according to the manufacturer’s instructions through intentional living and deep introspection. Studying how well you have developed skills or where you need to improve is something only you can analyse, and it could re-automate the compass of life according to your values. Life shouldn’t be something that happens to us; it should be intentionally lived in alignment with the one who created you and made you material for this dispensation of times and seasons. Study all the hidden capacities within you and develop them to be more attuned to maximise all the wealth God has given you.
    DEVELOPING YOUR ABILITY TO SEE IN PICTURES The clock displays a specific time, which may influence your current actions. If you are reading, you have chosen to focus on letters representing words; furthermore, these words convey ideas about physical and intangible objects. The images provoked in your mind depend on the words you read. You aren’t creating those images; they appear as a finished picture, like an Alsatian dog or a Dalmatian. Those breeds symbolise physical features that may seem tangential unless we provide more details about their age, gender, coat, colour, and context. As we string sentences together, those words enhance clarity, allowing us to create ideas over time. Do we simply take this skill for granted, that no other species can take descriptions and names and identify physical features? The most fascinating part is that your mind forms images and develops thoughts based on how you present those ideas. Not everyone’s mind is conditioned to think this way, as they may have a completely different depth of thought, or perhaps they haven’t trained their minds to consider the abstract aspects of life that require more explanation. Allowing our minds to freely contemplate details or abstract concepts aids in developing our thinking faculties to analyse information. I can pick up a book and read for ten minutes, and during that time, my mind absorbs words from the page that I didn’t put there; it engages in another person's thought process and how they perceive things. It's fascinating that not only can we create, but we can also be influenced by others' opinions through visual or linguistic codes. Yet the way they describe something or analyse it may indicate that they see it from a different perspective, or it may present new information, or it could confirm ideas you already hold. This illustrates the difference between the two minds. However, if those minds were shaped by different cultural, social, or economic contexts, how might their perspectives diverge based on their social locations? Imagine your physical space, exactly where you are now; you might be in your house, on the subway, at a café, in a park, or sitting at the beach. The first observation we want to make is that no one else in this world is occupying that small piece of the earth except for your physical body. You could be on a roller coaster about to start, experiencing something entirely different than Taylor Swift, who is choreographing her next music video. She hears different sounds, is immersed in the cultivation of creativity in dance, and frames physical objects to convey the meaning she wishes to impart to her listeners. But if we were to go even deeper, there may be a philosophy at another level that influences people's experiences. The rollercoaster rider is a go-getter who wants to enjoy having fun and may prioritise such experiences more than a religious monk on a meditation retreat, quietly seeking the source of their ideas. The monk isn’t on the rollercoaster because of a completely different set of values. Understanding that people’s priorities change based on various factors is important. A corporate businessman who is the CEO of his own company won’t find himself at a meditation retreat because he has a business attitude towards time. What I’m emphasising here is the ability to think in pictures and to create with words. I’ve just taken you on a journey of imagination, a skill given to you to replicate God’s image and likeness. No animal or any other species on Earth has a philosophy of life, can dissect truth, see in pictures, read the same object, or understand and comprehend language. These are our sources of wealth if we understand how to maximise and use them for God’s kingdom. We can take measurements and analyse if they match the plumb line and know where we are supposed to be from the numbers on a clock. We can navigate the roads of life and steer our lives according to the manufacturer’s instructions through intentional living and deep introspection. Studying how well you have developed skills or where you need to improve is something only you can analyse, and it could re-automate the compass of life according to your values. Life shouldn’t be something that happens to us; it should be intentionally lived in alignment with the one who created you and made you material for this dispensation of times and seasons. Study all the hidden capacities within you and develop them to be more attuned to maximise all the wealth God has given you.
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  • THE LAST PROMISE
    PART 5
    Mary sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the unopened letter on her nightstand. It had been weeks since Andre gave it to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to open it. Every time she reached for it, her chest tightened, and she would pull her hand back as if burned.
    But today was different.
    Today, she needed to know what Kelvin had written.
    With trembling fingers, she picked up the envelope and carefully tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper, the handwriting unmistakably Kelvin’s—neat, deliberate, just like the man himself.
    Her vision blurred as she began to read:
    "My Dearest Mary,
    If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone, and you’ve made it this far without me. First, I need you to know how proud I am of you. You were my strength when I had none left, my light in the darkest days. I could never thank you enough for that.
    But now, my love, it’s time for you to live again.
    I know you. You’ll resist. You’ll say it’s too soon, that it’s wrong. But Mary, life is too short to spend it drowning in grief. I don’t want you to be alone. I want you to laugh again, to love again, to let someone else see the incredible woman I fell in love with.
    That’s why I asked Andre to find you.
    He’s a good man, Mary. One of the best I’ve ever known. I trust him with my life—and now, I trust him with yours. Give him a chance. Let him show you that happiness isn’t a betrayal of my memory.
    Please, my love. For me.
    Yours, even in death,
    Kelvin."
    A sob tore from Mary’s throat.
    She clutched the letter to her chest, her entire body shaking. Kelvin had *planned* this? He had sent Andre to her?
    The weight of it crashed over her like a wave.
    Her phone buzzed.
    A message from Andre:
    "Lunch today? Just as friends. No pressure."
    Mary stared at the words, then back at the letter.
    Kelvin’s voice echoed in her mind.
    "Give him a chance."
    She took a deep breath.
    And typed:
    "Okay."
    The restaurant was beautiful—one of those five-star places with soft lighting, crisp white tablecloths, and the gentle hum of live piano music in the background. Mary felt out of place in her simple dress, but Andre didn’t seem to notice. He stood as she approached, pulling out her chair with a smile.
    "You look beautiful," he said.
    Mary stiffened slightly but forced a polite smile. "Thank you."
    The waiter brought menus, and Andre insisted she order first. She chose pepper soup—something light, something safe. He ordered jollof rice and grilled fish, then a bottle of wine.
    "To new beginnings," he said, raising his glass.
    Mary hesitated, then clinked her glass against his.
    "To Kelvin," she corrected softly.
    Andre’s smile faltered for just a second before he nodded. "To Kelvin."
    The food was delicious, the wine smooth, and despite herself, Mary found the conversation easy. Andre was charming, funny even. He told stories about his travels, his work, and—carefully—his friendship with Kelvin.
    "He talked about you all the time," Andre said, swirling his wine. "How brave you were. How kind. How you made him laugh even on his worst days."
    Mary’s throat tightened. "He never told me about you."
    Andre sighed. "We lost touch for a while. But when he got sick… he reached out. Asked me to promise him something."
    Mary’s fingers tightened around her glass. "What promise?"
    Andre met her eyes. "To make sure you weren’t alone."
    Silence settled between them. The piano music seemed louder now, the air heavier.
    Then, without warning, Andre leaned forward—just slightly, just enough.
    "Mary, I—"
    She knew what was coming.
    And before he could finish, before he could kiss her, she stood up so fast her chair screeched against the floor.
    "I have to go."
    "Mary, wait—"
    But she was already walking away, her heart pounding, her face burning with something between anger and shame.
    The taxi ride home was a blur.
    Mary barely remembered paying the driver or stumbling into her house. All she knew was the crushing weight of *guilt* pressing down on her chest.
    She had betrayed Kelvin.
    She had let this happen.
    Tears streamed down her face as she collapsed onto the bed, clutching Kelvin’s pillow to her chest.
    What had she done?
    Her phone buzzed—once, twice, then continuously. Andre. Calling. Texting.
    "Mary, please talk to me."
    "I’m sorry. That was too much."
    "Just let me explain."
    She couldn’t.
    She wouldn’t.
    With shaking hands, she turned her phone off and buried her face in the pillow, sobbing until she had no tears left.
    TO BE CONTINUED...
    THE LAST PROMISE PART 5 Mary sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the unopened letter on her nightstand. It had been weeks since Andre gave it to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to open it. Every time she reached for it, her chest tightened, and she would pull her hand back as if burned. But today was different. Today, she needed to know what Kelvin had written. With trembling fingers, she picked up the envelope and carefully tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper, the handwriting unmistakably Kelvin’s—neat, deliberate, just like the man himself. Her vision blurred as she began to read: "My Dearest Mary, If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone, and you’ve made it this far without me. First, I need you to know how proud I am of you. You were my strength when I had none left, my light in the darkest days. I could never thank you enough for that. But now, my love, it’s time for you to live again. I know you. You’ll resist. You’ll say it’s too soon, that it’s wrong. But Mary, life is too short to spend it drowning in grief. I don’t want you to be alone. I want you to laugh again, to love again, to let someone else see the incredible woman I fell in love with. That’s why I asked Andre to find you. He’s a good man, Mary. One of the best I’ve ever known. I trust him with my life—and now, I trust him with yours. Give him a chance. Let him show you that happiness isn’t a betrayal of my memory. Please, my love. For me. Yours, even in death, Kelvin." A sob tore from Mary’s throat. She clutched the letter to her chest, her entire body shaking. Kelvin had *planned* this? He had sent Andre to her? The weight of it crashed over her like a wave. Her phone buzzed. A message from Andre: "Lunch today? Just as friends. No pressure." Mary stared at the words, then back at the letter. Kelvin’s voice echoed in her mind. "Give him a chance." She took a deep breath. And typed: "Okay." The restaurant was beautiful—one of those five-star places with soft lighting, crisp white tablecloths, and the gentle hum of live piano music in the background. Mary felt out of place in her simple dress, but Andre didn’t seem to notice. He stood as she approached, pulling out her chair with a smile. "You look beautiful," he said. Mary stiffened slightly but forced a polite smile. "Thank you." The waiter brought menus, and Andre insisted she order first. She chose pepper soup—something light, something safe. He ordered jollof rice and grilled fish, then a bottle of wine. "To new beginnings," he said, raising his glass. Mary hesitated, then clinked her glass against his. "To Kelvin," she corrected softly. Andre’s smile faltered for just a second before he nodded. "To Kelvin." The food was delicious, the wine smooth, and despite herself, Mary found the conversation easy. Andre was charming, funny even. He told stories about his travels, his work, and—carefully—his friendship with Kelvin. "He talked about you all the time," Andre said, swirling his wine. "How brave you were. How kind. How you made him laugh even on his worst days." Mary’s throat tightened. "He never told me about you." Andre sighed. "We lost touch for a while. But when he got sick… he reached out. Asked me to promise him something." Mary’s fingers tightened around her glass. "What promise?" Andre met her eyes. "To make sure you weren’t alone." Silence settled between them. The piano music seemed louder now, the air heavier. Then, without warning, Andre leaned forward—just slightly, just enough. "Mary, I—" She knew what was coming. And before he could finish, before he could kiss her, she stood up so fast her chair screeched against the floor. "I have to go." "Mary, wait—" But she was already walking away, her heart pounding, her face burning with something between anger and shame. The taxi ride home was a blur. Mary barely remembered paying the driver or stumbling into her house. All she knew was the crushing weight of *guilt* pressing down on her chest. She had betrayed Kelvin. She had let this happen. Tears streamed down her face as she collapsed onto the bed, clutching Kelvin’s pillow to her chest. What had she done? Her phone buzzed—once, twice, then continuously. Andre. Calling. Texting. "Mary, please talk to me." "I’m sorry. That was too much." "Just let me explain." She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. With shaking hands, she turned her phone off and buried her face in the pillow, sobbing until she had no tears left. TO BE CONTINUED...
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  • The Last Drumbeat” – A Soldier Who Never Danced Home Again

    His name was Staff Sergeant Chinedu Nkemakonam.
    To his village, he was the boy who always danced first at every masquerade festival.
    To the Nigerian Army, he was a fearless fighter — the man who never let a single bullet scare him.

    But to his wife, Amaka…
    He was just “Nedu” — the husband who never stopped smiling, even when he was tired from battle.

    The call came on a Friday.
    Troops were needed urgently to back up men pinned down near the Sambisa axis.

    He packed quickly. Hugged his twin sons. Gave Amaka a note sealed in nylon.

    “If I don’t come back, open this.”

    She slapped his chest playfully, laughing through her tears:

    “Stop that, Nedu! You’ll come back. You always do.”

    He smiled. He always smiled.

    The operation was brutal.

    A hidden IED tore through their Hilux.
    Shrapnel hit three soldiers.
    Chinedu was the last man standing.
    He radioed for air support, dragged one bleeding corporal behind cover, and kept firing…

    …until he didn’t.

    When reinforcements arrived, they found Chinedu slumped over his radio — hand still clutching the mic.

    “Enemy approaching from the east… hold line… I repeat—”
    And that was his last transmission.

    Three days later.
    A knock on Amaka’s door.
    Three officers in dress uniform.
    One folded flag.

    She knew.

    She opened the nylon he gave her. Inside was a letter written in ink and rain-stained fingerprints:

    “If you’re reading this, Amaka, it means I didn’t make it home. But I died for you. For our boys. For this land we call Nigeria. Tell Chisom and Ebuka that their father was a warrior. And tell Mama… I’ll see her again in the land of ancestors.”

    Today, in the compound of Chinedu’s family house, his mother still beats the ogene (metal gong) every evening — not in celebration, but in mourning.

    And his twin boys?
    They now wear little wooden necklaces carved with the letters “SN” — for Sergeant Nedu.

    And when anyone asks who their father was, they say:

    “Our father danced into battle… and never stopped until the music faded.”

    He was a son, a father, a fighter. And now, a name carried by the wind.

    #CommandNetwork
    #SergeantNedu
    #RealHeroes
    #NigerianArmy
    #GoneButNotSilent
    #EmotionalTributest
    The Last Drumbeat” – A Soldier Who Never Danced Home Again 🪖 His name was Staff Sergeant Chinedu Nkemakonam. To his village, he was the boy who always danced first at every masquerade festival. To the Nigerian Army, he was a fearless fighter — the man who never let a single bullet scare him. But to his wife, Amaka… He was just “Nedu” — the husband who never stopped smiling, even when he was tired from battle. The call came on a Friday. Troops were needed urgently to back up men pinned down near the Sambisa axis. He packed quickly. Hugged his twin sons. Gave Amaka a note sealed in nylon. “If I don’t come back, open this.” She slapped his chest playfully, laughing through her tears: “Stop that, Nedu! You’ll come back. You always do.” He smiled. He always smiled. The operation was brutal. A hidden IED tore through their Hilux. Shrapnel hit three soldiers. Chinedu was the last man standing. He radioed for air support, dragged one bleeding corporal behind cover, and kept firing… …until he didn’t. When reinforcements arrived, they found Chinedu slumped over his radio — hand still clutching the mic. “Enemy approaching from the east… hold line… I repeat—” And that was his last transmission. Three days later. A knock on Amaka’s door. Three officers in dress uniform. One folded flag. She knew. She opened the nylon he gave her. Inside was a letter written in ink and rain-stained fingerprints: “If you’re reading this, Amaka, it means I didn’t make it home. But I died for you. For our boys. For this land we call Nigeria. Tell Chisom and Ebuka that their father was a warrior. And tell Mama… I’ll see her again in the land of ancestors.” Today, in the compound of Chinedu’s family house, his mother still beats the ogene (metal gong) every evening — not in celebration, but in mourning. And his twin boys? They now wear little wooden necklaces carved with the letters “SN” — for Sergeant Nedu. And when anyone asks who their father was, they say: “Our father danced into battle… and never stopped until the music faded.” 🕯️ He was a son, a father, a fighter. And now, a name carried by the wind. #CommandNetwork #SergeantNedu #RealHeroes #NigerianArmy #GoneButNotSilent #EmotionalTributest
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  • 10 million naira to anyone who can give me more scenes of the music video set where mohbad and zlatan sat on the wheel chair and samlarry came inside with some group of boys,I want more scenes and also 2million naira to anyone of those women in the video holding the wheelchair zlatan and mohbad used if they can come for my interview, I want all witness,I am carrying out my private investigation and spending my own money,they can’t cover this case LOL…..fk y’all emotions I no really send una,RATEL NO NEED CROWD, RATEL NO NEED LOVE OR LIKES, RATEL NEED JUSTICE na now I ready for this case) oh and I see yall insulting me, we just barely starting(THE REAL JUSTICE FOR MOHBAD NOW
    ~ verydarkman
    10 million naira to anyone who can give me more scenes of the music video set where mohbad and zlatan sat on the wheel chair and samlarry came inside with some group of boys,I want more scenes and also 2million naira to anyone of those women in the video holding the wheelchair zlatan and mohbad used if they can come for my interview, I want all witness,I am carrying out my private investigation and spending my own money,they can’t cover this case LOL…..fk y’all emotions I no really send una,RATEL NO NEED CROWD, RATEL NO NEED LOVE OR LIKES, RATEL NEED JUSTICE na now I ready for this case) oh and I see yall insulting me, we just barely starting(THE REAL JUSTICE FOR MOHBAD NOW ~ verydarkman
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    0 Yorumlar 4 hisse senetleri 98 Views 0 önizleme
  • Legendary Nigerian musician, Innocent Ujah Idibia, popularly known as 2Face, has opened up about his struggles in his marriage to his estranged wife, Annie Macaulay.

    He described the experience as “living in bondage.”

    Check comment section for more.....
    Legendary Nigerian musician, Innocent Ujah Idibia, popularly known as 2Face, has opened up about his struggles in his marriage to his estranged wife, Annie Macaulay. He described the experience as “living in bondage.” Check comment section for more.....
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  • On His Way to the Airport, a Millionaire Hands His Mansion Keys to a Soaked Beggar with a Baby… But What He Finds Upon His Return Leaves Him Speechless!… OMG......The rain had come without warning — thick, slanted sheets hammering the pavement, turning the streets into dark rivers. Nathan Hale’s black town car sliced through the storm like a blade. Inside, the world was quiet. Leather seats. Jazz humming from hidden speakers. And Nathan himself, adjusting his cufflinks like always — as if time didn’t dare touch him.

    He wasn’t late for the airport. Nathan was never late. His flight to Zurich was scheduled for 4:10 p.m., and it was only 2:36. The driver knew better than to make conversation.

    Then something flickered in the corner of Nathan’s eye — movement near the edge of a lamppost.

    He almost didn’t look.

    But he did.

    A woman.

    Soaked through. Hair matted to her cheeks. A plastic grocery bag clutched to her chest — no, not a bag. A bundle. A baby. Her bare feet stood in a widening puddle, as if she’d forgotten the world had rules. Her eyes met Nathan’s car window for only a second, but it was enough.

    “Stop the car,” Nathan said.

    The driver hesitated. “Sir?”

    Nathan unbuckled his seatbelt. “I said stop.”

    The brakes hissed. Water splashed.

    Nathan stepped into the storm — three-thousand-dollar shoes drowning instantly. He didn’t care. Not in that moment.

    “You need somewhere to go,” he said.

    She didn’t answer. Just tightened her grip on the child and shook from the cold.

    He pulled a silver key from his coat pocket.

    “This is my house,” Nathan said quietly, almost to himself. “It’s empty. Take it. There’s food. Blankets. Heat.”

    She stared at him as if he were insane.

    Maybe he was.

    Maybe, for once, he wanted to be.

    He pressed the key into her hand, stepped back, and returned to the car without another word.

    The door slammed. The car slid back into the storm. The woman was gone from his view. Like a ripple in the water — brief, but unforgettable.



    Now, two weeks later, Nathan stood in front of his mansion again — duffel bag in hand, jet-lagged, and unsettled.

    Something was… off.

    The windows were lit. The garden looked trimmed. And there was music playing softly — an old lullaby, coming from the baby grand piano in the salon.

    He wasn’t sure why, but a chill ran up his spine.

    He turned the key in the lock and stepped inside.

    Then froze.

    What he saw inside the house — who he saw — made him forget how to breathe....
    FULL STORY – headinsider.net/2025/06/06/beggar-baby
    On His Way to the Airport, a Millionaire Hands His Mansion Keys to a Soaked Beggar with a Baby… But What He Finds Upon His Return Leaves Him Speechless!… OMG...😲😲😲...The rain had come without warning — thick, slanted sheets hammering the pavement, turning the streets into dark rivers. Nathan Hale’s black town car sliced through the storm like a blade. Inside, the world was quiet. Leather seats. Jazz humming from hidden speakers. And Nathan himself, adjusting his cufflinks like always — as if time didn’t dare touch him. He wasn’t late for the airport. Nathan was never late. His flight to Zurich was scheduled for 4:10 p.m., and it was only 2:36. The driver knew better than to make conversation. Then something flickered in the corner of Nathan’s eye — movement near the edge of a lamppost. He almost didn’t look. But he did. A woman. Soaked through. Hair matted to her cheeks. A plastic grocery bag clutched to her chest — no, not a bag. A bundle. A baby. Her bare feet stood in a widening puddle, as if she’d forgotten the world had rules. Her eyes met Nathan’s car window for only a second, but it was enough. “Stop the car,” Nathan said. The driver hesitated. “Sir?” Nathan unbuckled his seatbelt. “I said stop.” The brakes hissed. Water splashed. Nathan stepped into the storm — three-thousand-dollar shoes drowning instantly. He didn’t care. Not in that moment. “You need somewhere to go,” he said. She didn’t answer. Just tightened her grip on the child and shook from the cold. He pulled a silver key from his coat pocket. “This is my house,” Nathan said quietly, almost to himself. “It’s empty. Take it. There’s food. Blankets. Heat.” She stared at him as if he were insane. Maybe he was. Maybe, for once, he wanted to be. He pressed the key into her hand, stepped back, and returned to the car without another word. The door slammed. The car slid back into the storm. The woman was gone from his view. Like a ripple in the water — brief, but unforgettable. — Now, two weeks later, Nathan stood in front of his mansion again — duffel bag in hand, jet-lagged, and unsettled. Something was… off. The windows were lit. The garden looked trimmed. And there was music playing softly — an old lullaby, coming from the baby grand piano in the salon. He wasn’t sure why, but a chill ran up his spine. He turned the key in the lock and stepped inside. Then froze. What he saw inside the house — who he saw — made him forget how to breathe....😱😱😱 FULL STORY – headinsider.net/2025/06/06/beggar-baby
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    0 Yorumlar 12 hisse senetleri 179 Views 0 önizleme
  • "Some People Dey Inside Twitter Dey Eehe" - 𝗕𝗹𝗮𝗾𝗯𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘇 Roast 𝗢𝗱𝘂𝗺𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗕𝗹𝘃𝗰𝗸 In His New Song 'Go Crazy' 🙆🏽‍♂️

    Following Odumodublvck and Blaqbonez recent fall out, Blaqbonez has has just released a snippet of his next single and hey 👋🏽, It is fire

    Blaqbonez reinterated that as long as rap is concerned, Till He meets his maker, He'll remain the everlasting taker.

    He took his time to address a certain rapper that is on Twitter dey Eehe.... Obviously, we all know that sub was for Odumodublvck

    Get ready guys. It seems like we would be having a beef track to dissect soon. Watch the snippet in the comment section 👇🏼

    Follow Our Page For All The Juicy Updates On Your Favorite Igbo Musicians Around The World 🙏🏽

    #igbo #viral #blaqbonez #Odumodublvck #rapper #igborap #hiphop #nigeria #fyp #music #imostate #fypviralシ #afrobeats #davido #Southeastmusic
    "Some People Dey Inside Twitter Dey Eehe" - 𝗕𝗹𝗮𝗾𝗯𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘇 Roast 𝗢𝗱𝘂𝗺𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗕𝗹𝘃𝗰𝗸 In His New Song 'Go Crazy' 🎵🙆🏽‍♂️🤣😂 Following Odumodublvck and Blaqbonez recent fall out, Blaqbonez has has just released a snippet of his next single and hey 👋🏽, It is fire 🔥 Blaqbonez reinterated that as long as rap is concerned, Till He meets his maker, He'll remain the everlasting taker. He took his time to address a certain rapper that is on Twitter dey Eehe.... Obviously, we all know that sub was for Odumodublvck 😂😂 Get ready guys. It seems like we would be having a beef track to dissect soon. Watch the snippet in the comment section 👇🏼 Follow Our Page For All The Juicy Updates On Your Favorite Igbo Musicians Around The World ❤️🌍🙏🏽 #igbo #viral #blaqbonez #Odumodublvck #rapper #igborap #hiphop #nigeria #fyp #music #imostate #fypviralシ #afrobeats #davido #Southeastmusic
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  • Bimbo Oshin, a popular Yoruba Nollywood actress, met her late husband, Dudu Heritage, whose real name was Ola Ibironke, many years ago in the Nigerian entertainment circle. Dudu Heritage was a well-known music promoter and socialite, especially active in the U.S. and Nigeria. Their paths crossed during industry events and social gatherings, and from there, they grew close. Their relationship blossomed and led to marriage, though they mostly kept their family life private.

    They were blessed with children together, including a daughter. Bimbo Oshin always spoke fondly of her husband, often referring to him as a great support system and a loving father.

    Sadly, Dudu Heritage d!ed suddenly on Sunday, September 12, 2021. He reportedly slumped and passed away, which shocked many in the entertainment industry and left Bimbo devastated. His d£ath came unexpectedly and was a major blow to her and the family.

    Since the passing of her husband, Bimbo Oshin has focused on her children and career. As of now, there’s no confirmed report that she has remarried or is dating anyone publicly. She continues to keep her personal life away from public drama and focuses on living quietly while maintaining her relevance in Nollywood.
    Follow My Nolly Movies for more updates.

    #fblifestyle
    Bimbo Oshin, a popular Yoruba Nollywood actress, met her late husband, Dudu Heritage, whose real name was Ola Ibironke, many years ago in the Nigerian entertainment circle. Dudu Heritage was a well-known music promoter and socialite, especially active in the U.S. and Nigeria. Their paths crossed during industry events and social gatherings, and from there, they grew close. Their relationship blossomed and led to marriage, though they mostly kept their family life private. They were blessed with children together, including a daughter. Bimbo Oshin always spoke fondly of her husband, often referring to him as a great support system and a loving father. Sadly, Dudu Heritage d!ed suddenly on Sunday, September 12, 2021. He reportedly slumped and passed away, which shocked many in the entertainment industry and left Bimbo devastated. His d£ath came unexpectedly and was a major blow to her and the family. Since the passing of her husband, Bimbo Oshin has focused on her children and career. As of now, there’s no confirmed report that she has remarried or is dating anyone publicly. She continues to keep her personal life away from public drama and focuses on living quietly while maintaining her relevance in Nollywood. Follow My Nolly Movies for more updates. #fblifestyle
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  • Designing a good market setting and structure for Obagaji, the administrative headquarters of Agatu LGA in Benue State, requires an approach that reflects the local culture, supports agriculture-based commerce, improves livelihoods, and fosters community development.

    A proposal by Obagaji, Agatu Benue State page

    Here is a comprehensive proposal for a modern yet culturally grounded market structure for Obagaji:

    PROPOSED MARKET NAME:

    "Obagaji Central Agro-Market" (OCAM)

    1. Location & Layout

    Location Criteria:

    Central to the community, easily accessible from surrounding villages (e.g., Okokolo, Odugbeho, Aila, Usha, Olegochepo, etc.)

    Near a motorable road or spot where future road development is feasible

    Dry, well-drained land (avoid flood-prone areas, which Agatu has experienced)

    Close to a water source for sanitation purposes

    Market Zoning Structure:

    Divide the market into functional zones:

    Zone Description

    Fresh Produce Zone: Yam, cassava, maize, vegetables, tomatoes
    Livestock Zone: Goats, pigs, poultry, cattle (with pens)
    Grains & Cereals Zone: Rice, millet, guinea corn, corn, beans
    Craft & Fabric Zone: Local fabric, baskets, pottery, arts
    General Goods Zone: Household items, clothing, provisions
    Food Court Area: Local food vendors, palm wine spots
    Pharmaceutical & Herbal Zone: Traditional medicine, drug stores
    Youth Innovation Corner: Tech repairs, tailoring, barbers, etc.
    Waste Management Area: Compost and refuse collection point

    2. Physical Infrastructure

    Market Structures:

    Open stalls with zinc roofing

    Permanent shops for bigger traders

    Shaded spaces using local materials (e.g., raffia/bamboo)

    Auction space for livestock sales

    Cold storage unit (solar-powered, if possible) for perishables

    Toilets and washing areas

    Drainage system to manage waste and runoff

    Security post and watchtower

    Warehouse/Storage rooms

    3. Market Day System

    Weekly Market Days:

    Designate two major market days (e.g., every Wednesday and Saturday or the usual 5 Days as we have it today)

    Promote monthly "Agatu Agro Fest" where farmers and artisans showcase produce

    4. Governance and Revenue

    Market Leadership:

    Market Union (elected traders)

    Elders’ Council (representing clans/villages)

    Women & Youth Representatives

    Agatu LGA Liaison Officer

    Revenue Streams:

    Stall/shop rentals

    Parking/ticket fees

    Cleaning and security fees

    Monthly vendor permits

    Partnerships with NGOs or cooperatives

    5. Sustainability Features

    Encourage plastic-free zones (use raffia or sack bags)

    Create community composting pits

    Train locals on market hygiene & waste sorting

    Use solar panels for lighting and cold storage

    6. Cultural Integration

    Welcome arch with Idoma symbols

    Murals of Agatu farmers and warriors

    Market Square Drum Tower for announcements

    Open arena for storytelling, music, and local dance on market days

    7. Partnerships and Support

    Partner with:

    Benue State Ministry of Agriculture

    Federal Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development

    International NGOs (e.g., Mercy Corps, IFAD)

    Local cooperatives

    Microfinance banks for small loans

    Engage the diaspora community for funding
    Designing a good market setting and structure for Obagaji, the administrative headquarters of Agatu LGA in Benue State, requires an approach that reflects the local culture, supports agriculture-based commerce, improves livelihoods, and fosters community development. A proposal by Obagaji, Agatu Benue State page Here is a comprehensive proposal for a modern yet culturally grounded market structure for Obagaji: PROPOSED MARKET NAME: "Obagaji Central Agro-Market" (OCAM) 1. Location & Layout Location Criteria: Central to the community, easily accessible from surrounding villages (e.g., Okokolo, Odugbeho, Aila, Usha, Olegochepo, etc.) Near a motorable road or spot where future road development is feasible Dry, well-drained land (avoid flood-prone areas, which Agatu has experienced) Close to a water source for sanitation purposes Market Zoning Structure: Divide the market into functional zones: Zone Description Fresh Produce Zone: Yam, cassava, maize, vegetables, tomatoes Livestock Zone: Goats, pigs, poultry, cattle (with pens) Grains & Cereals Zone: Rice, millet, guinea corn, corn, beans Craft & Fabric Zone: Local fabric, baskets, pottery, arts General Goods Zone: Household items, clothing, provisions Food Court Area: Local food vendors, palm wine spots Pharmaceutical & Herbal Zone: Traditional medicine, drug stores Youth Innovation Corner: Tech repairs, tailoring, barbers, etc. Waste Management Area: Compost and refuse collection point 2. Physical Infrastructure Market Structures: Open stalls with zinc roofing Permanent shops for bigger traders Shaded spaces using local materials (e.g., raffia/bamboo) Auction space for livestock sales Cold storage unit (solar-powered, if possible) for perishables Toilets and washing areas Drainage system to manage waste and runoff Security post and watchtower Warehouse/Storage rooms 3. Market Day System Weekly Market Days: Designate two major market days (e.g., every Wednesday and Saturday or the usual 5 Days as we have it today) Promote monthly "Agatu Agro Fest" where farmers and artisans showcase produce 4. Governance and Revenue Market Leadership: Market Union (elected traders) Elders’ Council (representing clans/villages) Women & Youth Representatives Agatu LGA Liaison Officer Revenue Streams: Stall/shop rentals Parking/ticket fees Cleaning and security fees Monthly vendor permits Partnerships with NGOs or cooperatives 5. Sustainability Features Encourage plastic-free zones (use raffia or sack bags) Create community composting pits Train locals on market hygiene & waste sorting Use solar panels for lighting and cold storage 6. Cultural Integration Welcome arch with Idoma symbols Murals of Agatu farmers and warriors Market Square Drum Tower for announcements Open arena for storytelling, music, and local dance on market days 7. Partnerships and Support Partner with: Benue State Ministry of Agriculture Federal Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development International NGOs (e.g., Mercy Corps, IFAD) Local cooperatives Microfinance banks for small loans Engage the diaspora community for funding
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  • The Salty Soup

    In the small town of Amala Junction, there was a famous mama-put spot called Taste & See. Mama Ejiro, the owner, was known for her loud mouth, hot temper, and even hotter pepper soup. People came from far and near just to eat her egusi and swallow.

    One sunny afternoon, Aunty Bunmi, a self-proclaimed chef and neighborhood gossip, walked in with her friend to eat lunch. As usual, the place was full people licking plates and sweating from pepper.

    Aunty Bunmi took one spoon of soup, dropped her spoon dramatically, clutched her chest and shouted:

    My dear, This your soup is a bit salty today o
    Everyone froze.
    Even the flies stopped flying.
    The music in the background paused by itself.
    Children outside stopped playing.
    One man even choked on his fufu and started praying in tongues.

    Mama Ejiro slowly turned from her pot of steaming soup and replied loudly:

    If you sabi cook better, wetin you dey do here every day"
    Gasps filled the air.
    People started whispering.

    Ah ,Aunty Bunmi don collect today
    Na so she go from food critic to public disgrace
    Drama don land o
    Aunty Bunmi stood up, adjusted her wrapper, and shouted back:
    At least my husband doesn’t run away to drink garri at bar every night like yours
    Gbaga!
    Table shake
    Soup pot nearly fell

    Mama Ejiro threw her cooking spoon in the air and screamed:

    Holy Ghost fie. You have entered the arena now Today na today

    She tied her wrapper tighter, removed her slippers, and charged like a Nollywood lioness.

    Customers dropped their food and ran outside with their chairs like it was a live movie.
    The okada man passing shouted:

    Wait first, Na free episode of 'Wife of W@r' be this
    The Salty Soup 🤣😅🤣😅🤣 In the small town of Amala Junction, there was a famous mama-put spot called Taste & See. Mama Ejiro, the owner, was known for her loud mouth, hot temper, and even hotter pepper soup. People came from far and near just to eat her egusi and swallow. One sunny afternoon, Aunty Bunmi, a self-proclaimed chef and neighborhood gossip, walked in with her friend to eat lunch. As usual, the place was full people licking plates and sweating from pepper. Aunty Bunmi took one spoon of soup, dropped her spoon dramatically, clutched her chest and shouted: My dear, This your soup is a bit salty today o Everyone froze. Even the flies stopped flying. The music in the background paused by itself. Children outside stopped playing. One man even choked on his fufu and started praying in tongues.😆😆 Mama Ejiro slowly turned from her pot of steaming soup and replied loudly: If you sabi cook better, wetin you dey do here every day" Gasps filled the air. People started whispering.🤣😅 Ah ,Aunty Bunmi don collect today Na so she go from food critic to public disgrace Drama don land o Aunty Bunmi stood up, adjusted her wrapper, and shouted back: At least my husband doesn’t run away to drink garri at bar every night like yours Gbaga! Table shake Soup pot nearly fell🤣😅🤣 Mama Ejiro threw her cooking spoon in the air and screamed:🤣🤣 Holy Ghost fie. You have entered the arena now Today na today She tied her wrapper tighter, removed her slippers, and charged like a Nollywood lioness🤣🤣🤣. Customers dropped their food and ran outside with their chairs like it was a live movie. The okada man passing shouted🤣: Wait first, Na free episode of 'Wife of W@r' be this🤣🤣🤣
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  • Kendu Isaacs not only wanted Mary to pay him spousal support after cheating, which is a pretty bold move considering he was the one who broke the trust in their relationship.

    The former music manager also wanted Mary J. Blige to pay child support for the children he had with another woman, which is a pretty shocking request given the circumstances. And if that wasn't enough, he also had the audacity to ask for a $5,000 monthly allowance for his two parents, which is just mind-boggling.…
    Kendu Isaacs not only wanted Mary to pay him spousal support after cheating, which is a pretty bold move considering he was the one who broke the trust in their relationship. The former music manager also wanted Mary J. Blige to pay child support for the children he had with another woman, which is a pretty shocking request given the circumstances. And if that wasn't enough, he also had the audacity to ask for a $5,000 monthly allowance for his two parents, which is just mind-boggling.…
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    0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 89 Views 0 önizleme
  • FIFTY MILLION NIGHTS
    PART 8
    The club was packed, the music loud, the air thick with sweat and perfume. Olivia moved between tables, balancing a tray of drinks, her feet aching in her heels. She hadn’t eaten all day—too nervous, too busy trying to keep up with Malik’s demands.
    Then, the room tilted.
    Her vision blurred. The tray slipped from her fingers. Glasses shattered on the floor.
    And then—nothing.
    Malik was in his office when he heard the crash. Then shouting. Then Kola’s voice, sharp with panic: "Boss! It’s Olivia!"
    He was out of his chair before the words fully registered.
    The crowd had already parted, forming a circle around her. Olivia lay on the floor, pale, unmoving. One of the bouncers was kneeling beside her, about to lift her—
    "DON’T TOUCH HER!" Malik’s roar sent everyone scrambling back.
    He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands hovering, unsure. He had seen men shot, stabbed, bleeding out—but this? A woman passed out. It terrified him in a way bullets never had.
    "Olivia." He tapped her cheek. No response.
    His chest tightened. He didn’t think. Just acted.
    One arm slid under her knees, the other behind her back—and then he lifted her, cradling her against his chest like something precious.
    "Move!" he barked at the crowd. They jumped aside as he carried her through the club, his men trailing behind, stunned.
    The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.
    Malik had ordered everyone out—doctors, bodyguards, even his most trusted men. Only he remained, sitting stiffly in a chair beside his bed, watching Olivia breathe.
    The doctor said it was exhaustion. Dehydration. Nothing serious.
    But Malik hadn’t moved.
    Olivia stirred, her lashes fluttering. When her eyes opened, they were hazy, confused. Then they focused—on him.
    "Malik?" Her voice was weak.
    He clenched his jaw. "You fainted."
    She blinked, then slowly looked around—his bedroom, the dim lights, the glass of water on the nightstand. "You… brought me here?"
    He didn’t answer.
    She sat up slowly, wincing. "Why?"
    "Because you’re useless to me dead," he snapped.
    But his voice didn’t sound angry. It sounded… rough. Worried.
    Olivia stared at him. Then, for the first time, she smiled. A small, knowing smile. "You were scared."
    His jaw tightened. "Don’t push me, Olivia."
    She didn’t listen. She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. "Thank you."
    Malik froze. Her touch burned.
    ---
    The next morning, his men wouldn’t stop grinning.
    "Boss carried her like a bride," Kola muttered to Dapo, loud enough for Malik to hear.
    "Did you see his face? I thought he was going to shoot someone," Dapo chuckled.
    Malik ignored them. But his ears burned.
    He had spent the night watching her sleep. Making sure she drank water. Adjusting the blankets when she shivered.
    It was weakness. It was ******.
    But when she had smiled at him—when she had thanked him—something inside him had cracked.
    He refused to name it.
    But deep down, he knew.
    He was falling.
    And it terrified him more than any enemy ever had.
    FIFTY MILLION NIGHTS PART 8 The club was packed, the music loud, the air thick with sweat and perfume. Olivia moved between tables, balancing a tray of drinks, her feet aching in her heels. She hadn’t eaten all day—too nervous, too busy trying to keep up with Malik’s demands. Then, the room tilted. Her vision blurred. The tray slipped from her fingers. Glasses shattered on the floor. And then—nothing. Malik was in his office when he heard the crash. Then shouting. Then Kola’s voice, sharp with panic: "Boss! It’s Olivia!" He was out of his chair before the words fully registered. The crowd had already parted, forming a circle around her. Olivia lay on the floor, pale, unmoving. One of the bouncers was kneeling beside her, about to lift her— "DON’T TOUCH HER!" Malik’s roar sent everyone scrambling back. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands hovering, unsure. He had seen men shot, stabbed, bleeding out—but this? A woman passed out. It terrified him in a way bullets never had. "Olivia." He tapped her cheek. No response. His chest tightened. He didn’t think. Just acted. One arm slid under her knees, the other behind her back—and then he lifted her, cradling her against his chest like something precious. "Move!" he barked at the crowd. They jumped aside as he carried her through the club, his men trailing behind, stunned. The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet. Malik had ordered everyone out—doctors, bodyguards, even his most trusted men. Only he remained, sitting stiffly in a chair beside his bed, watching Olivia breathe. The doctor said it was exhaustion. Dehydration. Nothing serious. But Malik hadn’t moved. Olivia stirred, her lashes fluttering. When her eyes opened, they were hazy, confused. Then they focused—on him. "Malik?" Her voice was weak. He clenched his jaw. "You fainted." She blinked, then slowly looked around—his bedroom, the dim lights, the glass of water on the nightstand. "You… brought me here?" He didn’t answer. She sat up slowly, wincing. "Why?" "Because you’re useless to me dead," he snapped. But his voice didn’t sound angry. It sounded… rough. Worried. Olivia stared at him. Then, for the first time, she smiled. A small, knowing smile. "You were scared." His jaw tightened. "Don’t push me, Olivia." She didn’t listen. She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. "Thank you." Malik froze. Her touch burned. --- The next morning, his men wouldn’t stop grinning. "Boss carried her like a bride," Kola muttered to Dapo, loud enough for Malik to hear. "Did you see his face? I thought he was going to shoot someone," Dapo chuckled. Malik ignored them. But his ears burned. He had spent the night watching her sleep. Making sure she drank water. Adjusting the blankets when she shivered. It was weakness. It was stupid. But when she had smiled at him—when she had thanked him—something inside him had cracked. He refused to name it. But deep down, he knew. He was falling. And it terrified him more than any enemy ever had.
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