It pays to serve God ! Just give it a try, and it'll surprise you!

Saturday PUNCH gathered that the attacks occurred in two communities in Bokkos and Mangu Local Government Areas of the state on Thursday night.

According to eyewitnesses, gunmen stormed the Tangur district in Bokkos LGA around 8 pm, shooting indiscriminately as they broke into homes and killed many people.

The Chairman of Community Peace Observers in Bokkos LGA, Kefas Mallai, who confirmed the attack to our correspondent in Jos on Friday, said 13 people, mostly women and children, were killed in Jwan community of the council area.

Forgive even if they’re not sorry.
Forgive even if their words still play over and over in your head.
Forgive even if they haven’t changed.
Forgive even if they don’t deserve it.
Forgive even if the apology never comes.

Forgive because you owe it to yourself.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean offering them access back into your life.
…and it doesn’t mean giving them permission to break your heart again.

Forgiveness allows YOU to heal.

Being the bigger person isn’t saying, “What you did to me is okay.” It’s saying, ”I’m no longer giving you the power to control my emotions.”

Even if it’s the hardest thing in the world to do…

Forgive them anyway.🩷

A man has two choices when he's in a relationship with a strong, loyal, emotionally invested woman: either rise to the occasion and be everything she needs, or step aside and stop blocking the view for the man who actually can. It’s that simple.

You don’t get to half-love her, breadcrumb her with attention, or keep her on a leash while you figure yourself out. She’s not a placeholder. She’s not a test run. She’s a woman with a heart that loves deeply and a soul that deserves stability. If you’re going to love her, really love her. Show up. Lead with consistency, not confusion.

Be intentional, not impulsive. Speak life into her, no doubt. Handle her with care, not control. Because a woman like her doesn’t just want romance, she needs reliability, presence, protection, and peace. And if you can’t be that then don’t waste her time. Sit down and let the real one step up. Because someone else will. Someone who recognizes her worth without needing to be reminded.

Someone who sees her strength and doesn’t feel intimidated by it but is inspired to match it. She deserves someone who doesn't hesitate when it comes to loving her right. If that’s not you, move out of the way.

I WAS ERASED BY MY OWN SISTER
PART 3
Nneka’s home was a sanctuary of warmth and success—a spacious modern penthouse in the heart of Lagos, filled with natural light, elegant furniture, and the scent of her luxury skincare products. It was a reflection of her: beautiful, inviting, and full of life.
And now, Ngozi was inside.
Ngozi had arrived with a single suitcase and a smile so sweet it could rot teeth.
"Sis, I just missed you so much," she had said, hugging Nneka tightly at the door. "Living alone has been so lonely… and with your wedding coming up, I thought—why not spend more time with my favorite twin?"
Nneka, ever trusting, melted instantly. "Of course! This is your home too!"
She didn’t see the way Ngozi’s eyes flickered over the expensive decor, the way her fingers lingered a little too long on Emeka’s jacket hanging by the door.
She didn’t see the snake slithering into her paradise.
Ngozi played her role flawlessly.
She woke up early to make breakfast, humming as she set the table. "You work so hard, Nneka. Let me take care of you for once!"
She offered to help with wedding plans, flipping through bridal magazines with exaggerated excitement. "Oh my God, this dress would look stunning on you!"
She even volunteered to test Nneka’s new skincare line, raving about it to her followers online. "My sister is a genius! You all need to try this!"
But behind every smile, every compliment, was a blade waiting to strike.
Ngozi’s first mission? Emeka.
She waited until Nneka was busy with a business call, then "accidentally" bumped into Emeka in the kitchen, spilling her wine on his crisp white shirt.
"Oh no! I’m so sorry!" she gasped, dabbing at his chest with a napkin, her touch lingering just a second too long.
Emeka, ever the gentleman, laughed it off. *"It’s fine, Ngozi. No harm done."
But Ngozi wasn’t done.
Later that night, as they all watched a movie, she made sure to sit a little too close to Emeka, her bare leg brushing against his. When Nneka got up to take a call, Ngozi sighed dramatically.
"I wish I had a man as patient as you, Emeka. Nneka is so lucky… but honestly, I don’t know how you put up with her workaholic ways. She barely has time for you."
Emeka frowned. "She’s just passionate."
Ngozi gave a small, pitying smile. "Of course. But a man like you deserves… more."
The seed was planted.
Nneka’s skincare samples for an important client meeting vanished the night before the presentation. She turned the house upside down, panic rising in her chest.
"Ngozi, did you see the box of Naturé samples? They were right here!"
Ngozi widened her eyes in fake concern. "Oh no! Maybe the cleaner misplaced them?"
But Nneka’s cleaner was meticulous. And Ngozi had been the last one near the samples.
The meeting was a disaster. Nneka had to apologize profusely, her reputation taking a hit.
And Ngozi? She comforted her sister with a hug, hiding her smirk in Nneka’s shoulder.
"Don’t worry, sis. These things happen."
The final blow came at Nneka’s birthday dinner.
Nneka had stepped away to take an urgent call from a supplier, leaving Emeka and Ngozi alone at the table.
Ngozi seized her chance.
She leaned in, her voice a whisper. "Emeka… I’ve always admired you. The way you love my sister… it’s so beautiful." She let her hand rest on his. *"But does she even see how amazing you are? Or is she too busy chasing her next big deal?"
Emeka pulled back, uncomfortable. *"Ngozi, don’t."
But Ngozi wasn’t deterred. With tears glistening in her eyes, she whispered, "I just hate seeing you taken for granted. If you were mine… I’d never let you feel second best."
Just then, Nneka returned, her smile fading as she took in the tense scene.
"Everything okay?" she asked.
Ngozi blinked away her "tears" and laughed lightly. "Of course! Emeka was just telling me how much he loves you."
But the doubt was already in the air.
As the days passed, Ngozi’s schemes grew bolder.
She "accidentally" sent Emeka flirty texts meant for a "mystery man," then gasped in horror when he confronted her. "Oh my God! That was for my friend’s brother! My phone must have glitched!"
She whispered to Nneka’s friends that her sister was "stressed and acting strange lately," planting the idea that Nneka was unstable.
And every night, she lay in bed, replaying her victories with a grin.
Because soon, very soon, Nneka’s perfect life would crumble.
And Ngozi would be there to pick up the pieces.
To Be Continued…)

DEAR SINGLE KING, WHEN LAST DID YOU MAKE A PRAYER LIKE THIS:

Lord, send me a wife—not just any wife, but a woman after Your own heart. A woman who knows how to fight battles on her knees, who walks with grace and speaks with wisdom. One who will anoint my head with oil, not just as a ritual, but as an act of love, protection, and spiritual authority.
Let her hands be gentle but powerful—so when she touches me, healing flows. May she see beyond my flaws and cover me in prayer, especially when I’m asleep and unaware. Let her whisper blessings over my future, declare peace over my mind, and invite Your presence into our home daily.
Give me a wife who understands the weight of purpose, who will encourage my calling, speak life into my dry seasons, and remind me who I am in You. Let her be a safe place, a warrior in the Spirit, and a woman who finds her strength not in the world, but in You.
And Lord, when You send her—prepare me to be the husband she deserves. Let me be her protector, her provider, her priest, and her peace. Together, may we be a kingdom couple—fueled by love, anchored in faith, and destined for purpose. Amen.

May you find "THE ONE".

Maybe you’re not just horny—you’re starved for human touch, affection, intimacy, passion, and fluid communication, followed by an orgasmic release. Your soul craves more than physical connection; it’s hungry for mental stimulation, non-sexual affection, comforting conversations, and pure transparency.
What you truly desire is a soulful bond where masculine and feminine energy intertwine seamlessly. It’s not just about someone penetrating your body; it’s about someone who touches your soul, ignites your spirit, and sees you completely.
The soul always knows what it wants—and it won’t settle for less than the depth and fulfillment it deserves.

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
FINALE
The grand villa, once a gilded cage echoing with tension and Amanda’s venomous whispers, had transformed into a sanctuary bathed in golden light and the vibrant hum of genuine joy. The "Welcome Home" party wasn’t just for Jessica; it was a rebirth for the entire household. Paper lanterns, reminiscent of the secret baby shower but multiplied a hundredfold, adorned every archway and balcony, casting a warm, celebratory glow. Lush floral arrangements overflowing with crimson hibiscus, golden birds of paradise, and fragrant white jasmine replaced the sterile opulence. The air thrummed with the infectious rhythms of highlife music and the laughter of Scar’s men – no longer just guards, but an extended family sharing in their leader’s profound relief and happiness.
Jessica stood near the sweeping staircase, a vision in flowing ivory silk. The lingering shadows of fear and hardship were gone, replaced by a radiant serenity that seemed to emanate from her very core. She watched Scar move through the crowd, his usual intimidating presence softened into an almost boyish delight. He greeted his men with firm handshakes and claps on the back, his deep laughter ringing out freely, a sound many hadn’t heard in years. His eyes, however, constantly sought hers, anchoring himself in her presence. Every few minutes, he would weave his way back to her, his hand finding the small of her back, his lips brushing her temple, a silent, possessive reassurance. "Mine. Safe. Home."
Amidst the joyful chaos, Scar spotted Ghost standing near the open terrace doors, a quiet sentinel observing the celebration. Chioma was beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Scar excused himself from a conversation and walked towards them, his expression turning solemn. The music seemed to fade slightly as he approached.
"Ghost," Scar said, his voice low and thick with emotion. He stopped before the man who had been a shadow, a weapon, and ultimately, a savior.
Ghost straightened, his usual impassive mask in place, but his eyes held a flicker of wariness.
Scar didn’t offer a handshake. Instead, he placed both hands firmly on Ghost’s shoulders, a gesture of profound respect and intimacy reserved for the closest of brothers-in-arms. He looked directly into Ghost’s eyes, his own dark gaze unwavering and sincere.
"Words are cheap," Scar began, his voice rough. "But they are all I have right now to express what can never truly be repaid." He paused, the weight of the past months heavy in the silence. "You saved her life. You saved *my son’s* life. When I was blind with rage, walking in darkness, you were the one who held the light. You saw the truth when I refused to. You risked everything – your position, your life, my wrath – to protect Jessica when I couldn’t, when I *failed* her." Scar’s voice cracked slightly. "You brought her back. You kept her safe. You gave me back…" He glanced towards Jessica, his eyes softening, "...everything."
He squeezed Ghost’s shoulders. "My gratitude isn't just for tonight. It’s a debt etched into my bones. You have my loyalty, Ghost, not as an employer, but as a brother. Now and always. Whatever you need, whenever you need it – it’s yours. Without question." He finally released him, stepping back slightly, but the intensity of his gaze remained. "Thank you. For Jessica. For my son. For my life."
Ghost, a man of few words, swallowed hard. The stoic mask fractured, revealing a depth of emotion rarely seen. He gave a single, sharp nod, his voice gruff when he finally spoke. "Just bringing you home to what matters, Boss. To *who* matters." He glanced at Chioma, a softness touching his eyes. "We did it together."
Chioma beamed, tears glistening. Scar nodded, the profound understanding passing between them. He clasped Ghost’s hand firmly this time. "Together," he echoed. The moment solidified a bond forged in fire, stronger than any empire.
Weeks later, the villa was hushed, filled with a different kind of anticipation – sacred and primal. Jessica labored not in a sterile hospital, but in the sun-drenched master suite Scar had transformed into a birthing sanctuary. Chioma, now officially Jessica’s sister and confidante, was her unwavering pillar, alongside a trusted midwife. Scar paced the adjoining sitting room like the lion he was, his usual composure shattered. Every muffled cry from Jessica sent a jolt of terror and helplessness through him. He heard William’s low murmur trying to offer reassurance, but the powerful kingpin was reduced to a bundle of raw nerves, praying to deities he’d long ignored.
Then, cutting through the tense silence, came a new sound – a strong, indignant wail. A sound that stopped Scar’s heart before setting it pounding with a frantic, overwhelming joy. The door opened. Chioma emerged, her face radiant, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Boss…" she whispered, her voice thick. "Come meet your son."
Scar moved as if in a dream, pushing past her into the room. The scent of blood and effort hung in the air, but it was eclipsed by something purer, sweeter. Jessica lay propped on pillows, exhausted but glowing, her face a picture of awestruck love. And in her arms, swaddled in soft white linen, was a tiny, perfect human being. A shock of dark hair, a button nose, and eyes screwed shut as he voiced his displeasure at the bright new world.
Scar approached slowly, his massive frame seeming too large, too clumsy for this fragile miracle. He sank to his knees beside the bed, his eyes fixed on the tiny face. Jessica smiled weakly, shifting slightly. "Sebastian… meet your son. Adebayo Sebastian Scar."
Tentatively, reverently, Scar reached out. His large, scarred hand, capable of such violence, trembled as he gently traced the curve of his son’s impossibly soft cheek. The baby’s cries subsided slightly, tiny fingers unfurling. As Scar’s fingertip brushed that miniature hand, the tiny fingers instinctively curled around it with surprising strength.
The dam broke. A single tear, then another, escaped Scar’s tightly shut eyes, tracing a path down his scarred cheek. A sob, raw and unexpected, ripped from his chest. He bowed his head, his forehead resting gently against Jessica’s arm beside the baby, his shoulders shaking silently. The fear, the rage, the betrayal, the relentless pursuit of power – it all dissolved in the face of this profound, terrifying love. He wept for the man he’d been, for the pain inflicted, for the miracle granted.
"He’s perfect," he choked out, lifting his tear-streaked face to look at Jessica, his eyes blazing with a love so fierce it stole her breath. He placed his other hand over hers where it cradled the baby’s head. "Both of you. My world." He leaned down, pressing the most tender kiss first on Jessica’s sweaty forehead, then on the downy head of his son. "I swear on my life," he whispered, his voice thick with conviction, his gaze locked on the tiny face, "I will protect you. Both of you. With every breath, every drop of blood. Nothing will ever harm you again. You are my heart. My sanctuary. My *everything*." The Lion of Lagos had found his true purpose, not in territory or fear, but in the fierce, unwavering protection of his pride
Four months later, Adebayo was a thriving bundle of energy, his dark eyes already holding a disconcerting echo of his father’s intensity, often softened by a gummy smile that could melt stone. Life settled into a blissful rhythm. Scar embraced fatherhood with a fierce, almost comical devotion, often found pacing the nursery at 3 AM with Adebayo asleep on his broad chest, or conducting business meetings via video call with the baby propped in a sling.
One quiet afternoon, Jessica found Scar in his study, engrossed in building a ridiculously complex block tower for Adebayo, who watched with rapt fascination. Sunlight streamed through the windows. Jessica sat beside him on the plush rug, leaning her head against his shoulder. "He’s getting so strong," she murmured, watching their son grab a block.
"He’s a Scar," Scar rumbled proudly, carefully adding another block. "Strength is in the blood."
Jessica took a deep breath, a secret smile playing on her lips. "Speaking of strength… and blood…" She reached into the pocket of her flowing dress and pulled out a small, familiar plastic stick. She placed it gently on the carpet beside the tower.
Scar froze, his hand hovering over the next block. His gaze snapped from the test to Jessica’s face, then back to the test. Two clear pink lines. His breath hitched. Understanding dawned, slow and then blindingly bright. He dropped the block, ignoring Adebayo’s startled gurgle. He turned fully to Jessica, his eyes wide, searching hers.
"Jessica?" His voice was barely a whisper, filled with disbelief and burgeoning hope.
She nodded, her smile widening, tears sparkling in her eyes. "Another little lion cub. Or maybe a lioness this time. Due in about seven months."
A roar of pure, unadulterated joy erupted from Scar, startling Adebayo, who blinked and then let out a delighted squeal. Scar swept Jessica into his arms, lifting her off the rug, spinning her gently despite her laughing protests. He buried his face in her neck, his laughter mingling with tears of profound gratitude. "Another chance," he breathed against her skin, setting her down but holding her close. "Another miracle. You give me everything, my lioness. Everything."
He kissed her then, deep and slow, pouring all his love, his relief, his awe into the touch. Later that night, after Adebayo was asleep, their reunion was a slow, tender exploration. It wasn't the frantic claiming of the past, nor the desperate passion after Amanda’s exposure. It was a celebration of life, of their enduring bond, of the future stretching bright before them. He worshipped her body, the subtle new curve taking shape beneath his hands, whispering promises against her skin, their movements a beautiful, synchronized dance of love and creation.
Adebayo was six months old, a sturdy, curious baby with his father’s intense gaze and his mother’s gentle smile, when Jessica walked down the aisle. Not in a cathedral, but at dawn on the private, white-sand beach of a secluded Seychelles island. The guests were few but deeply cherished: Her parents, beaming with pride and tearful joy; Chioma and Ghost, holding hands; William, Kola, Musa, and a handful of Scar’s most trusted men, now truly family.
Jessica wore not a traditional white gown, but a stunning creation of layered, whisper-thin ivory silk that flowed like water around her, subtly cinched beneath her breasts to accommodate the gentle swell of her second pregnancy. Her hair was woven with fragrant frangipani blossoms. She carried a simple bouquet of tropical white orchids.
Scar waited for her beneath a canopy woven with vibrant bougainvillea and seashells, barefoot in the sand, wearing crisp white linen trousers and an open-necked ivory shirt. He held Adebayo, dressed in a tiny linen suit, who stared wide-eyed at the ocean. But as Jessica approached, guided by her father, Scar’s gaze locked onto hers. The raw love, the fierce protectiveness, the awe he’d felt holding his son for the first time – it all shone in his eyes, amplified a thousandfold. Tears tracked freely down his face as she reached him.
The ceremony was simple, profound. They spoke vows not written by anyone else, but forged in the fires they’d walked through together. Jessica promised her strength, her unwavering love, and the sanctuary of her heart. Scar vowed his protection, his absolute fidelity, and his endless gratitude for the family she’d given him. He included Adebayo in his vows, promising to be his guide, and placed a gentle hand on Jessica’s belly, whispering a promise to the child yet to come. When they kissed, the rising sun painted them in gold, the turquoise waves their witness.
Their honeymoon wasn't just a vacation; it was a month-long immersion in peace, connection, and the simple joy of being a family. They spent mornings building sandcastles with a delighted Adebayo, afternoons napping in hammocks strung between palm trees, Scar’s hand resting possessively on Jessica’s growing bump. Evenings were spent sharing fresh seafood under the stars, Adebayo asleep in a sling against Scar’s chest, Jessica leaning against his shoulder. They talked – truly talked – about their fears, their hopes, their dreams for their children. They swam in crystal-clear lagoons, explored vibrant coral reefs, and simply existed in a bubble of love, far removed from the shadows of Lagos.
One moonlit night, after settling Adebayo in the villa’s nursery, Scar led Jessica back to the beach. He spread a blanket on the sand, the only sound the gentle sigh of the waves. He pulled her down beside him, wrapping his arms around her from behind, his hands cradling her belly. He rested his chin on her shoulder, looking out at the vast, star-strewn ocean.
"From the slums of Lagos," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble against her ear, "to the devil’s mistress… to my wife. My queen. The mother of my children." He kissed her temple. "My Jessica. My sanctuary."
Jessica leaned back into his embrace, covering his hands with hers on her belly, feeling the tiny flutter within. She looked up at the endless sky, then back at the sleeping villa where their son dreamed. "Our sanctuary, Sebastian," she whispered, turning her head to capture his lips in a tender kiss under the watchful moon. "Built together. Forged in fire. Found in love."
The Lion had found his true kingdom – not in fear or territory, but in the boundless, fiercely protected love of his lioness and their cubs. The Devil’s Mistress had become the Queen of his heart, and their story, scarred but unbreakable, was only just beginning. The future stretched before them, bright as the dawn over the Indian Ocean, filled with the promise of peace, family, and the enduring strength of a love that had conquered hell itself.
THE END

The woman I am becoming no longer settles for shallow love or empty promises. My softness is rare, my presence is sacred — and only a man with a good heart and real intentions deserves the love I give.

From a Dream to Reality

I addressed students and professors and they paid keen attention.

As an undergraduate, I would sit in awe as guest speakers came to address us during departmental events at the University of Buea.

Somewhere deep within, a seed was planted , “One day, I will stand on that stage too. One day, I will speak to students here.”

I had no idea how it would happen, but I held on to the why:

To give back. To serve. To inspire the next generation, right where my own journey began.

Years later, that dream has become a reality.

I had the distinct honor of representing Wem’ Afrika NGO at the Conference and Award Ceremony organized by the Department of International Relations and Conflict Resolution, University of Buea.

As I took the stage and spoke passionately on the value of volunteerism, I looked out at the very seats I once occupied.

I saw students listening intently, lecturers nodding in agreement, and I felt nothing but gratitude.

“Volunteerism is not a waste of time; it’s how we gain time , in wisdom, relationships, and purpose.”

It was more than a speech. It was a wake up call to community service.

And this is just the beginning.

Together with the department, Wem' Afrika looks forward to deeper partnerships, meaningful projects, and empowering more youths to take the lead in shaping peaceful communities.

If you have a dream, don’t stop dreaming. I won't stop dreaming.

#FromDreamToReality #Volunteerism #YouthEmpowerment #WemAfrika #UBPride #PurposeDriven #Leadership #CommunityImpact #GivingBack #Service
#Conflictresolution #Internationalrelations