TINUBU SNUBBED! TRUMP INVITES OTHER AFRICAN LEADERS TO WHITE HOUSE – NIGERIA LEFT IN THE COLD

In a shocking diplomatic twist, U.S. President Donald Trump has excluded President Bola Ahmed Tinubu from a select meeting of African leaders invited to the White House on July 9, focusing on “commercial opportunities” and “mutual prosperity.” Instead, leaders from Senegal, Mauritania, Liberia, Guinea-Bissau, and Gabon have been handpicked for the high-profile lunch and talks.

But why was Nigeria, Africa’s most populous nation and so-called “giant,” left out?

Let’s be brutally honest…

Rampant Corruption:
Billions vanish in plain sight. From the missing $2.1 billion arms deal during the Jonathan era to recent NNPC financial opacity and subsidy scams under Tinubu’s watch — corruption in Nigeria is not only deep-rooted but largely unpunished. When EFCC becomes more of a show than a serious anti-graft body, the world watches and judges.

Religious Extremism & Global Perception:
Only weeks ago, chants of "Iran! Iran!" echoed during protests in northern Nigeria amidst Middle East tensions — sparking concern about extremist sympathies. These optics don’t sit well with Washington’s national security lens.

Insecurity & Bloodshed:
From endless banditry in the North, to the unchecked killing of Christians in Kaduna and Benue, the Nigerian government has consistently failed to act decisively. Armed groups roam freely while citizens live in fear. How can a government that cannot secure its people inspire global confidence?

Policy Uncertainty & Economic Instability:
Investors flee. Inflation climbs. Forex confusion. The so-called economic reforms have crushed the common man while benefitting the elite. Who would want to discuss “commercial opportunities” in a nation where policies change at the speed of tweets?

Now, contrast this with those Trump did invite:

Senegal – Political stability, peaceful democratic transitions, active U.S. partnerships in development and security.
Mauritania – Key ally in the Sahel, anti-terror cooperation, and growing investment frameworks.
Liberia – Historic U.S. ties, improving governance structures, and post-conflict reforms.
Guinea-Bissau – Recent anti-drug crackdowns, governance restructuring, and quiet diplomacy gains.
Gabon – Post-coup transition with commitment to democratic reform and green economy alignment.

These countries, though smaller in size, are showing signs of serious leadership, transparency, and international alignment — things Nigeria, sadly, is struggling with.

A National Wake-Up Call

This snub is a slap in the face and a loud message: the world no longer sees Nigeria as serious. Not about business, not about peace, not about leadership.

Nigerians, when will we demand better?
When will leaders be held accountable?
When will we stop defending failure?

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13 DESTINY KILLERS MEN IGNORE UNTIL IT'S TOO LATE

This is the raw, undiluted truth you didn’t know you needed.
Forget village people — you’re doing yourself in.

Let’s go:

1️⃣ WOMEN, WOMEN, AND WOMEN AGAIN.
Yes, three times for emphasis.
Most men ruin their lives chasing curves and empty thrills.
You spend your small earnings on women who don’t respect you.
Sacrificing time, energy, and peace for people who don’t care.
There’s no trophy for a high body count — only invisible scars and wasted years.

2️⃣ GAMBLING — THE CANCER OF DESTINY.
You think it’s fun?
That “one more bet” might cost you everything.
Time. Money. Peace. Your name.
You don’t win with luck — you win with skill, discipline, and work.

3️⃣ ALCOHOL — THE DRUNK MAN’S DESTINY IS DELAYED.
You drink more than you save.
You inherit hangovers while your peers inherit assets.
A man who spends his salary at the bar leaves his children inheritance of shame.

4️⃣ TIME WASTING — THE SLOW KILLER.
You scroll, gossip, argue football while other men build empires.
Time is currency. Waste yours and life will waste you.

5️⃣ FRAUD (AKA YAHOO) — FAST MONEY, FAST MISERY.
You may flex today but you’ll rot inside.
Quick money is expensive — it costs your peace, your future, and your soul.
It’s not a shortcut, it’s a suicide note.

6️⃣ SMOKING & DRUGS — ADDICTIVE SLOW DEATH.
Weed. Pills. Codeine. Crack.
It starts like fun — ends with depression, job loss, and madness.
You’re numbing pain but feeding your destruction.

7️⃣ LAZINESS — THE ENEMY WITHIN.
You’re broke because you refuse to work.
You want soft life with zero hustle.
If you love sleep more than success, poverty will tuck you in.

8️⃣ LACK OF SELF-CONTROL.
A man without discipline is a loaded gun pointed at his own head.
No routines, no boundaries, no self-mastery.
Weak men self-destruct.

9️⃣ DISRESPECTING YOUR PARENTS.
Insult your parents, abandon them — watch your blessings dry up.
Life may not punish you immediately, but it never forgets.

DEPENDING ON Pet

*The irony of “primitive” versus “civilized” lifestyles - a sickening knowledge gap.*


Most of the chronic diseases troubling Nigerians today didn’t come from our soil.

They came from our silence.
From the things we stopped eating.
From the foods we abandoned in our pursuit of status.

We had everything.

Bitterleaf and ogbono.
Acha, ofada, tigernuts, baobab, African oil bean, locust beans.
We fermented, roasted, sun-dried, and slow-cooked meals that healed the gut and kept the liver sharp.

But somehow, someone convinced us that the very foods that kept our ancestors alive for thousands of years down to us were dirty, local, primitive, and “not balanced.”

And that’s where the problem began.

Walk into most homes in Lagos or Abuja today and ask a child, “What did you eat for breakfast?”
The common answers? Bread and tea. Cornflakes and milk. Chocolate-spread sandwich.

Pap, yam and oil, abacha, moi moi, or okpa have now been reduced to “village foods”.
Yet these were the same meals that built strong teeth, fertile wombs, and clean arteries for generations.

So what really changed?

It wasn’t just colonialism, it was ‘mental colonization’.
The kind that continues today through food ads, Western medical policy templates, and shelves stacked with boxed and packaged meals.

And now we’re seeing the results:
confused diets, weak immunity, hormonal disruption, stunted metabolism, and chronic inflammation from childhood.

We’ve even changed how often we eat and operate out lives.
People now eat three to four times a day while moving less than 1,000 steps daily.
They wake, sit in traffic, sit at work, get home, sit again, and still believe they must eat something every few hours to “stay strong.”

Our ancestors walked to the streams, tilled the ground, fetched firewood, ground melon with stones, and trekked to markets on foot.
Their meals were earned. Their digestion was natural. Their energy, clean.

Today, we mistake laziness for luxury.
We stop our children from sweating and call it love.
We buy them sugar-coated snacks, fast foods, and flavoured drinks thinking it’s care.
Meanwhile, prediabetes, insulin resistance, and fatty liver are already developing quietly in many under-18s. We’ve potentially reduced live-spans of our children without knowing.

Open the average Nigerian fridge today.
Soda. Instant noodles. Sausages. Ice cream. Bread. Yoghurts with corn syrup. Chocolates.
All, ultra-processed. All, pro-inflammatory. All, slowly damaging the brain, liver, and gut microbiome.

Professor Carlos Monteiro, from the University of São Paulo, coined the term “ultra-processed foods” in 2009.
He warned that these items are not merely unhealthy, they are industrially modified substances designed to be addictive and nutrient-empty.

And he was right.

In 2023, The British Medical Journal published a sweeping review of 45 meta-analyses covering 9 million participants.
The results?
Clear associations between ultra-processed food consumption and 32 major health problems, including cardiovascular disease, depression, type 2 diabetes, and premature death.

But in Nigeria, these same foods are branded as ‘premium’.
Imported equals ‘superior’.
Processed equals ‘civilized’.
And native equals ‘backward’.

Even worse, our policymakers follow the same logic.

Most African dietary guidelines are borrowed from the U.S. Food Pyramid or British medical templates.
We wait for WHO, CDC, or USDA to validate the food growing in our backyards.
We ignore the science our grandmothers lived by, science rooted in soil, in climate, in memory.

This is not just a public health issue.
It is a cultural amnesia.

The late Prof. Catherine Acholonu once said, “Our ancestors did not just eat to fill their stomachs they ate to align with nature.”
That’s not superstition.
That’s bio-adaptive nutrition.
That’s metabolic intelligence passed down across time.

And yet, we now look for imported keto kits, foreign wellness apps, and pharmaceutical supplements to solve problems that our food heritage already knows how to prevent.

Dr. Barry Popkin of the University of North Carolina described this global shift as the ‘Nutrition Transition’.
He divided it into five stages.
Africa, right now, is in Stage 4—marked by excessive sugar, seed oils, refined flour, and sedentary living.
What comes next is an epidemic of degenerative diseases.

So let’s be clear:
We’re not just eating wrong.
We’re thinking wrong.

You don’t eat what’s trending, you eat what your DNA understands.
You eat to reduce inflammation.
You eat to support your organs, not to stuff your fridge.

And when sickness finally knocks, the options are fewer.
That’s why prevention is no longer advice, it’s survival.

Self-care is no longer luxury, it’s a return to memory. A return to nature, to our ancestral food heritage.

The healthiest food you can ever eat is the food your ancestors survived on for thousands of years.
It’s coded in your enzymes.
It’s aligned with your gut flora.
It’s built into your bones.

Eat with sense. Not with shame.
Protect your children from food confusion and potential shortened live-spans.
Let them grow up knowing that agidi is not lesser than croissant, and that ogi can nourish better than milk from a tin.

We don’t need another diet plan.
We need cultural clarity.
We don’t need to import everything.
We need to remember what kept our ancestors living strong and gave them longevity.

Because what kept us alive for 1,000 years is not backward,
…it’s what will save us now.

Dani Alves : Messi still asking about me, I live in an apartment owned by Messi in Barcelona, he left it for me
when I got out of prison, he helped me a lot there , now he is the one paying the lawyers to unlock my bank account and use my money, he always calls me if I need anything, he always tells me "we had a great time in Barcelona and I gave a lot to the club, it is impossible to leave you suffering it will bring shame to me and to you and to the fans of Barcelona and the club as well, you are a legend and you deserve a better life and a place that suits you, because you are a legend player" and he also regrets that no one cares about my situation now, if it weren't Messi I don't know maybe I would be homeless in the streets. Thanks to Leo Messi.

*The Dangers of Gossiping*

Gossiping can be a toxic habit that damages relationships, reputations, and self-esteem. It can spread negativity, create conflict, and lead to feelings of guilt and shame.

*Why We Gossip*

- To feel connected or part of a group
- To gain power or control over others
- To distract ourselves from our own problems
- To entertain or amuse others

*The Consequences*

- Damaged relationships and trust
- Hurt feelings and reputations
- Increased stress and anxiety
- Loss of credibility and respect

*Breaking the Habit*

- Practice self-awareness and recognize when you're gossiping
- Focus on positive and uplifting conversations
- Set boundaries and avoid engaging with gossip
- Cultivate empathy and kindness towards others

By being mindful of our words and actions, we can create a more positive and supportive environment for everyone.

JB WORLD

???? What you think Guys ????

Why Masculine Men Are Choosing Passport Wives

It’s not that men can’t find women in the West.

It’s that they’re tired of competing with delusion, debt, and disrespect in their own homes.

So they’re getting their passports—
Not for vacation…
But for peace.

Let’s break it down.

---

1. Western Dating Is War—Not Love

Modern dating feels less like a romance and more like a resume competition:

What car do you drive?

How tall are you?

What’s your net worth?

Can you afford my lifestyle before I’ve even earned your loyalty?

In the U.S., men aren’t building families anymore.

They’re applying for jobs—where the “interviewer” already has five backup candidates and still wants more benefits, less commitment.

---

2. Modern Women Want Control—Not Companionship

She wants submission—but from you.

She wants protection—but no authority.

She wants provision—but no accountability.

Ask any Western man what happens when you say:

> “No, I don’t want my wife showing cleavage online.”

Suddenly, you’re “insecure.” “Controlling.” “Abusive.”

Modern love has no room for masculine leadership.
Only male labor.

---

3. They Shamed Traditional Women—Then Became Miserable

The modern West told women:

“Don’t cook for a man.”

“Don’t raise his kids.”

“Don’t need him for anything.”

Now the average Western woman is:

Drowning in student debt.

Divorced by 32.

Bitter by 35.

Childless by 40.

And reposting therapy quotes from TikTok.

Meanwhile, the man she called “too traditional” is raising a family somewhere in Colombia.

---

4. Foreign Women Still Respect Masculinity

She may not have a degree in feminist theory—but she knows how to build a home.

She may not scream “boss babe”—but she protects your name, your peace, and your children.

She was raised to respect her father, not rebel against him.

So she knows how to treat her husband.

This is not about race.

It’s about feminine energy—and Western men are realizing they have to cross oceans to feel it again.

---

5. Masculine Men Want Peace—Not Performance

Western men are opting out.
Not because they hate women.

But because they’re tired of auditioning to be loved.

They want:

Respect, not rebellion.

Peace, not performance.

A wife, not a public defender with Wi-Fi and a long list of complaints.

So they’re choosing women who still understand that a man’s love language isn’t “gifts.”

It’s peace, purpose, and being needed.

---

Final Word:

A passport doesn’t just stamp your entry into a new country—

It stamps your exit from emotional abuse.

Let them shame you.

Let them say “you couldn’t handle a strong woman.”

Because real strength isn’t in fighting every day just to be heard.

It’s in leaving the battlefield for a place where you can finally rest.

And that’s what passport men are doing:

Not running away from women—
But running toward love again.

THE LAST PROMISE
PART 12
The knock on Mary’s door was loud, insistent. Boom. Boom. Boom. It vibrated through the small living room. Mary knew who it was before she looked through the peephole. Andre stood there, his face tight with anger and confusion. He looked rumpled, a small bandage stark white on his temple where she’d hit him.
For a moment, Mary froze, her hand trembling on the door chain. The image of those damning messages – "Pretend if you must," "5 million Naira," "I know my job" – flashed behind her eyes, hot and sharp. Then, a cold, hard calm settled over her. She took a deep breath, wiped any trace of emotion from her face, and opened the door.
"Andre," she said, her voice flat, devoid of warmth. "What do you want?"
"Why?" he demanded, pushing past her into the small sitting room without waiting for an invitation. He looked around, his gaze landing on Kelvin’s framed photo on the side table. "Why did you run out like that? Why didn’t you wake me? What happened?" He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers, still holding a flicker of the concern he’d perfected. "You scared me, Mary."
Mary closed the door slowly, the click echoing in the tense silence. She leaned against it for a second, gathering the storm inside her. "I needed air," she lied, her voice still unnervingly calm. She walked past him towards the small kitchen area, her movements deliberate. "Sit down, Andre."
He hesitated, watching her, a frown deepening the crease between his brows. Something was off. Her stillness was unnatural. But he sat heavily on her worn sofa, sinking into the faded Ankara fabric cushions. He ran a hand over his face, wincing slightly as he touched the bandage. "Mary, talk to me. What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?"
Mary didn’t answer immediately. She stood near the entrance to the tiny kitchen, her back to him. Her gaze fell on the heavy wooden pestle resting in its mortar on the counter. It was smooth, worn from years of pounding yam. It felt solid, heavy in her hand when she picked it up silently.
"I just..." Andre started again, shifting uncomfortably.
That was when Mary moved.
She spun around, a silent blur of fury. Andre barely had time to register her movement, to see the glint of hard determination in her eyes that was nothing like the woman he knew, before the pestle came down. THWACK. The heavy wood connected solidly with the back of his head, right next to the existing wound. His eyes rolled back, a grunt escaping his lips before he slumped forward, unconscious, sliding off the sofa onto the woven rug.
Mary stood over him, panting, the pestle still raised. Her knuckles were white around the smooth wood. She watched his chest rise and fall for a moment, ensuring he was out. Then, she dropped the pestle with a clatter that sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
She worked quickly, efficiently, fueled by a terrifying, focused rage. She dragged Andre’s limp body back onto the sofa. From a cupboard, she pulled out a coil of strong, rough rope she used for tying firewood bundles. With hands that shook only slightly, she hauled his arms behind his back and tied his wrists tightly together. She then tied his ankles together, securing the knots with brutal efficiency. Finally, she used a shorter length to tie his bound ankles to the sturdy wooden legs of the heavy armchair she then heaved him into. He slumped in the chair, head lolling to the side, the bandage stark against his skin.
Two hours crawled by. Mary sat opposite him in another chair, Kelvin’s thick leather belt coiled in her lap like a sleeping snake. She didn’t move. She barely blinked. Her eyes were fixed on Andre, cold and hard as stones. The rage hadn’t faded; it had settled into a deep, icy river flowing through her veins.
A low groan finally broke the silence. Andre stirred, his eyelids fluttering. He tried to move his arms, his legs, his brow furrowing in confusion as he encountered the rough bite of the rope. His eyes flew open, focusing blearily on Mary. Confusion turned to shock, then dawning horror as he realized his situation. He struggled against the ropes, the chair creaking.
"Mary?!" he gasped, his voice thick. "What… what is this? Untie me! What are you doing?"
Mary didn’t answer. Slowly, deliberately, she stood up. She uncoiled the leather belt, the heavy buckle dangling. The sound of the leather sliding free was ominous.
"Andre Udo," she said, her voice low, trembling not with fear, but with suppressed fury. "You have exactly five seconds to tell me the whole truth. Every single word."
"Mary, please! Untie me! This is madness! What truth?" His eyes darted around the room, wide with panic now.
"Five," Mary counted, her voice flat. She took a step closer.
"Four." Another step. The belt hung loose at her side.
"Three." She raised the belt slightly.
"Mary, stop! What do you want to know?" He was straining against the ropes, his face pale.
"Two." The buckle glinted in the light.
"ONE!"
The belt whistled through the air and cracked across his chest, right over his heart. Andre cried out, a sharp, pained sound. The thick leather bit through his shirt.
"AGH! Mary! Stop!"
"Why did Kelvin pay you?" Mary demanded, her voice rising. She raised the belt again. "THE TRUTH!"
"He… he wanted you to be happy!" Andre gasped, flinching as she drew back again. "He paid me to make sure you weren’t alone! To be your friend!"
CRACK. The belt landed on his shoulder. "LIAR!" Mary screamed. "I saw the messages! ALL OF THEM! He paid you FIVE MILLION NAIRA! To PRETEND!"
Andre recoiled, the shock of her knowing evident on his face. "Okay! Okay! Yes! He paid me! He paid me to be there for you, to make you smile, to… to help you move on!"
CRACK. This time across his arm. "Move on HOW?" Mary spat. "By making me FALL IN LOVE? Was that part of Kelvin’s grand plan? Did he pay you to SLEEP WITH ME, Andre? DID HE PAY YOU TO GET INTO MY BED?"
The question hung in the air, raw and ugly. Andre stared at her, breathing heavily, sweat beading on his forehead. Shame warred with fear in his eyes. "No!" he finally choked out. "No, Mary! Kelvin never… he never asked for that! He never paid me for that! He just said… make her feel loved. Make her happy. That’s all! He didn’t specify…"
"Didn’t SPECIFY?" Mary shrieked, the fury erupting again. She brought the belt down again and again – on his arms, his chest, his legs. *CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. Andre cried out with each blow, trying to curl away, but the ropes held him fast. Bruises were already blooming through his thin shirt. "You LIED to me! Every single day! Every touch! Every sweet word! It was all FAKE! BOUGHT AND PAID FOR!"
She paused, panting, the belt held high. Tears streamed down her face now, mixing with the sweat. "Did you EVER care? Even a little bit? Or was it ALL just a job? TELL ME THE TRUTH NOW!"
Andre slumped in the chair, defeated, broken. He looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot. "It was a job," he whispered, his voice raw. "Just a job. Kelvin offered good money. A lot of money. He was desperate. I needed it. I’m sorry, Mary. I’m so sorry. But… no. I didn’t love you. I was paid to make you believe I did."
The words landed like a final, crushing blow. The cold fury surged again, hotter than ever. "Sorry?" she hissed. "SORRY?" She raised the belt with every intention of making him feel a fraction of the pain he’d caused her.
But a wave of exhaustion hit her, so profound it made her sway. The belt felt impossibly heavy. The sight of him tied up, bruised, pathetic – it wasn’t satisfying. It just made her feel hollow. Sick.
She lowered the belt, her shoulders slumping. The fight drained out of her, leaving only a vast, aching emptiness and the bitter taste of betrayal. She stumbled back, dropping the belt onto the floor with a thud. She needed someone. She needed the truth to be heard by someone else.
With trembling hands, she pulled her phone from her pocket. She scrolled through her contacts, her vision blurring. She found the number and pressed call, lifting the phone to her ear.
"Aunty Biola?" Her voice was a broken whisper, thick with tears. "Aunty Biola, please… please come to my house. Now. It’s urgent. It’s about Kelvin… and Andre. Just… please come. Hurry."
She ended the call and sank to her knees on the rug, facing Andre but not seeing him. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly, silent sobs shaking her body. The storm had passed, leaving only devastation in its wake. The rope marks on Andre’s skin, the discarded belt, and Mary’s shattered form were the only evidence of the terrible reckoning that had just unfolded. The silence that followed was heavier than any blow.
TO BE CONTINUED...

THE LAST PROMISE
PART 11
The bedroom was warm and quiet after they made love. Andre slept deeply beside her, his arm heavy across her waist, breathing steady. Moonlight slipped through the curtains, painting stripes on his skin. Mary’s heart pounded like a drum. She couldn’t stop staring at his phone on the nightstand. She had to know his secret.
Slowly, carefully, she lifted Andre’s arm and slid out of bed. Her bare feet touched the soft rug. She didn’t make a sound. Andre didn’t stir.
She picked up his cold, dark phone. Gently, she took his sleeping hand and pressed his thumb against the bottom of the phone. *Beep.* The screen lit up, its bright light hurting her eyes in the dark room.
Her hands shook as she opened his messages. She scrolled fast, past names she didn’t know. Then she saw it. A name that froze her blood:
Kelvin
The last message was sent just days before Kelvin died. Mary tapped the name. Her eyes raced over the words:
> Andre: She’s still very sad. It’s hard.
> Kelvin: Be patient with my Mary. Be kind. Make her smile.
> Andre: Got the first money. The rest when she’s happy?
> Kelvin: Yes. 2.5 million Naira now. Another 2.5 million when my sister Biola sees she’s truly happy. Total 5 million. Make her feel loved.
> Andre: I understand. I’ll make her happy.
> Kelvin: Make it feel REAL. Pretend if you have to. Don’t break her heart more.
> Andre: I know my job. I won’t fail.
> Kelvin: Thank you. You’re holding my most precious thing. Don’t make me regret this.
Mary’s breath stopped. The words burned her eyes:
5 million Naira… make her happy… Pretend if you must… my job…
A small, broken sound escaped her lips. The phone fell from her numb fingers onto the rug.
******. I’m so ******.
Kelvin didn’t send a friend. He hired an actor.
Andre’s sweet words… his gentle touches… the way he cooked her favorite food… even his smile. All of it was fake. Paid for. A show.
The love she’d started to feel? It was poison. Ashes. She’d betrayed Kelvin’s memory by falling for a lie. Shame burned her face, hotter than her tears.
She looked at Andre sleeping peacefully. The face of the man who lied to her every single day. Disgust filled her chest, cold and sharp.
Moving fast and silent, she grabbed her clothes from the floor – her dress, underwear, sandals. She dressed with shaking hands, buttons fumbling. Every second, she feared he’d wake up.
Done, she looked at the dark phone on the rug. Proof. She picked it up, its cold metal hurting her skin. She placed it back exactly where he’d left it. Let him see I know.
She didn’t look back at the bed. She couldn’t.
Slipping out of the bedroom, she moved like a ghost through his fancy apartment – a place that now felt like a trap. The soft carpets, the nice pictures… all felt like part of the lie.
The front door clicked shut behind her. Cool night air hit her face. She leaned against the wall, sobs finally tearing out of her – harsh, ugly cries into her hands.
Pushing away, she stumbled down the stairs into the quiet Lagos street. Streetlights blurred through her tears. She didn’t know where to go. She just ran. Ran from the beautiful lie. Ran from the paid kisses. Ran from the memory of a husband who bought her fake happiness.
Alone. She was completely alone again. The truth hadn’t set her free. It had shattered her world.
TO BE CONTINUED...

*"For the Lord GOD will help me; therefore shall I not be confounded: therefore have I set my face like a flint, and I know that I shall not be ashamed".*
_Isaiah 50:7_

I pray for you and your family today that you will not lack divine help. Jehovah God will specially attend to your situation. One miracle that will change your story this day and beyond shall locate you. Mercy will speak for you in every area of your life. The Jehovah God that gave King David the opportunity to appear even in the midst of battles and fight for him to win will arise on your behalf to cause your star to outshine every evil cloud. Every satanic umbrella preventing the heavenly showers of blessings from falling on you will catch fire and every obstacle in your life will give way to your miracles. You and your household will not suffer in the midst of plenty in the Mighty Name of Jesus Christ. Amen.
I prophecy to your life and family this Week and beyond that, the Lord God Almighty will provide all your needs. His joy, peace, grace and the testimonies of His miracles shall be your portion. Heaven will attend to all your needs and the Lord Almighty will water your dry ground and solidify your slippery path. The eternal King will single you and what is yours out for favour. He will make you a blessing to others and you will swim in the rivers of His glory. Jehovah God will increase you on every side and abide with you and your household for life. You will always have reasons to praise your maker for His goodness in the Mighty Name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

*Have A God's Merciful Gracious Wednesday.*

_GOOD MORNING_

THINGS HUSBANDS AND WIVES TRULY ENJOY IN MARRIAGE.


I watched a serious debate on Facebook between men and women about whether marriage favors one gender over the other. Some men argued that marriage primarily benefits women, claiming it is a punishment for men because they have to work tirelessly to provide for their wives and children for the rest of their lives. In contrast, women argued that marriage actually favors men because they are often expected to take care of their children and support their husbands emotionally. Some men even stated that if they had the understanding they possess today, they would choose not to get married.

The question is: Does marriage benefit both men and women?

A healthy, happy marriage is built on mutual love, trust, and intentional actions. While everyone is unique, most husbands and wives share common needs and joys in a loving relationship.

Here are things that both men and women typically enjoy in marriage — and how you can bring more of them into your home.

What Husbands Often Enjoy in Marriage:

1. Respect and Honor

> “However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.”
— Ephesians 5:33

A man deeply enjoys being respected by his wife — it strengthens his confidence and role as leader. Men feel deeply fulfilled when they are respected, especially in front of others. Respect speaks louder than love for many husbands.

2. A Peaceful and Supportive Wife

> “It is better to live on a corner of the roof than share a house with a quarrelsome wife.”
— Proverbs 21:9

A man enjoys peace at Home – A calm, loving environment helps him recharge and feel safe. A husband treasures peace in the home and a wife who uplifts him rather than constantly tears him down.

3. $exual Fulfillment and Delight

> “Let your fountain be blessed and rejoice in the wife of your youth… let her breasts satisfy you at all times.”
— Proverbs 5:18-19

God designed $ex as a gift in marriage, and a husband is to find joy and fulfillment in his wife.

4. Encouragement and Support

> “Two are better than one… If either of them falls, one can help the other up.”
— Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

A husband enjoys knowing his wife stands by him in struggles and supports his dreams.

Emotional Support – A wife who believes in him, listens without judgment, and cheers him on through both wins and losses.

5. Her Wisdom and Counsel

> “A prudent wife is from the Lord.”
— Proverbs 19:14

Men value a woman who is not just beautiful but also wise and spiritually discerning.

6. Physical & Emotional Intimacy – Beyond $ex, husbands value being touched, held, kissed, and emotionally connected.

7. Affirmation & Appreciation – Simple words like “Thank you for working hard” or “I’m proud of you” go a long way.

8. Companionship – Sharing fun, laughter, movies, meals, and hobbies helps him feel connected beyond just being a provider.

9. Shared Responsibilities – A wife who’s a teammate, not just a task-giver, makes marriage feel like a partnership.

10. Admiration – Husbands love to feel admired for who they are, not just what they do.

11. Freedom to Lead & Be Vulnerable – He thrives in a space where he can lead sometimes and still be vulnerable without shame.

12. Encouragement in His Dreams – A woman who supports his goals and celebrates his growth wins his heart repeatedly.