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Super Falcons Rewarded Royally, But Who Will Honour Nigeria’s Real Nation Builders?

By Stanley Ugagbe

The air is thick with jubilation, and rightly so. Our Super Falcons, a beacon of national pride, have once again soared, bringing home the 2024 Women's Africa Cup of Nations trophy. President Bola Tinubu, with a flourish, has showered them with accolades: national honors, three-bedroom apartments, and a cool $100,000 each. The Nigeria Governors Forum chimed in with an additional N10 million per player. A grand gesture, indeed, a testament to their dedication and a shining moment for our nation.

But as the confetti settles and the cheers begin to fade, a dissonant note rings in the ears of many, a stark reminder of a deeper, more unsettling reality. While we celebrate our athletes, and rightly so, a gnawing question begs to be asked: what about the unsung heroes who keep the wheels of our society turning? The ones who, day in and day out, toil in the trenches, their invaluable contributions often met with a paltry pittance rather than a well-deserved windfall.

Let's speak plainly. Our teachers, the very architects of our future, are paid peanuts. They stand before our children, molding minds and shaping destinies, yet their take-home pay often feels like a cruel joke, barely enough to keep body and soul together. They are the bedrock of our society, yet we treat them as if their worth is less than the dust beneath our feet.

And what of our professors, the custodians of knowledge, the intellectual giants who are meant to propel our nation forward? They too earn peanuts, forcing many to moonlight or abandon academia altogether, leaving a gaping void in our institutions of higher learning. We expect them to produce world-class research and educate the next generation, but we offer them crumbs, effectively telling them their expertise is dispensable.

Consider the military men, those brave souls who stand as our shield against chaos, putting their lives on the line to safeguard our peace and sovereignty. Their sacrifice is immense, their courage unwavering. Yet, their take-home pay can't even take them home. Many struggle to provide for their families, living a hand-to-mouth existence while facing unimaginable dangers. It's a bitter pill to swallow when those who protect us are themselves struggling to survive.

Then there are our medical personnel, the frontline warriors against illness and disease, who dedicate their lives to healing the sick and saving lives. They are stretched thin, overworked, and underpaid, often working in deplorable conditions. The deplorable conditions and abysmal remuneration have driven many to seek greener pastures abroad, a phenomenon we now tragically refer to as "japa." Our hospitals are bleeding talent, and who can blame them for escaping a system that undervalues their tireless efforts?

The irony is as sharp as a surgeon's scalpel. We celebrate a football victory with lavish rewards, a moment of fleeting glory, while the very pillars of our society crumble under the weight of neglect. It's like pouring champagne on a wilting plant while the roots are starved of water. This disparity isn't just an oversight; it's a profound statement about our national priorities, a disheartening reflection of where our true values lie.

This isn't to say our Super Falcons don't deserve their accolades. They fought hard, they won big, and they brought joy to millions. Their victory is a testament to the power of sport and the spirit of perseverance. But true national development isn't built on isolated triumphs; it's built on the collective strength of a well-compensated, motivated, and appreciated workforce.

We cannot expect to build a truly great nation when the very people entrusted with educating our children, securing our borders, and healing our sick are struggling to make ends meet. It's a house built on sand, destined to collapse under the slightest pressure. This isn't just about money; it's about dignity, about respect, and about valuing the foundational elements of our society.

It's time for a radical shift in perspective, a re-evaluation of our national ethos. We must move beyond the dazzling spotlight of transient achievements and focus on the quiet, consistent efforts that truly sustain us. Let's not be blinded by the glitter of gold medals while the very fabric of our society frays at the edges.

The President's gesture, while commendable for the Super Falcons, highlights a glaring double standard. If we can find the resources to reward athletic prowess so handsomely, then surely, we can find the means to ensure that those who dedicate their lives to public service are compensated with dignity and fairness. It's not a matter of scarcity; it's a matter of priority.

It's time to provoke action. We must demand a living wage for our teachers, fair compensation for our professors, honorable pay for our military, and respectable remuneration for our medical personnel. We must hold our leaders accountable and insist that they put their money where their mouths are when it comes to the well-being of all citizens, not just a select few.

Let this moment of athletic triumph be a catalyst for change, a loud alarm bell ringing in the ears of those in power. Let it remind us that a nation's true strength lies not just in its sporting victories, but in the equitable treatment and flourishing of all its people. Otherwise, the taste of victory will forever be tinged with the bitter irony of a society that celebrates some while leaving others to wither on the vine.

Stanley Ugagbe is a seasoned journalist with a passion for exposing social issues and advocating for justice. With years of experience in the media industry, he has written extensively on governance, human rights, and societal challenges, crafting powerful narratives that inspire change.

“I was given food at the back door for ten years, not knowing that the girl they called ‘orphan’ would one day own the school.”

My name is Amarachi.

When I was six years old, I lost my parents to a fire. Our landlord said, “Your people are cursed. I can’t keep the daughter of a witch.” So, from Owerri to Port Harcourt, I lived under a bridge. I begged for food.

One morning, I saw a group of students wearing green uniforms entering a school: Royal Kingsway Academy. Their food smelled like glory. So I waited by the back door. A woman—the kitchen cleaner—passed me a nylon bag of jollof rice.

That became my routine. Every lunch hour, Mama Risi would sneak me leftovers—sometimes bones, sometimes breadcrumbs, but always with kindness.

I sat on a rock behind the school wall, listening to lessons through the cracks. I memorized poems and answered math questions aloud. They called me “Radiohead.”

One day, a teacher overheard me recite Shakespeare from the other side of the fence. He asked, “Who is she?” I ran away.

The next day, he brought me books, a notebook, and a pencil. In a low voice, he said to Mama Risi, “Start letting her sit at the back of Classroom 3. No one has to find out.”

So I started attending school unofficially—barefoot and invisible. After class, I swept the classrooms and mopped the hallways with Mama Risi. But I never missed a class. Not even when malaria tried to stop me.

When I was seventeen, the director asked, “Who registered this girl? She’s not on our list.”

Mama Risi lied, “She’s my niece.”

They let me sit for the WAEC exam using their surname. I got eight straight A’s. No celebration. No pictures. Just me, under the handle, holding my result and crying.

Years of silence followed, as I prepared my place in the world.

A few missionaries gave me a scholarship to study business administration in the UK. I graduated with honors. I started a logistics company in Nigeria, then expanded into agriculture and education.

Ten years later, my company bought a property in Port Harcourt.

The address?

Royal Kingsway Academy.

The school was bankrupt—salaries unpaid, buildings in ruins. I said nothing during the negotiation. I just signed the check.

The former principal greeted me at the door with a forced smile.

“Madam CEO, welcome.”

I looked at him and said, “I used to sit behind that wall… with jollof in a nylon bag.”

His smile faded.

We renovated every block, fixed every broken desk, raised teachers’ salaries, and invited the community to the reopening.

When the fabric on the new sign fell, gasps filled the air:

“Amarachi Risi Academy: Where Every Child Has a Seat.”

Mama Risi was by my side, crying like a baby.

I whispered, “They gave me bones. I made them a throne.”

Today, hundreds of students—some orphaned, some abandoned—study for free at our school.

No child eats alone.

No child learns outside a fence.

Because sometimes, the girl who was fed through a hole in the wall…

Comes back to buy the whole building—

and feed generations.

Super Falcons Rewarded Royally, But Who Will Honour Nigeria’s Real Nation Builders?

By Stanley Ugagbe

The air is thick with jubilation, and rightly so. Our Super Falcons, a beacon of national pride, have once again soared, bringing home the 2024 Women's Africa Cup of Nations trophy. President Bola Tinubu, with a flourish, has showered them with accolades: national honors, three-bedroom apartments, and a cool $100,000 each. The Nigeria Governors Forum chimed in with an additional N10 million per player. A grand gesture, indeed, a testament to their dedication and a shining moment for our nation.

But as the confetti settles and the cheers begin to fade, a dissonant note rings in the ears of many, a stark reminder of a deeper, more unsettling reality. While we celebrate our athletes, and rightly so, a gnawing question begs to be asked: what about the unsung heroes who keep the wheels of our society turning? The ones who, day in and day out, toil in the trenches, their invaluable contributions often met with a paltry pittance rather than a well-deserved windfall.

Let's speak plainly. Our teachers, the very architects of our future, are paid peanuts. They stand before our children, molding minds and shaping destinies, yet their take-home pay often feels like a cruel joke, barely enough to keep body and soul together. They are the bedrock of our society, yet we treat them as if their worth is less than the dust beneath our feet.

And what of our professors, the custodians of knowledge, the intellectual giants who are meant to propel our nation forward? They too earn peanuts, forcing many to moonlight or abandon academia altogether, leaving a gaping void in our institutions of higher learning. We expect them to produce world-class research and educate the next generation, but we offer them crumbs, effectively telling them their expertise is dispensable.

Consider the military men, those brave souls who stand as our shield against chaos, putting their lives on the line to safeguard our peace and sovereignty. Their sacrifice is immense, their courage unwavering. Yet, their take-home pay can't even take them home. Many struggle to provide for their families, living a hand-to-mouth existence while facing unimaginable dangers. It's a bitter pill to swallow when those who protect us are themselves struggling to survive.

Then there are our medical personnel, the frontline warriors against illness and disease, who dedicate their lives to healing the sick and saving lives. They are stretched thin, overworked, and underpaid, often working in deplorable conditions. The deplorable conditions and abysmal remuneration have driven many to seek greener pastures abroad, a phenomenon we now tragically refer to as "japa." Our hospitals are bleeding talent, and who can blame them for escaping a system that undervalues their tireless efforts?

The irony is as sharp as a surgeon's scalpel. We celebrate a football victory with lavish rewards, a moment of fleeting glory, while the very pillars of our society crumble under the weight of neglect. It's like pouring champagne on a wilting plant while the roots are starved of water. This disparity isn't just an oversight; it's a profound statement about our national priorities, a disheartening reflection of where our true values lie.

This isn't to say our Super Falcons don't deserve their accolades. They fought hard, they won big, and they brought joy to millions. Their victory is a testament to the power of sport and the spirit of perseverance. But true national development isn't built on isolated triumphs; it's built on the collective strength of a well-compensated, motivated, and appreciated workforce.

We cannot expect to build a truly great nation when the very people entrusted with educating our children, securing our borders, and healing our sick are struggling to make ends meet. It's a house built on sand, destined to collapse under the slightest pressure. This isn't just about money; it's about dignity, about respect, and about valuing the foundational elements of our society.

It's time for a radical shift in perspective, a re-evaluation of our national ethos. We must move beyond the dazzling spotlight of transient achievements and focus on the quiet, consistent efforts that truly sustain us. Let's not be blinded by the glitter of gold medals while the very fabric of our society frays at the edges.

The President's gesture, while commendable for the Super Falcons, highlights a glaring double standard. If we can find the resources to reward athletic prowess so handsomely, then surely, we can find the means to ensure that those who dedicate their lives to public service are compensated with dignity and fairness. It's not a matter of scarcity; it's a matter of priority.

It's time to provoke action. We must demand a living wage for our teachers, fair compensation for our professors, honorable pay for our military, and respectable remuneration for our medical personnel. We must hold our leaders accountable and insist that they put their money where their mouths are when it comes to the well-being of all citizens, not just a select few.

Let this moment of athletic triumph be a catalyst for change, a loud alarm bell ringing in the ears of those in power. Let it remind us that a nation's true strength lies not just in its sporting victories, but in the equitable treatment and flourishing of all its people. Otherwise, the taste of victory will forever be tinged with the bitter irony of a society that celebrates some while leaving others to wither on the vine.

Stanley Ugagbe is a seasoned journalist with a passion for exposing social issues and advocating for justice. With years of experience in the media industry, he has written extensively on governance, human rights, and societal challenges, crafting powerful narratives that inspire change. He can be reached via stanleyakomeno@gmail.com

LOVE AND BULLET
PART 6
The underground safe room hummed with tension, the glow of surveillance screens casting flickering shadows across Obinna’s sharp features. Ava stood frozen, her fingers still curled around the cold metal of the gun he had given her.
His brother’s men.
The words echoed in her mind, unraveling everything she thought she knew.
Obinna moved with lethal grace, his agbada now slightly undone at the collar, revealing the strong column of his throat. He didn’t look at her as he checked the monitors, his voice low. “They’ll be here in minutes.”
Ava swallowed. “Why would your own brother send men to kill you?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Because power is a poison, little detective. And family?” He finally met her gaze, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “Family is just the first betrayal.”
The rawness in his voice sent an unexpected pang through her chest.
A distant thud echoed from the tunnel.
They were out of time.
Obinna grabbed her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers as he pulled her toward the SUV. “Drive.” He tossed her the keys.
Ava caught them on reflex. “You’re trusting me to drive?”
His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. “I’m trusting you to survive.”
The engine roared to life as Ava slammed her foot on the accelerator, the tires screeching against concrete as they shot up the ramp. The garage door groaned open, revealing the storm-lashed streets of Lagos.
Rain pelted the windshield in sheets, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and neon. Ava’s pulse hammered as she swerved through traffic, her knuckles white on the wheel.
Obinna braced a hand on the dashboard, his other gripping her thigh—not possessive, not demanding, just *there*. A silent anchor in the chaos.
“Left,” he commanded, his voice steady.
Ava obeyed, cutting sharply down a narrow alley. The SUV’s side mirror clipped a stack of crates, sending them crashing to the ground behind them.
A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed what she already knew—headlights. Closing in.
“They’re still on us,” she breathed.
Obinna’s thumb stroked absently over her skin, his touch sending a traitorous shiver up her spine. “Then lose them.”
The safe house was a nondescript apartment in the heart of Lagos, tucked between a bustling market and a mechanic’s shop.
Ava barely had time to register the sparse furnishings before Obinna was crowding her against the door, his body a wall of heat as he caged her in. Rain dripped from his locs onto her cheeks, his breath warm against her lips.
“Why did you follow me?” he demanded.
Ava’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “You didn’t leave me much choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “You could have run.”
She should have. Every instinct screamed at her to.
But then his hand slid up her waist, his calloused fingers branding her through the thin fabric of her ruined dress.
Ava’s breath hitched.
Obinna stilled, his eyes searching hers. **“Tell me to stop.”
She didn’t.
His kiss was fire and fury, a clash of teeth and tongue that stole the breath from her lungs. Ava arched into him, her fingers tangling in his locs as he backed her toward the bed.
The storm outside raged on, thunder shaking the windows as Obinna’s hands mapped every inch of her—her waist, her hips, the curve of her throat.
“You’re mine tonight,” he growled against her skin. “No lies. No games.”
Ava gasped as his teeth grazed her collarbone. “And tomorrow?”
Obinna pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his own blazing with something fierce. “Tomorrow, we go to war.”
Then his mouth was on hers again, and Ava let herself drown in him.
TO BE CONTINUED...

LOVE AND BULLET
PART 5
The world plunged into black.
For one heartbeat—then two—Ava couldn’t see anything. The sudden absence of light left her disoriented, the only sound her own ragged breathing and Obinna’s sharp inhale beside her.
Then—
A faint beep.
The tracker.
It pulsed like a tiny red heartbeat on the floor where Obinna had dropped it.
Ava’s training kicked in. This was her chance.
She yanked against the silk scarves binding her wrists, the fabric tearing at her skin. The chair creaked—
A hand clamped over her mouth.
Obinna’s chest pressed against her back, his lips brushing her ear. “Don’t. Move.”
His voice was barely a whisper, but it sent a tremor through her.
Outside, the distant wail of sirens cut through the night.
The Safe Room
Obinna moved fast.
Before Ava could react, he sliced through her bonds with a knife she hadn’t seen him draw. He hauled her up, his grip iron-tight around her wrist, and dragged her across the room.
“What are you—?”
“Shut up and follow.”
A hidden panel in the wall slid open at his touch, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness. The air that rushed up was cool, tinged with the scent of metal and something earthy.
Ava dug her heels in. “I’m not going down there.”
Obinna turned, his eyes glinting in the dim pulse of the tracker’s light. “You’d rather die up here?”
The sirens were closer now.
Ava hesitated.
Obinna leaned in. “Choose. Now.”
She chose survival.
Below the City
The stairs led to a tunnel—smooth concrete walls, dim emergency lights, the hum of generators.
Ava’s bare feet slapped against the cold floor as Obinna pulled her forward. The red glow of the tracker faded behind them, swallowed by the dark.
“Where does this lead?” she demanded.
“Away."
“From whom?”
Obinna glanced back at her, his smirk visible even in the low light. “You tell me, detective. Your people?” Or mine?”
Ava’s stomach twisted.
Because the truth was—she didn’t know.
The tracker had been a failsafe. But if her team was coming, why hadn’t they warned her?
Unless…
Unless they’d written her off.
The tunnel opened into a sprawling basement—part armory, part luxury hideout. Racks of weapons lined one wall. A sleek black SUV sat near a ramp leading up to a garage door.
And in the center—a glass-walled office, monitors flickering with feeds from the penthouse above.
Ava’s breath caught.
On the screens, shadows moved through Obinna’s study—armed figures in tactical gear. Not NDLEA.
“Who are they?” she whispered.
Obinna’s jaw tightened. “My brother’s men.”
Ava blinked. “Your… brother?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he crossed to a desk and yanked open a drawer, pulling out a sleek handgun. He checked the clip, then tossed it to her.
Ava caught it on instinct.
Obinna met her gaze. “You wanted to take me down?” He grabbed a second gun for himself. “Help me survive tonight, and I’ll let you try.”
TO BE CONTINUED...

15 COMMON LIES ABOUT CHURCH WEDDINGS YOU MUST STOP BELIEVING!

As a Christian marriage therapist, I’ve seen many young couples fall into the trap of wedding expectations that have no biblical or spiritual backing. These lies have led many into needless stress, debt, and even discouragement, all in the name of trying to have the "perfect" church wedding.

It’s time to debunk these myths and free you to focus on what truly matters — a blessed and beautiful marriage, not just a wedding event.

Here are 15 lies you should stop believing about Church weddings:

1. It Must Be on a Saturday
Not true. You can get married on any day of the week. In fact, the traditional wedding day used to be Thursday — hence the name “Wednesday” (i.e., Wed the next day). Your wedding is not about the day but the covenant.

2. It Must Be Inside the Church Auditorium
You don’t have to wed at the altar or sanctuary. A pastor’s office, a chapel, or even a simple hall can host your church wedding, as long as it’s officiated properly before witnesses.

3. You Must Wear a White Gown
White is a tradition, not a commandment. You can wear native attire, modest colors, or even a family dress style. Purity is a heart condition, not fabric color.

4. You Must Have a Bridal Train
A bridal train is for aesthetics, not necessity. What truly matters is bridal training, not bridal train. Invest in marriage preparation more than wedding decoration.

5. You Must Have a Grand Reception
Receptions are great for celebration, but not mandatory. If you can’t afford one, a thanksgiving service or light refreshment is more than enough.

6. You Must Wear a Wedding Ring
Rings are symbolic, not spiritual. The core of Christian wedding is the exchange of vows and blessings in God’s presence. Rings are an outward sign, but not a spiritual requirement.

7. A Wedding Cake Is Compulsory
A cake is lovely but optional. If you don’t have funds for it, don’t stretch yourself. It’s better to have a strong financial foundation than an extravagant dessert.

8. Only White Gowns Represent Purity
Purity is not a fabric issue. Wearing pink, gold, ivory, or traditional fabrics does not mean you're impure. God looks at the heart, not the color of your clothing.

9. The Wedding Must Be Loud and Expensive
Some of the best weddings are modest, simple, and intimate. A loud wedding doesn't equal a lasting marriage. Let your focus be love, not luxury.

10. You Must Do Pre-Wedding Photoshoots
Pre-wedding shoots are trendy but not compulsory. Don’t borrow or break your budget just to impress people who won’t help you pay rent after the honeymoon.

11. Bridal Shower Is a Church Requirement
Bridal showers are Hollywood creations, not biblical instructions. Enjoy one if you can afford it, but don’t see it as a spiritual obligation.

12. You Can Be Pregnant and Still Have a Church Wedding
Most Bible-based churches do not conduct weddings for pregnant couples. The idea is to maintain biblical order and present the bride and groom for a new covenant, not with added complications. This doesn’t mean condemnation, but rather a call to do things rightly and in order.

13. You Must Buy a New Wedding Gown
Many reputable stores now rent gowns for a fraction of the price. There's no shame in renting — it’s smart, especially for a dress you’ll likely wear just once.

14. You Must Invite a Huge Crowd
A wedding is not a concert. You don’t need a crowd to validate your union. A few loved ones, your pastor, and your faith are more than enough to begin your journey.

15. Expensive Wedding Equals Lasting Marriage
There is no connection between an expensive wedding and a successful marriage. In fact, financial pressure from a wedding can cause early conflict in marriage. Focus on your future, not impressing guests.

Lastly, dear singles and engaged couples, let wisdom guide you. A church wedding is about covenant, not cosmetics. Don’t fall for societal pressure. Start your marriage on faith, peace, and wise financial decisions.

May the Lord bless your union with joy and lasting love — not just a memorable wedding day.

Share this with someone who needs to know the truth!

LOVE AND BULLET
PART 4
The air in Obinna’s study was thick with tension—heavy like the Lagos humidity before a storm.
Ava’s wrists ached from the silk scarves binding her to the chair, the fabric deceptively soft but unyielding. Obinna stood before her, his shadow stretching long across the polished mahogany floors. The scent of his cologne—something expensive, something dangerous—mixed with the faint aroma of aged whiskey from the glass he swirled absently in one hand.
“You’re not very good at this, detective.”
The word hit her like a slap.
Ava’s breath caught, but she forced her face to remain blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Obinna laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. “Your lies are getting boring.” He set the glass down with a quiet clink and circled her like a predator sizing up its prey. “Let’s try this again. Who sent you?”
Ava clenched her jaw. “Go to hell.”
He stopped behind her, his breath warm against her ear. “Already there, sweetheart.”
Then—
His fingers brushed the nape of her neck, tracing the delicate chain of the necklace she wore. Ava stiffened.
“This is nice,” he murmured, his thumb grazing her skin. “Too nice for a runaway socialite.”
Before she could react, he yanked the chain—hard. The clasp broke, and the pendant clattered onto the desk.
Ava’s blood ran cold.
The tracker.
Obinna picked it up, examining the tiny device hidden inside the locket. His expression darkened. “NDLEA? Or are you working for someone else?”
Ava’s mind raced. If they knew she was compromised, her team would be moving in. But if they didn’t…
She was on her own.
Obinna sighed and pocketed the tracker. “No matter. They won’t find you here.” He leaned down, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in. “But since you’re so determined to play spy…”
His lips curled into a smirk. “Let’s play.”
The Rules of the Game:
1. No lies. Every time she hesitated or refused to answer, he removed a piece of her jewelry—each one hiding another tool or weapon.
2. No mercy. For every truth she gave, he would share one of his own.
3. No escape. The doors were locked. The windows bulletproof. The only way out was through him.
Ava’s earrings went first—tiny listening devices. Then her bracelet—a lockpick sewn into the lining.
By the time he reached for the hidden blade strapped to her thigh, her dress was slit open to her hip, his fingers trailing far too close to bare skin.
“You’re enjoying this,” she hissed.
Obinna paused, his gaze flicking up to hers. “Aren’t you?”
Ava hated the way her pulse jumped.
The Truths Unfold:
She admitted she was NDLEA.
He admitted he’d known for days.
She confessed she was sent to dismantle his empire.
He revealed he’d let her get close.
“Why?” Ava demanded.
Obinna leaned in, his lips a breath from hers. “Maybe I wanted to see how far you’d go.”
Then the power went out.
TO BE CONTINUED...

SOME INDIVIDUALS ARE PRAYING TO ACCESS PEOPLE IN POWER, PEOPLE IN POWER ARE PRAYING TO ACCESS SOME OF US.

-Bishop David Oyedepo

During the rounding up session of the Covenant Day Of Business And Career Breakthrough Service, Bishop David Oyedepo encouraged the congregation to tirelessly pursue after souls for Christ. He also stated that he has not had to press for anything to happen in his life as God keeps adding them to him on a daily basis due to his passion for souls.

He said: “I see many stars out here and two things make stars in the Kingdom: The outbreak of light into the Word that gives you access to the secrets of God. Number two, tireless pursuit after souls. You turn men into righteousness, you emerge as stars forever and ever. You don't have to look far, check this little life. Passion for souls has kept driving my life since I was 19. Thank You Jesus! I'm now 20 and it's working like fire. I've not had to press for anything in my life to happen. Church Gist. What He said will be added are being added on a daily basis. All these things that others are dying to get shall be added!!! Some are praying to access those in power, those in power are praying to access some of us. Shall be added! Across the nations oo! Shall be added! We never prayed to fly, shall be added! We never prayed to build the Faith Tabernacle, shall be added. No prayer went into building the Ark, shall be added. I walked through that Place yesterday (and) I said: “The land required for the various things on that Site is more than the Site. The land required for fabrication of the thing. (When) I saw it, I said: “Ah!” So if you have land for the Building, you haven't gotten into the Land. The land required for these other things are more than the Land.

-In the precious name of Jesus, surprises will never cease in your life!”

THE ARUGBA: THE VIRGIN WHO CARRIES THE SACRED KEG IN KEGITES CLUB

In the mystical rhythm of African tradition and Kegites heritage, the Arugba stands as a powerful symbol of purity, spiritual continuity, and ancestral connection. Traditionally, among the Yoruba people, the Arugba is the virgin girl who carries the sacred calabash during the Osun-Osogbo festival, believed to be the vessel through which spiritual offerings are transported to the gods.

In the Kegites Club, a socio-cultural organization deeply rooted in Afro-consciousness, traditional symbolism and the protection, preservation, and promotion of African Cultural heritage, this sacred role is adapted and preserved in a unique and respectful way through the Arugba who carries the Sacred Keg of Office.

In Kegites philosophy, the Keg is not just a container for pouring palm wine; it is the soul of the club, representing unity, tradition, spiritual bonding, ancestral knowledge, and the authority and existence of an Ilya. The Keg is carried not just physically but also symbolically, it is a burden of trust, purity, and cultural duty passed on from one generation to another.

The Arugba in Kegites is often portrayed as a young maiden selected to carry the Sacred Keg of Office during procession at major functions in which the Keg would appear, like Mass Transformation, World Gyration, and Coronation ceremonies. She is not just a carrier of the Keg of Office but a living embodiment of honor, purity, and sacred trust. She is seen as a vessel of ancestral invocation, a guardian of the club's moral fabric, and a symbol of cultural fertility and spiritual direction.

Just like in the traditional Yoruba rites, the Arugba’s purity or moral uprightness is symbolic of spiritual cleanliness. She must not just be pure in body, but also pure in heart, speech, and intention. This is not to idolize virginity for its own sake, but to elevate the importance of responsibility, discipline, and sacred trust within the club.

The Arugba carries not just a physical Keg, but also the weight of tradition and cultural preservation. The weight sometimes becomes too much and it’s usually evident on her from her left to right sway during procession. Her role is a bridge between past and future, ancestors and descendants, spirit and society. She walks in silence, with grace, dignity, and focus reminding every comrad of the sacredness of their identity and duty to culture!

In the Kegites Club, the Arugba is tasked with leading processions during solemn time. She is treated with respect, awe, and spiritual reverence not as an object but as an honored channel of ancestral blessings!

The role of the Arugba also celebrates African womanhood , not in a reductive or patriarchal sense, but in a way that honors the role of women as spiritual bearers, nurturers of tradition, and guardians of moral strength. In the Kegites Club, the Arugba is protected, celebrated, and viewed with reverence for the sacred role that she plays.

Chief Arinze Frank Freeman
Oracle IbiniUkpabi
Omenuko VII