“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.

FG Orders TRCN To Flush Out Unqualified Teachers From Classrooms

STOP DATING YOUR STUDENTS. IT’S NOT LOVE—IT’S DAM AGE! If you’re a teacher and you’re dating your student, or even thinking about it—STOP IT NOW. You’re not just breaki ng trust, you’re destr oying destinies. That girl you call “babe” is someone’s daughter who came to school to learn, not to be emotionally entangled with the same person meant to guide her. You’ve stol en her focus. How can she concentrate in class when her mind is lost in confusion, $hame, or misplaced affection? You’ve made it impossible for her to learn—not just from you, but from others too. You’ve also polluted the school environment. Other students are watching. Some will start seeing teacher-student relationships as normal, and they too will start flirt!ng with teachers, hoping to gain attention. You’ve opened the door to moral decay. And don’t pretend like you can discipline her when she misbehave$—you can’t! You will cover up her offenses, and in doing so, you’ll appear partial and unjust. Other students will feel neglected, unloved, and targeted. They’ll say, “So because I’m not Chioma, this teacher hat.e$ me.” You’re breeding bitterne$$, rebell!0n, and division in your classroom—all because of your selfishne$$. And trust me, the day your secret comes out—and it always does—you will face $hame, disgra.c3, and possibly ja!I. To every teacher involved in this me$$, or planning to be: WAKE UP. CLEAN UP. GROW UP. Your job is to shape lives, not ru!n them.

The cash price splashed on Nigeria’s women national football team, the Super Falcons, is enough to take care of the monthly wage bill of about 16,000 doctors, 66,000 teachers and over 78,000 lowest ranked officers of the Police Force, Checks by Daily Trust has shown.

*The Grave Robbers* ( *Episode 1- 2*) *Episode 1* *Written by Charles N Okere* An angry old man, accompanied by some mean-looking men, walked up to the door of an apartment and furiously banged on it. The occupant of the apartment angrily opened the door, intending to slap whoever it was. But he froze when he saw the old man and the mean-looking men. He didn't need to be told what brought these august visitors to his doorstep that morning. He immediately put on a smile and greeted... "Ha, oga landlord good morning o. This one you came to my house with these men, am I save,I hope all is well? "Look wizzy, wisdom or whatever you are being called, you can never be saved and all can never be well with you. Since you have decided not to pay your 10 months house rent. "Haba,oga landlord why are you talking like this nah? If I had the money to pay I would have paid a long time ago. But you the see current situation of the country and. .. "And how's that my business Kwan? Look I don tire for all these stories, at least I have tried. I have been patient enough. It's either you pay now or wave my appatment. After all, there are a lot of people waiting to hire this apartment and here you're telling me lazy man stories. What am I even saying, you're a true definition of a lazy man and a wasted youth. "Ha, Abeg oga landlord e never reach to dey insult me nah. Which one come be wasted youth. Is it because am owing you common 10 months house rent that you're calling me names? "Oh you are calling 10 months rent common right? "Oga landlord is not like that, I am sorry. But you call me lazy and wasted. "See oh, are you not lazy and wasted? In short I don't even know why I am waiting my time having this conversation with you. Boys go in there and bring out everything in there. The thugs were about to do as instructed, but wisdom prevent them and went down on his knees. "Okay, oga landlord am sorry. I agreed am lazy and wasted. But please don't throw me out on the street, just give me a Grace of one month and I promise to pay all that I am owing you. The landlord looked at him in disbelief and answered. "Wisdom this is exactly what you said few months back and you never fulfilled it. I can't be deceived or fooled by you again. Today you must leave my house. So someone serious can take it. Boys what are you waiting for, go in there and bring out all his belongings. "Ha, oga landlord, please don't do this to me, please I beg you. Okay Please give me two weeks and I will pay you everything. The landlord stares at him thoughtfully, heave a sigh and ordered his boys to stop. "I must confess you've a kind-hearted guardian angel. Because I don't know why I keep accepting this useless excuse from you. If you fail to fulfill your promise, I will not only chase you out,I will flush you out of my house. After the left (the landlord abd his boys) he stood up to his feet and dusted himself off. ,"Nawa o, see the way this yeye landlord won take disgrace me. Kai landlord if na my village people send you to shame me, just go back and tell Dem say you no see me. In short tell Dem I pass them. But e no go better for all the witches and wizards for my village. Chai, how I go take get #250k to pay within a space of two weeks. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice his friend Solomon's presence. Solomon stared at him in silence for a while, then tapped him on the shoulder. Wisdom shivered in surprise, staring at Solomon with his mouth open. "How long have you been standing here?" Wisdom asked. "Two minutes and some seconds, I guess," Solomon responded. Wisdom heaved a sigh and ushered him into his apartment. Solomon sat down on one of the sofas in the sitting room, while Wisdom sat on another next to him." "Guy wetin happen,this one way you keep your face like person way give Mami water belle? Solomon asked. "Solo If na that One, e even better pass wetin I dey go through now. "Haba wetin come be that one na? Guy talk to your gee tell me what's up. Wisdom sighed and responded. " My landlord came here early today with some mean looking thugs to throw me out of his house. "Haba, why em go throw you out, shey you be Dustbin to throw you out? "Solo, be serious, am not joking. "Am sorry, my bad. Please continue. "As you know I am owing him 9 months rent,which I have been promising to pay. But couldn't. So I asked him to give me a grace of one month which he refused. Then I pleaded with him to give me two weeks grace which he accepted. The challenge now is that I don't know how to settle it. "So na because of this small thing dey make you keep your face like rejected offering. Guy abeg shift, I get update way big pass that one. "I no blame you Sha, I blame my village people for giving me a clown as a friend. So which update big pass the one way dey on ground. "Guy relax, your body too dey pepper you. I saw Desmond our classmate back then in secondary school. Wisdom thinking and trying to create an imaginary picture of Desmond. "The name sounds familiar, but I am still trying to remember the face. "Wizzy, so you don forget Desmond, that boy way we nickname "black man devil" because him back pass charcoal. "Oh, oh, Desmond very black boy, now I remember. So where did you see him? I met him at the fuel station yesterday evening. Desmond is now a millionaire, or rather, more than a millionaire. He has his own personal bodyguards and moves in convoys. He owns the latest G-Wagons and Rolls-Royce models, including the 2025 Mercedes-Benz G50, G63, and G580, as well as the Rolls-Royce Phantom EV and electric SUV. When I say "latest," I mean the most current models. He gave me his contact information and asked to meet this weekend to catch up on old times. He also gave me ₦200,000 for transportation. Wisdom looked at Solomon with great surprise in his eyes, unable to believe what he had just heard about Desmond. For a moment, he was speechless, feeling dumbfounded. "Do you mean Desmond, the dullest boy in class, or is it another Desmond?" Wisdom asked, his mouth agape. "Guy why you dey do like moi-moi nah, how many Desmond we get for our class, in short how many Desmond we get back then for our set? Solomon asked "Chai, nawa o this world no balance. Imagine Desmond Don blow, Desmond don make am big before us. "Guy see this one way you dey talk no concern me, I no dey even reason am. The thing be say we go met am to show us the way this weekend. As for your house rent i go help you with 100k way you go take give your landlord. "My main gee you too much, thank you and God bless you for me. "Abeg no think say I dash you the money oh, I no be father Christmas to dey dash people money. All I know you go pay me back my money after Desmond show us the way. "My gee that one no be problem, infact I go pay you double double. Both friends laughed out loud and talked about some other pricing issues. 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 *EPISODE 2* The night was thick with the weight of silence, yet Chinasa could not sleep. Not because of noise, but because her soul refused to rest. Sleep teased her with its edges but never embraced her fully. The image of that circle—the one not of friends but of black shadows and wicked grins—lingered like oil in her throat. She turned again on her bunk, her mattress groaning beneath her. The room was warm, the ceiling fan clicking as it fought uselessly against the heat. Still, her body would not obey the rhythm of rest. When she could take it no more, she climbed down quietly from her top bunk, her bare feet brushing the cold terrazzo floor. She walked slowly to the latrine with a small torch tucked into her palm, though she didn’t need it—she knew these halls in the dark. In the toilet, she splashed water on her face, staring long into the mirror with trembling breath, as if searching for proof that she still existed. Her reflection looked distant, like it was watching her from somewhere far beneath the surface. And when she returned to her bed, curling in on herself like a folded prayer, her school mother stirred beneath her. “Chinasa,” Senior Ngozi muttered from the bottom bunk, voice laced with sleep and concern. “You’re turning like you’re fighting something in your sleep. What's wrong with you ?” “I’m fine senior,” Chinasa said too quickly, barely above a whisper. But she wasn’t fine. Her voice cracked on the lie. She turned her face to the wall, and her eyes blinked into the blackness, seeing not darkness but the memory of fire and blood and the masked woman in the red veil. --- By morning, the light that crept through the louvers offered no comfort. It only exposed the bruises the night left behind. Chinasa’s eyes were heavy, red-rimmed from tears that refused to dry. She stood near the general bathroom with a resolve that stiffened her shoulders. Her face was set. When Betty appeared, flanked by her ever-smirking shadow Chommy, she tried to walk past quickly, pretending not to notice Chinasa’s haunted eyes. But Chinasa moved into her path. “You did this to me,” she said quietly, her voice trembling but firm. “You put me in that circle. You brought me into this evil.” Betty scoffed. “Abeg, Chinasa. Are you okay like this? What are you saying?” “You know what I’m saying!” Chinasa cried, drawing attention from a few girls rinsing their buckets by the tap. “You gave me to them. You lied to me!” Betty looked back at Chommy, who folded her arms, then turned again with a shrug. “She’s mad. Don’t mind her.” She walked off, hips swinging as if nothing had happened, while Chinasa stood there, fists clenched, the betrayal raw and choking like dust in her throat. Chommy and Asia pulled Betty close as they entered the dining hall, whispering, laughing. Chinasa followed, barely aware of her own feet. She sat alone at a corner of the long wooden benches, a tray of untouched pap and akara in front of her. Her spoon remained still, her hands trembling faintly on the table. Her eyes were far away. Then a voice brought her back. “Can I sit here?” Victor. He looked concerned. She didn’t answer. Just gave a slow nod. He sat beside her carefully, eyes scanning her face. “You’re not eating. Did something happen?” “I don’t want to talk,” she murmured, barely looking at him. Victor nodded, though his eyes remained on her. He was about to speak again when Chinasa froze completely, her body going rigid like wood. Her mouth parted slightly, and her eyes widened—not from anything around her, but from what she saw. From somewhere deep within her chest, a pressure began to build—a pressure not of pain, but of release. And then it happened. Her spirit tore free. Victor gasped as he watched her body tremble, but Chinasa saw what no one else could—her own soul, like a shimmering silhouette, peeled out of her skin like vapor, formed into something feathered and monstrous—a dark owl with eyes that glowed like embers in the dusk. The owl screeched and flew. Screams erupted in the cafeteria. Girls ducked. Plates clattered. Someone shouted “Blood of Jesus!” as the enormous bird smashed through the hall’s upper window, feathers trailing behind it like a curse. The owl flew straight into the distance, its wings flapping with eerie grace toward the edge of the forest behind the school compound, where darkness was thickest and the soil remembered old oaths. Chinasa’s mind was with the owl. In the center of the clearing, black candles burned. The stones formed that same circle again. And standing there was the woman—the masked one—the Queen of the Night. Her eyes, hidden beneath the carved ivory mask, glowed with malice and satisfaction. “You have come again, my daughter,” the woman’s voice coiled through the air, thick as smoke. “It is time to complete what has begun.” “I didn’t choose this,” Chinasa wept. “Let me go. I don’t want this life.” “Want or not, it is yours now,” the woman replied, lifting a hand. The royal guards stood behind her—tall creatures with spindly fingers and curved horns. “Eat again. Taste flesh. Only then will your bond be sealed.” “I will never eat human flesh again,” Chinasa shouted with trembling resolve. In fury, the Queen raised her staff. The wind rose like a vengeful hurricane. Chinasa was swept off her feet, thrown backwards with inhuman force. She struck a tree hard—her spine arched, her mouth opened in a silent scream. In the real world, her body convulsed in the cafeteria. Blood gushed from her nostrils. Her hand trembled, then went limp. Victor screamed. “Help! Help her—please!” Students surrounded her. Teachers rushed in. Chaos roared. Chinasa lay on the tiled floor, blood trailing from her nose, her eyes shut as if in death. She was rushed to the clinic on a stretcher borrowed from the sick bay. After saline drip and careful monitoring, her breathing stabilized. The blood stopped. But something within her remained fractured. --- When she returned to the hostel later that evening, her body sore and her heart heavy, she didn’t go to bed. She went straight to the corner where Betty was seated, rubbing lotion into her knees while humming to herself like someone whose conscience had no weight. “You used me,” Chinasa said, voice low. “You knew what that meeting was about, and you took me there.” Betty glanced up. “You should really stop saying that. It’s not good for your mind.” “I saw your face that night. You were chanting.” “Enough,” Betty snapped, standing. Asia and Chommy appeared again, their timing like shadow. “She’s disturbing again,” Asia said, her face already twisting with disdain. “She needs beating to rearrange her head,” Chommy spat. Before Chinasa could react, the blows came fast. Her head slammed against the wall. Hands dragged at her braids. Her knees buckled under the assault. They didn’t just hit her—they punished her. Screams and noise drew the matron in. “Stop that!” she shouted. Ngozi, Chinasa’s school mother, came running. Chinasa was bleeding again—from her forehead this time. The matron grabbed Betty and Chinasa both by the arms, dragging them like criminals to the principal’s office. Principal Mrs. Eche listened with the detached weariness of a woman who had seen too many girl fights. “Madam, she said Betty initiated her into a secret cult,” the matron said. Mrs. Eche sighed. “Chinasa, must you keep weaving fairy tales? If this is about friendship drama, resolve it like young women. Don’t bring spirits into it.” “But it’s real,” Chinasa said through her split lip, her voice barely holding. “Enough.” Dismissed. As they left, Betty smiled. And Chinasa’s chest burned with the quiet rage of a girl who had been silenced—but who had now learned that pain was the first step in becoming what they feared. ---TO BE CONTINUED.......... 🔥🔥

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

A lawyer sold his well to a teacher. Two days later, the lawyer came to the teacher and said, "Sir, I sold you the well, but it's not with the water inside! If you want to use the water, you will have to pay extra." The teacher smiled and replied, "Yes, I was about to come to you. I was going to say that you should please take your water from my well, or else you will have to start paying rent of keeping your water in my well from tomorrow because I only need the well but not the water inside. Hearing this, the lawyer got nervous and said, "Oh, I was just joking sir!". The teacher laughed and said, "You started your knowledge from us before becoming lawyers." Salute to teachers! 🙏🙏😂 #teachers #FearGod #digitalart

A lawyer sold his well to a teacher. Two days later, the lawyer came to the teacher and said, "Sir, I sold you the well, but it's not with the water inside! If you want to use the water, you will have to pay extra." The teacher smiled and replied, "Yes, I was about to come to you. I was going to salawyer sold y that you should please take your water from my well, or else you will have to start paying rent of keeping your water in my well from tomorrow because I only need the well but not the water inside. Hearing this, the lawyer got nervous and said, "Oh, I was just joking sir!". The teacher laughed and said, "You started your knowledge from us before becoming  lawyers." Salute to teachers! 🙏🙏😂

Of all the injustices teachers face, this one c.uts the deepest… Every year, when August comes, many schools hold back salaries. Their excuse? “Teachers don’t work in August.” But did you ever ask who writes the lesson plans during the holidays? Who spends sleepless nights preparing notes that make your school proud? Who silently thinks through how to help that slow learner catch up next term? Who sacrifices their peace just to ensure your school stays afloat? Teachers don’t get official leave like bankers or civil servants. Their only “rest” is the school holiday—yet even that is full of work. Some school owners still use them for August lessons… But instead of salary, they give them crumbs from what was earned. No recognition. No dignity. No respect. Just cold dismissal. Have you ever seen a teacher during the holidays? They’re not on vacation. They’re marking scripts. They’re writing lesson notes. They’re updating records. They’re praying for that one child who always fails to finally pass. They’re building the school in silence—mind, soul, and body. Teachers are counsellors, second parents, guardians, mentors, nurses, motivators. Their work is beyond the classroom—it is life-giving. If you’re a school proprietor and you still deny your teachers August salary, Let your conscience wake up today. Let it weep. You want them to teach, but leave them to starve? You cu.t their pay as though their worth is half? Even angels would marvel—how can this be what they deserve?

Nigeria's minister of works David Umahi's daughter graduates with first class from UK university This is the same man that slashed the salary of teachers in Ebonyi State. The same man that refused to invest in public education in Ebonyi State. The poor masses will always bear the brunt. Congratulations to your beautiful daughter!

OPEN LETTER: STOP THE SHAMEFUL "MARKER DAY OR SIGN OUT" IN OUR SECONDARY SCHOOLS To: Parents, School Administrators, Teachers, Students, and the Ministry of Education My name is Muhsin Jibo Maigoro, a graduate of Mathematics Education. I write this open letter with deep concern and disappointment over the rising trend of an event called "Marker Day" across secondary schools in our country, especially during final examinations like NECO and WAEC. This is not a celebration of academic success. It is an open display of indiscipline, immorality, and disrespect to everything our education and culture stand for. What Is Marker Day? On this day, students: Tear or write all over their school uniforms, pour powder or paint on each other, and dance in the streets with no control or direction. Roam around the school compound and community in a noisy, chaotic, and sometimes violent way. Disrespect teachers, insult school authorities, and ignore school rules. Worse still, some students harass their fellow female classmates who choose not to participate. They forcefully hold them, pour substances on them, and write on their uniforms and bodies against their will. Many of these girls cry, struggle, and try to fight back, but they are outnumbered and embarrassed in public. This is not celebration. This is harassment, abuse, and disgrace. Why Marker Day Must End: 1. It Destroys Our Cultural Values: Our culture promotes respect, discipline, and modesty. Marker Day mocks all these values in the name of "celebration." 2. It Goes Against Our Religion: Whether you are Muslim or Christian, no religion encourages indecent dressing, public harassment, or damaging your school uniform as a form of joy. 3. It Harms Our Children: Instead of learning responsibility, they are taught that lawlessness is fun. This affects both the guilty and the innocent, especially girls who are bullied and humiliated. My Humble Appeal and Call to Action: TO PARENTS: Wake up. Be aware of what your children are doing after their final exams. Don’t fund Marker Day clothes or give money to encourage this shameful activity. Teach your children to celebrate achievements with dignity, gratitude, and fear of God. TO SCHOOL HEADS AND ADMINISTRATORS: Ban Marker Day completely. It has no place in any serious academic institution. Protect the safety and rights of every student, especially those who refuse to participate and are being targeted by their peers. Enforce discipline and restore your school's honor. TO TEACHERS: Raise your voice in your classrooms. Condemn this behavior. Educate students that success is shown through results, not through torn uniforms or reckless behavior. TO THE MINISTRY OF EDUCATION: Like Yobe State has done, issue a state wide ban on Marker Day celebrations in all schools. Monitor and penalize any school that allows this kind of gathering to happen. Education is for building character, not for encouraging violence and public disgrace. TO STUDENTS: Respect yourselves and others. Your exam results matter more than how loudly you celebrated. Do not harass your classmates or force anyone to join Marker Day. That is bullying, and it is shameful. Wear your uniform with pride. It represents your journey, not something to be torn or defaced. Let us act now. Let us protect the image of our schools and the future of our children. We must not normalize public disorder and call it celebration. If we care about education, values, and the next generation, then Marker Day must stop, now and forever. .

*👉WE HAVE BROUGHT YOU THIS FAR; RUN TO SAVE YOURSELF🙏* "So after the two men brought Lot and his family out of the city, one of the men said, “Now run to save your life! Don’t look back at the city, and don’t stop anywhere in the valley. Run until you are in the mountains. If you stop, you will be destroyed with the city!” Genesis 19:17[ ERV]. The problem that a lot of people have is that they expect to be babysat for life! Some people have been helped up to university first degree level; they get upset that no one has helped them to get a job or secure a Master's Degree. Some have been helped to marry, they get upset that no one is helping them to train their children. Some have been helped to go abroad, they refuse to hustle for survival, they fold their hands in the land of opportunities to beg and complain! Hebrews 5:12 [WNT] captures the picture of some of us: *"For although, considering the long time you have been believers, you ought now to be teachers of others, you really need some one to teach you over again the very rudiments of the truths of God, and you have come to require milk instead of solid food."* This applies to so many in different ways. *There is an extent that God and people will help you! At a certain level, you must wake up and start using your God-given and people assisted resources, talents, trainings and experience to run away from poverty, ignorance, joblessness, sin, sickness and stagnation!* Ruuuuuunnnnnn your race, escape for your life and become the best. Oh dear Lord I thank you for how far out I have been brought, help me to run and continue running till the end in Jesus Christ name. Amen! Good morning. Amanim🙏 please follow for more nwamama Austino is my name