My daughter mistakenly broke this woman (my neighbor) half crate of egg and she kept complaining until I asked her for her account details.
And she actually gave me 🤣
I don pay the money make she no vex
This beast killed my primary school friends, six of my neighbours and he almost killed me too.
Christmas Day, 2011.
I was at St. Theresa's Catholic Church fetching water from their borehole because December is usually dry season in the North. Harmattan, dry skin and dry wells.
Our neighbours who were Catholics were already inside the church, singing and dancing. I think Father Achi was the one in charge of the parish back then and was presiding over the service.
I was with my wheelbarrow that i used in carrying water i fetched at the back of the priest's quarters when my friends saw me. They were outside buying sweets from the Hausa vendors.
We linked up for a bit. We talked. We laughed. After some time, they told me they were going inside because it was time for them to give their offerings.
I picked up my wheelbarrow and started leaving while they ran back to the church and that was when i heard the blast.
My ears immediately went deaf.
The force of the explosion pushed me to the ground. My gallons fell over and water started leaking everywhere.
I was in a trance.
I could see the smoke.
I could see people running towards the church and some out of it.
But I couldn't hear anything.
It was completely silent.
And that was when I saw them.
My friends.
Lying on the floor close to the church entrance.
The same boys I had just been laughing with a few seconds earlier.
Kalu.
John.
Ben.
Samson.
Tony.
That was when i stood up and ran home crying.
I was a child. I didn't understand terrorism. I didn't understand religious extremism. I didn't understand why somebody would want to blow up a church on Christmas Day.
That day changed something in me forever. This isn't something I read about in the news.
I was there.
And somehow, I survived.
People talk about terrorism in Nigeria using numbers.
How many people died.
How many were injured.
How many churches were attacked.
But behind every number are people with actual names.
People who had friends.
People who had families.
People who were supposed to go home that Christmas afternoon.
This beast killed my primary school friends, six of my neighbours and he almost killed me too.
Christmas Day, 2011.
I was at St. Theresa's Catholic Church fetching water from their borehole because December is usually dry season in the North. Harmattan, dry skin and dry wells.
Our neighbours who were Catholics were already inside the church, singing and dancing. I think Father Achi was the one in charge of the parish back then and was presiding over the service.
I was with my wheelbarrow that i used in carrying water i fetched at the back of the priest's quarters when my friends saw me. They were outside buying sweets from the Hausa vendors.
We linked up for a bit. We talked. We laughed. After some time, they told me they were going inside because it was time for them to give their offerings.
I picked up my wheelbarrow and started leaving while they ran back to the church and that was when i heard the blast.
My ears immediately went deaf.
The force of the explosion pushed me to the ground. My gallons fell over and water started leaking everywhere.
I was in a trance.
I could see the smoke.
I could see people running towards the church and some out of it.
But I couldn't hear anything.
It was completely silent.
And that was when I saw them.
My friends.
Lying on the floor close to the church entrance.
The same boys I had just been laughing with a few seconds earlier.
Kalu.
John.
Ben.
Samson.
Tony.
That was when i stood up and ran home crying.
I was a child. I didn't understand terrorism. I didn't understand religious extremism. I didn't understand why somebody would want to blow up a church on Christmas Day.
That day changed something in me forever. This isn't something I read about in the news.
I was there.
And somehow, I survived.
People talk about terrorism in Nigeria using numbers.
How many people died.
How many were injured.
How many churches were attacked.
But behind every number are people with actual names.
People who had friends.
People who had families.
People who were supposed to go home that Christmas afternoon.
Green apple painted red.
Dye in palm oil.
Fake soy sauce and olive oil.
Chicken that’s pretty much water and toxins.
Fake soda.
Fake paracetamol.
Fake yoghurt.
Fake toothpaste.
Fake fake fake!
How is someone supposed to 100% avoid consuming these things? HOW?
Nigerian police btw, many are still there with the same issue Fergie had yesterday na internet and a lot of calls help us, some don even agree say them be cultist because of the beating.