I desire to be remembered for the impact that I have made.
I am currently a software engineering student coding on my phone 😂. Big feat to achieve. @TS_aca
I KNOW IHOTU AND THIS IS HER STORY
The afternoon sun in Makurdi was generous, casting a golden glow over the compound as Ihotu pulled the car into the driveway. In the back seat, seven-year-old Ene and five-year-old Ehi were giggling over a shared bag of garden eggs. /1
I sit down many times and try to imagine how leaving would feel like. Nigeria is home but right now home feels like hard work for us all.
Leaving if possible is the easiest escape at the moment.
I realized it was time to leave when I started feeling like I was running on a treadmill. No matter how hard I worked, how many efforts I put in, or how honest I tried to be, it always felt like I was taking one step forward and three steps backward. I left Nigeria in my late 20s because I wanted a chance at something more. Nigeria is home. Lagos raised me. Lagos gave me my first friendships, first heartbreaks, first hustles, first wins, and some of the toughest lessons of my life. I was born there, bred there, buttered there, and burnt there. Leaving wasn’t exciting, it was painful. I still remember sitting with family and friends knowing that very soon those daily conversations, random visits, weekend hangouts, and familiar faces would become phone calls and memories.
What many people don’t tell you about japa is that the journey is not always glamorous. I left for Dubai first and eventually made my way to the United States. People see the destination but rarely talk about the sacrifices. Nobody talks about the loneliness, spending birthdays alone, missing weddings, burials, naming ceremonies, and watching the people you love grow older through video calls. I remember having an $800 car note and almost $300 insurance every month, only to lose my job a few months later. The same America people think is paved with gold humbled me very quickly. I had to surrender the car and start all over again. Days where I was bathing an awesome autistic client of mine and he pooped on my hands, while washing is bum bum, calling Iya Seunfunmi saying “I can’t do this, I’m coming back to Nigeria” There were days I questioned myself, days I wondered if I had made a mistake, and days I missed Lagos traffic, roadside suya, and even the noise I used to complain about.
Today, when I look back, I don’t measure success by dollars. I measure it by options. The ability to take care of my family, support people back home, and give my children opportunities I never had. Was it worth it? Yes, a thousand times yes. But if you ask me what I miss most, it isn’t the food or the weather. It’s the people. The older I get, the more I realize that the hardest thing about japa isn’t leaving your country. It’s leaving pieces of your heart behind and learning how to live with the distance.
@t_Duches@dahtgirl_ajex Hey @t_Duches , I know it's hard to keep up on the timeline but Please, I would appreciate whatever support you can give towards my treatment. I am expected to do a brain and lungs CT/MRI and also a Doppler ultrasound scan. We have spent so much already and these tests are needed
@t_Duches I need about 400 thousand to do an MRI for my brain and lungs and also a Doppler ultrasound scan of both legs amongst other investigation as instructed by the consultant. It's hard already but being sick makes it harder.
If you can see this tweet, please know that your social media pressure is important.
Terrible news and the horrible state of governance can be depressing but please don't get tired of speaking up.
On here, we are truly the 4th arm of the government.
Online pressure works.
The older i get, the more i understand why some people become quiet. it's not that they have nothing to say, they’re just tired of explaining things nobody truly understands.
This message by pastor Paul should be played in all force headquarters and every home and every political gathering. It's time for us to be allowed to carry our own arms since our leaders have chosen to turn a blind eye to our pain.