@MrMekzy_ More like this...
"You are a multidimensional creator who builds ideas, stories, systems, and learning tools—especially for children—blending education, creativity, strategy, and culture to leave lasting impact" - Chatgpt's words (describing me)
@_pauliegee I hope you know there are survivors in this category trying so hard to forget it all and suffering ptsd....such harsh words like yours will only make them give up on life.
A strange thing is happening in Nigeria.
A young man spends 20 years climbing the educational ladder.
6 years in primary school.
6 years in secondary school.
4 to 6 years in university.
1 year of NYSC.
By the time he is done, he has invested roughly 6,500 to 7,000 days preparing for life.
Then life arrives and asks a simple question:
“What problem can you solve?”
Silence.
Not because he is unintelligent.
Not because he is lazy.
But because somewhere along the journey, we confused education with certification.
We taught people how to pass exams, not how to create value.
Think about it.
An electrician who never attended university can walk into a building worth N500 million and confidently power every room from the foundation to the penthouse.
A graduate with multiple certificates may stand beside him unable to identify which wire powers the building.
One has credentials.
The other has capability.
The market pays for capability.
That is why reality often delivers a rude mathematical lesson.
If a graduate earns N100,000 monthly, that is N1.2 million annually.
A skilled technician charging N40,000 per job and handling just two jobs weekly earns over N4 million yearly.
Same country.
Different skills.
Different outcomes.
The tragedy is not that one earns more than the other.
The tragedy is that we keep preparing millions of young people for a race that no longer exists.
We celebrate admission lists like victory trophies.
We celebrate graduation photos like guaranteed employment letters.
Then we act surprised when hundreds of applicants compete for one vacancy.
Imagine 1,000 people chasing 10 jobs.
Basic mathematics says 990 people will be disappointed.
No motivational speaker can negotiate with arithmetic.
Yet we continue producing graduates faster than we produce opportunities.
That is like manufacturing keys without building doors.
The painful irony?
The people we once looked down on are increasingly becoming the people we depend on.
Yesterday in church, a woman who’s almost 80 came out to testify. She said that last week, someone gifted her ₦20k. That was the first time in her entire life she ever had ₦20k in her account that wasn’t for medication or food.
The pastor asked if she was serious, and she said yes.
The pastor then gifted her ₦150k. Her account number was read out, and before the end of the service, her account already had more than ₦500k.
Being at home for 3wks now because of the CS and the lost of my Son,
Spend everything we had at the hospital, no sales, everywhere is dry
Please we can deliver to your love ones, mutuals, struggling kids, street kids, orphanage homes, prisoners , churches and mosques,
We have
A carton of biscuit and juice for ₦8500
A carton of biscuits and juice for ₦17k
With 100k you can get 11 cartons for ₦8500 package for 11 parents ,
With 200k you can get 22 cartons of #8500 package for 22 parents
With 100k you can get 5cartons for ₦17k package for 5parents
With 200k you can get 10cartons for ₦17k package for 10parents
Please I need all your support and patronage before hunger kpia person
📍lagos State, Nationwide
A man in Kenya drove 3,000 gallons of water to help wild animals after seeing elephants and buffaloes collapsing from thirst.
He did not wait for help or permission… he saw a problem and acted immediately.
He did this so many times to the point that most animals would recognise the sound of his lorry and wait for him at the drinking point!
When he started doing this, no organization or government supported him! Only few friends would encourage him.
TO THE PUBLIC: When I was traveling from Lagos to ilorin …my car had a stopover at Oyo where I met this man…he’s mentally ill and he walked up to me ..politely asked me to take his picture and help him show the world (post) maybe he can find someone who knows him..I was so shocked but I believe there is a purpose for everything in life …who knows maybe God what to use me for him…Because i wondered why he walked up to me…and said those words
Now I’m fulfilling his dream:::
If anyone knows him please kindly reach out to his family…that this guys is roaming about oyo
Our child will not be mentally unstable
🙏🙏🙏
Many people get confused about the different Nigerian passports colours — green, blue, and red. So let me explain it in simple terms.
Not all passports are the same, and the colour of a passport in Nigeria actually tells you the category of traveller and purpose of travel.
1. GREEN PASSPORT – Ordinary Passport: This is the regular passport used by everyday Nigerian citizens.
Who uses it?
• Tourists
• Business travellers
• Students
• Families visiting loved ones abroad
• Medical travellers
• General public
If you are travelling for holiday, study, work, conferences, family visits, tourism, or business as a private citizen, this is the passport you use.
Important:
Green passport holders follow the normal visa application process based on the country they are visiting.
2. BLUE PASSPORT – Official/Service Passport: This is issued to government officials and public servants travelling on official government assignments.
Who uses it?
• Government workers on official duty
• Public officials representing government agencies
• Certain civil servants travelling for official assignments
This passport is NOT for personal travel or tourism. It is strictly for official government-related assignments. Many people mistakenly think having a blue passport means visa-free travel. No ooo 😄
Blue passport holders may still need visas depending on the country and the purpose of travel.
3. RED PASSPORT – Diplomatic Passport: This is the highest category and is issued to diplomats and very senior government officials.
Who uses it?
• Ambassadors
• Diplomats
• The President and Vice President
• Ministers and top-ranking government officials
• Some members of the National Assembly (in certain circumstances)
• Senior Foreign Affairs officials
• Certain dependents of diplomats
Now, this is where many people get it wrong…
Having a RED diplomatic passport does NOT automatically mean you can enter every country visa-free. Visa requirements still depend on diplomatic agreements between countries.
Some countries allow Nigerian diplomatic passport holders visa-free access, while others still require visas — especially if the trip is not an official diplomatic mission.
What about the President?
The President or Head of State does not usually travel like an ordinary traveller applying for visas online.
Presidential travel is arranged through diplomatic protocols, government-to-government communication, security clearance, and international agreements. Due to international diplomatic protocols, sitting Presidents and Heads of State generally do not go through normal visa processes like regular citizens. Their travel is arranged through diplomatic clearance, state protocols, government-to-government communication, and prior authorization between countries.
In short, no embassy officer is telling a sitting President to “come back in 15 working days” 😄
Simple Summary:
🟢 Green Passport = Regular citizens
🔵 Blue Passport = Government officials on official duty
🔴 Red Passport = Diplomats and top government officials
President dey on him own. Just call and move ✈️✈️✈️
Share if you learnt something today.
Shalom!
There was a time in Nigeria when the man carrying a sewing machine on his shoulder was called Obioma.
Because almost all the artisanal tailors were Easterners of Igbo descent.
After the Civil War, many Easterners emerged from one of the most devastating chapters in Nigerian history with almost nothing but skill, mobility, discipline, and a survival instinct.
Some carried sewing machines from street to street, patching clothes, repairing trousers, adjusting school uniforms, and moving from compound to compound looking for work.
That image became so common that the name stuck.
Obioma.
A man with a sewing machine on his shoulder, moving under the sun and doing work many people looked down on.
But the same people who were once reduced in the public imagination to street tailoring slowly began to move.
From roadside tailoring to shops.
From shops to markets.
From markets to importation.
From importation to manufacturing.
From apprenticeship to industrial clusters.
From survival to ownership.
Go to Nnewi.
Go to Aba.
Go to Onitsha.
Go to Alaba.
Go to Ladipo.
Go to Ariaria.
You will still see poverty, struggle, disorder, bad roads, poor power supply, and all the normal Nigerian problems. Nobody is pretending the Southeast has become Singapore.
But you will also see something powerful.
You will see a people who took humiliation, displacement, and economic ruin and built a survival machine around trade, apprenticeship, mobility, and family capital.
And this is what makes my heart sink as a Northerner.
Today, the mai guard, mai ruwa, mai shayi, mai kaya, shoe repairer, the man pushing a wheelbarrow, carrying loads, shining shoes, patching clothes, riding okada, clearing construction sites, packing refuse, digging soakaway pits, hawking small goods, or sleeping beside a kiosk in Lagos, Abuja, Port Harcourt, Ibadan, Onitsha, and other cities is often called "Aboki."
That is the story we don't want to face.
One people moved from grass to grace.
Another moved from grace to grass.
This is not to take anything away from the Igbo people. I have nothing but admiration for them.
And it is not an insult to the Hausa people or to menial jobs. I am a proud son of Arewa, and in Arewa we do not look down on any vocation earned through halal means.
This is a history lesson.
Now look at us in the North.
We did not begin from the bottom.
Long before colonial Nigeria existed, Kano was already one of the great commercial cities of West Africa. Merchants from Tripoli, Fez, Agadez, Timbuktu, and Bornu passed through its markets. Caravans crossed the Sahara carrying leather goods, textiles, kola nuts, salt, and livestock. The city walls of Kano were not built around a village. They were built around a thriving urban economy that connected West Africa to North Africa.
We had cities that were centres of commerce when many parts of modern Nigeria were still organized around smaller local economies.
We had emirates that provided administration, taxation, courts, and political order across vast territories.
We had centres of Islamic scholarship that attracted students from across the region. In places like Kano, Katsina, Sokoto, and Borno, generations of scholars produced manuscripts and taught jurisprudence, theology, grammar, astronomy, and history. The reputation of northern scholarship travelled far beyond Nigeria's borders.
We had trade routes that linked us to the wider world. For centuries, merchants moved goods across the Sahara and across the savannah belt. Northern markets were not isolated local markets. They were part of international commercial networks.
We had cattle wealth on a scale few regions could match. Fulani pastoralists moved millions of cattle across grazing routes stretching from Senegal to Cameroon. Livestock was not merely food. It was wealth, trade, transport, status, and economic security.
We had one of the most respected leather industries in Africa. Kano leather was famous across the continent. Tanned hides from northern Nigeria found their way into trans-Saharan commerce and international markets. The famous red goatskin known as Morocco leather often originated from skins processed through West African leather networks in which Kano played a major role.
We had textile industries that employed thousands long before modern factories arrived. Hand-spun cotton was woven into cloth across northern towns. Entire communities depended on spinning, weaving, dyeing, trading, and transporting textiles.
We had the famous dye pits of Kano.
Not one or two pits.
Dozens of them.
For centuries, the Kofar Mata dye pits transformed locally woven cloth into richly coloured fabrics using indigo. Traders came from different parts of West Africa to buy these textiles. The dye pits became one of the oldest continuously operating industrial sites on the continent. They supported craftsmen, traders, transporters, farmers growing indigo, and entire commercial networks built around textile production.
We had the groundnut economy.
There was a time when the groundnut pyramids of Kano were not merely tourist attractions on postcards.
They were symbols of enormous agricultural wealth.
Thousands of farmers cultivated groundnuts across the North. Rail lines carried produce southward for export. Groundnut exports generated foreign exchange, supported industries, created jobs, and helped finance government revenues. The pyramids themselves represented mountains of produce waiting to enter global markets.
And if we move into the colonial and post-colonial era, the advantages become even harder to ignore.
We had numbers.
The North occupies roughly three-quarters of Nigeria's landmass. Depending on how one defines the region, the nineteen northern states account for well over half of Nigeria's population. Kano State alone has a population larger than many African countries.
We had manpower.
For decades, millions of young people entered the labour force every year. We were not a small minority struggling to find relevance. We were one of the largest demographic blocs in Africa.
We had land.
Hundreds of thousands of square kilometres of territory stretching across the Sudan and Sahel savannahs.
Land suitable for millet, sorghum, maize, rice, cotton, groundnuts, and livestock.
Land crossed by major river systems such as the Niger and Benue, and supported by irrigation projects in several states.
We had agricultural potential that many countries would envy.
We had political influence.
From independence onward, northern politicians, military officers, civil servants, traditional rulers, and power brokers occupied some of the most influential positions in the Nigerian state for long periods.
Prime ministers.
Heads of state.
Presidents.
Military rulers.
Senior ministers.
Powerful bureaucrats.
Influential legislators.
Whether one likes that fact or not, the North was never politically invisible.
We had religious authority.
The Sultanate of Sokoto remains one of the most influential Islamic institutions in Africa.
The emirates commanded legitimacy that extended beyond politics.
Mosques, Islamic schools, scholars, judges, and religious networks shaped social life across millions of households.
We had institutions.
Not perfect institutions.
But institutions nonetheless.
Emirate councils.
Traditional courts.
Islamic learning centres.
Agricultural boards.
Marketing boards.
Regional administrations.
Cooperative systems.
Educational establishments.
Commercial associations.
Structures that survived for generations.
We had a head start.
That is what makes the present situation so painful.
Because today, when millions of young Hausa and northern boys enter any big city, what work are many of them known for?
These boys are not lazy.
A lazy man does not leave Kano, Katsina, Zamfara, Sokoto, Jigawa, Bauchi, Kebbi, or Borno and sleep under a bridge in Lagos just to survive.
A lazy man does not push water from street to street.
A lazy man does not carry cement until his back bends.
A lazy man does not guard another man's house all night and still open a kiosk by morning.
The problem is not laziness.
The problem is that too many of our people enter the modern economy from the lowest possible point.
No certificate.
No skill that scales.
No capital.
No protection.
No formal training.
No strong educational foundation.
No industrial ladder waiting for them.
So they sell their bodies first.
Their backs.
Their hands.
Their legs.
Their sleep.
Their youth.
That is the real tragedy.
The Igbo Obioma story became a ladder because it was connected to apprenticeship, trade discipline, family networks, and commercial ambition.
The Hausa Aboki story too often becomes a trap because it is connected to poverty, broken schooling, rural collapse, insecurity, and survival migration.
One system turns a boy into a trader.
The other turns a boy into cheap labour or, worse, a recruitment ground for terrorism.
This is the painful contrast.
The Southeast came out of war and produced commercial networks.
The North came out of power and produced surplus labour.
That sentence is harsh, but look around before you reject it.
Who is carrying the load?
Who is guarding the gate?
Who is pushing the cart?
Who is fetching the water?
Who is sleeping in the market?
Who is leaving the village because bandits have made farming impossible?
Who is entering the city with nothing but strength?
If the answer to all the questions above is Arewa youth, then you must not be offended by the diagnosis. Instead, start asking your leaders the harder questions.
Because what is happening to Arewa is a failure of social organization. We shield our leaders too much and outsource criticism of them.
Our fathers inherited a civilization.
Too many of our boys inherited migration.
Our fathers inherited functioning economic systems.
Too many of our boys inherited survival.
Our fathers participated in trade networks stretching across continents.
Too many of our boys participate only in daily labour markets.
Our fathers built industries around leather, textiles, livestock, agriculture, and commerce.
Too many of our boys now rent out their muscles by the day.
And the painful thing is that the word Aboki, which originally means "friend," now, in the mouth of the Nigerian city, often becomes a class marker.
It becomes a way of saying: the northern poor man who does the work nobody respects but everybody needs.
That should break our hearts.
Not because the work is shameful.
No honest work is shameful.
What is shameful is that a whole region with history, population, religious authority, political influence, institutions, agricultural potential, and vast territory keeps producing young people whose first contact with the economy is desperation.
This is why history matters.
The question is not whether the Igbo are better than the Hausa.
That is a childish argument.
The real question is: what system turns hardship into enterprise, and what system turns heritage into dependency?
Because poverty alone does not explain everything.
War did not stop the Igbo from building trade networks.
Lack of oil did not stop Nnewi from producing industrialists.
Bad Nigerian roads did not stop Aba from becoming a manufacturing symbol.
Weak government did not stop apprenticeship from creating business owners.
So what stopped us?
What happened to the North that inherited thriving cities, trans-Saharan commerce, respected scholarship, textile industries, leather industries, livestock wealth, agricultural exports, demographic strength, political influence, and enormous land resources?
How did a people with so much historical structure produce so many young men with so little modern preparation?
That is the conversation we need.
Not insults.
Not denial.
Not ethnic pride.
Not hiding behind "our culture."
Not pretending every criticism is hatred.
The Obioma story should humble us.
Because it shows that a people can begin with a sewing machine on the shoulder and still build a commercial ladder.
The Aboki story should disturb us.
Because it shows that a people can begin with history on their side and still end up supplying cheap labour to other people's cities.
That is the mirror.
Igbo moved from Obioma to enterprise.
Hausa must not remain trapped inside Aboki survival.
The North needs a ladder.