@MasterMaliq As my brother the go BUK I Sha told him. He should go to class and read nothing should join him is any religion talk. Even in viewing center if talk to much make him just go out. I don't want to be posting justice4isaac
This month I reached out to a well-known pastor here on X about starting a weekly space to discuss religion, tolerance, and unity, and to fight misconceptions. He was hesitant at first but later agreed. He even suggested three Christians we could bring in, and asked me to find Muslims as well.
But just last night, he sent me a message (check the picture) explaining why he is still sceptical. His fear is clear: if he makes one honest point, some Muslims, especially extremists, will twist it, take offence, and call for his head in the name of the Prophet.
That fear says everything. Extremists have grown so loud that even peaceful dialogue feels dangerous. And that is exactly why these conversations must happen. If we keep quiet, extremists will keep ruling the stage with fear.
As-salāmu ʿalaykum wa raḥmatullāhi wa barakātuh 🌸
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Also, there is this bad habit i have noticed with men these days. They’d be dating a lady who is by every standard and fairness, good-looking bodywise, big ass, boobs, light skinned and tall with a fine face. A lady any man would want.
They then try to “lock” or “secure” this lady and keep her away from other men by engaging or putting a ring. The last thing they are looking at are her red flags. Her attitude.
They marry nonsense and in their older age, she and all the children abandon him and go abroad while yusuf the driver and dele the houseboy are left with him to stay with him when he is admitted at the hospital and bedridden.
Sometimes, men are their own problems.
THE GIST!
After our chef had gone home for the day, I was craving smoothie. So I went to the kitchen with my phone cos I was watching some shorts on YouTube.
Hubby quickly came to help me out, he doesn't want me stressing. He made the smoothie for me while we talked about
The toilet offers a strange kind of sanctuary, a chapel for introspection, for the quiet surgery of self-reflection, for the tiny edits of one’s reflection. In here, nothing matters but thought, and if, like me, you are surrounded by mirrors as you sit, you will see with brutal clarity the many parts of yourself that must be tended to, and the rotting corners that must be utterly discarded.
The porcelain bowl beneath me has always been a most welcoming host, its reception warm and unjudging, like the whores on Abakaliki street, who, no matter your stench or story, will welcome you with open thighs. And so I sit, housed by its cool embrace, and my mind drifts, as minds do when the body is occupied with the common task of release.
I think of my family. I think of how age has crept upon us stealthily, as it does all living things, and how life, with its endless errands of work and school and ambition, is scattering us slowly in different directions. And it burdens me.
For to grow is to become more, but to become more is to destroy certain strongholds that once made us whole. One of such strongholds is the simple fact of family under one roof. I think back to when we were all still children, driven to school and driven back, our lunchboxes in hand, our faces lit with glee, while grimace sat heavily across my father’s own. As a child, I often wondered why that grimace clung to him like an unwanted mask each morning. Then, I did not understand it. Now, I do. Every man, if he lives long enough, will one day carry the same weight his fellow man once bore. That grimace was the burden of raising six tough soldiers, a burden that sat upon his brow and bent his lips into that permanent frown.
But yesterday, there was no grimace. In its place sat calmness, a calmness so strange I studied it carefully, like a traveler studying the last signs of sunset—hesitant, unwilling to let go of the light. Or perhaps more truthfully, it was the way a woman, late on her cycle, opens her Flo app again and again, hoping for reassurance, yet meeting only silence. That same mixture of hope, fear, and inevitability.
Yet, if you peered deeper into that calm, you would find not peace, but tiredness. The old lion is weary. He has roared too loudly, too often, even when silence might have sufficed. And every lion, no matter how fearsome, must one day come to this stage; the stage of quiet fatigue, when even his own roar echoes back at him as weariness. One day, I too will come to it. And so will you.
It is the remnant of yesterday’s fried rice and eggs, cooked by my sister, that I now give back to this ever-welcoming bowl. My sister cooks with the genius of a woman who might have invented the Michelin star system. I did not wish to eat yesterday, but the aroma of her rice pursued me, wore me clothes, and carried me to the dining table where a mountain of fried rice and scrambled eggs waited for my decimation. I ate like a man cornered, and as I ate, I felt my mother’s eyes upon me.
She did not hide her gaze. She watched, and in that watching there was something like quiet joy. I know she was happy to see me eating, to see me present, alive, reachable. And I, her son, sat there knowing full well I have never mastered how to tell her that I love her. It feels too un-African, almost sacrilegious, to say it plainly. Yet in that moment, as our eyes locked, I bowed mine in reverence, and I am certain she read the unspoken words clearly: I love you. She saw it written boldly in the lowering of my head.
Someday soon, God grant me courage, it will not be in silence. Someday before her body is laid into a box and lowered into the cold earth, I will gather the fullness of my manhood and tell her with my own lips: Mother, I love you. I will not let her departure be the interpreter of my affection.
This was such a beautiful interaction, yet scary.
It is profoundly humbling to see life from the lens of those who have gone before -
the introspection that hits you afterwards forces you to recalibrate your priorities.
When you marry a good wife, she will always remind your children the sacrifices of their dad
Nobody in this world hides their pain like men. They sacrifice their everything for the entire family knowing that nobody has their back for real.
She had tears of appreciation 👇🥺
Years ago, a friend of mine, a lady I deeply respect, confided in me. She told me that another friend of ours, a man I held in high regard, had demanded her nude pictures before helping her financially. She sounded hurt, and it was clear this pain had lingered for five years.
Curious and concerned, I called her to hear the full story. Her voice trembled with the weight of her emotions as she recounted the ordeal. I was disappointed in my male friend. I could not reconcile his actions with the person I thought I knew. Why would someone exploit another’s vulnerability just because they could? She begged me not to confront him, saying she was healing and only needed someone to trust.
But I could not let it go. That evening, I called my male friend and asked to meet after the Isha prayer. He sensed my unease and pressed me to share the problem immediately, but I insisted we talk in person.
After prayers, we sat under a tree near the mosque. I showed him the chat screenshots and played the recording of my conversation with the lady. To my surprise, he laughed.
"Maliq," he said, "thank you for not jumping to conclusions, but let me tell you what actually happened. She is not as innocent as she seems."
He went on to explain his side of the story.
"When she was in school, she often struggled financially. Out of goodwill, I became her go-to person for help. Whenever she needed money, I supported her without hesitation. Over time, however, her requests turned into entitlement. She would get angry if I sent less than she expected, insisting I could do better.
"I started feeling used, so I distanced myself. For months, I ignored her calls and messages. Then one night, she accused me of avoiding her because I had feelings for her. I denied it, but she did not stop there. She began sending explicit pictures of herself, saying, ‘Tell me you don’t like what you see.’
"I told her to stop, but she kept sending more, so I turned off my data. Later, she called and promised to stop if I sent her money. Reluctantly, I did, just to end the drama. But instead of gratitude, she sent, ‘So if I didn’t send you my nudes, you wouldn’t have sent the money?’ That was the final straw. I blocked her on every platform. She is manipulative and ungrateful, and I wanted nothing to do with her after that."
Stunned by his account, I immediately called the lady and confronted her with his version of events. She hung up on me and blocked me without a word. That was the last time we ever spoke.
This experience taught me a critical lesson: always hear both sides of a story before forming an opinion. Today, society is quick to assume a man’s guilt without evidence. Reality, however, is often more complicated.
What shocked me most was realizing how far some people will go to protect their image. The lady in question is now a popular influencer. One day, she might share her version of the story and tarnish my friend’s name. If that day comes, I will be here to defend the truth.
@Wizarab10 Una wey de cs de shout fight for her position, shey na she de give sex of child, imagine trying 10 times to fight for her position and ends up with 10 daughters na una online wan train them??
The man na stupid person. For this 21st century this bullshit still de sup
😂😂😂
I am comfortable, I thank God for this.
Back in 2022, my wife pressured me to japa; “it’s good for the kids,” she said. She knew I could afford it.
But I told her, why abandon my business here in Nigeria just to chase multiple jobs abroad? That would have been foolish. I've had uninterrupted power supply in my house for the last 8 years, I feel safe here and live a comfortable life. Wetin I dey japa for.
Fast forward to today, my business and investments have grown stronger, and now she admits I made the right call.
Some of you think because we banter here on Twitter, we’re all wired the same. Naaaa. I’ll travel for tourism, business, or events, but japa? Never. Not at this age. God forbid.
The Grass is greener where you water it.
U make transaction in Nig or anywhere in Africa
It must go through U.S Companies
Visa card, MasterCard, Verve
n they take transaction fees
tells U who controls ur economy
U think Africn banks can't handle card payments?
But U feel colonialism is gone cos U hv a "president"🤡🤡
“When I made my first million dollars from music, I was so excited that I spent it quickly. The first thing I bought was a studio, so if all else failed, I could always write and produce records for other artists.
I spent about $250,000 on that studio equipment. Then I gave my mom $150,000, my dad $150,000, and I gave all my brothers about $25,000 to start businesses.
When my girlfriend at the time found out, she asked me for $200,000. I just laughed and gave her $5,000 because I can never give a woman more than 2% of my total money. She broke up with me then, but I wasn't upset because I realized she only wanted Money, not me.
The truth is, if you want to stay rich as a man, you have to be very stingy with these ladies” ~ Akon