Oche Mark

Ambivert |Faith |Med student🩺 |GGMU |🏀 |Get better everyday ✨

[Abu Amir @SadiqMaunde]

Atiku dey increase tuition fee for eim school,

Tinubu dey share rice,

Peter Obi dey donate to schools in millions, nonstop

Kwankwaso dey roll out scholarships to the children of the poor.

I know who means well for me & my unborn generation.

Nigeria will be OK!

[Oyiga Micheal @Nsukka_okpa]

The concept of time and chance is always amazing to me.

As at last year, he was still playing monkey post in Kaduna.. But look at this news!❤️

[FAMSA @official_famsa]

Every 28 days, millions of young girls across Nigeria face a silent crisis. It is not just about a biological cycle; it is about the compromise of their health, and the erosion of their daily dignity. When sanitary pads become a luxury and accurate reproductive education .....

[Emmanuel Owolabi @_emmaco4real_]

Her name was Amara.

She was 13 years old.

The kind of child teachers remember.

Always early to class.

Always neat.

Always smiling.

Always surrounded by friends.

Then something changed.

Not suddenly.

Quietly.

The first sign was not the rash.

The first sign was tiredness.

The kind of tiredness that makes a child come home from school, drop her bag by the door, and go straight to bed.

Her mother was not worried.

Neither would most parents be.

School can be stressful.

Children get tired.

Life goes on.

Then came the fever.

Not a severe fever.

Just enough to make her forehead warm.

Just enough to cause headaches.

Just enough to make her complain that her body hurt.

In many Nigerian homes, the first thought is malaria.

So she was treated for malaria.

The fever improved.

Then it returned.

She was treated again.

Then again.

Soon, the family knew something was wrong.

But they did not know what.

Weeks passed.

The fever stayed.

The tiredness stayed.

Then the joint pains arrived.

First her fingers.

Then her wrists.

Then her knees.

Some mornings, buttoning her school shirt became difficult because her fingers felt stiff.

Some afternoons, she limped slightly while walking home.

People had explanations.

“She’s growing.”

“Maybe she needs vitamins.”

“Children complain too much.”

The symptoms kept speaking.

But nobody understood the language.

By March, Amara was no longer the same girl.

The child who once answered every question in class now struggled to stay awake during lessons.

The child who once played after school now preferred lying quietly on the couch.

The child who once smiled easily now looked exhausted.

Then one Sunday morning, while helping her prepare for church, her mother noticed something unusual.

A faint reddish rash stretched across both cheeks and over the bridge of her nose.

It wasn’t painful.

It wasn’t itchy.

It looked harmless.

Almost beautiful.

Like a butterfly had gently rested on her face.

Her mother stared at it for a few seconds.

Then suddenly she said,

“Is this not that rash that Dr. Sina mentioned during one webinar one time?”

She paused.

Trying to remember.

“Lup… Lup…”

Then she laughed nervously.

“Abeg, God forbid.”

But diseases do not disappear because we reject their names.

Sometimes they continue their work quietly while everyone is looking elsewhere.

Weeks later,

[Simon Thazhigilla Simon🇳🇬 @Thazhigilla_]

In 300 Level second semester, one Consultant seized my phone during his class. It sounds simple but that phone was my entire academic bloodstream at the time. I had no laptop, no tablet or physical notes. In one motion, he pocketed my entire existence, PDFs, lecture screenshots, recordings, bank apps, and schedules.

So I went to his office during the break. Then I came back. Then I came back again. On the third visit I knelt before him in that corridor with catarrh running freely down my face, my pride had already left my body at that point. But by evening, OGA had gone home and travelled out of the state few days later. I knew because I was his course rep. The man vanished for 2weeks.

The next morning we had a Biochemistry test. That week alone, we had almost eight tests lined up like a firing squad. I did not even have transport money to go home because my bank apps, contacts and my business were tied to that phone. To make masters worst, I had lost my power bank the day before.

That was when Wokji stepped in.
My friend, my brother and our Biochemistry rep.

For two weeks, that guy carried me on his back without making noise about it. I slept in his room, read from his notes, ate from his plate, moved around campus like a refugee sponsored by friendship. Somehow, somehow, I sat every one of those eight tests. And in Histology, I scored ninety-six.

That period taught me a quiet truth about survival because one moment I had everything in my hands. The next, I was kneeling in corridors trying not to fall apart. But somewhere in a hundred corridors, you will find a Wokji.

And that Wokji will be enough!

[KAT @reallKAT]

I fell in love with this scripture:

“There will come a time when your tears will fall, not because of your troubles, but because God has answered your prayers.”

— 𝖧𝖠𝖡𝖠𝖪𝖪𝖴𝖪 𝟤:𝟥

[T!WA🥹🇬🇧™️ @nobod3yyyy]

I’m Tomi, 25, a UNILAG graduate.

My NYSC posting was to the Ministry of Education, Lagos Island. My heart dropped. I lived in Abule Egba with my aunt.

Transport from Abule Egba to CMS cost ₦1,500–₦2,000 one way by danfo and bus, ₦3,000–₦4,000 round trip. Five days a week would mean ₦60,000–₦80,000 monthly.

My allowance was ₦77,000. I’d have nothing left.

Camp ended Friday. I was to resume Monday.

I called my mum in Ibadan. “Mum, I can’t. After transport, I’ll have ₦0 for food. I’ll reject it.”

She said, “Tomi, go on Monday. Don’t decide from fear.”

Monday at 5:30 AM, I boarded a danfo. It cost ₦1,800 to CMS. I reached the Ministry at 10 AM, one hour late, sweaty, stressed, and ashamed.

I was ready to be shouted at. Instead, the HOD, Mrs. Akin, asked, “Where do you stay?”

“Abule Egba, ma.”

She paused. “You people from the Mainland are suffering. Go to Room 12. We just started a hybrid team.”

Room 12 had four other corps members. “You’ll come in only on Mondays and Wednesdays for meetings. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays you work from home. We’ll give you a ₦10,000 monthly stipend for data.”

Mondays and Wednesdays: ₦3,500 × 2 days × 4 weeks = ₦28,000.
Allowance ₦77,000 + stipend ₦10,000 - transport ₦28,000 = ₦59,000 left for food, savings, and sending home.

Month 2, Mrs. Akin said: “Your captions are good. My friend needs a social media manager for ₦90,000/month.”

I took it.

Month 9: Allowance ₦77k + side gig ₦90k = ₦167k/month.

Last week of service, Mrs. Akin gave me a letter: “Communications Officer. ₦200,000/month. Resume after your service.”

I moved out of my aunt’s to a flat in Yaba for ₦450k/year.

I almost rejected the posting to Lagos Island.
Now I’m glad the one that almost broke me is the one that paid me 🥹

[rae_timzy @omo_Akinbile]

A consultant yesterday, a teacher today.
A bad government affects everyone.

Please get your PVC and vote wisely. Don’t wait until you’re affected directly.

[Oche Mark @OcheMarc]

@officialladi_T Link

[Dr Ayilola 🇬🇧 👨‍⚕️ 🩺 @AyilolaElisha]

For every 4 litres of ascitic fluid drained, albumin should be administered to prevent hypoalbuminaemia, which can lead to shock due to intravascular volume contraction. I’m not sure how to simplify it further.

[Àlúbàríkà 🇳🇬 @Iyoaiye_]

This is Dammy (Damilola) Feyide. She was in her 20s when she returned from the UK to Nigeria in 2017, ready to complete her NYSC and likely head back abroad. But today, the story is completely different.

What started as a one-year service term became a lifelong mission. One afternoon, a nudge from the Holy Spirit caused her to stop her car at a correctional center. She didn't see "criminals" or "street kids"; she saw a reflection of Jesus’ heart. She saw children with doctor-sized dreams living in paint-starved realities.

She started by giving money to children on the street and going to the correctional facility with gifts, but the Holy Spirit kept convincing her that there was more. That conviction led to the birth of Let It Shine Academy (LISA), a FREE boarding school for secondary school students in Lagos, Nigeria.

About 270 students are enrolled in her school. No tuition fee, no hostel fee, no feeding fee, no uniform fee, no textbook fee, everything is provided for free. A standard private secondary school for free in Lagos.

In a society where many children are pushed to the margins because of poverty, instability, family background, or lack of access, she chose to create a place where children can still dream, learn, grow, eat, create, think, and become who God wants them to be.

Today, LISA is a beacon of high-quality, completely free education. While the foundation is built on Christ’s love, the school is filled with children of all religions.

As I shared with my sisters Grow Her Faith Fellowship last week, faith isn’t a wall to keep people out; it’s a bridge that invites everyone in. When we serve, we don’t ask for a creed; we look for a need.

We often ask ourselves, "What is the meaning of life?" The answer isn't found in the degrees we earn or the titles we hold. The whole essence of man is to live for impact. We are stewards, not owners, of the grace we've been given. If your life doesn't leak hope into someone else’s darkness, are you truly living?
Impact isn't about having it all figured out. Dammy didn't have a background in education; she just had a "Yes" and a God who backs those He sends.

I love women who live beyond applause, who are not just building names, but building lives. Women who are not waiting for perfect conditions before they begin, women who understand that purpose is not always glamorous.

Dammy’s work reminds me again that impact is not about how many people know your name. It is about how many lives breathe better because you obeyed what was placed in your heart.
Education is one of the purest forms of impact. When you educate a child, you change their language, their exposure, their confidence, their options, their family story, and sometimes, the direction of an entire generation.

That is why I will always be drawn to people who build in this space, because clarity helps people see, education helps people rise, and impact helps people live better.
Dammy carries all three with conviction. I believe she deserves to be celebrated.

Today, I celebrate Damilola “Dammy” Feyide, for choosing to be a bridge between disadvantage and dignity, between “someone should do something” and “I will start where I am.”

May we never become so busy chasing visibility that we forget the beauty of living for impact, and may more women rise with the courage to build what they wish existed.

Let this be your stir to action: Stop waiting for the perfect timing or the full bank account. Go where the burden is, go where the heart breaks. Just as Dammy shows us, you won't know how deep the well of Grace is until you start pouring it out for others.

Dear Dammy, keep living purposefully and intentionally; the heavens are documenting your impact.

Tolu lope Ajayi

#impact #freeschool #nigeria #education #Bugatti

[Oche Mark @OcheMarc]

@jassjegs May God continue to protect and keep you all safe

[Dr. Ose Etiobhio @osemagnum]

a Chinese surgeon conducting a surgery in Italy on a patient in China... more than 8000km away.

the power of tele-robotic surgeries.

One day, I'll be performing surgeries on patients in Nigeria from any part of the world that I am in. We will get there. I'm excited about the future!🫂❤️...

Follow me on my journey🫡🫂

[Wilberforce Theophilus @Eze_Wilberforce]

I visit this message by Bishop Oyedepo often.

[Dr. Afo 🩺 @Dr_Afo]

Do people know that teaching hospitals are not places you should just able to walk into.
Teaching hospitals are meant majorly for referred cases and training specialist healthcare workers like nurses and resident doctors.
After specialising in teaching hospital, a huge number of these specialist doctors and nurses are supposed to be working in your general hospitals, federal medical centers and state specialist with tons of medical officers working under them.
Most emergencies and clinical conditions should actually be handled by specialists both medical and surgical at this secondary healthcare level.
But walk into most general hospital in this country apart from lagos and what you'd meet is crickets.
You'd be lucky to find one or two MOs shooting far above their pay grade.
You'd see MOs doing ex-laps, CS, and ortho procedures just because if they don't, thousands will die.
Walk into their emergency room and you'd be lucky to find functional resuscitation items and an oxygen cylinder.
Yet, rather than these people to protest about their useless leaders.
They'd rather point to the overworked doctor and nurses, they'd say we lack empathy, that we deserve our poor pay because of our lackadaisical attitude and that God will punish us if we don't attend to them on time.
Godforsaken country.

[Dr. Afo 🩺 @Dr_Afo]

Folashade died the cruelest of death.

She wasn’t sick. Full of life.

Thirty-one years young.

Married just four years. Two kids.

Always laughing loudest in the room.

One humid evening her husband’s hand paused during intimacy.

He felt something hard. Unusual in her right breast.

She touched it too. Small, Firm and rigid lump.

Next morning she booked an appointment at a big private hospital on the island.

No panic yet.

Series of tests followed.

Mammogram. Ultrasound. Biopsy.

The report came cold.

Invasive ductal carcinoma. Triple-negative.

The aggressive kind.

But caught early and with no distant spread.

A miracle!

Doctors sat her down.

Therapeutic chemotherapy first, and then radical mastectomy (meaning they'll remove her entire right breast) and finally radiotherapy.

They ensure her this will give a high chance of cure. Almost 95% guaranteed.

She listened. Nodded. Said she needs to inform her family.

Went home with the printed hospital plan and hope.

That night her family gathered.
Husband and parents contemplating.

“God is greater than any doctor.” her mother said.

“Herbalist in the village cured my aunt’s own lump.” her father in-law said.

“Church has seen miracles bigger than this.” her sister said.

Prayers rose. Pastor brought his announcing oil. Babalawo herbs were boiled.

She believed.

She refused the theatre.

Refused the poison drip called chemo.

She refused the burning light called radiotherapy.

She chose faith. Chose therapeutic agbo. Chose waiting on God.

She believed there's nothing God cannot do.

Months passed.

The lump stayed small at first, cooperative.

Then it grew. Slowly. Then faster.

She kept praying. Changing pastors and imams. Changing Babalawo.

She drank all the herbs in the world.

Even some from china and the Philippines.

Year one, the lump remained small. Lime the size of an orange easily hidden under loose blouses.

Year two, it began pushing against her skin.

Then the pain started at night.

By year three, her breast has doubled its former size.

The skin broke open and foul odour followed.

An offensive smell of decay followed her everywhere.

She could no longer hide it.

Husband begged her to go back to the hospital.

She finally agreed. Weak. Feverish.

Back to where it all started.

She met the same doctors, slightly older.

The lead doctor recognized her. She sighed on seeing her.

She ordered the tests.

Scans showed distant cancer nodules in lungs. Liver. Bones.

Stage IV.

Metastatic everywhere.

They offered palliative chemo. Just to buy weeks. Maybe months.

Surgery isn't possible anymore.

No cure left.

She took the first dose and was crushed by nausea.

Second dose. Hair gone. Strength gone.

Her third dose was her last.

They have her six months to live.

She didn't get to four.

She slipped away quietly one dawn.

Breath just stopped. No dramatic last words.

Just silence.

He husband wouldn't stop crying. They've been sweethearts since early university.

How much cruel can life be.

She left two kids who are still in primary school.

Rest well, Folashade.

[GIDI @Gidi_Traffic]

She carried her like a baby

So wholesome to see. 😌

[SportsDokitor (Odogwu👆) @sportsdokitor]

Calvin Bassey: I was doing my Bible Study until like 12:30

Chukwueze: This boy is a prayer warrior 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

[Abu_Noor™ @Arhermad]

A First Bank customer, Ojo Eghosa Kingsley, became involved in a major controversy after the bank mistakenly credited his account with ₦1.5 billion. Instead of notifying the bank and returning the funds, he diverted the money for personal use between June and November 2025.

He was arrested by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) in Benin City, and on 19 January 2026, he was arraigned before the Edo State High Court. Kingsley was charged with theft and fraud under the Edo State Criminal Law (2022).

Upon the reading of the charges, he pleaded guilty without hesitation. His counsel pleaded for leniency, citing his expression of remorse. However, the court delivered the following sentence:
•One year imprisonment or an option of a ₦5 million fine; and
•An order to refund the outstanding balance of ₦272,252,193.59 to First Bank.

Prior to the judgment, the EFCC had recovered ₦802,420,000 from Kingsley’s account, as well as from the accounts of his mother and sister, while the bank successfully reversed transactions totaling over ₦300 million.

In a dramatic turn of events, Kingsley informed the court that he preferred serving a prison sentence to refunding the remaining amount.

In effect, he openly chose incarceration over the repayment of ₦272 million.

[Non-Fungible Frank @frank_ikemefune]

Classism in Nigeria is just poverty with a microphone..