JEHOVAH reigns

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.

Ziyad_yakubu's tweet photo. 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.

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164K

JEHOVAH reigns @TrueTyger

5 days ago

@SodiqTade So what you are saying in essence is that Obi is preparing Dickson to deputise Kwankwaso in 2031 after Obi must have completed his proposed 4-year single term. Makes perfect sense. Peter Obi is the real Master Strategist.

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Who to follow

Gen Ladipo R-Williams #PoliticsOfEquity

@TrueNaijaboi

An active citizen. General in Practice **** Catholic (Formerly Pentecostal) #EndSARS #OBIdient Alumnus: @OAUniversity PPE & @UniOfYork

JEHOVAH reigns @TrueTyger

7 days ago

@david_akat64919 @GodwinsNduka1 https://t.co/CmUBFzTQpP

Wins @GodwinsNduka1

7 days ago

CONFIDENTIAL cable: https://t.co/PXNPa0bQE6

10K

JEHOVAH reigns @TrueTyger

7 days ago

@AniEmma92515473 @GodwinsNduka1 They do not need to and should not cook lies against anybody. Present the facts ONLY. Just like the message you replied. The person presented facts and backed it up with a CREDIBLE SOURCE.

JEHOVAH reigns @TrueTyger

14 days ago

@Mohayatudeen

158

JEHOVAH reigns @TrueTyger

15 days ago

@trigottista Harry doesn't hate your tribe. He hates bigots!!!

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TrueTyger retweeted

Rep. Nancy Mace

@RepNancyMace

19 days ago

God made men. God made women. Men cannot be women. Women cannot be men. Glad we cleared this up.

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TrueTyger retweeted

Ebun

@kenkenlewu

19 days ago

6-year-old Ugwoezuonu Ogechi Zara has become one of the youngest Nigerians to capture national attention after scoring a perfect 100% in the primary category of the 2024 National Mathematics Competition organised by the Mathematics Association of Nigeria Her exceptional performance earned her a full ₦21 million scholarship to study for six years at Evergreen College, leaving many Nigerians inspired by her brilliance at such a young age. In a country where bad news trends daily, seeing a little girl rewrite the narrative with pure intelligence, discipline and hard work is refreshing. This is proof that greatness does not wait for age. Sometimes, the future of Nigeria is quietly sitting in a classroom solving mathematics while the world is busy looking elsewhere. Congratulations to this young queen. I am inspired. May her story inspire more parents to nurture talent early and more children to believe that excellence is still possible in Nigeria. ©️Confidence Aribibia

kenkenlewu's tweet photo. 6-year-old Ugwoezuonu Ogechi Zara has become one of the youngest Nigerians to capture national attention after scoring a perfect 100% in the primary category of the 2024 National Mathematics Competition

organised by the Mathematics Association of Nigeria

Her exceptional performance earned her a full ₦21 million scholarship to study for six years at Evergreen College, leaving many Nigerians inspired by her brilliance at such a young age.

In a country where bad news trends daily, seeing a little girl rewrite the narrative with pure intelligence, discipline and hard work is refreshing.

This is proof that greatness does not wait for age.

Sometimes, the future of Nigeria is quietly sitting in a classroom solving mathematics while the world is busy looking elsewhere.

Congratulations to this young queen. I am inspired. May her story inspire more parents to nurture talent early and more children to believe that excellence is still possible in Nigeria.

©️Confidence Aribibia

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TrueTyger retweeted

Alex Onyia

@winexviv

19 days ago

I have zero interest in Nigeria politics. That space is filled with lots of deeply corrupt individuals. It’s not inline with my life mission. For personal principles, I don’t engage in any form of government contracts and don’t accept gifts from any politician. I always want to be in the side of truth and press for our society to be better. My desire is to see South East develop to be the greatest workforce in Africa which should positively influence the development/civilization of Nigeria and the rest of Africa.

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JEHOVAH reigns @TrueTyger

18 days ago

@Chima_Obi1234 Rivers or Lagos

TrueTyger retweeted

Monisola Eniola-Ashaolu || YourOptimalSupportVA

@YourOptimalSVA

20 days ago

Today is honestly one of the happiest days of my life 😭🤍 Not just because I’m travelling… but because a painful family pattern finally broke. Back in the 1970s, my father had an opportunity to travel abroad but according to him, just 3 naira stopped the journey from happening. Years later, life repeated itself in a strange way. I also had an opportunity to travel but this time, 1 million naira stood in the way. I had almost half already but couldn’t even find someone willing to help with the remaining balance. That moment humbled me deeply because I suddenly realized: this pattern had visited our family before. And honestly, I began praying against it seriously. Fast forward to today 😭🤍 I just won a fully funded summer school program in one of the best schools in Norway, all expenses covered and with more than enough support to take care of myself comfortably. No struggle. No borrowing. No disappointment. Just God breaking a cycle I noticed years ago. This my answered prayers don’t only look like blessings, but a stepping stone to even more open doors …and more importantly, it’s also a great feeling that a pattern is finally ending. Always be the light

YourOptimalSVA's tweet photo. Today is honestly one of the happiest days of my life 😭🤍

Not just because I’m travelling…
but because a painful family pattern finally broke.

Back in the 1970s, my father had an opportunity to travel abroad but according to him, just 3 naira stopped the journey from happening.

Years later, life repeated itself in a strange way.

I also had an opportunity to travel but this time, 1 million naira stood in the way.
I had almost half already but couldn’t even find someone willing to help with the remaining balance.

That moment humbled me deeply because I suddenly realized: this pattern had visited our family before.

And honestly, I began praying against it seriously.

Fast forward to today 😭🤍

I just won a fully funded summer school program in one of the best schools in Norway, all expenses covered and with more than enough support to take care of myself comfortably.

No struggle.
No borrowing.
No disappointment.

Just God breaking a cycle I noticed years ago.

This my answered prayers don’t only look like blessings, but a stepping stone to even more open doors …and more importantly, it’s also a great feeling that a pattern is finally ending.

Always be the light

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TrueTyger retweeted

Sam Amadi @SamAmadi

20 days ago

Peter Obi’s One Term I am in support of Peter Obi’s one-term commitment. And he means it. Political discourse in Nigeria could be very silly. Many people are attacking @PeterObi for saying he will do only one term. They think it is either untruthful or foolish. But they are wrong. First, you are only elected for a 4year single term. In a real democracy, there is no guarantee you would be reelected. So, you have just 4 years to deliver your electoral process. 4 yrs should be enough to deliver what you promised the nation. That is what they voted. Some say “oh you cannot change Nigeria in 4 yrs”. By the same breath, you cannot change Nigeria in 8 yrs. So you should remain beyond 8 yrs? Did OBJ change Nigeria in 8yrs? Did Buhari change Nigeria in 8yrs. Actually, Buhari further endangered Nigeria in 8 yrs. GEJ accomplished more in one term than Buhari in 8yrs. Again, some say “Peter is cheating Igbos who deserve 8yrs”. Well, in normal times, yes we need 8 yrs. But what did 8yrs buy for katsina and northwest? What exactly? Longevity is not the point. Intensity is. I am part of Igbo leadership. Our people want the presidency more for its psychological value. We are equal citizens. One terms achieves that. The rest is for Nigeria. Real development in the southeast rests on governors who can deliver transformation. That is why I will run for governor late in 2027. And if Obi’s plan to hand over to Kwankwanso works as sketched, Nigeria will be on tract to a sustained 8 or 16 yrs of economic growth and social stabilization. And we would achieve in a democracy what many Asian countries achieved in a dictatorship. Never forget that politics is the art of the possible, not the science of the possible. It is POssible.

SamAmadi's tweet photo. Peter Obi’s One Term

I am in support of Peter Obi’s one-term commitment. And he means it.

Political discourse in Nigeria could be very silly. Many people are attacking @PeterObi for saying he will do only one term. They think it is either untruthful or foolish. But they are wrong.

First, you are only elected for a 4year single term. In a real democracy, there is no guarantee you would be reelected. So, you have just 4 years to deliver your electoral process. 4 yrs should be enough to deliver what you promised the nation. That is what they voted.

Some say “oh you cannot change Nigeria in 4 yrs”. By the same breath, you cannot change Nigeria in 8 yrs. So you should remain beyond 8 yrs? Did OBJ change Nigeria in 8yrs? Did Buhari change Nigeria in 8yrs. Actually, Buhari further endangered Nigeria in 8 yrs. GEJ accomplished more in one term than Buhari in 8yrs.

Again, some say “Peter is cheating Igbos who deserve 8yrs”. Well, in normal times, yes we need 8 yrs. But what did 8yrs buy for katsina and northwest? What exactly? Longevity is not the point. Intensity is.

I am part of Igbo leadership. Our people want the presidency more for its psychological value. We are equal citizens. One terms achieves that. The rest is for Nigeria. Real development in the southeast rests on governors who can deliver transformation. That is why I will run for governor late in 2027.

And if Obi’s plan to hand over to Kwankwanso works as sketched, Nigeria will be on tract to a sustained 8 or 16 yrs of economic growth and social stabilization. And we would achieve in a democracy what many Asian countries achieved in a dictatorship.

Never forget that politics is the art of the possible, not the science of the possible. It is POssible.

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JEHOVAH reigns @TrueTyger

20 days ago

@Morris_Monye @orjikuramo I'm in tears 😢. You are a man and more Morris. PO must be proud of you. A true protege.

TrueTyger retweeted

NaNa🌼✨

@sil_vee_yah

21 days ago

“Holy Spirit, please help me” is a powerful prayer.

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TrueTyger retweeted

Bolaji Idowu

@pastorbolaji

22 days ago

REPEAT AFTER ME “Lord Jesus, that which I need to have, that which I need to receive, that which I need to obtain from You, that which must happen for me, and what must be done in me and through me, so that the testimony will be that truly I have met with You-Lord, let it be done." Amen!

pastorbolaji's tweet photo. REPEAT AFTER ME
“Lord Jesus, that which I need to have, that which I need to receive, that which I need to obtain from You, that which must happen for me, and what must be done in me and through me, so that the testimony will be that truly I have met with You-Lord, let it be done." Amen!

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Sidonia P Alphonse @MinisterSidonia

23 days ago

I read in the Old Testament that the priest inspects a sacrifice (an animal) at the tabernacle entrance to ensure it is good for sacrifice {Leviticus 1:3-10} And when Jesus appeared before Pilate, Pilate said “I find no fault in this man” MY GOD!!! 🔥🙌🏾

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David

@DavidFischer

22 days ago

Tonight I declare before everyone that Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior! Repost if you’re with me!

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T. T. MATTU | CEX

@MattuTemi

23 days ago

I was living in Ile-Ife at the time. Modakeke, to be precise. I woke up one morning and stepped out to ease myself. Got to the designated spot and was obeying nature's course. Then suddenly I heard someone screaming, "Taye! Taye! Eje Jesu! Eje Jesu!" I wondered what was happening. Then God's Spirit said very clearly: someone is dying. I finished quickly and ran over to the house. There was a little stream separating us. I found a way to cross it. When I got there, I tried to tell them I wanted to pray for whoever was inside. But they could not understand me. They only spoke Yoruba. I tried English. I tried Pidgin. I almost spoke in tongues. Nothing worked. So I called one of my neighbours to translate. That was when they let me in. Inside, I saw one of the most heartbreaking things I have ever witnessed in person. A woman seated, holding a child who was clearly convulsing and struggling for her life. That was Taye. The truly heartbreaking part was this: this woman had had three sets of twins. Each time, one would die and the other would follow. This time, one was already gone and Taye was about to follow. I looked at the mother. Her fingers were in the child's mouth. I walked up to her. I placed my hands on the child and prayed in the name of Jesus. Then I heard it: "Tell her to remove her hand from the child's mouth." That hand. The very hand she was using to hold her child on this side of eternity. But I obeyed. I told her. She removed her hand. The child stopped convulsing and started crying. A few days later, I heard a knock on my door. It was the mother and the grandmother, with Taye on her mother's back. They came to say thank you. I am trusting that God has kept that child alive. She should be around ten years old now. Miracles happen.

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