Kene

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[Kene @__Timbee__]

No Weapon Fashioned against me and my family shall ever prosper!

[Magatte Wade @magattew]

Ethiopia was never colonized.

For much of its history, it was one of the poorest countries on the continent.

Meanwhile, Vietnam was colonized by the French, devastated by decades of war, and is now on its way to serious economic prosperity.

If colonialism were the answer to why Africa is poor, Ethiopia should be rich and Vietnam should be broke. Neither is true.

Can we please retire this excuse?

[Kene @__Timbee__]

@OsiahToby @ChuksEricE Mention what you would have done differently 🎤

[Cristiano Ronaldo @Cristiano]

Hoje é dia deles ❤️❤️ O Pai ama-vos muito!

[Shehu Gazali Sadiq @Rejoice_inlife]

Terrorists are demanding sharia implementation in Oyo as one of the conditions that must be met before they release the abducted school children and teachers.

Can you now understand why Islamic cleric and Muslims are quiet over the terrorists attacks? It's because Islamic terrorism is Islamic jihad as commanded by the Quran and the prophet. Islam is terrorising Nigeria.

[Ziyad Yakubu @Ziyad_yakubu]

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.

[Pulse NG @NationalPulseNG]

Suspected kidnapper Haruna Musa recounts how victims were kidnapped & k!lled. What is most disturbing is the apparent lack of seriousness surrounding a crime of this magnitude.

~ Gumi Oyo State Nasboi Ifechukwu Dennis 4th of June

[𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 ⚖️🕊️ @Trullydearest]

@aonanuga1956 There is nothing you post that is not false and malicious against Igbo race.

It is not true, you are the one that wrote and recorded that audio voice inorder to nail down the Very Dark Man, now your shifting your mischievousness to a hired Actor, Ifechukwu Dennis

[Alex Onyia @winexviv]

Look at the withdrawal letter from the IGP that they presented before the judge in Enugu yesterday when Kingsley Nebo was arraigned.

Kingsley Nebo paid assassins ₦1 million to murder Sochima Onoh on July 12 last year.

He even confessed on video. Now the IGP asked the murder case to be withdrawn.

I can’t believe this is Nigeria.

This really breaks my heart.

[Treazy @treazyblaq]

Being Igbo

[Victoria @Victoria1439162]

The safest place to be right now is under the blood of Jesus Christ.

[Dr Love Haroun❤️🩺 @Drweloveu]

Last Thursday night I ran out of fuel on Third Mainland Bridge.
11pm.
Phone at 2%.
No powerbank.
I want to tell you what happened next.

I pushed the hazard lights on and sat in the car.
Trying to think.
Cars were flying past me.
Nobody slowed down.
Not one person.
Lagos at night on that bridge is a different kind of alone.After about 15 minutes I saw headlights slow down behind me.
A danfo bus.
Old. Battered. One headlight slightly dim.
The driver came down.
Big man. Rough looking. Dirty shirt. Chewing something.
My first thought was fear.
My second thought was I had no choice.He looked at my car.
Looked at me.
Said "fuel?"
I nodded.
He didn't say anything else.
Just went back to his bus.
I thought he was leaving.
He wasn't.He came back with a small gallon.
Maybe two liters.
Old plastic container with a rubber pipe attached.
Like he kept it specifically for situations like this.
He poured it into my tank without being asked.
Without negotiating.
Without even looking at me for approval.I started the car.
It came on.
I came down immediately and opened my wallet.
I had ₦15,000 on me.
I held it out to him.
He looked at the money.
Then looked at me.
And shook his head.I thought he wanted more.
I told him it was all I had.
He said "keep am."
Just like that.
Keep am.
I stood there confused.
This man just helped a stranger on a bridge at 11pm and didn't want anything.I asked him why.
He leaned against his bus.
Took a long breath.
And said something I have not stopped thinking about since.He said in 1998 he broke down on that same bridge.
Night time.
Pregnant wife in the passenger seat.
No phone. No money. No fuel.
He said he sat there for almost an hour crying and praying.Then a man in a big car stopped.
Suit and tie.
Looked like someone who had no business stopping for a danfo driver.
But he stopped.
Bought fuel from somewhere.
Came back.
Filled his tank.
Refused every kobo he offered.
Said only one thing before he drove off."Pass am forward."
That was it.
Pass am forward.
The man in the suit drove away and he never saw him again.
25 years he carried those three words.
Third Mainland Bridge.
Waiting for his own turn to use them.I stood on that bridge and didn't know what to say.
This man had been holding onto someone else's kindness for 25 years.
And he chose me to give it to.
A stranger in a car he had never seen before.He got back into his danfo.
Gave me one nod.
And drove off into the night.
I stood there watching his one dim headlight disappear.
Holding ₦15,000 I couldn't give away.I sat back in my car for a long time before I drove off.
Thinking about the man in the suit in 1998.
Who had no idea what he started.
A chain of kindness that crossed 25 years and found me on the same bridge.I don't know who that danfo driver is.
I don't know his name.
But somewhere in Lagos tonight he is driving that old bus.
With one dim headlight.
And a heart that has been quietly changing lives since 1998.
Pass am forward.

*What are you passing forward today*?

Karma!!!!!

You will definitely reap something some day.
Depends on what you have been sowing!!!!

[OurFaveOnlineDoc 🇬🇧 🇳🇬 @OurFavOnlineDoc]

Reported demands made by the terrorists who kidnapped children and teachers in Oyo state:

1. ₦1 billion to be paid into an account in the Benin Republic.
2. Release of terrorists currently held in Agodi and Abolongo Prisons.
3. Two Hilux vehicles.
4. Amendment of Oyo State laws to enforce and introduce sharia law.

For those of you who continue to make excuses for terrorists, who refer to terrorists as your brothers and who applaud this lunatic government when they release these barbaric murderers back into society, please be aware that you will eventually be ruined by this same satanic ideology you endorse.

[Vivian Ifeoma @VivianIfeomaOj]

I’m styled in Igbo Akwete, displaying the beauty and elegance of Igbo attire. Igbo Amaka!

[N.M.A @peculiarchichii]

I was born with sickle cell disease.

I had Crisis after crisis, constant pain, multiple organ damage by age 28. Doctors said I wouldn’t see 35.

During one brutal episode, I prayed like never before while hooked up to morphine. The pain vanished overnight.

Follow up tests showed my hemoglobin was normal. No sickle cells. Geneticists ran every test, markers for the disease had disappeared. I haven’t had a crisis in 4 years.

My hematologist calls me the walking miracle file.

You have to believe that there is God.

[Apunawu🧚🏻‍♀️ @tifehxo__]

No fear at all💔

[HarryPMagic @HarryPMagic1]

@DrKalu_ Gradually we are entering a new reality as a citizen of this country!

So the account they transferred the 1million to couldn’t also be traced? What is then the essence of BVN and NIN we where grilled to register?

A lot of questions need to be asked!

[Dr KALU, OON @DrKalu_]

"After I got the call from my mom that she had been k!dn@pp£d and that they were demanding r@ns0m, I called my brothers. They went to Ogun State around 5 a.m. On arriving there, they were told that someone had already reported the case.

They were trying to find out who reported it, and that was how we discovered it was my younger brother. Apparently, he had sighted them first and started running until he escaped.

Around that same time, they had already picked up my mom. He went to the police station to complain and later followed them back to the farm to raid the whole place. After the raid, they all went back to the police station, and he slept there.

The next day, the DPO gave him ₦10,000 for transport back to Lagos so he could report the inc!d£nt to us, not knowing that the k!dn@ppers had already contacted us the night before.

On getting home, he was already tr@umat!zed and did not leave his room for two days. The police tried tracking my mom’s number, but they couldn’t, and later told us to go and look for the r@ns0m.

Aside from the r@ns0m fee, they also asked for ₦1 million transfer to a particular account. They demanded food, recharge cards, bread, and sardines. When the exchange was completed, they released my mom.

When she got back, she said they didn’t give them food and water for days. She told us to be thanking God on her behalf because there was someone else who was k!dn@pp£d alongside her.

The family paid ₦28 million, but they still k!!led the woman after collecting the money, and also the person that brought the money.

She came back with bru!s£s all over her body, but thank God she is fine...."

- Lady who cr!£d out over Ogun farm abd&ct!0n of mother and brother gives update after mother’s release.

[Ebun @kenkenlewu]

Barely two weeks in captivity and this beautiful teacher (head person) is already a shadow of her naturally beautiful self💔💔💔💔😭😭

See how unfair a country where Security of lives are not prioritized by the government can be to her Citizens.

How much more the 40+ Children there in.

We hope they’re still intact in their shattered pieces.

We stand in Solidarity with the Oyo state school kidnap Victims and their families in this difficult times💪

GO GET YOUR PVC....Abeg