sedoo

Human physiologist/public health professional. Seeking knowledge whenever I find the discipline to get off twitter 🤭

[Lagos DSVA @Lagosdsva]

To report any form of Domestic Violence, Sexual Violence, Child Abuse, Rape, Sexual Harassment and other related issues in Lagos State, call 0-8000-333-333. It's free and it works 24/7.

[Scribe Girl @her_eloquence]

Some of us have read The secret lives of Baba Segi’s wives multiple times o, we know how characters look like, you cannot gaslight us 😂😭

[Deji Lambo | Oga Journalist @deji_lambo]

“He Was Innocent,” Friend Cries Out For Justice After Abuja Okada Riders Behead Basketballer

Godwin, a basketballer, was killed by Okada riders in Abuja after being accused of stealing a motorcycle, an allegation his family disputes.

In this interview with Deji Lambo, Godwin's childhood friend, Sophie, recounts the horrifying events.

His grieving family is demanding justice.

Click the link https://t.co/cttgpk6Lt2 to watch the full account and the details surrounding this tragic incident.

#JusticeforGodwin #AbujaTwitterCommunity

CC:
@Sophie_zony
@BenHundeyin

[Jola @Jollz]

Doesn’t give a damn about Nigerians that allegedly elected him but America coughs in the direction of his office and scrambling all over. This is beyond sad

[Oyinda @Oyinda_x_]

Wahala for immigrants tomorrow

[TheSarahProject @_SarahProject]

We haven’t done a great job of putting it out there but we’re creating a health fund for women. If you know any woman in Nigeria who’s struggling to afford bills related to childbirth, postpartum care, or family planning, we have some money for them.

[Dr. Ose Etiobhio @osemagnum]

When the Womb Whispers: And Other Things We Don't Say About Fibroids

WHEN WOULD WE GET THE CURE FOR FIBROIDS?

Dear @IniDimaOkojie

Thank you. For speaking. For not whispering.
Because there is something about fibroids that turns even the boldest of us into secret-keepers.

And yet, how can a thing so common still carry so much shame?
How can one in three Black women walk around with wombs that grow knots of muscle, and still we act as though we don’t know?
As though silence will make them disappear.

Let’s talk about fibroids.

Not as curses. Not as village vengeance served cold by a bitter aunt with a long memory.
Not as punishment for being too ambitious, too beautiful, too unmarried.
But as what they are...vbenign tumours, muscular growths born of the very womb that once carried our ancestors.

And yet, we treat them like shame.
Like things to hide in brown paper bags, behind locked clinic doors, in hushed family meetings.
We do not name them because we think naming gives them power. But silence, not words, is what gives shame its wings.

Some women carry fibroids like invisible scars.
Some carry them in their periods...those relentless rivers of blood.
Others carry them in the way their bellies swell, round and taut, inviting strangers to smile and ask, “when are you due?”
And how, how do you tell a stranger that you are due for nothing but another scan?

No, fibroids are not death sentences.
They are not infertility tattoos stamped by fate.
And yes, women with fibroids carry babies. They birth joy. They raise nations.

But sometimes fibroids demand intervention.
Sometimes they crowd the womb like unwanted guests, pushing and pressing until there is no room left.
And sometimes, we must act. With medicine. With surgery. With science.
Not with soaked roots or shouted prayers.
Because God, even when He heals, does not despise knowledge.

And your body...your glorious, stubborn, wondrous body...is not a place for experiments.
Not by self-acclaimed herbalists.
Not by untrained hands.
Not by those who say “let’s try this” without understanding your anatomy.

There are treatments.
Not miracles, no. But measured, methodical medicine.
There is keyhole surgery. There is open surgery. There is robotic precision.
And sometimes, the most loving treatment is no treatment at all.

And to families...

Please stop calling her “barren” in the middle of your Sunday rice.
Stop folding your lips around pity and disappointment.
Stop tying shame around her waist like a wrapper.
Because fibroids grow in silence, but they also shrink in love.
Because shame is not a cure, and gossip is not a diagnosis.

Dear woman,

Your story does not end in fibroids.
This is not your final line, not your final loss.
You are still becoming.
You are still woman...full, fertile, whole.

So, share this. With a sister. With a cousin. With the aunt who says, “it’s just delay.”
Because we are only as healed as our loudest silences.

And if you must whisper, then let your whisper be this:

“Fibroids do not define me.”

📹: InidimaOkojie | IG

[Steven Kefas @SKefason]

Long live the Paramount Ruler of the Tiv Kingdom (the Tor Tiv) HRM Prof James Ayatse, for always saying the truth about the ongoing killings in Benue State.

The clueless President Tinubu and the mad governor don't look happy but it is what it is.

[Chief Isiego @Isiego_]

Not because I’m too mature but because they will beat the hell out of me😭

[sedoo @sedoowayo]

@Ushasaai14 🤣🤣🤣🤣

[sedoo @sedoowayo]

#NewProfilePic

[sedoo @sedoowayo]

@ThiqueBANNK Thanks boo 🥰

[Tunde Onakoya @Tunde_OD]

For the first time, the story of how I found magic on a chess board and used it to change the world is now a Children’s book.

I hope this inspires every child regardless of their beginnings that within them lies the power to dream bravely and shape the world with their own magic

[Maxibrainz @abiodunayobami_]

Click the link below to access the updated 2025 Global Talent Visa Guide:

https://t.co/0StLO4BaJO

[Alex Onyia @winexviv]

We didn’t engage JAMB simply out of emotion.

As soon as the results were announced, my phone blew up with calls from principals of schools using our Educare platform.
Their students had drilled for months on our CBT system—taking tests, viewing scores, grading schemes, and explanations—then iterating.

These principals had tracked the metrics we use to predict student performance.
Over the years, those metrics had accurately modelled outcomes.
But this time, the deviation was so extreme that they had questions.

We contacted the most affected students. The stories were consistent: technical challenges and certainty that the results didn’t reflect their performance.
A core concern stood out—JAMB’s current technology was not as transparent as our CBT platform, so the failure couldn’t be reconciled.

The principals asked if our metrics could’ve been wrong. We showed them our track record.
I assured them that something clearly went wrong with JAMB.

Still, to avoid personal bias, I broadened my outreach to 15,000 plus candidates to gauge sentiment, and the rest is history.
As revealed, our call-out was justified.

To those thanking me, thank the students who practiced relentlessly. They gave me the conviction that the issue lay with JAMB. I also thank JAMB for being open, transparent and very swift to take action.

This also shows the importance of transparency.
If Educare’s CBT platform can run a nationwide test, open to all, and release full results and marksheets in under 3 seconds, there’s no reason JAMB should withhold results for weeks — never showing marksheets.

Instead, you get a black-box score and must live with it.
Technology has evolved. JAMB must catch up.

You may not always get everything right, but you must try.
Transparency builds trust, and trust drives progress.

[sedoo @sedoowayo]

Visual representation of good music 🤌🏾

[sedoo @sedoowayo]

@ThiqueBANNK @stephanieegwu Eeeyyyyyy gideemmmm 🥰

[sedoo @sedoowayo]

I have read this piece over and over again and each time, it gets heavier.

It is reminder that success is multifactorial but more often than not, swings in the favour of those privileged by birth/environment. So give grace because our stories/journeys are different

[Tunde Onakoya @Tunde_OD]

The One Who Wears Big Caps for Little Children.

These are my final thoughts before I hand over my phone to management. The team says I need to sleep.
But before the world goes quiet around me, allow me say a few things…

It’s my second time doing this insane thing of trying to break a world record.
You’d think it would be easier now,after all I’ve done it before. But that’s the thing about impossible things:
The first time, you survive them because you don’t yet understand the cost.
Now that I’m fully aware of the exertion it takes both physically and mentally, I’m equal parts excited and terrified. I embrace both.

Today I’ll tell you why I always wear a cap…

The night before I left Nigeria for this journey, something happened.

It was 9pm on a Tuesday night.
I was at the mall picking up some last-minute items.
Two boys, scruffy and barefoot approached me at the car park.
They were hungry and hadn’t eaten all day.
I asked their names.
“Yusuff,” said one. “Ayomide,” said the other. Both young teenagers.
As I turned to check for cash in the car, the light hit my face and Yusuff immediately recognized me and blurted out “Chess players observe,”
I was stunned.
That was our mantra at Chess in Slums, it was what we taught the kids. I asked how he knew this, he explained that he had seen me months prior at their ghetto.
This made sense as we had spent the entire month of December teaching chess and maths to street children in that ghetto. Yusuff wasn’t part of the training but on the day of the final tournament, he watched from a distance as the other kids chanted “chess players observe”. It stayed with him ever since.

He told me his story.
His mother died during childbirth. His father disappeared.
He lived with his ailing grandmother for sometime but had to leave for the streets to fend for himself. It’s been five years of trying to survive in his own
Five years of growing up too fast…He is 15 years old now.

Then, something surreal happened.

A white Range Rover pulled up beside us.
A woman rolled down the window, “Chess master!” she called out.
She stepped out with her son Jayden.
Impeccably dressed. British accent.
She wanted a photo. Jayden loves chess.
She’s a fan.

So there they stood, Jayden and Yusuff.
Both teenagers.
One in branded sneakers. The other barefoot.
One polished by privilege. The other hardened by survival.

As I asked them to introduce themselves,
Yusuff’s confidence crumbled.
He looked down. His voice faltered.

I took a selfie with Jayden and his Mum, and as they drove off I had my epiphany….

And in that moment, I saw it:
The cruel reality of the world we live in
where a boy like Jayden and a boy like Yusuff would never meet
except by accident or because I happened to stand between them.

But what separated them wasn’t merit or character, It was birth. The arbitrary lottery that decides who gets to dream,
and who must survive.

Jayden will likely go on to attend the best schools, see the world, and live fully. While
Yusuff probably ends up doing the bidding of whoever can promise him his next meal.
An Area boy.

I have met thousands of bright eyed children like Yusuffs in this life, whose pain is invisible, and by no fault of theirs live in a world where their suffering doesn’t matter.
Sometimes, we save them.
Sometimes, we fail.
But I will never stop carrying this burden in my heart.

This is why I wear big caps for little children and wear one my self.
So the world may see them in all their colors, not for the suffering they bear,
but for what I know they can truly become.

I hope have shared this burden with you as honestly as I could.
If you ever believed in me, believe in them.
Cheer for them. Donate. Share. Amplify.
We are trying to build the largest free school in Africa.
A sanctuary for every child like Yusuff
where their dreams won’t die quietly.

I do this so their dreams may find validation in my sacrifice.

I have to go now, big day ahead. Gotta make it count.

[sedoo @sedoowayo]

@madex49 Please tell the class who you want them to follow ehn 😒