simply ubong

Freedom from Fear||THE LION's LIFEstyle||Maritime & Administration|| Good governance||Humanity

[simply ubong @ubAbasi]

@Favourite0__ One
Add 'G' = Gone

[Abu Amir @SadiqMaunde]

I think at this point, you have to admit, though it’s bitter, that Jonathan was hated by northerners because of religion, & by June 12 people because he was from a minority tribe, or bcos some of them see him as Igbo.

Because tell me, bro, anything Jonathan was hated for, Buhari did worse & Tinubu now doing times 3, but we don’t see the outrage we saw under Jonathan.

[Chidi Anselm Odinkalu, CGoF @ChidiOdinkalu]

A lot of professionals, especially lawyers, convince ourselves that all that matters is living a "good life" & making a lot of money. Fewer & fewer are inclined to care about what happens to the institutions, the society, or the country.

Other countries around us have benefited from the lives & leadership of lawyers who lives for more than the glory of the moment or the prize money. So, today, I ask: where are #Nigeria's #LawyerStatesmen?

https://t.co/aw78ENn2i1

[Captain MD🌍 @LovedCarefully]

@ubAbasi @OneJoblessBoy You are getting my point too… He could as well have said “Don’t invest in Nigeria”. Instead of saying “Don’t invest in Banks”

[simply ubong @ubAbasi]

@LovedCarefully @OneJoblessBoy Did you buy Bank shares in 2003 - 2006? If you did you will review your Investment 101 notes as not applicable in Nigeria. Don't apply anything you Learn at school in Nigerian space, learn from veterans who already have reviewed lesson notes 😂🤣🤣

[simply ubong @ubAbasi]

Vietnamese mathematician who left Yale for Hong Kong says most students study math just to get through it - VnExpress International https://t.co/7l37FehtaW

[simply ubong @ubAbasi]

@PeterObi The Balance of the N34.44trn must be saved with World Bank, That's why it's not with the Federation Account.

What do you think 🤔 😏 👀

[International Maritime Organization @IMOHQ]

Hazardous cargo compensation regime moves to entry into force.

Read the full story here: https://t.co/IhtYzaLFGT
#HNSConvention

[International Maritime Organization @IMOHQ]

IMO approves new guidelines to improve transparency and due diligence in ship registration.

Read the full story here: https://t.co/ZIipxujDJ5
#LegalCommittee #Shipping

[Toyyib Adewale Adelodun @taadelodun]

Anytime someone smarter than me joined the class, I go straightaway to report them to Iya Wale.

She would smile, and say, "dont worry."

That meant several more hours of studying together with her after school😭😭

We were poor, and that scholarship I got at the age of 5 was our only hope. Coming 2nd in class meant I would lose the scholarship and that option is not on the cards.

My mother went on to use my books to homeschool my siblings.

Despite not going beyond high school herself, she used those same books and knowledge she got from studying with me to set up after school tutoring in our room.

At least 3 of those students went on to be First Class graduates.

If you are coming from a poor background, mediocrity is your enemy.

Whatever you choose to do, you must be "so good they cant ignore you"

I will be here sharing as much resources as possible to support you. God bless you🙏🙏

[Philips Ndahi King @MrSipoga]

@thecableng It is absolutely okay for Abdulrasheed Maina to rebrand himself and even sneak into political (ir)relevance but; the NBA giving him an award is the opening joke of the year 2026.

[Christian Emergency Alliance @ChristianEmerg1]

Nigeria: Yet another Christian has been sentenced to death for the crime of self-defense.

Victor Solomon (aka Zidane), a Christian who defended his community from Fulani Islamist attacks has been sentenced to death for doing so.

Shockingly, he was charged with the same crime in two different state courts.

He was acquitted in one but condemned in Kaduna by a Muslim judge.

Christians have a right to defend themselves from Islamists who attack them.

This is not okay. Pray for Zidane, his family and community. He needs immediate help.

#FreeZidane

[Minister of Loadsheding @mrlechesa]

@originalucdivin

[UC-DIVINE @originalucdivin]

The idea that you, as an Igbo, Yoruba, Hausa, or Fulani are different from one another, but identify with Zionists and Arabs, is quite telling. The self hate is too much, man.

[Parallel Facts @ParallelFacts]

I Will Be On The Ballot In 2027 As Presidential Candidate Not As Vice-President — Peter Obi https://t.co/rGrQNIVHcy

[George Njoroge @georgenjoroge_]

This is my friend, James Njuguna Kamau.

He started life with discipline stitched into his bones.
Kingeero Primary.
Alliance high school.
Top of his class every single time.

He graduated with first-class honors in Engineering at the University of Nairobi in 1967, then finished a PhD long before his peers even wrapped up their Masters.

He never smoked.
Never touched alcohol.
Never chased scandal of women.
Never stained his name.

He chose one woman.
Married her.
Stayed faithful to her for life.

He raised four brilliant children and sent all of them to the Ivy Leagues on merit, doors he opened with sacrifice, late nights, quiet work and money he never spent on himself.

He gave them the life he never had.
And they took it.
And they went abroad.
And they stayed there.

Now he is in his seventies.
A well respected professor.
A man who shaped generations.
But in the house he built with his wife, he is a ghost moving from room to room.

He stood in his kitchen today, staring at raw chicken, trying to remember how chicken tikka is made.
Because he’s alone.
Utterly alone.

His wife left four years ago to “help their daughter” in Melbourne after childbirth.
Routine visit, she said.
She never came back.

She now belongs to the children.
Birthdays are FaceTime calls.
Anniversaries reduced to emojis in group chats.
Her body is abroad.
Her heart left long before her flight.

And this man who lived right, loved right, did right, has been abandoned without ever doing anything wrong.
A bachelor again.
Not by sin.
Not by choice.
But by quiet, creeping neglect from the very people he built his world around.

This is the lonely end of a good man.

A man who never cheated.
Never strayed.
Never hurt anyone.
A man who believed that doing everything by the book would protect him in old age.

Yet here he stands:
Alone.
Heartbroken.
Still loyal to a woman who forgot to come home.

And the saddest part?

His story is not rare. This is the silent fate of many “good men”, men who poured themselves out until nothing was left for them.

So the hard questions linger:

If he was a polygamist… would at least one wife have stayed?

If he built stronger friendships, social circles, a life outside the family… would the silence be softer?

If he had someone, anyone, who checked in on him the way he checked in on everyone else… would he feel this invisible?

If he had lived even 20% for himself… would this ending still look this cruel?

This is not an invitation to abandon virtue.
It’s a plea to balance it.
Because loyalty is beautiful.
But loneliness is unforgiving.

And love, when it stops being mutual in old age, becomes a slow, quiet heartbreak that medicine can’t treat and time can’t fix.

To every man reading this:

How do we avoid ending up like this?

What systems, friendships and self-preserving habits must we build now so that at 75, we are not standing over a lonely kitchen counter, whispering to ourselves, “Where did everyone go?”

Because in 2025, being a good man is no longer enough.
Not by itself.
Not anymore.

[Patrick Oyulu @patrickoyulu]

#Borrowed A 70 year old man should chase the noise.

*READ ON*

My name is Frank. I am 74 years old. And three months ago, I committed the most beautiful act of insanity of my entire life.

I sold my four-bedroom suburban house—the one with the manicured lawn and the homeowner’s association fees—and I moved into a run-down, three-bedroom apartment with three college students.

My family thought I had lost my mind. We sat down for a "crisis meeting" at a diner. My daughter-in-law, looking at me with that pitying gaze people reserve for toddlers and the senile, said, "Frank, be reasonable. This is a mid-life crisis, just thirty years too late."

I looked her in the eye and said, "No, Karen. This isn’t a crisis of age. It’s a crisis of silence."

You see, in America, we don’t talk enough about the silence. After my wife, Sarah, passed away two years ago, that big house in the suburbs didn’t feel like an achievement anymore. It felt like a tomb. It was as large as a stadium and as quiet as a library on a Sunday morning. The silence wasn't peaceful; it was heavy. It sat on my chest. I would watch the dust motes dance in the afternoon sun and realize the only voice I’d heard in three days was the news anchor on the television.

I was dying. Not from heart disease or diabetes, but from the quiet.

So, I put up the "For Sale" sign. I sold the riding mower, the formal dining set nobody sat at, and the china cabinet full of plates we never used. I packed two suitcases and answered an ad on a community board: “Roommate wanted. Must pay rent on time. No drama.”

When I showed up at the door, the three kids—Jackson, Mia, and Leo—stared at me like I was a health inspector.

Jackson, a tall kid with messy hair and a hoodie, blinked. "Uh, sir? Are you... the landlord?"

"No," I said, handing him a six-pack of craft soda. "I’m Frank. I’m the new roommate. And I promise my check clears faster than yours."

The first week was a culture shock. It was chaos. There was music thumping through the thin walls at midnight. There were shoes everywhere except the shoe rack. The kitchen sink looked like an archaeological dig site of dirty dishes from the Jurassic period.

They were suspicious of me. Leo asked, "So, Frank... you got any... you know, issues? You gonna tell on us if we have people over?"

I leaned back. "Kids, I survived the seventies. I’ve seen things that would make your hair curl. Unless you’re building a bomb or hurting someone, I didn't see a thing. But if you leave a milk carton empty in the fridge, we’re going to have words."

Slowly, the dynamic shifted. I was the Keeper of the Order and the Master of the Skillet.

These kids... they are so stressed. That’s something older folks don’t get. We think they’re lazy. They aren’t lazy; they are terrified. They are drowning in student loans, working gig jobs, and trying to pass classes. They eat instant noodles not because they love them, but because they cost fifty cents.

I decided to intervene.

One Tuesday, Jackson came home from a double shift, looking like a ghost. I had a pot roast slow-cooking for six hours. The smell hit him the moment he walked in to real food.

"Sit," I commanded.

He ate three plates in silence. When he looked up, he had tears in his eyes. "My mom used to make this," he whispered.

I wake them up when they sleep through their alarms for 8:00 AM exams. I taught Mia how to negotiate her car repair bill so the mechanic didn't rip her off. I showed Leo that you can actually iron a shirt instead of buying a new one.

In exchange, they dragged me into the 21st century.

They taught me how to use the "tap to pay" on my phone so I don't hold up the line counting change.

One Friday night, they took me to a bar near campus for karaoke night.

It was infectious. The noise wasn't annoying; it was electricity. It was life. If you are sitting in a big silent house, waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for permission to live...sell it.

Find the Noise!

[Patrick Oyulu @patrickoyulu]

@blue_eye_niece @georgenjoroge_ Approved!

[The Husky @Mr_Husky1]

I’ve been a mechanic for 30 years. I’ve seen it all. But last Friday, a woman pulled in driving a beat-up 2005 Honda Odyssey. It sounded like a bag of marbles in a blender. She had three kids in the back, all under the age of six. The car was packed with bags. Not grocery bags—suitcases.

"It's making a noise," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I just need it to get to my sister's in Denver. That's 400 miles." I popped the hood. It wasn't good. Alternator was shot, serpentine belt was hanging by a thread, and the water pump was leaking. Parts and labor? Minimum $800.

I walked back to the waiting room. She was counting change out of a Ziploc bag to buy the kids a soda from the vending machine. She looked terrified. "Ma'am," I said. She jumped. "Is it bad? I have... I have $60."

I looked at her. I looked at the kids. I saw the bruise on her arm she was trying to hide with a long sleeve. I knew that look. She wasn't just visiting her sister. She was escaping. If I told her the truth, she’d be stranded here.

I took a deep breath. "Well," I said, wiping my greasy hands on a rag. "It's a simple fix. Loose wire. And... uh... there was a recall on these belts. Manufacturer pays for it. You're actually lucky you came in."

Her shoulders dropped about five inches. "Really?" "Yep. 'Standard Warranty Policy.' Takes about two hours. Why don't you take the kids to the diner next door? On me. We have a... coupon."

I spent the next three hours replacing the alternator, the belt, and the pump. I filled the gas tank. I put new wipers on. I paid for the parts out of my own retirement jar.

When she came back, I handed her the keys and a receipt that said $0.00. "You're good to go," I said. She looked at the receipt, then at me. She knew. You don't get a full tank of gas from a loose wire. She grabbed my hand, squeezing it hard. She didn't say thank you. She just whispered, "You just saved my life."

I watched that van limp onto the highway, running smoother than it had in years. My boss walked up behind me. "You didn't charge her, did you? That's coming out of your paycheck, Mike." "Take it," I said, lighting a cigarette. "Best money I ever spent."

Some repairs aren't about cars. They're about giving someone the mileage they need to start over.

Anonymous

[David Hundeyin @DavidHundeyin]

Whatever will be will be.

Whatever happens, I will never regret believing in Nigeria - the Nigeria that funded African independence struggles and absorbed bullets intended for the entire continent , not the useless version of Nigeria that bombs neighbours on behalf of France, and is ruled by a drug dealer who is being blackmailed by at least 2 foreign intelligence agencies.

If Nigeria is home to too many catastrophically stupid people to avoid the destruction that is increasingly looking inevitable in its immediate future, I still have no regrets for believing in the potential that I witnessed with my own 2 eyes. Whether my people are terminally flawed or not, they're still my people.

The demise of Nigeria would only slow down Africa's rise, but not destroy it. Projects like the AES are evidence that Africa will regain its place in the world of the future, whether Nigeria will be part of that future or not. Africa will be fine, with or without Nigeria. And if we disappear, I hope our Sahelian brothers inherit our land and become better custodians of it than we were.

I will always still love my people, even though they don't love themselves. You can't choose your family. It is what it is.