nonso umeh

Public health expert with experience in vaccines/immunization, health system supply chain, Family planning, Malaria, PHC system strengthening and HIV control.

[nonso umeh @umehJC]

@GatherBlaze @GatherBlaze you are absolutely right. We need to apply caution.

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

Yesterday night I was nearly bitten by a snake.
I lost one of my rabbits 10 days ago and it pointed to snake bite, as before collapsing it was jerkin and lack motor coordination, more of a neurotoxin acting on it. I became more cautious after searching all through its pen and not finding any proof.
Yesterday night, I went out to release my dog, but something prompted me to take a look at the rabbits' pen, and there stood a black snake while the rabbits had ran to the other end for safety. I made for a knife, while it hid behind the items in then pen; to bring it out I had to spray some petrols at the spot to drive it out, and seconds later it rushed out and headed straight towards me, in a flash I swung the knife at it and it immediately started wriggling and curling, a second swing was for the kill.
I felt relieved that my suspicion was right, but had to still be in the look in the event that there is another.

Just thankful for safety.

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

Seriously, these are people that paid heavy tax in their past life, but returned to evade it this time. There is nothing you will tell me.

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

It's a beautiful morning, thankful to God for His mercies.
May the Lord bless the works our hands today and always.🙏

[nonso umeh @umehJC]

@GatherBlaze Relatable 👌

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

Oga Elon, which one be this one again wey you wan invent this time?
You just dey soliloquy like Einstein for 2026 version, "Matter, Energy & Intelligence" like say na new equation we go use find fuel price.
Abeg wetin dey cook for that big big brain? Spill am make we follow enjoy!

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

Distributing prayer mats while we starve & die to bandits shows one truth: Nigerian politicians, either North or South, no rate us as citizens. Until we rise as One Voice to dethrone them, progress remains impossible. Time to wake up. #OneVoice
#peterobiiscoming
#AnewNigeriaIsPOssible
@ADCVanguard_

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

Nigeria has had meat inspection laws for decades (e.g. 1988 Meat Edict, 2022 Animal Diseases Act), requiring veterinary checks before & after slaughter, plus Environmental Health Officers for hygiene. Enforcement has collapsed: inspectors absent or ignored, government focused on the revenue part as money is paid for each animal killed; now butchers run the show, diseased animals (TB, tapeworms, etc.) get slaughtered and sold freely. Abattoirs are filthy eyesores with open-floor slaughter and poor waste handling, you actually need to visit someday. Honestly, Na just God dey save us from major outbreaks.

The Chairman's tough enforcement is filling a huge gap the system long abandoned but not sustainable at all. We need the existing laws actually enforced, not just sitting on paper.

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

Laws that ensure meat safety already existed in Nigeria for decades now, but almost zero enforcement. When can we reawaken the enforcement for our common safety? @FMEnvng @Fmohnigeria

[nonso umeh @umehJC]

@GatherBlaze Chronicles of a field officer. Interesting days.

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

Looking back now, I sometimes laugh at the courage or foolishness of my younger self.

In my early career days, when fieldwork still felt like adventure mixed with mild ignorance, I had an assignment that took me deep into the northern part of Nigeria, specifically to a community in Talata Mafara Local Government Area in Zamfara State.

Now, if you know that terrain well, you’ll understand that “going to a community” sometimes means leaving civilization behind… completely.

At that time, I had two major problems.

First, I didn’t understand Hausa.
Second, the road to the community was not motorable.

The only option was a motorcycle.

So there I was, standing by the roadside looking like a lost government official, trying to negotiate with a bike man who didn’t understand a single word of English. I, on the other hand, didn’t understand a single word of Hausa beyond greetings that would not save my life.

All I could manage was the name of the village.

The bike man nodded confidently and replied with one powerful word:

“Yowaa.” roughly meaning “okay” or “no problem.”

So I climbed the bike and we set off.

Within fifteen minutes, the tarred road disappeared.

Soon after, even the idea of a road disappeared.

We were riding through narrow bush paths that looked like they were created by goats and stubborn cattle. The trees grew thicker, the bushes taller, and the silence… louder.

Thirty minutes passed, No houses, No farms, No people.

Just bush.

I told myself, Relax. Fieldwork requires courage.

Another thirty minutes passed still nothing.

At this point, my mind started producing the kind of headlines that make national news:

“Young Public Health Officer Missing in Zamfara Bush.”

I began observing the bike man carefully.
His silence suddenly looked suspicious.

By the time we crossed the one-hour mark without seeing a single human being, I had mentally written my will.

Then suddenly, like magic, the bush opened up.

A settlement appeared.

Children ran around. Women carried water. Goats wandered everywhere with the confidence of landlords.

We had arrived.

I was taken to see the community head—the Sarki n Gida, also known as the Mai Angwa.

The man welcomed me with a warmth that immediately erased the fear that had nearly stopped my heartbeat an hour earlier. After explaining my mission through a translator, he smiled, laughed at my long bush journey, and did something remarkable.

He assigned two of his personal guards to escort me around the entire community.

From thinking I had been delivered to kidnappers, to being escorted by royal guards.

Life can change direction very quickly in northern Nigeria.

These day, I sometimes laugh at the courage or foolishness of my younger self.

Because if you ask me today to take a one-and-a-half-hour motorcycle ride through thick bushes in that region, with a rider I cannot communicate with, I nogo fit do am again.

Those were different times.

And till today, whenever I hear someone say “yowaa,” I remember the longest, quietest, and most suspense-filled bike ride of my career. 😄

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

Life story: "Three Seconds to Sink"

Some people would rather rescue their pride than admit they were rescued at all.

That particular afternoon, I was seated with a friend on a poolside of a hotel, two chilled bottles sweating on the table. Shortly a middle aged man in his 30s arrived — chest out, shoulders wide, the kind of confidence that demands witnesses, and without even saying hello to anyone.

In about 5 minutes he was out of the dressing room; without warming up or even stretching, he launched himself into the pool from the deep side. But not with the grace of an athlete, but with a dramatic belly slap that cracked against the water like a thunderclap.

The laughter around the pool stalled.

He didn’t resurface immediately.

When he did, it wasn’t the triumphant rise of a professional. It was slow. Too slow. His arms thrashed, then paused. He tried to move forward but barely advanced. Then I saw it, the smallest, most terrifying detail.

His hand went up.

Not waving. Not performing, but reaching.

And not a word.

There’s something about silent distress that punches harder than screams. Before my brain negotiated with my body, I was already airborne. One second I was dry, the next I was slicing into the water with my shoes, jeans, shirt, dignity and all.

The water swallowed the noise. He was heavier than pride should allow. I grabbed him under the arms and dragged him toward the edge. People scrambled to assist me. Together we hauled him out.

He coughed. Gasped. Lay there blinking at the sky like a rat rescued from a cat.

Relief spread across my chest. A brief, ridiculous thought flashed across my mind: Thank God my phone was on the table, else it could have gone in with me.

The hotel management, in appreciation, dry-cleaned everything I wore, right down to my boxers and singlet. A hero’s laundry service, but citing that the lifesaver was off duty that day.

But here’s the twist.

Instead of gratitude settling quietly between us, bros straightened up and cleared his throat.

“Water entered my nose when I jumped,” he said. “That’s why I lost control.”

I stared at him.

He must have seen the doubt sitting boldly in my eyes because he quickly pulled out his phone — slightly shaking — and scrolled to a photo of him wearing a divers kit on a boat.

I nodded slowly.

“Nice meeting you,” I said.

And he walked back to a different table soaked and confused about what just happened.

It occurred to me that day, that the distance between life and death can be just in seconds.

#Lifestories

#swimming

[nonso umeh @umehJC]

@GatherBlaze Patience really pays...

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

"When Cutting Corners Backfires"

In this life, cutting corners often looks like genius behavior — until life decides to charge you full price.

Back in my secondary school days, I had one loyal right-hand man.

Those were the golden days when students discovered a revolutionary transport hack: “lapping", where one student sits on another’s lap in a bus so both of you can pay half fare.

Some people alternated the lapping to balance destiny. But in our case, nature had already decided. My friend was smaller. I was… let’s just say more structurally blessed. So I was the permanent chairman of the Lap Committee.

And it worked.

Fifty percent saved daily!
That was serious money. Enough to flex with "Okpa na Coke juru oyi" during break.

Then came that day.

School bell rang — freedom! We grabbed our bags like soldiers hearing that World War II had finally ended. We dashed across the road and stationed ourselves at the bus stop like trained survivalists.

A middle-aged “bros” — somewhere between 27 and 35 joined us shortly.

Few seconds later, a bus appeared and stopped exactly in front of us. Divine alignment.

I jumped in like destiny was calling my name, securing the last seat. My friend was mid-air, about to assume his usual position on the Presidential Lap, when— a hefty hand grabbed and pulled him back.

I looked up, it was Bros.

Before I could even process the situation, next thing — we were both on the floor.

The conductor? No argument, he slammed the door and the bus zoomed off.

We stood there finishing all the curses we had been saving for future use.

Fifteen minutes later, another bus came. We entered peacefully this time.

About 10 kilometers down the road, traffic slowed, crowd gathered. Our driver parked, and naturally, we joined the Nigerian tradition of “let’s go and see.”

It was the same bus.

Yes. That bus. And there was Bros, on the ground.

An iron rod had pierced through the back of his ankle and exited the other side. The bus had collided with another vehicle.

My friend and I slowly looked at each other’s legs.

No words.

Just silent leg appreciation.

We didn’t speak until we got to our street.

As we parted, my guy simply said,
“Thank God oo… if that iron had caught our legs, we might have lost them.”

And honestly? That was the day I learned that essence of "surulere". Patience is actually a virtue we all must have.

So don’t rush life. Don’t force shortcuts. Not every “smart move” is actually smart.

Hope we learned something from today’s episode of #MyLifeStories 😄

@PeterObi , @atiku @ruffydfire @firstladyship @RealQueenBee__ @ARISEtv

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

Part 2: Go Harder or Go Home

Continued...
...At the heist point,  I tested the waters by using a stick to get the bees agitated, while my brother stayed at my back with the bucket. They flew all round us and after 10 seconds of feeling invincible, I made for the inner hive for the combs. I was jolted to reality by "Anya m ooo!!!, Anya m oo!!?",(meaning my eyes!) that was my younger brother's voice. He abandoned me and ran for his life, screaming. I immediately aborted and ran after him. By then the whole environment was charged with humming sound at every corner. We ran for about some distance until we got to a safe zone for us to reassess the situation. It happened that the a bee made a way through one of the tiny holes we made for the eyes and gave him a sting. 

We removed the mask and one of his eyebrows have started responding to the sting, in few minutes it had swollen. I keenly searched for the white sting and pulled it out.  But we are not quitting, but needed to address this. As they say, "you go harder or go home", we took the later, but to restrategize. At home I placed a wet towel on the eyes for a soothing relief. 

After much review of our loophole, we decided to wear eyeglasses  underneath the mask to reduce the risk. We tested them by trying to poke hands into each other's eyes, believed that this was foolproof.

Back at the honey heist point, defying the bees that were all over the place at that time. This time it worked, I stretched in my hand and a honey-filled comb followed my hand, I passed it to my brother. By the time I was pulling out the second, oblivious that the tucked-in part of my mask had pulled up exposing my neck, I simply received my own award and that wasn't one bee. This time it was my turn to shout, and my brother ran off with the bucket guarding the only comb we had collected. I ran after him as well, but holding the second comb in my hand, the bees followed me vicariously due to the comb, I simply dropped it along the way and ran for my life first. By now it was almost 5pm.

We got home, hugged ourselves, licked some honey, and told ourselves that we must bring the rest home.

This time we decided to go back at night, but we will add light and fire to our kits. At 8pm we were back, wrapped clothes on stick, lit it up and used it to clear them at the hive, this time they were blind and couldn't do much. We came home with the whole combs filled with honey. By the time we finished squeezing the combs we got about 6 litters of honey. We savoured it all through the holidays and still left some for our grannies.

If you ask me, I will do it over again, childhood is actually like a sweet passing dream. 

Persistent is the key to success, never give up. So keep showing up.

Come back for another edition of my life story.

#lifestory

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

Part 2: Five Seconds to Disappear (Continued)

...“Follow me.”

He turned and headed back to the “flower garden.” I followed, unaware that the garden was actually a military cemetery.

At that point, all my pleading behind him sounded like politicians being praised by their loyal boys.

Inside the garden, I was asked to sit on the ground. I kept explaining that I was new in town. Shortly after, another soldier joined us. He calmly began preparing my mind for the “drill” I would receive.

There was a small cage behind the flowers.

They said they could squeeze me in there till the next day.

My heart relocated..

About twenty minutes later, both soldiers stepped aside to discuss. After their brief conversation, the second soldier walked up to me, stared hard at my face for about five seconds, and then said:

“Get up. Run. If you are still here in the next five seconds, I will change my mind.”

I didn’t wait for interpretation.

I vanished.

I crossed straight to the bus stop in front of Eagle Square. It was only there I realized I hadn’t even completed my “Thank you, sir.”

I bursted into laughter.

That day, I learned that when the gods break your palm kernel for you, just humble yourself. Na God save me that day.

Hope you learned something too.

Come back for another edition of my #LifeStories.

Abuja

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

Part 1: Five Seconds to Disappear

This was about two decades ago. I was new in #Abuja, trying to acquaint myself with different parts of the city with my trusted G-Legon.

That day, I was heading to the Federal Secretariat from Asokoro. If you know that stretch well, you’ll respect me small. I had made it past Louis Edet House (Police Headquarters). Feeling accomplished, I could already see the Head of Service building in the distance, and that alone gave me fresh ginger to keep moving.

Soon, I got to the Three Arms Zone. Passing the entrance of the Presidential Villa felt historic. I maintained my right lane, steeze intact. As I crossed the Villa entrance, a taxi driver sped past, shouting something while waving at me. I couldn’t make out what he said, so I waved back confidently, thinking maybe he was hailing my courage.

Just before the National Assembly entrance, another taxi passed. This time, a lady in the front seat pointed ahead, saying something about the “beautiful flower garden.” Before I could decode her message, I noticed a soldier walking out of that garden.

I sensed no danger. I kept moving.

Within seconds, I heard:

“Hey, come!”

I slowed down and greeted him.

“Why you dey pass here?” he asked, ignoring my greeting.

“Nothing, sir. Just going to my office.”

“And you no know say you no suppose follow here?”

“No, sir. I’m not aware.”

“And you no see the signpost?”

“Which signpost?”

“Come, make I show you.”

I followed him, sensing he had already profiled me as a JJC. He stopped abruptly opposite the Head of Service building and pointed to the ground.

There lay my cross for the day.

A “NO THOROUGHFARE” signpost — broken stand, lying flat on the floor.

My heart skipped.

“I didn’t see it because it was on the floor,” I said, swallowing hard.

“You should be observant of your environment,” he replied calmly.

Then he said the words that drained the remaining blood from my body:

“Follow me.”...

... Continued in the next Post..

Don't miss out .

#LifeStories.

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

"The Morning We Said Good Morning to a Ghost."

Do You Believe in Spirits? 👀

Udara season in the village was not a joke.

When udara starts falling, every compound automatically produces “footsoldiers” — skinny, stubborn children whose life mission is to reach the tree before sunrise. We were those children.

This particular morning, we woke up at that dangerous hour when you can see a human figure… but you can’t see the face. The kind of darkness that makes your own shadow look suspicious.

The udara tree stood dramatically at the edge of the community — three roads intersecting beneath it like it was hosting a village conference. One road led to the river. The other curved sharply at a Y-junction before opening up to the tree.

And that Y-junction? Perfect blind spot. Perfect horror movie setting.

Armed with our local “mpanaka” lamp and unearned bravery, four of us marched out like elite commandos. But once we got close to the junction, greed entered our spirits.

Who will reach first?

Nobody said it. But everybody knew.

We started running.

I was second position. The leader — my cousin — was charging like he owned the tree.

Then it happened.

As we turned sharply at the junction…

He ran straight into it.

A tall, black figure.

No visible face.

Wrapped in a loose, flowing gown like it just returned from a midnight meeting.

Hands stretched out… moving slowly… almost floating.

My cousin froze.

Not screamed.

Not ran.

He simply said, “Good morning.”

And collapsed near the bush.

That was when my village reflex activated.

“EWOOO!”

I turned so fast I almost met my ancestors early. I ran. The other two followed. We didn’t look back. Olympic trials would have recruited us that morning.

After a while, we stopped.

Silence.

Heavy breathing.

Then reality hit.

We left our cousin behind.

Now the problem:

We couldn’t go home and explain that we abandoned a human being to a floating spirit.

We also couldn’t go back to confirm whether he had joined the ancestors.

So we stood there. Confused. Sweating. Praying.

Ten long minutes later…

We saw him walking toward us.

Alive.

Laughing.

Apparently, the “creature” passed him gently… like it was late for a meeting at the river… and continued floating away.

That was the end of that day’s udara mission.

We went home empty-handed.

From that morning onward, we agreed:

Udara tastes sweeter after sunrise.

Now tell me…

Have you ever had a scary udara moment?

Or were you the spirit disturbing other people’s harvest?

Share yours in the comments 😄

#Lifestory

@Wizarab10 @PeterObi @mrmacaroni @Sabinus1_ @DrJoeAbah @RealQueenBee__ @firstladyship

[nonso umeh @umehJC]

@ChiefHighness @kepukepunews Wow, thanks for this, I often thought they were all nonvenomous. Just googled Boomslang and my eyes opened. I have to be more conscious these days.

[Blaze @GatherBlaze]

You see eh, when an elder tells you to "mind your business so you can live long", don't just believe it, internalize it.

Growing up in #CoalCity, there is a bee-hive behind our house; the bees interestingly built the hive in a soakaway making it's exit at a crack at the rare end. My dad, has a garden behind the house, with a mango tree in it, which also encroached the bee-hive area. Funny enough, he farms and nurture his garden upto few inches to the hive without being attacked by the bees. I have observed it many times while helping him but never attempted that risk. One of the days, I asked him how he does that, he smiled and simply said, "just learn to mind your business, and the little creatures will not disturb you". He further hinted that though the bees buzzes around his ears and eyes, he endures the discomfort and ensure that he wouldn't hit them out of impulse, else you are in for a ride.

I believed him but never bold enough to give it a shot but felt that there is more to Dad's supernatural power that he uses to control the bees.

On this day, with the regular water scarcity challenge faced by ppl residing in my neighborhood, I set out with my childhood friendq to fetch water from "mmiri-ani" as we fondly called the stream  some streets away. This we do with the help of a little box-shaped truck with a steering attached as well as wheels to make pushing easier as it can carry about 8 to 10 water cans.

30 minutes later, we were on our way back; as we branched off into our street an eeriely silence hit us in the face. The street was deserted, shops locked, not a single soul was on the street. We got confused but continued our push; few meters to the my house a young boy stagger out from the walkway between my house and the next house, his hair tinted like the modern Gen-Z tints, which is unusual in those days. A voice screamed out from one of the windows opposite our house , "ruuuunnn!!, the bees will kill you!!!", the female voice was actually calling out to the young boy; that was when it dawned on me that what was on the boy's head was not a tint, but a cluster of live bees that swamped his head.

I ran for my life, abandoning my truck, into our house. 

Ten minutes later, I quietly opened the window to peep inside the compound to get a glimpse of the latest update, the site of my dead pigeons, which littered the floor and the roof, greeted me; some neighbors lost their chickens, and others their goats, all to the bees.

By the time we sought for a  truce, I have lost all my pigeons and some chicken. The people at home now gave account of how the war started.

It happened that the young boy , who is  a neighbor's son, with his friends were plucking mangoes behind the house by throwing stones at it; along the line, they sighted the hive and needed to spike-up the adventure by throwing stones at the hive. They aroused the bees to the point that they came out in droves as a counterattack mechanism, the friends fled with scores of stings, while the lead fell along the line and got caught up. It nearly costed him his life, gracefully he survived after spending about 4 days at the hospital.

That was when my Dad's message sank that sometimes learn to mind your business.

It was an experience I wouldn't forget in a haste.

Check in again for some of my fascinating real life stories.

#stories
#lifestories
#experience
#042
#Enugu
#Nigeria