Public Awareness Stories & Experiences

I still remember my first time in Port Harcourt like it was yesterday. I had just arrived from Lagos, eager to explore the city and start my new job. As I stepped out of the airport, the warm sun hit me, and the humid air enveloped me. I was struck by the lush greenery and the vibrant sounds of the city.

My colleague, Chijioke, was waiting for me at the airport, and we set off towards the city. As we drove, he pointed out landmarks and shared stories about the city's history and culture. I was fascinated by the mix of old and new buildings, the bustling markets, and the friendly people.

We stopped at a local restaurant for lunch, and I was introduced to the famous Port Harcourt dish, pepper soup with catfish. The flavors exploded in my mouth, and I was hooked. Chijioke laughed at my reaction, "Welcome to Port Harcourt, my friend! You're in for a treat!"

As we continued our journey, I noticed the city's unique blend of traditional and modern architecture. We passed by the beautiful Rivers State Government House, the bustling Ariaria Market, and the scenic waterfront.

Eventually, we arrived at my new apartment, a cozy place in a quiet neighborhood. Chijioke helped me settle in and introduced me to some of my new neighbors. They welcomed me with warm smiles and open arms.

That evening, we explored the city's nightlife, enjoying the music and laughter at a local bar. I felt like I had finally arrived in Port Harcourt, and the city had already stolen my heart.

From that day on, Port Harcourt became my home, and I embraced its vibrant energy, rich culture, and warm people. My first time in Port Harcourt was a memorable experience that set the tone for an incredible journey in the city.

Returning to school isnt something someone could say he/she is so happy returning, nothing about its stressful schedules was appealing. But all the same, meeting back with friends, the fun and the jokes was comforting.
So, we decided to ditch the day and hang out. As we walked to our department, we decided to take a break at a nearby shop to grab some sachet water.

We asked for four sachets and received them. But the unexpected happened when one of us handed a hundred naira note to the seller, who reluctantly took it and then asked for an extra hundred naira, claiming that each sachet cost fifty naira.

We were utterly speechless and puzzled. "A sachet of water now costs fifty naira?" I asked to confirm what I had heard.

Somewhat reluctantly, we handed over the extra hundred naira and left, feeling slightly cheated. The price of water had left us genuinely astonished and deflated at the same time.

At this point, water is not a life saver anymore, buying sachet water now could cause you a post traumatic stress 😂

As I stood by and watched, three men were hard at work, each with their own task in the daunting mission of bringing down this towering presence in our community.

One of the men was fervently digging out the soil around the roots of the Palm tree, his face contorted with concentration and effort. The second was perched up on a higher ground, cutting off the root branches that extended further. Meanwhile, the third man skillfully tied a sturdy rope around the base of the palm tree's stem, making sure it was secure and tight.

At first, it seemed like a straightforward and easy job, with the men methodically and confidently going about their tasks. But as the minutes turned into an hour, it became evident that this was no easy feat. I found myself drawn closer to the scene, curious as to what was causing the delay.

Upon closer inspection, I discovered that the stubborn roots were putting up a fierce fight, bouncing back the blades of the tools and resisting the men's efforts to sever them. It was a testament to the resilience and strength of nature, and I couldn't help but be startled at how stubborn the tree was.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the men dropped their tools and gathered around the rope. They began to chant in unison, their voices mixing in unison of ridiculous and determined phrases, as they pulled forcefully on the rope at intervals of three seconds.

The tree began to sway, and for a moment, it seemed as if it was taunting the men with its refusal to fall. But on the seventh pull, with one final heave, the giant palm tree yielded to the relentless efforts of the men. With a deafening crack, it crashed to the ground, shaking the earth and filling the air with the scent of freshly severed wood.

I awoke to the commotion with a start, the sound of screeching tires and slamming doors reverberating through the neighborhood. Jumping out of bed.
It was up the neighbourhood, a team from the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) had swooped in, surrounding a grand three-story building where some individuals had been residing. It was barely past 4 am, and the whole scene was both surreal and unnerving.

Out of the chaos, two figures managed to evade the authorities, each using their own methods of escape. One of them, probably possessed by a fleeting moment of courage, made a dramatic leap over the fence at the back of the compound and dashed into the night. The other, more cunning and resourceful, chose to hide out in the building's ceiling, skillfully covering his tracks. It was a scene straight out of an action movie, and despite the seriousness of the situation, a part of me couldn't help but marvel at their audacity and quick thinking as I listened to people who were present during the live action recounted the incident.

The ensuing chaos saw some of the residents' cars being seized while the male occupants were escorted away and loaded into the awaiting vans. The building, once aglow with the energetic hum of life, now stood as a graveyard after they zoomed off with the victims

I couldn't help but wonder about the individuals who had been taken away and the events that had led to this dramatic and unexpected turn of events. The neighborhood had been forever changed in the blink of an eye, leaving in its wake a palpable sense of unease and uncertainty. As the day unfolded and life began to return to its normal rhythm, the memory of that intense morning lingered, a stark reminder of the fragility and unpredictability of the world we live in.

Just as I had settled in the sitting room to take a rest after preparing a particularly demanding meal, a sudden burst of gunshots pierced through the air. The troubling sound seemed uncomfortably close, prompting my father to recall some rumors. He mentioned the whispers circulating about the safety of our neighborhood following the completion of the second hotel along our street. I was quite fond of the new hotel project and had eagerly watched its progress.

I swiftly interjected, dismissing the unsettling rumors as baseless conjecture. In my view, development should always be welcomed, and my father eventually agreed. To lighten the mood, he began to recount the story of an old, now-demolished motel that once stood in the neighborhood during the '90s. Although the tale had a tragic undertone, I always relished listening to stories, and this was no exception.

As my father spoke, I appreciated that the arrival of a new hotel was a testament to progress and growth within our community. While the sudden disturbance had been disconcerting, I found comfort in the knowledge that the neighborhood was evolving, and I was hopeful that the new establishment would bring positive changes.

The crowded Idumota market was in chaos as people rushed to escape the flames engulfing the nearby stalls. Iya Oja stood amidst the chaos. It was not her stall that went down in flames with fully loaded goods. If she had one, it was an empty space where market levies are counted. Adeola, her 14-year-old maid, cowered beside her, trembling with fear. The fire outbreak was so sudden that everybody had to scamper for safety. Picking up her iPhone 13 that her son recently sent her from the US along with a few other valuables, Iya Oja fled from her seemingly empty office. Sadly, her purse was not luckily in sight at the moment. That was not too much of a problem. Adeola will fetch it even if that would cost her life.

"Iwo babalawo yi, lo gba apamọwọ mi fun mi!" She yelled at Adeola, her voice piercing through the chaos. The fire had overtaken her empty office where she ran out from and where the purse was supposed to be. Adeola hesitated, her eyes wide with terror, but Iya Oja's glare left no room for disobedience. The young girl crept towards the burning stall, her small frame trembling as she tried to lift the heavy wooden beam that pinned down the purse. Flames licked at her face, and she screamed as the wood fell, trapping her beneath its weight.

Iya Oja's face contorted in rage as she realized her purse was gone, but her anger quickly turned to concern as she saw Adeola's limp body being pulled from the wreckage. The market crowd gasped in horror as Adeola's charred and battered body was revealed. Iya Oja's eyes welled up with tears, but they were not tears of sorrow or remorse; they were tears of anger and frustration.

For seven long years, Adeola had toiled in Iya Oja's service, a slave to her whims and fancies. She had been denied the joys of childhood, the comfort of a warm bed, and the solace of a loving embrace. And now, she lay broken and burned, a victim of Iya Oja's insatiable greed and cruelty. The market crowd murmured among themselves, their voices a gentle breeze that carried the whispers of condemnation and disgust. Some dared to approach Iya Oja, but she warned them off with a fierce glare, a lioness protecting her den.

Adeola has met tens of other girls that suffered a similar fate in the hands of Iya Oja. Some were 16 years old girls that looked like 10 years due to constant heavy weight they carry that stopped their growth. When they are too weakened by hunger and useless to Iya Oja's service, they disappear without traces. Nobody has dared to ask her the way about of the little girls she successfully turned into dummies but whispers are in the wind that they alway end up in the hands of organ harvesters.

PS:

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Kindly read and tell me what you think. I like using my story to relate real life issues. Scenarios of this nature is happening in Idumota as we speak. Pls don't forget to like and share the story if you like it. Thanks

Title: The Forgotten Key

In a small town nestled between rolling hills, there was an old, abandoned mansion rumored to be haunted. Locals whispered about its eerie past, but few dared to venture near it. One day, Sarah, a curious young girl with a penchant for adventure, decided to explore the mansion.

As she stepped through the creaky door, Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. The mansion was filled with dust-covered furniture and cobwebbed corners. Ignoring her growing unease, Sarah pressed on, determined to uncover its secrets.

In the dim light, Sarah stumbled upon a locked door. Intrigued, she searched the mansion until she found an old, rusted key hidden beneath a pile of debris. With trembling hands, she inserted the key into the lock and turned it, the door creaking open to reveal a hidden staircase leading underground.

Heart pounding, Sarah descended into the darkness, her footsteps echoing off the walls. At the bottom, she discovered a vast chamber filled with treasures long forgotten – jewels, artifacts, and ancient relics glinting in the faint light.

But amidst the riches, Sarah found something unexpected – a diary. She dusted it off and began to read, discovering the tragic tale of a young girl who had once lived in the mansion. The girl had hidden away in the underground chamber, seeking solace from a world that had abandoned her.

As Sarah read on, she realized that the girl's story mirrored her own feelings of loneliness and isolation. Moved by empathy, Sarah vowed to uncover the truth behind the girl's fate and give her the closure she deserved.

With newfound determination, Sarah embarked on a quest to uncover the mystery of the forgotten key and the girl it once belonged to. And in doing so, she found not only answers but also a sense of belonging she had long been searching for.

During my early teens, my family and I had a familiar path that we often followed, lined with a towering breadfruit tree. The tree's sprawling branches cast shade over a considerable stretch of the path, and it was common knowledge that people would always hurry through this part of the route to avoid the peril of a breadfruit falling on them.

Over time, countless tales had circulated about unsuspecting individuals getting struck by falling breadfruits, resulting in serious injuries. Despite this, on one particular day, my family and I decided that we would not succumb to fear. "Why should we run today when we never had a breadfruit fall on us before?" we reasoned.

As we ventured down the narrow path, we watched another person take a leisurely stroll beneath the breadfruit tree and felt a surge of anxiety and unease. Moments later, a loud crash reverberated through the air, and we all turned to see a breadfruit plummet to the ground. Terrified, we screamed and sprinted in every direction.

In the aftermath, as we caught our breath, we pondered the narrow escape. "What if we had merely walked as we had planned?" we mused. It was a valuable lesson learned: sometimes, heeding warnings and being cautious is more than just an old superstition.

I went to Onitsha on a hot, sunny morning, ready to install some light bulbs in a fancy two-story house. The journey was supposed to be smooth, but it wasn't. The roads were rough, full of bumps and holes, and the traffic was crazy tight.

Getting bulbs in the market was another headache. It was packed with stalls, people shouting prices, and everyone trying to get a deal. It felt like being lost in a jungle.

After ages, I finally got the bulbs and made it to the client's house. It was impressive, standing alive and proud despite the chaos of the city. But the job wasn't a piece of cake. Trust me, I came there prepared for wiring and installation, so no dulling.

Despite the mess, I stuck with it. Slowly, the house started lighting up, and it felt good to see it come to life. Finishing up, I felt proud. Despite the rough journey and market madness, I got the job done. At the end of the day , I was happy, knowing I'd made someone's home a bit brighter.

I needed to visit the bank today to sort out some urgent issues, and I had planned to leave before 11 am. However, as luck would have it, I found myself running late and scrambling to be ready to leave by 1:23 pm.

I hurriedly made my way to where I could get a tricycle (keke) to transport me to the bank. Although I had to pay a small fortune for the ride, it was the quickest option at the time.

Upon reaching the bank, I was surprised to be welcomed and attended to promptly. Despite the initial hurdles, the staff worked efficiently, and I was able to resolve my matters in less than three hours. It was a relief to have everything sorted, despite the time it took.

However, the cost of transportation back home was another blow. I couldn't believe that for a 15-minute journey, I had to pay another hefty sum to the keke driver. It made me reflect on the fact that these drivers, often underestimated, earn much more than many government workers. It was an eye-opening realization.

Finally, I returned home safely, albeit with a pounding headache, the result of the stress and the long hours out. All in all, it wasn't a bad day.

The madman on sallah day
So, just yesterday I got off from bed filled with joy and happiness all because it was sallah and I was to rest and not attend lectures or even bother about anything.

So I quickly got up prepared like I had a whole year to rest, after which I ate and slept off. After a while, my friends visited and after some fun filled moments playing ps4 they had to go and I escorted them.

On our way, we saw how kids who normally look dirty and not well catered for where properly dressed for the sallah celebration. Just immediately my eyes caught a madman with a stick chasing the children because they were making fun of him, you know how children play with madman, they like being chased by them. So with his big stick he will chase them and stop until he saw a cow that was tied nearby, so he went straight to the cow and he was talking, what he was saying didn't even make any sense to me and then he seemed like he was getting angry and then he used the big stick to hit the cow and immediately the cow reacted and the road with which it was tied snapped and it was about to use his horn on the madman and I thought the madman would use the stick on it but to my greatest surprised the madman run away, I was surprised oh, so mad people can be scared to die too, no wonder it rare for you to see them being hit when crossing the road

I was still a little girl when I first experienced the fear and wonder of an eclipse. It was an ordinary day at primary school, and we had all heard about eclipses, but none of us really knew what it looked like. We were playing during our break time when suddenly, darkness fell over the daytime. Panic spread and we all ran for cover, not knowing what was happening. Fear gripped each child's heart, and we were all rooted to the spot, thinking the end of the world was upon us.

We stayed huddled in the shelter, not daring to speak, until suddenly we heard familiar voices calling our names. It was our mothers and siblings, reassuring us that it was just an eclipse, not the rapture. Relief flooded through us, and slowly we ventured out to witness the incredible sight.

Peeking through the windows, we gazed in awe at the sun being covered, and it was as spectacular as it was terrifying. From that day on, we all knew what an eclipse was, and it became a cherished memory of learning and experiencing something new. The fear transformed into curiosity, and we all felt a little bit wiser for having witnessed such a rare and beautiful event.

OKPOHO

The Okpoho is an ancient money invented by the Efik and used extensively in the 16th century AD across West Africa as a medium of monetary exchange in trade between the Europeans and indigenous west Africans.

Made of bronze or copper, the Okpoho was usually formed into a ring-shaped object that looked like a bracelet with each end of the ring flattened out. Because it looked like a bracelet (and in fact, was sometimes worn around the wrists, neck or ankles as bracelets by women of wealthy husbands), the Spanish called it 'manilla', meaning bracelets.

The Okpoho originated in ancient Calabar City, Efik country, and its use was documented in the 16th AD as a medium of monetary exchange where one Okpoho bought one elephant tooth, and one slave could be bought for 8 to 10 Okpohos during the slave trade era.
The Okpoho is also featured at the back of the Nigerian N100 currency note, and also in the Akwa Ibom State seal, and in many other places.

Table of summary:
Name: Okpoho
Function: money
Origin: Calabar, Efik country.
Region used: West Africa
Material: Bronze, copper, or brass.
Invented: around 16th century AD
Declined: April 1, 1949.
Replaced by: British Pound

#HistoryofOkpoho

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One fateful day, catastrophe struck. My loyal charger, which had faithfully powered my phone for so long, went missing without a trace. Panic came in as I checked every part of my house, hoping to find it. Unfortunately, it was nowhere to be located.

With my phone's battery draining and no charger in sight, I set out to buy a replacement. Filled with determination and a sense of urgency, I set out into the crowded streets, trekking through a series of shops and vendors in search of a way out.

Eager to reclaim the seamless charging experience I once knew, I set out to procure my own Samsung charger. However, upon reaching the store, I was met with a harsh reality: the price far exceeded my expectations. Shocked and disheartened, I reluctantly left the store, my dreams of a reliable charger slipping through my fingers.

I went into many stores, each offering a solution to my charging issues. However, with each purchase, my hopes decreased as the chargers proved to be unsuitable replacements for my beloved missing charger. They were slow and inefficient, and some even caused my phone to overheat, which was a nightmare I could not handle.

As I walked away from the store, feelings of frustration and disappointment weighed heavy on my heart. Nonetheless, I refused to be defeated by a mere charger.

I vowed to continue my search, whether through saving up for the charger or exploring alternative avenues. For the journey to reliable charging was far from over, and I was determined to see it through to the end.

Alright, gather 'round folks, lemme tell ya a tale 'bout the economy in Nigeria. It's like this big ol' ship, sailing on rough waters, with no clear direction in sight. You see, the folks there, they're struggling to make ends meet, with prices skyrocketing and jobs becoming scarcer than hen's teeth.

Picture this: families scrimping and saving just to put food on the table, while the cost of living keeps on climbing higher and higher, like a kite caught in a storm. And let me tell ya, it ain't just the regular folks feeling the pinch; businesses are taking a hit too, with many closing their doors for good.

Now, you might wonder, how did it come to this? Well, some say it's like a house of cards, built on shaky foundations. Corruption and mismanagement have been like termites gnawing away at the very pillars of the economy, leaving it teetering on the brink of collapse.

But hey, it ain't all doom and gloom. There's hope yet, if only folks could come together and chart a new course. With the right leadership and a whole lot of elbow grease, maybe, just maybe, Nigeria can steer its ship away from the storm and towards smoother waters. But for now, the economy's like a ship lost at sea, adrift and struggling to find its way home.

JUST BEGIN.

Just after I received my fee structure from My University for my PhD, totalling N850,000 in 2006, I met my Dad, at a Commercial bank in Port Harcourt .

I explained to him that I had the admission letter and he smiled.

I told him however, "Papa, there is a problem. They need N850,000."

He held my hands, then slowly but reassuringly, said, "Just Begin, my son."

To ensure his point went home, he got into his account and gave me N14,000 in an account that had N20,000.

I was touched.

I added N16000 and paid N30,000 into the account, and my journey to PhD began.

Today, having reached the dream, I remember the words of my father.
Just Begin....

In everything you do, always remember, JUST BEGIN.

Just begin, no matter how difficult it seems to be.

It appeared to be difficult, but as time lapsed, I realised dad was right.

At some point before my defence, I gave up.

I still had a solid N300,000 to pay and they wouldn't give me a chance for my final defence.

Then came a very unlikely help.

I had supported a gentleman to undertake a project evaluation two times in the year.

I received his call cautiously asking me to meet him.

He was carrying a brown envelop in his hand.

He began, "Nengi, you will forgive me if you find my action inappropriate. For two consecutive times you have given me a job without asking for a Kobo. This is very unusual with many people. I did not know how to approach you, but I am deep with gratitude. Please accept my small gift."

I quickly peered into the envelope and saw they were two bundles, likely in hundreds.

He confirmed that it was N200,000.

I couldn't believe it.

The words of my father,
"My son, just begin" came to mind.

Don't worry how it will end.

Just begin.

If you are building a house, just begin.

If you are planning to buy land, just begin.

If you want to continue with your education, just begin.

If you want to pay dowry, just begin.

Nothing is more powerful than that advice.

We just need to Have Faith and Begin.

And I have revised this philosophy.

Whenever someone is doing something, I always encourage them to Have Faith and Just keep trying.

When things get thick, I always say, keep walking.

No matter how slow Just keep Moving

If you Can't Walk then Crawl

Just Keep Moving

When things are intimidating, Ignore.

Persist and keep trying.

Don't give up on life just because your challenges appear to be insurmountable.

Do not be defeated before you begin.

Whatever looks like a mountain will soon become an anthill...
but only if you begin.

Not long ago, someone asked me, "Nengi, are we going to manage to build the office we want?"

My answer,
"Let's just begin."

I believe in the power of Faith and Action (Starting) .

No one Wins a race until they respond to the sound of the gun and begin.

The secret lies in Beginning.

Overtime, God has seen me through a number of projects because of this philosophy.

I have parcels of land that I acquired by simply paying N50,000...and, overtime, these have multiplied.

I persuade you this day never to allow yourself to be threatened by the size of your problem.

The Journey of a Thousand Miles Starts with One Step

Begin in a small way to do something about it.

How Do You Eat an Elephant ?
By Eating it One Bit at a Time

If it is lack of money do something small to get something for yourself.

If it is a marital issue, look for a way to solve it.

In whatsoever you face, Just Begin.

Even those with big debts can do something about it.

Just begin by doing something little and it will shrink each day.

I was not a millionaire, but sometime ago, I wanted to have a feeling of being one.

I drew a plan of how to hold a million in my account, at least for a few days.

After some months of beginning, I discovered it was possible.

Three years and half of savings later, I got my first ever million.

Even though I used it later on investments and expenses, it felt so good.

Let's all Have Faith and Just Begin.
JUST BEGIN !

My Wife's bestie wants to sleep with my wife, so I lodge his wife and daughter in the same hotel.

I observed a shift in my wife's behavior at home, as she began asserting her rights within our household. Instead of preparing breakfast as usual, she insisted on equal treatment and asked me to pick up snacks on my way to work. But when I cook, she doesn't hesitate to eat. Atimes, she takes the bigger portion or even all while I go to the office hungry.

Did I complain? No.

Before, she never used to sneak out to make calls, but suddenly, it became a regular occurrence, and now, she doesn't even bother hiding it from me.

Did I complain? Never!

She even went as far as suggesting we create a cooking schedule, completely against the idea of hiring a housemaid. And to add insult to injury, she implemented a timetable for our intimate encounters; once every two weeks, or sometimes, nothing for three months straight. And all this while we don't even have a child?

Did I give a heck? H*ell no!

What did I do to deserve this treatment? She found out I was building a house without informing her, and despite my apologies and efforts to make amends, she remains stubborn in her accusations.

Did I continue to beg? H*ell No!

Now, I've stumbled upon evidence of her communication with another man. I conducted my own investigation and uncovered his residence and workplace. He's a married man with two daughters, aged 19 and 8.

What am I going to do? Wait and see.

I don't need anyone else to fight my battles; I'm fully capable of being a formidable force on my own.

I found myself frequenting his wife's shop, engaging in playful banter and forming a bond that transcended the confines of customer and shopkeeper. Gradually, she became my confidante, her presence a welcome respite from the monotony of everyday life.

As our friendship blossomed, she began to seek solace in my company, yearning for the attention that her husband seemed unable to provide. I became her rock, offering her the support and comfort she craved.

In a moment of vulnerability, she offered me more than just her friendship—she offered me her body, a tempting proposition that marked the purpose of my revenge.

The same time, I met her daughter. She caught my eye, her innocence juxtaposed against the complexities of her mother's desires.

Driven by impulse, I showered her with gifts, money and attention, buying her an iPhone and indulging her with promises of secrecy. She was happy that I took her to school, far away in Osun State.

Then, I invited her to a hotel. The same hotel I invited the mum to, but separate rooms. They ate and were waiting for me. While they were waiting, I was in her husband/father's office.

As I stood in the doorway of his office, I felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins, my heart pounding with a mixture of rage and apprehension. The confrontation that lay before me was fraught with tension, the outcome uncertain, yet I was determined to confront the man who had encroached upon my marriage.

I caught him talking to my wife on the phone.

“You said you like riding but your husband doesn't want to. I love riding and touching all those touchable things dangling like a pendulum. You will thank me by the time I am through with you.”

Mind you, his phone was on speaker, so I heard everything crystal clear. They were indulging in fantasies about each other, leaving only the physical touch to complete their desires.

As soon as he realized I was there, he abruptly ended the call and feigned ignorance of my presence.

"Hello, gentleman, what can I do for you?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes, but by the end of our conversation, you might be the one in need of help, sir," I retorted.

His expression shifted, a hint of unease flickering in his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"Sir, with all due respect, stay away from my wife. Trust me, you won't like what I'll do if you don't," I warned, my voice laced with determination.

His smirk faded, replaced by a look of disdain. "Oh, it's you? You're just as she described—insensitive and foolish. Get out of my office. Now!"

I couldn't say for certain if he had already crossed the line with my wife, but the way things were going, it seemed inevitable.

"Listen to this voice note, sir," I insisted, undeterred. "My wife went from sweet messages like 'Hey baby, I love you so much. I want to spend the rest of my life with you,' to cold statements like 'Hey, if you want to end this marriage, that's fine. There are plenty of better men out there.' And this change started when you began meddling in my marriage.”

"I never forced her to stop loving you. You can coerce a woman into marriage, but you can't compel her to continue loving you. She's my best friend, and we love each other. You're not God. She deserves a say in the house. Are you finished?" He stood up and yelled at me. I looked at him, pleading for calmness. The confidence in his voice was remarkable. If only he knew what awaited him.

I calmly dialed a number and put it on speaker. "Hello, baby, where are you right now?" His wife's voice filled the room. I smiled at him. "Yes, baby, are you at the hotel now?" I asked, watching his reaction. He stared at me, seemingly transfixed, recognizing the voice. He tried to dial the number, but it was busy.

"Baby, I'm totally free. I'm ready for anything with you. Any position you want, I'm all yours. Please come quickly," his wife's voice continued.

"What's the name of your husband again?" I inquired.

"You mean that useless b@stard? He's a one-minute man. I wish I'd met you earlier in my life. Please, let's not talk about him; he'll ruin my mood," she responded.

"I'm sorry, baby. Can you send me a picture of you? Or maybe make a short video and send it to me," I requested.

"Right away, honey. I can't wait to be with you. Please come soon," she replied, feigning distress.

"Does he not satisfy you? I'll teach you a lesson he never could. I'm not a one-minute man, Benjamin; I last two hours," I continued, emphasizing his name.

"You didn't pronounce the name correctly. Benjamin Olaleye, aka Olele.”

We ended the call and she sent the short video. I didn't show him. His initial confidence faltered as I played the incriminating phone call, the words of his wife echoing through the room like a damning verdict. The realization dawned upon him, a flicker of fear dancing in his eyes as he grasped the gravity of his indiscretions.

I wasn't finished with him yet. This was just the beginning of my retaliation.

"Let's give my young girlfriend a call. I'm sure you'd love to hear this," I said, a smirk playing on my lips.

I dialed his daughter's number, his eyes widening in disbelief as I recited each digit. Yes, the number was all too familiar, but who cared?

"Hey sugar... Been waiting here for an hour. Where are you, babe?" His daughter's voice was like music to my ears, innocent and angelic.

"Calista Cali-berry, ọmọ Olaleye. My super angel that flies without wings. Sorry I was caught up with something. Will be there shortly," I replied, my tone dripping with faux affection.

"Oh baby, come joor... You know I have been looking forward to today. I promise you I am going to injure you. We are going to be there for a week," she responded eagerly.

"I am ready, baby. But, what about your Dad? What if he came to your school?" she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

"Which Daddy? He doesn't know what's going on in my life. Please let's not talk about him. I wish I never had a father," she replied, her contempt for him thinly veiled. Already lost her completely.

"Okay love. Send me some racy pictures to set the mood," I said, the anticipation evident in my voice.

As I listened to her voice, dripping with anticipation and desire, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was crossing a line, venturing into territory that was fraught with danger and moral ambiguity. But the desire for revenge burned hot within me, driving me forward even as doubt gnawed at the edges of my conscience.

"I would rather make a short video. You are going to love it. Gimme some minutes.”

I wasn't finished with him yet. This was just the beginning of my retaliation.

"Let's give my young girlfriend a call. I'm sure you'd love to hear this," I said, a smirk playing on my lips.

I dialed his daughter's number, his eyes widening in disbelief as I recited each digit. Yes, the number was all too familiar, but who cared?

"Hey sugar... Been waiting here for an hour. Where are you, babe?" His daughter's voice was like music to my ears, innocent and angelic.

"Calista Cali-berry, ọmọ Olaleye. My super angel that flies without wings. Sorry I was caught up with something. Will be there shortly," I replied, my tone dripping with faux affection.

"Oh baby, come joor... You know I have been looking forward to today. I promise you I am going to injure you. We are going to be there for a week," she responded eagerly.

"I am ready, baby. But, what about your Dad? What if he came to your school?" she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

"Which Daddy? He doesn't know what's going on in my life. Please let's not talk about him. I wish I never had a father," I replied, my contempt for him thinly veiled.

"Okay love. Send me some racy pictures to set the mood," she said, the anticipation evident in her voice.

As I ended the call, a sense of satisfaction washed over me. This was just the beginning of my revenge, and I wasn't about to go easy on him.

I showed him the short videos they both sent to me. As tall as he is, he knelt down begging.

"You should have considered the repercussions before embarking on this journey.

My wife and I are still young, and we haven't had any children together. If we were to part ways now, we could easily move on and find new partners. Can you comprehend the investment you've made in your marriage? Twenty-five long years!

You have nothing substantial to offer her. All those foolish gestures, loans, and care were merely ploys to pull her pants down. We know your type.

Here's the deal: Transfer a total of ₦3 million to this account within the next two hours, and your family will be returned to you. Afterward, I won't have to remind you to stay away from my wife again.”

Did he pay the money? Yes.

Did his wife and daughter return home? Oh yes.

Did my wife know about my revenge? Of course yes. She left the house for a few months. And later she filed for d!vorce and I signed.

I don't believe in having close friends of the opposite sex. It seems like a setup to either replace you or snatch you away from your partner.. Behind every bestie there is a hidden agenda.

I had noticed a low internet service since yesterday but that of yesterday was negligible and resurfaced to full power in minutes and to zero network strength in another minute.
But today is just the height of it, I can't load anything, browse anything or even call a person. It would be an understatement to say that since morning that I have tried over a thousand times to streak but to no avail, even if I'm able to post this, I haven't still streaked for today and it's disheartening.
I have switched from airtel to MTN all day long but yet to streak, posts doesn't even load.

So I want to beseech thee @mindviewers to come to our rescue, pardon our login streak today without having to restart our efforts. On behalf of others, I plead a one say pardon.

Today was quite a unique day for us. We held our tie and dye practical class, which was part of our entrepreneurship curriculum. It was quite an interesting experience, as we had all pooled in 4000 naira each for the purchase of the materials required.

The practical class was quite different from our usual medical studies, and we were all quite excited to delve into something creative and hands-on. As we arrived, we had to form long queues to be marked present and given the materials. The atmosphere was buzzing with anticipation, and there was definitely a sense of adventure in the air.

As we began the practical, we realized that we hadn't been taught the specific tie and dye methods, so most of us had to resort to browsing the internet for guidelines. It was quite a trial and error process, but we were all determined to make the most of it.

Hours ticked by, and around 6 hours later, we could finally see the vibrant patterns that our tie and dye had created on the once plain white garments. Seeing the beautiful colors and designs emerge was really gratifying, and it was amazing to witness the transformation from plain white to a myriad of hues.

Although our palms and clothes were stained by the colorful dyes, we couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment and joy. It was refreshing to step out of our usual routine and immerse ourselves in something so different. The experience brought us together in a unique way, and it was truly a welcome break from our usual medical field studies. It was a reminder that creativity and artistry can bring us a different kind of fulfillment than the scientific pursuits we are accustomed to. In the end, we were all grateful for the opportunity to tap into a new skill and to explore our creative sides.

Last night was absolutely unbearable. The heat was unforgiving, and I found myself tossing and turning, drenched in sweat. It was as if my body had turned into its own personal sauna. I could hardly believe how profusely I was perspiring; it felt like I could literally wring out my clothes and take a bath in my own sweat. The thought was far from appealing, but that's just how relentless the heat was.

As the night dragged on, it became clear that sleep was a distant dream. I lay there, feeling like I was melting, unable to find any relief. It wasn't until the early hours of the morning, around 4am, that I finally caved in to my desperation for sleep. Feeling defeated, I grabbed a towel, wet it thoroughly, and laid it out on the floor. It was the best I could do. I collapsed on the damp, cool surface, hoping for some respite.

Eventually, the floor chilled my overheated body, and exhaustion finally won over the oppressive heat. I drifted off into a fitful sleep, with the faint aroma of the damp floor serving as a reminder of the night's torment. It wasn't the most dignified way to pass the night, but in that oppressive heat, any relief was a blessing. I could only hope that tonight would be kinder.