check out this mind blowing freestyle
https://youtu.be/rf_sLUND7fM
Check out "wild thoughts" 40sec freestyle from phemmiie jaggun
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Showing posts with label Magazine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Magazine. Show all posts
Kanye West Reportedly Discharged From Hospital & Back Home With Family
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American rapper, Kanye West who took ill recently and was admitted at
the UCLA Medical Center has been discharged after more than a week of
treatment for his mental breakdown.
TMZ and E! News have both confirmed Kanye is at home with Kim Kardashian and their kids. He reportedly left the hospital under the care of Kim, and his personal physician, Dr. Michael Farzam who called 911 the day Kanye was admitted.
People close to Kanye say his “nervous breakdown,” was triggered in large part by the anniversary of his mother’s funeral.
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TMZ and E! News have both confirmed Kanye is at home with Kim Kardashian and their kids. He reportedly left the hospital under the care of Kim, and his personal physician, Dr. Michael Farzam who called 911 the day Kanye was admitted.
People close to Kanye say his “nervous breakdown,” was triggered in large part by the anniversary of his mother’s funeral.
SPONSORED POST: Oily Tears
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“The oil boom in Nigeria has meant a doom for the Niger Delta…the
doom is now beginning to burst in blood.” -Ibiwari Ikiriko (1999)
I am an aborigine of the Niger delta, where our roads are rivers, decorated with lush mangrove (Angala) vegetation that house thousands of biodiversity. We don’t need those iron houses that people pull around these days, we have our boats and canoes. We are not hunters, we are fishermen, the only tools we use are nets. We only hear about guns, I have not actually seen one, except the one some village craftsmen construct. Our meals are always sandwiched with our sea friends from who we receive protein that sustain us, and even more enthusiasm to harvest them from their habitat.
My name is Alali but most people refer to me as Ala. I was five years old when they came, introducing to our king, the Amayanabo, the concept of the black gold. They brought machines that awed him and modernized drawings of how our village would look if they found this black gold where we dwell. He was enticed by their sugar coated words, because he did not refuse them, even after several warnings from the chiefs of the nine clans. They promised to give our youths jobs, jobs they claimed were not as stressful as our net drawing while fishing. This news came as fresh palm wine on the tongues of many lazy fishermen. They whispered the news to many, to get as much people as they could to buy the idea, to them it was a business of networking. Our young women paraded themselves as a new criterion had added to the list of “tall, handsome and God fearing men” as eligible husbands. It was now “He must be a multinational driller.”
My mother was a trader, a fish seller to be precise. Sometimes when papa had a very good catch, I helped her dry, roast and sell some fishes. My mother’s name was Iyingima which means “my mother” in my dialect. When I had first learned to understand and later speak my dialect, I asked her why everyone called her their mother, I was about the age of four then. She had thrown her head back and laughed really hard, like she was about to choke. I feared she would have a heart attack, as I watched her chest dance in rhythmic upheaves.
“They call me that because it is my name.”
“Can I call you that too?” I had asked innocently.
“Of course, I am your mother, your very own Iyingima.” She replied.
My father was a fisherman, just like most of the village men. He was a culture fanatic and so I was not surprised when I heard he was one of the men who opposed the idea of digging up our soils, in search of gold that was black.
“This foolishness must not continue, how can gold be black? We do not have enough lands to build and farm on, yet they seek to reduce the available ones to a searching ground.” I overheard him say to Iyingima the other day.
I did not have siblings, either because Iyingima and papa were too busy working that they didn’t have time to make babies, or because our lives changed when those multinationals discovered the black gold, in our village.
It was Sunday, the 16th of January 1956. A group of the multinationals discovered the black gold on one of the surveyed lands close to the river. The town crier, Iyaye went round the village announcing the news. The Amayanabo declared the week as the ‘Delta carnival’, he said we were to celebrate how rich our village would become.
The next day, the president of our country visited our village. There were so many reporters, tourists and some other strangers. Everyone seemed excited with the discovery of the black gold in our village, they said it would bring great wealth not only to our village, but to our country as well. Only the men in our village were allowed outside, women and children stayed home to receive any news when the men came home. Papa did not go out like the other men to meet with the president and possibly see what this black gold looked like. He said all the men who had gone out were people who could sell their souls to the devil.
The old-new news that crude oil, as they called it, had been found in the Delta was all people talked about for weeks. The phrase “crude oil” seemed to be sugar to every lip that could speak, and for every ear that heard, it was an entertaining news.
Our fantasies and excitement was short-lived when Kalayingi, a young woman who grew crops by the river went to weed her farm. Her scream filled the village and forced a meeting. There was black gold spills that had killed her crops. There were black gold spills everywhere. Many people complained about their dying crops, others feared it might destroy our lands and the fishermen screamed that the multinationals were emptying their wastes into the rivers, so fishes had moved and to get a good catch, if there was any catch at all, one needed to row deep into the river. Others complained that very few people were selected to work at the well stations. The Amayanabo listened as everyone stated their complaints, each voice trying to subdue the other. Then he waved his hand, signalling for silence.
“I have heard you, we shall choose nine men from the nine clans as emissaries to these multinationals.” He said slowly. “They will state our complaints and give them the ultimatum: to do things right or leave our land!”
There were several ‘Yeses’ and ‘Mmns’ after the Amayanabo spoke.
Papa was one of the men who was chosen as emissaries. He told Iyingima and I that he would not rest until our Delta regained its lost glory.
The multinationals and the emissaries reached an agreement which stated that the multinationals would lay-off some indigenes who worked for them, stating that they needed “skills”, which was why they did things wrongly. The emissaries agreed, ‘if that would bring our Delta back’.
Two months later, there was yet another shriek that filled the village as everyone ran out to find Ibiye, a young fisherman in flames. Many things were done to stop the fire, but when the fire was out, he had already burned to death. He had tried to ‘take’ crude oil from the pipes that flowed. Someone offered to tell the story which we were all keen to hear. He was one of the workers the multinationals decided to lay-off, He was part of those lazy youths who did not want to fish. He decided to steal crude and start his own business. It was a sorry story. Papa was very upset when he heard the story.
“These people have destroyed us, they will not leave us until we are wiped off. That is why the gold is black, it is death’s gold. They have squeezed everything we once loved that we no longer pursue our goals but theirs.” He spat, pointing towards the charred corpse.
“Look away.” Iyingima ordered as I followed papa’s finger, but it was too late. I had seen and heard enough. Our Delta was sick and we did not know what medicine could heal it.
That week most of the villagers stayed at home, there were a lot of snoopy reporters everywhere, like vultures waiting on a carcass. They wanted to know Ibiye’s story, but no villager was ready to tell.
Months passed and things got even worse. Slowly, I watched our once plenteous biodiversity diminish. There were no soils left to grow crops on, there was crude oil litters everywhere. Even the Angala looked like it did not receive enough water, its leaves began to fall like it was dry season. Nobody went to the rivers to bathe or have a drink, the water was considered poison. Our fishes choked to death and you could see their bodies adrift the water, our youths became blood thirsty people who stopped at nothing to obtain this gold or at least get the supposed promise.
Papa left home about two months ago. Iyingima and I have not heard from him since then. We have been told he joined the new “men revolution” to protect our Delta’s interests. Two weeks before papa left, he had stopped going to the river to check his nets. He would come home really late, when the only noise outside were the crick-crick sound the crickets made. When he was at home, he had these visitors whom only spoke in whispers. Once I had peeked and saw one of them handing papa a metal object that looked just like the ones the carvers made, I suspected that it was a gun. I did not tell Iyingima because she worried a lot, but I kept wondering why papa had need for a gun.
Iyingima and I had gone to the market to sell the fish she had bought from some fishermen early this morning, when some men ran through the market shooting. People ran helter-skelter, some packing their wares first, and others who seemed to value their lives more ran to find shelter. Soldiers invaded our village and brutally closed down all the markets, physically abusing anyone who tried to oppose them. A lot of people were killed during the massacre. We later learned that some of the women were kidnapped by the shooters, people the news called militants, angry youths of the Delta.
Our village became a jungle, the shootings continued for weeks. Whenever we were away from our homes, we had to raise our hands while we were thoroughly searched by troops of soldiers for any suspicious equipment. My village became a silent den, if one whispered in their homes it could be heard miles away. Everyone grew quiet, even the birds chirped quietly, like they understood the need for silence. Iyingima grew from the once jovial person I knew to a very quiet and timid person. There were a lot of things we did not talk about at home, a lot of things we were silent about, until the silence became deafening. Things like why papa left and if he would ever return, things like how we had to buy fish before we could sell, unlike when papa provided the fish, the shootings in the village and the fear that was our strength, the fear that protected us and kept us alive each day, so when Iyingima asked if I still thought of papa, I was surprised.
“No, Iyingima you are double parent enough.” I replied, meaning every word.
There was no light in the room, save little flickers that flashed through the window from our neighbour’s coal lamp, but I could see that Iyingima’s eyes held water.
“You know he is a good man? He will come back home.” She said more to herself than me, “He will come back home.” she repeated, assured.
I was only ten but I knew that even if it was what mama wanted the most, papa was not coming back, I did not want him to come back either. Sometimes his fanaticism with culture made him mistreat Iyingima. These months he was gone, she had put on weight and looked healthier.
“Iyingima, there are mangoes growing on our tree.” I said enthusiastically, hoping to shift Iyingima’s mind from papa. It seemed to work as her countenance brightened.
“I noticed yesterday, but you can’t pluck them, it isn’t our tree, it belongs to someone else. We only use it as shade when roasting the fishes your father catches.”
The next day, Iyingima and I were having lunch when some men knocked at our house fiercely thundering “wari e?” Iyingima asked me to hide in the kitchen as she asked who they were “tubo e?” They did not reply, everywhere was silent until I heard the banging sound the door made as it hit the floor.
“She’s his wife.” I heard a man’s voice and I peeked to see them drag Iyingima by the hair out of the house.
I did not hear from them or Iyingima again.
I was by the river checking some of papa’s nets the other day when I heard some women talking.
“Poor ereminitoku” the older one said, pushing her lips towards me as she dragged her net out of a canoe. The other one shook her head.
“Some say her mother is dead, that the men killed her because her father is part of the people opposing them.”
“Hush!!” the older woman warned. “She might hear you.”
It had been two weeks since I last saw Iyingima, since those men dragged her out of our house, but I had never felt her absence as much as I did now. Tears stood at the corners of my eyes, threatening to drop. Iyingima had always told me that crying solved problems most times, but I felt crying wasn’t enough at times like this. I blinked really hard to push the tears back in, gathered the fishes the net had caught and ran as fast as I could to our tree. I didn’t mind that Iyingima had said it wasn’t ours, to me it always will be. It gave me warmth and assurance that Iyingima was always with me. I stared at the very ripe mangoes and for once I thought I could disobey Iyingima, I stretched my hands and plucked one of the closest to me… It was as tasty as it looked. I made the fire and started roasting my fishes.
A lot of things had changed since Iyingima was taken. Apart from the troops of armed soldiers that still filled the village, the shootings had reduced. Our villagers had regained their lost voices. I now lived with Iyingima’s sister, aunt Boma.
We had been told that the women who were taken captives had been released and we could go to the river to wait if we had any captive relations. I was very excited. I sang loudly as I had my bath that morning, I hardly sang, but I was so excited that I forgot breakfast and hurried to the river to see Iyingima.
We were so many waiting for our loved ones. We waited until the sun began to sleep, until many people gave up and went home. I was determined to see Iyingima, something told me she would come back to me, and so I ignored the rumbles my stomach made for hunger and the stabbing pain in my head.
Just as the stars began to shine, I saw some men rowing furiously towards the shore. Everyone had gone home except me. Then they stopped just before the shore and began hauling several ‘things’ into the river. I came closer to the bank of the oil stained river and watched the many lifeless bodies litter the river. I sighted Iyingima’s body, as it floated to the shore. I saw the men strap themselves to their boats and continue their journey, like nothing had happened, like I had not watched them roll my mother’s body out the boat and unto the water. I turned back to walk home, my eyes were too heavy with pain to cry, or maybe I feared that my tears would be the colour of the river, greenish-black as the oil that was spilled in it. I did not know who to be angry at, the government who had said there were laws to protect our interests, the Amayanabo, who had sold us out, the multinationals who had destroyed the delta or the blood thirsty asemini awo (youths) who they now tagged militants, the same people that had killed Iyingima. They were aborigines just like me, but they had lost who they were, their identity, just like our Delta has.
PS: Tales by Irene has always and will always be a strictly inspirational blog. This story was shared to give hope to the Niger Deltans of Nigeria in Africa. This entirely fictional story was created by the author’s imagination… Any resemblances to existing individuals are mere coincidences.
Irene I. Ikiriko ©2016
VISIT: https://inspireneyou.wordpress.com/ for more of Tales by Irene
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I am an aborigine of the Niger delta, where our roads are rivers, decorated with lush mangrove (Angala) vegetation that house thousands of biodiversity. We don’t need those iron houses that people pull around these days, we have our boats and canoes. We are not hunters, we are fishermen, the only tools we use are nets. We only hear about guns, I have not actually seen one, except the one some village craftsmen construct. Our meals are always sandwiched with our sea friends from who we receive protein that sustain us, and even more enthusiasm to harvest them from their habitat.
My name is Alali but most people refer to me as Ala. I was five years old when they came, introducing to our king, the Amayanabo, the concept of the black gold. They brought machines that awed him and modernized drawings of how our village would look if they found this black gold where we dwell. He was enticed by their sugar coated words, because he did not refuse them, even after several warnings from the chiefs of the nine clans. They promised to give our youths jobs, jobs they claimed were not as stressful as our net drawing while fishing. This news came as fresh palm wine on the tongues of many lazy fishermen. They whispered the news to many, to get as much people as they could to buy the idea, to them it was a business of networking. Our young women paraded themselves as a new criterion had added to the list of “tall, handsome and God fearing men” as eligible husbands. It was now “He must be a multinational driller.”
My mother was a trader, a fish seller to be precise. Sometimes when papa had a very good catch, I helped her dry, roast and sell some fishes. My mother’s name was Iyingima which means “my mother” in my dialect. When I had first learned to understand and later speak my dialect, I asked her why everyone called her their mother, I was about the age of four then. She had thrown her head back and laughed really hard, like she was about to choke. I feared she would have a heart attack, as I watched her chest dance in rhythmic upheaves.
“They call me that because it is my name.”
“Can I call you that too?” I had asked innocently.
“Of course, I am your mother, your very own Iyingima.” She replied.
My father was a fisherman, just like most of the village men. He was a culture fanatic and so I was not surprised when I heard he was one of the men who opposed the idea of digging up our soils, in search of gold that was black.
“This foolishness must not continue, how can gold be black? We do not have enough lands to build and farm on, yet they seek to reduce the available ones to a searching ground.” I overheard him say to Iyingima the other day.
I did not have siblings, either because Iyingima and papa were too busy working that they didn’t have time to make babies, or because our lives changed when those multinationals discovered the black gold, in our village.
It was Sunday, the 16th of January 1956. A group of the multinationals discovered the black gold on one of the surveyed lands close to the river. The town crier, Iyaye went round the village announcing the news. The Amayanabo declared the week as the ‘Delta carnival’, he said we were to celebrate how rich our village would become.
The next day, the president of our country visited our village. There were so many reporters, tourists and some other strangers. Everyone seemed excited with the discovery of the black gold in our village, they said it would bring great wealth not only to our village, but to our country as well. Only the men in our village were allowed outside, women and children stayed home to receive any news when the men came home. Papa did not go out like the other men to meet with the president and possibly see what this black gold looked like. He said all the men who had gone out were people who could sell their souls to the devil.
The old-new news that crude oil, as they called it, had been found in the Delta was all people talked about for weeks. The phrase “crude oil” seemed to be sugar to every lip that could speak, and for every ear that heard, it was an entertaining news.
Our fantasies and excitement was short-lived when Kalayingi, a young woman who grew crops by the river went to weed her farm. Her scream filled the village and forced a meeting. There was black gold spills that had killed her crops. There were black gold spills everywhere. Many people complained about their dying crops, others feared it might destroy our lands and the fishermen screamed that the multinationals were emptying their wastes into the rivers, so fishes had moved and to get a good catch, if there was any catch at all, one needed to row deep into the river. Others complained that very few people were selected to work at the well stations. The Amayanabo listened as everyone stated their complaints, each voice trying to subdue the other. Then he waved his hand, signalling for silence.
“I have heard you, we shall choose nine men from the nine clans as emissaries to these multinationals.” He said slowly. “They will state our complaints and give them the ultimatum: to do things right or leave our land!”
There were several ‘Yeses’ and ‘Mmns’ after the Amayanabo spoke.
Papa was one of the men who was chosen as emissaries. He told Iyingima and I that he would not rest until our Delta regained its lost glory.
The multinationals and the emissaries reached an agreement which stated that the multinationals would lay-off some indigenes who worked for them, stating that they needed “skills”, which was why they did things wrongly. The emissaries agreed, ‘if that would bring our Delta back’.
Two months later, there was yet another shriek that filled the village as everyone ran out to find Ibiye, a young fisherman in flames. Many things were done to stop the fire, but when the fire was out, he had already burned to death. He had tried to ‘take’ crude oil from the pipes that flowed. Someone offered to tell the story which we were all keen to hear. He was one of the workers the multinationals decided to lay-off, He was part of those lazy youths who did not want to fish. He decided to steal crude and start his own business. It was a sorry story. Papa was very upset when he heard the story.
“These people have destroyed us, they will not leave us until we are wiped off. That is why the gold is black, it is death’s gold. They have squeezed everything we once loved that we no longer pursue our goals but theirs.” He spat, pointing towards the charred corpse.
“Look away.” Iyingima ordered as I followed papa’s finger, but it was too late. I had seen and heard enough. Our Delta was sick and we did not know what medicine could heal it.
That week most of the villagers stayed at home, there were a lot of snoopy reporters everywhere, like vultures waiting on a carcass. They wanted to know Ibiye’s story, but no villager was ready to tell.
Months passed and things got even worse. Slowly, I watched our once plenteous biodiversity diminish. There were no soils left to grow crops on, there was crude oil litters everywhere. Even the Angala looked like it did not receive enough water, its leaves began to fall like it was dry season. Nobody went to the rivers to bathe or have a drink, the water was considered poison. Our fishes choked to death and you could see their bodies adrift the water, our youths became blood thirsty people who stopped at nothing to obtain this gold or at least get the supposed promise.
Papa left home about two months ago. Iyingima and I have not heard from him since then. We have been told he joined the new “men revolution” to protect our Delta’s interests. Two weeks before papa left, he had stopped going to the river to check his nets. He would come home really late, when the only noise outside were the crick-crick sound the crickets made. When he was at home, he had these visitors whom only spoke in whispers. Once I had peeked and saw one of them handing papa a metal object that looked just like the ones the carvers made, I suspected that it was a gun. I did not tell Iyingima because she worried a lot, but I kept wondering why papa had need for a gun.
Iyingima and I had gone to the market to sell the fish she had bought from some fishermen early this morning, when some men ran through the market shooting. People ran helter-skelter, some packing their wares first, and others who seemed to value their lives more ran to find shelter. Soldiers invaded our village and brutally closed down all the markets, physically abusing anyone who tried to oppose them. A lot of people were killed during the massacre. We later learned that some of the women were kidnapped by the shooters, people the news called militants, angry youths of the Delta.
Our village became a jungle, the shootings continued for weeks. Whenever we were away from our homes, we had to raise our hands while we were thoroughly searched by troops of soldiers for any suspicious equipment. My village became a silent den, if one whispered in their homes it could be heard miles away. Everyone grew quiet, even the birds chirped quietly, like they understood the need for silence. Iyingima grew from the once jovial person I knew to a very quiet and timid person. There were a lot of things we did not talk about at home, a lot of things we were silent about, until the silence became deafening. Things like why papa left and if he would ever return, things like how we had to buy fish before we could sell, unlike when papa provided the fish, the shootings in the village and the fear that was our strength, the fear that protected us and kept us alive each day, so when Iyingima asked if I still thought of papa, I was surprised.
“No, Iyingima you are double parent enough.” I replied, meaning every word.
There was no light in the room, save little flickers that flashed through the window from our neighbour’s coal lamp, but I could see that Iyingima’s eyes held water.
“You know he is a good man? He will come back home.” She said more to herself than me, “He will come back home.” she repeated, assured.
I was only ten but I knew that even if it was what mama wanted the most, papa was not coming back, I did not want him to come back either. Sometimes his fanaticism with culture made him mistreat Iyingima. These months he was gone, she had put on weight and looked healthier.
“Iyingima, there are mangoes growing on our tree.” I said enthusiastically, hoping to shift Iyingima’s mind from papa. It seemed to work as her countenance brightened.
“I noticed yesterday, but you can’t pluck them, it isn’t our tree, it belongs to someone else. We only use it as shade when roasting the fishes your father catches.”
The next day, Iyingima and I were having lunch when some men knocked at our house fiercely thundering “wari e?” Iyingima asked me to hide in the kitchen as she asked who they were “tubo e?” They did not reply, everywhere was silent until I heard the banging sound the door made as it hit the floor.
“She’s his wife.” I heard a man’s voice and I peeked to see them drag Iyingima by the hair out of the house.
I did not hear from them or Iyingima again.
I was by the river checking some of papa’s nets the other day when I heard some women talking.
“Poor ereminitoku” the older one said, pushing her lips towards me as she dragged her net out of a canoe. The other one shook her head.
“Some say her mother is dead, that the men killed her because her father is part of the people opposing them.”
“Hush!!” the older woman warned. “She might hear you.”
It had been two weeks since I last saw Iyingima, since those men dragged her out of our house, but I had never felt her absence as much as I did now. Tears stood at the corners of my eyes, threatening to drop. Iyingima had always told me that crying solved problems most times, but I felt crying wasn’t enough at times like this. I blinked really hard to push the tears back in, gathered the fishes the net had caught and ran as fast as I could to our tree. I didn’t mind that Iyingima had said it wasn’t ours, to me it always will be. It gave me warmth and assurance that Iyingima was always with me. I stared at the very ripe mangoes and for once I thought I could disobey Iyingima, I stretched my hands and plucked one of the closest to me… It was as tasty as it looked. I made the fire and started roasting my fishes.
A lot of things had changed since Iyingima was taken. Apart from the troops of armed soldiers that still filled the village, the shootings had reduced. Our villagers had regained their lost voices. I now lived with Iyingima’s sister, aunt Boma.
We had been told that the women who were taken captives had been released and we could go to the river to wait if we had any captive relations. I was very excited. I sang loudly as I had my bath that morning, I hardly sang, but I was so excited that I forgot breakfast and hurried to the river to see Iyingima.
We were so many waiting for our loved ones. We waited until the sun began to sleep, until many people gave up and went home. I was determined to see Iyingima, something told me she would come back to me, and so I ignored the rumbles my stomach made for hunger and the stabbing pain in my head.
Just as the stars began to shine, I saw some men rowing furiously towards the shore. Everyone had gone home except me. Then they stopped just before the shore and began hauling several ‘things’ into the river. I came closer to the bank of the oil stained river and watched the many lifeless bodies litter the river. I sighted Iyingima’s body, as it floated to the shore. I saw the men strap themselves to their boats and continue their journey, like nothing had happened, like I had not watched them roll my mother’s body out the boat and unto the water. I turned back to walk home, my eyes were too heavy with pain to cry, or maybe I feared that my tears would be the colour of the river, greenish-black as the oil that was spilled in it. I did not know who to be angry at, the government who had said there were laws to protect our interests, the Amayanabo, who had sold us out, the multinationals who had destroyed the delta or the blood thirsty asemini awo (youths) who they now tagged militants, the same people that had killed Iyingima. They were aborigines just like me, but they had lost who they were, their identity, just like our Delta has.
PS: Tales by Irene has always and will always be a strictly inspirational blog. This story was shared to give hope to the Niger Deltans of Nigeria in Africa. This entirely fictional story was created by the author’s imagination… Any resemblances to existing individuals are mere coincidences.
Irene I. Ikiriko ©2016
VISIT: https://inspireneyou.wordpress.com/ for more of Tales by Irene
Copyright TALES BY IRENE.
All rights reserved. This material, and other digital content on this website, may not be reproduced, published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed in whole or in part without prior express written permission from TALES BY IRENE.
All rights reserved. This material, and other digital content on this website, may not be reproduced, published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed in whole or in part without prior express written permission from TALES BY IRENE.
Inspirational Woman Loses 400kg
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![12509394_1085001141550059_3734171077467858771_n[1]](https://i.onthe.io/vllkyt1aric9kn36gg.71eaa88a.jpg)
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After you see this inspirational woman’s incredible transformation you’ll never stop believing that anything is possible!
Mayra Rosales is an amazing and inspirational woman.
After years of an unhealthy lifestyle, fattening junk food and
absolutely no exercise, Rosales ballooned in size to end up weighing
450kg.
She could not get out of her bed, do anything like cleaning around
the house, every single breath had become laborious and exhausting.
She had become morbidly obese, likely to die at young age because of
her gluttony and ginormous size, doomed by the folds of her fat.
At this point, many people would given in to despair, fearing that
nothing could change them or their circumstances, and would accept their
fate.
Not Rosales. She was determined to change her lot and to finally become healthy.
So she decided to embark on a strict regime of surgery, dieting and
exercise. Her road to recovery was long and arduous, and many would
have given up along the way.
But Rosales persevered, and she’s now enjoying a healthy lifestyle as
an example to everyone out there struggling their weight issues as you
can see from the pictures below. Well done Mayra!
Drunk student emails his lecturer... gets brilliant reply!
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If these letters are real, then it's brilliant. It was posted on on Reddit and has gone viral. Right is an email from US student, Patrick Davidson, which he wrote to his lecturer while he drunk, asking for an extension and apologizing to the teacher about his bald head. And right is the brilliant reply the drunk student got from his lecturer, who granted him an extension on the condition that he bring him a bottle of whatever Patrick had been drinking.
Man throws away,recovers Lottery tickets worth $10,000
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A Georgia man has recovered $10,000 worth of lottery tickets he had thrown away in the trash.
Multiple media outlets report that Cedric Jackson on Friday thought that he had narrowly missed winning a $5,000 jackpot on two lottery tickets.
Jackson, who lives in Rome, Georgia, says he asked a convenience store employee to throw the tickets away Saturday, but later that day realized his tickets had in fact been winners. Jackson returned to the store.
After going through the store's trash can and dumpster in vain, Jackson left the store empty-handed.
It wasn't until later in the day that the employee, Ricky Singh, remembered he had thrown the tickets into a trash can inside an inner office.
Singh called Jackson to tell him he'd found the winning tickets.
FNC
The incredible 82ft-tall hotel aquarium in Berlin that has an elevator for guests inside it
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The mesmerising AquaDom is situated inside a Radisson Blu hotel in Berlin, as part of Sea Life Berlin.
Standing
at 82 feet high and containing over one million litres of water, it is
said to be the largest cylindrical tank in the world.
Perhaps
the most impressive part of the attraction is that guests can take a
lift that runs through the centre of the tank, giving them the perfect
chance to witness all of the aquarium's 1,500 fish, from 97 species.
Cleaning the tank is no easy feat however, and needs to be carried out by divers three or four times daily.
The project did not come cheap, and cost a whopping €12.8 million (£9 million). And it is not just the large aquarium which draws marine-lovers to the hotel.
The project did not come cheap, and cost a whopping €12.8 million (£9 million). And it is not just the large aquarium which draws marine-lovers to the hotel.
Under the AquaDom are many other water attractions including a walk-through underwater tunnel and an interactive rockpool.
77 year old tourist trampled to death by cows while taking shortcut in the Swiss Alps
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A 77-year-old German tourist is dead after she was attacked by cows while hiking through a pasture in the Swiss Alps.
The woman was taking a shortcut through a fenced-off area, and there was a sign warning people to avoid the cows.
The bizarre incident occurred near
Laax, in the canton of Graubunden, as the woman was walking to the
Grauberg gondola station from a restaurant.
She passed through an electric fence and was knocked over and trampled by cows as they grazed on a trail, said police.
The animals were apparently trying to protect their calves.
A cyclist called for help and a
doctor attended the scene, but the woman, from Berlin, died at the scene
despite attempts to resuscitate her.
MFM offers N91 mil to 180 First class graduates
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Mountain of Fire and Miracles Ministries on Saturday offered financial
rewards of N91 million to its members who earned first class grades from
different universities across the country.
The General Overseer of MFM, Dr. Daniel Olukoya, made the announcement
in Lagos at the monthly live broadcast programme of the church, tagged,
“Power Must Change Hands,”.
He said 180 first class graduates in the 2014
academic year and two others who received NYSC Presidential honours
after completing the National Youth Service Corps would get N500,000
each.
Olukoya said the first class honours award, which started with 12 students, had risen to 180 and explained that it was meant to encourage hard work among students.
He said the award was put in place to reward members of MFM who were dedicated to their academic work, while also creating time to serve the Almighty God.
Mrs. Shade Olukoya, a pastor, with Prof. Bamitale Omole Vice Chancellor, Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile Ife, presented the award to the recipients.
Omole lauded the recipients for their dedication to their academic works and also serving God.
He commended the students for making themselves, families, and the church of God proud through their hard work.
Omole urged the recipients to appreciate the grace of God upon their lives and noted that many of their peers who started with them could not complete their courses for different reasons.
He called on other churches to emulate MFM by encouraging hardworking students through similar awards.
NAN
Olukoya said the first class honours award, which started with 12 students, had risen to 180 and explained that it was meant to encourage hard work among students.
He said the award was put in place to reward members of MFM who were dedicated to their academic work, while also creating time to serve the Almighty God.
Mrs. Shade Olukoya, a pastor, with Prof. Bamitale Omole Vice Chancellor, Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile Ife, presented the award to the recipients.
Omole lauded the recipients for their dedication to their academic works and also serving God.
He commended the students for making themselves, families, and the church of God proud through their hard work.
Omole urged the recipients to appreciate the grace of God upon their lives and noted that many of their peers who started with them could not complete their courses for different reasons.
He called on other churches to emulate MFM by encouraging hardworking students through similar awards.
“The award is worthy of emulation, I urge other households of faith to follow MFM steps to encourage hard work,” he said.
NAN
Bill Gate's wife carries water on her head and washes dishes in Malawi
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Melinda Gates, who is the wife of the richest man in the world, Bill
Gates, was recently in Malawi for a visit. She said during her stay
there, she joined women to fetch water and she carried 20 liters of
water and it was tough for her.
She said the woman in the middle, Chrissy, carried 40 liters of water and was very impressed at how the women in the picture were able to do so effortlessly.
She shared this photo and captioned it:
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She said the woman in the middle, Chrissy, carried 40 liters of water and was very impressed at how the women in the picture were able to do so effortlessly.
Helping wash the dishes during my homestay in Malawi. Women spend much of the day cooking and then cleaning up. It’s a reminder that it’s a lot more time consuming to do dishes when you can’t just turn on a faucet
Man narrates how his friend was nearly killed at a club in Abuja
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Sorry if the photo is too graphic for some of you. A LIB reader explains
how his friend (another LIB reader) was attacked with a red label
bottle and nearly killed at a club in Abuja. His story below..
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Early hours of the 5th day in July, 2015, at the Bank Club inside Dabras hotel, Abuja F.C.T, a gentle-man named Mr. Rex was almost murdered in cold-blood. As Mr. Rex entered the club and proceeded into the V.I.P section, there was a young lady blocking the entrance of the section, he quickly tapped her to excuse him, while sliding through due to the loud music that was being played. Shortly after, another young man approached Mr. Rex stating that the he tapped his girlfriend while entering the section and she didn't appreciate being tapped.Mr. Rex immediately waved his hand to the girlfriend apologizing for his action. The boyfriend insisted that Mr Rex approached his girlfriend and apologize again which he immediately obliged. Walking towards the girlfriend to apologize again, Mr rex was struck on the head from his back with a red label bottle, which by the way is not sold in the VIP section of the club. Mr Rex was immediately rushed to the hospital for medical attention. The Nigeria Police Force and other security agencies are currently investigating the matter as a case of attempted murder. The club is a risk to Nigerians and other socialites. I hope the relevant agencies continue to investigate this matter until the perpetrators are brought to book.
This 24 year old Nigerian lady says she's slept with 600 men
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The unidentified lady claims she slept with over 600 men in a year. That
is definitely an exaggeration because we only have 365 days in a year
and if you had every day with different men, (which is impossible,
cmon!) you still have to account for about 235 days. Anyway, the student
of a vocational institute in Owerri, Imo
State, told Sunday Sun that she resorted to using her body for money when her boyfriend who was sponsoring her education abandoned her.
She said that when her boyfriend walked out of the relationship, she got a job in the bar section of a hotel but her take-home pay could barely take her anywhere. So, one day, she went to a nightclub with her friends and a man took her to his hotel room. The following morning, the man gave her N15,000 for services rendered and she was hooked.
Consider what she said:
How much were you making per night?
Sometimes N5,000 or more. Sometimes a man will sleep with you and in the morning he will start telling you stories, saying he has no money.
In such situation what do you do?
What can you do? You just go home.
When did you start hustling?
Last year.
About how many men have you slept with?
About 600 men slept with me from last year to this year.
How many since you started?
That is all, sir.
Are you truly promising that you won’t do prostitution again?
Yes, I promise.
How many abortions have you done?
Two times. I’m telling you the truth.
Do you have children?
No.
Do you really mean that you slept with only 600 men from last year to this year?
Yes.
Can you remember the first time you had sex?
2009. The person was your boyfriend?
Not really a friend.
How?
He impregnated me and left me. I was in SS3. That happened in 2009.
How old were you when he got you pregnant?
18 years. My final year in secondary school.
Did you complete secondary school?
Yes.
Did you abort the pregnancy?
Yes.
You did it in a hospital or chemist shop?
Yes, in a hospital. The man gave me money to abort it.
How much?
N15,000
Who took you to the hospital?
My girlfriend.
How old was the pregnancy?
One month.
Did you tell your parents about the pregnancy?
No.
How long did you date the man?
He was not my friend.
So, what happened?
My girlfriend and I were going to my uncle’s place in Asaba but somehow, I lost the address of the place. So we were stranded that night; we didn’t know what to do. We now met the man and told him what happened to us. He now accommodated us in his house. That night, he gave me food to eat. The following day I left. I did not know I was pregnant.
Did he rape you?
Something like that. The food I ate made me sleep off.
Was he the first man to sleep with you?
Yes.
Your girlfriend also slept in the same house
Yes, with the guy’s friend.
His friend slept with your friend?
I don’t know. She did not tell me.
When did you get pregnant for the second time?
Who did it?
My boyfriend.
He asked you to abort it?
No. He wanted to marry me but I don’t like him for marriage.
How old was the pregnancy before the abortion?
One month.
Do you like sex?
Please, why are you asking me all these questions? No. I don’t. But I will for my loved one.
Hope you are now using condoms?
Yes.
Have you done HIV test?
Yes.
When?
Last two months.
Why? Did you suspect that you were infected?
How? No.
Why did you go for the test?
Nothing. I just went.
There must be a reason for doing that. Tell me the truth
Ok. A man came to seek my hand in marriage. That was why I went.
Why didn’t you marry him?
I don’t like him.
How much did you save from hustling?
I don’t have any money, please.
What did you do with the money you made?
I used it to take care of my school fees, house rent and myself.
How much are your school fees and house rent?
My school fees is N20,000 while my house rent is N100,000 a year. It is a self-contain apartment but I have a roommate.
Do you go to church?
Yes. I do.
After sleeping with a man in a hotel at night, you go to church in the morning?
Not always.
Why did you stop hustling?
I’m tired of it.
Is it because you are no longer making enough money?
It’s not like that. I want to settle down. I’m tired.
You are tired of everyday sex?
Yes. I want to marry. I need God’s help in my life.
If a man offers you like N20,000 for a night, will you reject it?
Yes. I’m tired.
Please sir, I need help. I only look up to God for help.
When was the last time you went out on business?
I can’t remember the date but it was on a Sunday. I think it was in May.
So, no amount of money can make you do it?
Yes sir.
Will you confess to your husband when you marry that you slept with more than 600 men in one year?
Yes. If he is the one that will understand me, I will.
You will confess before or after marriage?
Before.
When you were active in the business, you used to sleep with several men in a day?
Maybe.
Have you slept with two men at once?
No. I don’t do that.
Do you sleep with your fellow students and teachers?
No.
Have you ever made love with a woman?
No.
Is your roommate also a student-prostitute?
No. But she has a boyfriend.
And she doesn’t advise you?
No.
But she knows that you sleep around?
Yes. Her parents are rich.
Your parents don’t ask you how you are managing in school?
I tell them that my boyfriend is helping me.
Were you into blow jobs?
I don’t understand you.
Were you giving your customers blow jobs?
I’m not feeling fine. I’m very sick.
Answer the question
No. Please stop.
Answer. Do you charge extra for blow jobs?
Please, I don’t know what to say to you.
Were you into blow jobs?
Yes. But not all customers.
Those who ask for it?
No. if I like, I do it.
Do you charge extra for that?
No. Why do you want to know?
Do you enjoy it?
No.
Why then were you doing it?
I just feel like doing it some times.
How does sperm taste?
Please can you tell me why you are asking me all these questions? Please, I don’t know. I know that I need help from God but I don’t want to answer this kind of questions.
Is the girl you travelled to Asaba with also a prostitute?
Please I don’t know. She is a student.
Which school?
Unilag.
Have you ever been arrested by the police?
No.
I want to link you with an NGO that rehabilitates prostitutes. Your life will be turned around.
How? I don’t understand. Hmmm. Me?
Permanent solution to your problem
Prostitutes? That means you don’t like me.
Ladies looking for men to sleep with are called prostitutes or harlots. You were doing that
Yes I know. But not now.
Ok. You are a retired prostitute
No. I’m not a prostitute.
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“My boyfriend whom I met at Onitsha, Anambra State when I went to visit an uncle was sponsoring my education. We had agreed to get married as soon as possible. Then some people I regarded as friends started peddling wicked lies against me and without confirming if what they were saying was true or false, he called it quits just like that. They told him I had an incurable disease. So, I decided to help myself because my parents cannot do anything for me. We are poor” she explained.She also had a very interesting interview with The Sun newspaper reporter. Read that after the cut...
She said that when her boyfriend walked out of the relationship, she got a job in the bar section of a hotel but her take-home pay could barely take her anywhere. So, one day, she went to a nightclub with her friends and a man took her to his hotel room. The following morning, the man gave her N15,000 for services rendered and she was hooked.
Consider what she said:
“They were paying me N10,000 a month and you work late hours. But if you go out to hustle in the night, you can get that kind of money within a day or two. About 600 men slept with me from last year to this year.”But Beatrice is now singing a different tune. She said that she later discovered that prostitution is not as lucrative as she had thought. She said that she is tired of warming men’s bed every night, adding that she wants to settle down. Below is excerpt of the conversation she had with the Sun Reporter:
How much were you making per night?
Sometimes N5,000 or more. Sometimes a man will sleep with you and in the morning he will start telling you stories, saying he has no money.
In such situation what do you do?
What can you do? You just go home.
When did you start hustling?
Last year.
About how many men have you slept with?
About 600 men slept with me from last year to this year.
How many since you started?
That is all, sir.
Are you truly promising that you won’t do prostitution again?
Yes, I promise.
How many abortions have you done?
Two times. I’m telling you the truth.
Do you have children?
No.
Do you really mean that you slept with only 600 men from last year to this year?
Yes.
Can you remember the first time you had sex?
2009. The person was your boyfriend?
Not really a friend.
How?
He impregnated me and left me. I was in SS3. That happened in 2009.
How old were you when he got you pregnant?
18 years. My final year in secondary school.
Did you complete secondary school?
Yes.
Did you abort the pregnancy?
Yes.
You did it in a hospital or chemist shop?
Yes, in a hospital. The man gave me money to abort it.
How much?
N15,000
Who took you to the hospital?
My girlfriend.
How old was the pregnancy?
One month.
Did you tell your parents about the pregnancy?
No.
How long did you date the man?
He was not my friend.
So, what happened?
My girlfriend and I were going to my uncle’s place in Asaba but somehow, I lost the address of the place. So we were stranded that night; we didn’t know what to do. We now met the man and told him what happened to us. He now accommodated us in his house. That night, he gave me food to eat. The following day I left. I did not know I was pregnant.
Did he rape you?
Something like that. The food I ate made me sleep off.
Was he the first man to sleep with you?
Yes.
Your girlfriend also slept in the same house
Yes, with the guy’s friend.
His friend slept with your friend?
I don’t know. She did not tell me.
When did you get pregnant for the second time?
Who did it?
My boyfriend.
He asked you to abort it?
No. He wanted to marry me but I don’t like him for marriage.
How old was the pregnancy before the abortion?
One month.
Do you like sex?
Please, why are you asking me all these questions? No. I don’t. But I will for my loved one.
Hope you are now using condoms?
Yes.
Have you done HIV test?
Yes.
When?
Last two months.
Why? Did you suspect that you were infected?
How? No.
Why did you go for the test?
Nothing. I just went.
There must be a reason for doing that. Tell me the truth
Ok. A man came to seek my hand in marriage. That was why I went.
Why didn’t you marry him?
I don’t like him.
How much did you save from hustling?
I don’t have any money, please.
What did you do with the money you made?
I used it to take care of my school fees, house rent and myself.
How much are your school fees and house rent?
My school fees is N20,000 while my house rent is N100,000 a year. It is a self-contain apartment but I have a roommate.
Do you go to church?
Yes. I do.
After sleeping with a man in a hotel at night, you go to church in the morning?
Not always.
Why did you stop hustling?
I’m tired of it.
Is it because you are no longer making enough money?
It’s not like that. I want to settle down. I’m tired.
You are tired of everyday sex?
Yes. I want to marry. I need God’s help in my life.
If a man offers you like N20,000 for a night, will you reject it?
Yes. I’m tired.
Please sir, I need help. I only look up to God for help.
When was the last time you went out on business?
I can’t remember the date but it was on a Sunday. I think it was in May.
So, no amount of money can make you do it?
Yes sir.
Will you confess to your husband when you marry that you slept with more than 600 men in one year?
Yes. If he is the one that will understand me, I will.
You will confess before or after marriage?
Before.
When you were active in the business, you used to sleep with several men in a day?
Maybe.
Have you slept with two men at once?
No. I don’t do that.
Do you sleep with your fellow students and teachers?
No.
Have you ever made love with a woman?
No.
Is your roommate also a student-prostitute?
No. But she has a boyfriend.
And she doesn’t advise you?
No.
But she knows that you sleep around?
Yes. Her parents are rich.
Your parents don’t ask you how you are managing in school?
I tell them that my boyfriend is helping me.
Were you into blow jobs?
I don’t understand you.
Were you giving your customers blow jobs?
I’m not feeling fine. I’m very sick.
Answer the question
No. Please stop.
Answer. Do you charge extra for blow jobs?
Please, I don’t know what to say to you.
Were you into blow jobs?
Yes. But not all customers.
Those who ask for it?
No. if I like, I do it.
Do you charge extra for that?
No. Why do you want to know?
Do you enjoy it?
No.
Why then were you doing it?
I just feel like doing it some times.
How does sperm taste?
Please can you tell me why you are asking me all these questions? Please, I don’t know. I know that I need help from God but I don’t want to answer this kind of questions.
Is the girl you travelled to Asaba with also a prostitute?
Please I don’t know. She is a student.
Which school?
Unilag.
Have you ever been arrested by the police?
No.
I want to link you with an NGO that rehabilitates prostitutes. Your life will be turned around.
How? I don’t understand. Hmmm. Me?
Permanent solution to your problem
Prostitutes? That means you don’t like me.
Ladies looking for men to sleep with are called prostitutes or harlots. You were doing that
Yes I know. But not now.
Ok. You are a retired prostitute
No. I’m not a prostitute.
A diver exploring an old shipwreck finds Gold artifacts worth over $1 Million
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A Florida family has been rewarded for years of treasure hunting after finding gold artifacts worth $1 million or more from the wreckage of a 1715 Spanish fleet that sank in the Atlantic Ocean.
Eric Schmitt found the coins in 15 feet of water off Fort Pierce, approximately 130 miles north of Miami. The find included 51 gold coins of various denominations and 40 feet of ornate gold chain.
The gold chains are made of small, handcrafted, two-sided links of six-petaled olive blossoms. They were called money chains and are believed to have been used as a tax-free coinage.
Under federal and state law, Florida will take possession of up to 20% of the find for display in a state museum. The Schmitt family will keep the remainder.
Source: Sunnyskyz
Under federal and state law, Florida will take possession of up to 20% of the find for display in a state museum. The Schmitt family will keep the remainder.
Source: Sunnyskyz
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SARS men dressed our son like armed robber, placed gun on him – Family of murdered youth
Eight days after the killing of a 33-year-old man, Orimisan Omoboye, in Ilaje area of Ajah Lagos, during a botched operation by men of the Special Anti-Robbery Squad in Lagos, the family said their greatest fear has come true.
The SARS operatives, who mistakenly shot dead the young man during their operation in the area, have labelled him an armed robber.
It would be recalled that when our correspondent spoke with the victim’s 65-year-old mother, Mama Espa Omoboye, on Monday, July 20, 2015 – the day of the incident, she expressed fear that her son might be labelled an armed robber who was shot while trying to escape because the men refused to hand over his corpse after the incident.
Mama Espa said as her son laid lifeless on the ground, she begged the SARS operatives to leave his body for her, while other youths who had gathered also demanded that the operatives leave the body.
“They killed my son unjustly and took his body away again as if it was some kind of animal killed while hunting. God would judge them if they go and label him a robber,” the woman said at the time.
But fast forward to July 28, 2015, the family said they visited the SARS headquarters in Ikeja, Lagos, only to be shown a photograph of the body of the victim and was told that he was an armed robber killed in a shootout with SARS operatives.
One of the deceased’s relations, who was at the SARS office said that a red cloth with fetish objects attached to it had been tied on the deceased body.
“When his body was taken away forcibly at Ajah, he had nothing like that on him. There were many Ajah youths around at the time, no gun was found on him. But in the photo they showed us, they had placed two guns on his body,” the relation, Mr. Kehinde Emmanuel said.
Orimisan was sleeping in his small one room apartment when he was roused from bed by the sound of gunshots. He reportedly dashed out of his room and was gunned down by SARS operatives who were purportedly in the community on the trail or armed robbers.
Residents said the operatives shot at him simply because he was running at the sound of gunshot.
Orimisan was married and had two children.
It was learnt that since the day of the incident, Orimisan’s wife had not stopped sobbing.
“It got so bad that her family had to relocate her to Ondo State because she refused to eat or talk to anybody. The problem now is how to take care of the children that the SARS operatives have made fatherless,” Emmanuel said.
The Civil Rights Liberty Organisation has taken up the case on behalf of the family, petitioning the Lagos State Commissioner of Police, Mr. Fatai Owoseni.
“SARS men who were armed to the teeth drove in in a Gestapo manner and invaded the area. In an unprovoked attack, they started shooting sporadically in the air. By the time the episode ended, the deceased was lying in a pool of his blood,” the group said in its petition.
The organisation said the attack was unprovoked and unjustified, calling on the Lagos State Police Command, to conduct an immediate and proper investigation into the case to ensure justice is done for the family.
In another petition sent to the Office of the Public Defender of the Lagos State Ministry of Justice, the family vented their anger.
“The SARS operatives like every other men of the Nigeria Police are fully aware that it is better for a suspect to escape than for one innocent citizen to be killed due to the misconduct of people who swore to protect lives and property,” the petition reads.
The family has also called on the Inspector-General of Police, Mr. Solomon Arase, to prevail on the Lagos command to ensure that the SARS men responsible for the botched operation in which Orimisan died, is fished out and thoroughly investigated.
The Police Public Relations Officer in the state, DSP Patricia Amadin, said even though she had not taken over as spokesperson in the command at the time of the operation, she would get details of the case and get back to our report. She had yet to do so as of the time this paper went to bed.
Punch
Woman gives birth to a baby without limbs in Bauchi
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A 20 year old indigene of Lussa in Bogoro Local Government Area in Bauchi, Blessing Samson, gave birth to a baby boy without limbs on July 4, 2015.
The baby Christened Chongfilawos, was born with only three fingers sticking out from shortened arms on each side of his shoulder.
Blessing who lives with her parents, Mr and Mrs Samson Baraya at their family house in Gudun Sayawa, said she delivered at home.
She said she couldn't make it to the Primary Health Care centre at Dumi, which was about 3 kilometres from Gudun Sayawa, because she experienced labour late at night
She said:
Bukata Bukar who is Blessing's older brother said:
Daily Mail
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A 20 year old indigene of Lussa in Bogoro Local Government Area in Bauchi, Blessing Samson, gave birth to a baby boy without limbs on July 4, 2015.
The baby Christened Chongfilawos, was born with only three fingers sticking out from shortened arms on each side of his shoulder.
Blessing who lives with her parents, Mr and Mrs Samson Baraya at their family house in Gudun Sayawa, said she delivered at home.
She said she couldn't make it to the Primary Health Care centre at Dumi, which was about 3 kilometres from Gudun Sayawa, because she experienced labour late at night
She said:
“My son Chongfilawos is a blessing from God. His birth was easy. When I saw him like this, at first I was not happy but later I prayed and told myself it is the will of God.
“I love him and I will protect him with everything I have,” she said.She said that the father of the child, Jehu Luka, a peasant farmer who lives in Lussa, was away when the baby was born but had come to check his child and left without saying anything.
Bukata Bukar who is Blessing's older brother said:
“This baby is a gift from God and we are not sad in the family,”
Daily Mail
Dear Biafrans- By Etcetera
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Etcetera talks about the state of Biafra, the recent shut down of Radio Biafra and how he thinks the Igbos have been marginalized in Nigeria. He also talked about the growth of Nigeria.
I have been receiving a lot of mails and phone calls in recent weeks requesting that I lend my voice in support of the ongoing campaign for the sovereign state of Biafra and to also speak up against the recent shut down of Radio Biafra by National Broadcasting Commission. I have decided to make my opinion known to those who have been bombarding me with requests to support the Biafran movement.
Yes, I believe that the Igbo have been marginalised in Nigeria right from 1970 till date. I also believe that as a people, the Igbo have every right to speak out and seek redress. I believe that no tribe or ethnic group in Nigeria deserves to be marginalised or shut out by certain quarters of government because of an incident of the past. Just like every Igbo man, I believe that Biafra was a good dream born out of a necessity at that time. It was a good dream which went horribly wrong and became a nightmare for us, the Igbo people and the whole of Nigeria from 1967 to 1970, from which I believe we have woken up.
It will be foolhardy to dream the same dream in the same way and manner without thoroughly accounting for why and how it turned into a nightmare, and factoring in the changes that have taken place in Nigeria since the 1960s.
The thought that the actualisation of the sovereign state of Biafra is in itself the solution to all the problems of Ndigbo is to display an understandable naivety about human nature and today’s politics. What we need as a people is a new vision that will encompass the lessons of the past, the changes that have taken place since the end of the civil war, the reality of present day Nigeria and demand for a system founded on justice, liberty and equality under the rule of law for Ndigbo and non Igbo as well.
I believe this new vision is attainable. They say charity begins at home and in this regard, I believe it is time for every honest and sincere Igbo man or woman, to channel his or her energy towards actualising good leadership and government in Igboland by joining the political process. It is time for every one of us to unite against corruption in our land.
It is time for Ndigbo to come together to reverse this ubiquitous trend of bad leadership ravishing Igboland and put in place a system that would enable the best of us to emerge as leaders. Great nations are ruled by their best minds and not by a band of common thieves without respect for individual liberty and democracy that do nothing but devise ingenious ways to looting the treasury and serve the vilest and most primitive of human instincts.
Without this political and cultural change embedded in the concept of our future, Igboland will remain underdeveloped, and that in itself, will constitute a gargantuan problem for us in the future. Making this necessary change in igboland will ensure that if and ever or when Nigeria collapses as a result of our collective idiocy, irresponsibility, ignorance and corruption, and the jumbo pay of politicians, Ndigbo will be better placed to build a new nation based on justice, equality, rule of law, tolerance, development and honesty. War has never been the solution to any problem.
I didn’t witness the civil war but from what I saw in my recent visit to Maiduguri, Adamawa and Plateau state, I have become a disciple of dialogue as a means to resolve issues. If Biafra will become a reality, it shouldn’t be through the barrel of a gun. It is wrong to seek divorce by putting a gun to your spouse’s head. We should realise that a divorce from Nigeria is also possible if the Nigeria state comes to its natural end because of years of ethnic and religious prejudices, injustices, and vision-less irresponsible, corrupt leadership that failed to lay the foundation of a viable state and make the necessary social investment for its survival.
This might be the natural course of events if Nigeria continues to sleep walk into disaster and neglect honest nation building. We shouldn’t continue to pursue the Biafra dream in the way and manner some people and groups are doing at the moment without regard to the present reality. It can only undermine the whole essence of the struggle. As an Igbo man, there is nothing I want for Igbo that I do not want for other ethnic groups. There is nothing
I wish for my fellow Christians that I do not wish for Muslims. We are all humans after all. We are all brothers and sisters divided by language, skin colours and religion. I believe that enlightenment is recognition of this basic facts, and that underneath our skins, flows blood of the same colour and minds that can think alike and able to overcome the prejudices which our difference try to impose on our judgment. There is nothing that can justify the killing of a fellow man. I can only lend my voice to a vision that doesn’t entail the destruction of lives and property.
I am sorry to say that the continuous clamour for the recognition of Biafra by America may not yield much because of the selfish nature of America’s foreign policy. If there is nothing in it for America, America won’t get involved. We are a great and industrious people.
For a start, won’t it be better to seek economic independence and have Nigeria and the rest of the world depend on us for something? Today, Africa has gone from car assemblage to total manufacturing.
I am proud that I am alive to witness this history, that a Nigerian made car can actually be better that the Toyotas and Hondas of this world, and it is all due to the ingenuity of an Igbo man. Ndigbo, this can be a place to start. Igbo kwenu!!
'Dead' woman wakes up screaming at funeral home
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Prosecutors in Germany have charged a doctor with negligent bodily harm for declaring a 92-year-old woman dead, only for her to awaken again in a refrigerated room at a funeral home.
Essen prosecutor Birgit Juergens said the 53-year-old doctor, whose name wasn’t released in line with privacy regulations, could face anything from a fine to prison time if convicted.
The doctor is alleged to have pronounced the seriously ill woman dead in March after a caregiver found her without a pulse and not breathing at a retirement home.
That Thursday evening, a worker at the funeral home where she’d been taken to heard a scream from the refrigeration room and discovered the woman alive.
Juergens says the 92 year old died 2 days later in a hospital from heart disease unrelated to the incident.
Source: FNC
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Essen prosecutor Birgit Juergens said the 53-year-old doctor, whose name wasn’t released in line with privacy regulations, could face anything from a fine to prison time if convicted.
The doctor is alleged to have pronounced the seriously ill woman dead in March after a caregiver found her without a pulse and not breathing at a retirement home.
That Thursday evening, a worker at the funeral home where she’d been taken to heard a scream from the refrigeration room and discovered the woman alive.
Juergens says the 92 year old died 2 days later in a hospital from heart disease unrelated to the incident.
Source: FNC
Woman says she's been delivered from lesbianism...goes from stud to beauty queen
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Her name is Chelsie Rene (mixed race - her mum is white) and for most of
her life, she lived proudly as a lesbian in Seattle and was a stud. She
took to Facebook a few days ago to let people know that she's decided
to embrace her feminine side and is now living as a straight woman...and
is no longer a stud. She shared her before and after photos. See more
after the cut...
As a tomboy lesbian....
As a straight woman...
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As a tomboy lesbian....
As a straight woman...