Read this with an open mind and have a rethink whenever you sees our security men especially the Army Navy and Air force..
*THE INVISIBLE WOUNDS OF THE NIGERIAN SOLDIERS*

By AH GULANI

The life of an average member of the Armed Forces is filled with confusion, sacrifice, and silent victimization both from within and outside our homes. While we are seen in public as symbols of courage and strength, behind closed doors, we are slowly fading shadows in the lives of those we fight to protect, including our very own families.

Our children grow up believing it is their mother who loves them most , who pays for their school fees, buys their clothes, feeds them, and nurtures them. Why? Because they barely see us. Duty calls us away , first to distant deployments, then to conflict zones. We miss birthdays, graduations, recitals, and religious holidays. To them, we are only a voice on the phone or a pixelated face on a video call.

Yes, salaries are paid. But more than 70% of it goes to our families to ensure their wellbeing. We work ourselves to the bone to give them comfort, yet our physical absence plants a seed of emotional distance. Many of us have missed Sallah and Christmas celebrations not once, but for years because duty had other plans.

By the time we die, our children don’t truly mourn our absence, it is something they have already grown used to. Our portraits on the wall are nothing but a formal reminder of a ghost who was once a father. We didn’t share enough time to leave strong memories. Even our wives may God bless them feel more like widows during our service years. Out of 20 years of marriage, we might spend only 30% of the time with them physically. Our lives are lived through calls and blurry WhatsApp video chats.

Our children sometimes deny us when we go on leave, unsure whether to call us “Daddy” or “Sir.” “Daddy, when are you coming back?” becomes a regular question, and with time, even that curiosity fades.

Our parents and siblings pull at us from one side, demanding our presence, our money, our attention. Yet we must answer to the call of service. Our childhood friends have become distant leaders.Our local communities now seem foreign. We miss weddings, funerals, naming ceremonies, family meetings. We are soldiers always away, always missing.

Even our annual leave is swallowed by part time professional development, or security emergencies. We are sometimes posted to remote regions, where our tribe or religion is a minority. Yet, with integrity and patriotism, we serve diligently.

And yet, it doesn’t end there. We’ve been victims of love denied , women refusing our proposals, not because they don’t love us, but because they fear becoming widows too soon, or being wives to ghosts, only connected by mobile data. We build beautiful homes with luxurious interiors, but we end up sleeping in trenches under the hot sun , onboard a ship on tiny best shaken by deep sea waves or in swampy forests, faces buried in dust, eyes scanning for enemies, hearts burdened by longing.

We have watched our comrades dying, some with bullets to the chest, others in pools of blood, whispering the names of their wives and children. And still, we fight.

We are mocked by some of the citizens we swore to protect. “Na dem dey beat us useless people ,” they say. “Wetindem dey even do?” they mock. We walk into markets and are charged higher instead of being honored. We are ridiculed in the media when one of us makes a mistake, but our gallantry and battlefield victories go unreported. When we fall, headlines read. ‘’Two soldiers killed by unknown gunmen.” No names. No honor. No legacy from the citizens except the armed forces honor.

Even worse, our enemies have become more organized while our sacrifices are not appreciated. We protect the integrity of the nation, ensure others sleep with both eyes closed yet our own families are restless because they never know if we’ll return.

Where do you want a soldier to belong? What do you want us to be?

We are not machines. We are human. We are citizens just like you. We bleed, we cry, we miss our families too. We are not foreigners , we are your brothers, sisters, uncles, daughters, and sons.

So please, Nigerians, if you cannot love the soldier, then at least show compassion. Love us for the sake of our wives who wait endlessly. Love us for the sake of our children who only see us in frames. Love us for the sake of the country we are dying for.

Despite the ridicule and discrimination, we still love you. We can’t stand by and watch you suffer not because we are commanded to protect you, but because it is in our blood to do so.

We only ask for one thing in return, your understanding, and your humanity.

God bless you and remain favour from Almighty God.

Been a long time
So.sorry i wasnt able to finisn the story's
But im back now
Episode 4: The Name No One Says

The morning light did nothing to chase away the unease clawing at Vanessa’s chest. Shadows still clung to the corners of her room as if reluctant to let go. The deep scratch on the door was real—she had run her fingers over it more than once, feeling the raw edges where the wood had been torn.

Something had been outside her door last night. Something that wasn’t human.

She needed answers.

Vanessa stepped into the hallway, every step careful, her ears tuned for any sound. The Hollow Inn was quiet, but not the peaceful kind. It was the kind of quiet that hummed with something unseen, something waiting.

Downstairs, the innkeeper was behind the front desk, her thin fingers slowly polishing a tarnished key. She didn’t look up when Vanessa approached.

"I need to ask you something," Vanessa said, keeping her voice steady.

The old woman exhaled through her nose, still not looking up. "You should leave."

Vanessa tightened her grip on her notebook. "I got a note last night. Someone—something—was outside my door." She hesitated. "And I saw the newspaper. Black Hollow disappeared in 1962. But it’s here. And so are you."

The innkeeper’s hands stilled.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, slowly, she lifted her head. Her eyes were pale, almost colorless, like fog rolling over dead water.

"You ask too many questions."

Vanessa swallowed. "I’m a journalist. It’s my job."

The woman’s gaze darkened. "Your job won’t matter if you’re dead."

A chill crawled up Vanessa’s spine. She wanted to push, demand more, but something in the woman’s tone—something final—made her pause.

Before she could say anything else, the bell above the inn’s door jingled.

A man stepped inside. He was older, his face lined with deep wrinkles, his clothes faded and worn. His eyes locked onto Vanessa, and she swore she saw recognition flicker there—though she had never seen him before in her life.

"New girl should go," he muttered. "Before it finds her."

Vanessa frowned. "Before what finds me?"

The man hesitated, glancing at the innkeeper. Her expression didn’t change, but something unsaid passed between them.

Then he turned back to Vanessa and said, "The thing that took this town."

The air left her lungs.

The innkeeper let out a slow breath. "Don’t say its name."

The man’s mouth tightened. "Names give power. And it’s already watching her."

Vanessa’s heart pounded. "What is watching me?"

The man licked his lips, hesitating. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said:

"The Hollow Man."

The room seemed to shrink around her, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

The innkeeper’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood. "You fool," she hissed. "Do you want to call it here?"

The man’s hands trembled. He took a step back. "It already knows."

A gust of wind howled through the inn, rattling the windows. The front door—though it had been firmly shut—creaked open an inch.

Vanessa’s breath hitched.

Outside, through the tiny gap in the door, something stood in the fog.

Tall. Motionless.

Waiting.

And though it had no face, she could feel its gaze locked onto her.


---

THE FALL: A TALE OF LOST DREAMS

In the vibrant city of Lagos, a young boy named Ola once shone bright with promise. His academic prowess and boundless energy made him a standout, with dreams of becoming a doctor or engineer. However, Ola's trajectory took a devastating turn when a friend introduced him to Rophynol, a pill that promised relaxation.

This seemingly innocuous start soon spiraled into a deadly addiction, consuming Ola's life. Codeine and Tramadol followed, numbing his senses and eroding his aspirations. As his grades plummeted and his relationships frayed, Ola's friends, Kemi and Yimi, watched in horror.

One poignant evening, they confronted Ola about his downward spiral. Kemi's gentle concern and Yimi's blunt warnings fell on deaf ears, as Ola confessed to using substances as an escape from reality.

The once-bright Ola slowly vanished, replaced by a frail, empty shell. Despite his friends' desperate attempts to intervene, the damage was irreparable. Ola's addiction had taken its toll, and he succumbed to acute liver failure.

The community was shaken by Ola's tragic demise, serving as a stark reminder of the dangers of substance abuse. His friends now stood by his grave, their hearts heavy with grief and regret.

Moral Lesson: Drug abuse doesn't just destroy your body; it annihilates your future. Don't let temporary relief obliterate your permanent dreams. Stay away from drugs, those silent killers that erase your potential one day at a time.

#fiction
#Names used are not real
@highlight
#lawyer
#SayNoToDrugsAndAlcohol
#drugabuseawareness

He came to propose to me, and died in my hostel

Jareth came over to my hostel that evening. We ate, laughed, and talked about everything—our future, our plans, the names of our unborn kids. It was perfect.

By nightfall, he yawned and stretched.

"Babe, I’ll be leaving soon. I just need to rest a little before heading home. Tomorrow’s a busy day at work."

"Okay,"

I smiled, kissing his forehead.

I let him sleep.

But at 9 PM, when I tried to wake him, he didn’t move.

"Jareth?"

I whispered, shaking him lightly.

Nothing.

"Babes? Ademi, Ayanfe mi?"

I shook him harder.

"Jareth, wake up!"

Still nothing.

I pushed, slapped, screamed—no response. His body was warm, but he wasn’t breathing.

Then, the real horror set in.

Jareth was dead.

My neighbors were gone for the night. It was as if they all planned to go to a party that night.

I was alone.

See me, see Kirikiri.

See court, see jail!

I grabbed his shoulders, shaking him with all my might.

"Jareth, please! Don’t do this to me!"

He didn’t even twitch.

I pounded his chest. I tried mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I did everything I had ever seen in a medical drama, but he just lay there, lifeless.

Then... his phone rang.

I looked at the screen.

His mum.

I froze.

Then another call—his elder sister. Then another—his younger brother.

As if they knew. They kept calling.

My heart pounded so hard it felt like it would explode.

What would I tell them?

I panicked.

I couldn’t call the police. No hospital would accept him without a proper explanation.

I am finished.

My stomach churned. I ran outside to throw up in the nearby gutter. I started coughing. I was disoriented.

Then, his friends started calling too.

I had to move him.

But how?

His body felt heavier than the weight of my sins.

I dragged him to the car, struggling to lift him inside.

The boot? No. That was too suspicious.

I sat him upright in the passenger seat and buckled him in.

Then, I started the engine.

As I drove out, the security greeted him.

"Bros don jonz. He like life. See as he sleep. Bros we greet oh."

One of them laughed.

If only they knew.

I reached the big ditch. Student usually use it as a dumb site.

I turned off the car and sat there, crying for an hour.

"Jareth, please wake up. Please, baby. We had plans. Our dream house, our children... we were supposed to grow old together."

Nothing. I caught myself talking alone. I was beginning to run mad!

His lifeless body just sat there, unmoving.

I wiped my tears. I had no choice.

I opened the car door, went to his side, and pulled his body toward the ditch.

Then—something small rolled out of his pocket.

A small box.

I bent down and picked it up with trembling hands.

An engagement ring.

I stopped breathing.

He came to propose to me.

That realization shattered my soul.

I staggered back, the air suddenly too thick to inhale.

My entire body shook.

I couldn't do it. I laid on he floor with him, begging him to just wake for some minutes, and propose to me.

No.

I had to go back. I had to tell his family the truth. Whatever happened next, I will be ready.

I wiped my eyes, summoned all my strength, and struggled to lift him back into the car.

I was almost at my hostel gate when police stopped me.

They checked and tried to wake him but he didn't.

"I don't know why fine girl like you will be dating drunkard like this."

I was nearly ruining mad. How the police didn't noticed was beyond my understanding.

When I got home, my door was open.

I knew I locked it.

Something moved inside. I saw a sharp shadow running in my house.

My heart should have skipped a beat. But it didn’t. Because I was already dead inside.

Jareth was gone.

Whoever was inside could kill me if they wanted.

I grabbed a wooden plank near the door and stormed in.

And then—

UPROAR.

"SURPRISE!!!"

My legs buckled.I blinked, confused.

In front of me stood Jareth’s mum, my mum, my brother, his siblings, his friends— even my neighbours

All smiling.

My friends, Helen, Lydia and Johana all opening their wide teeth and holding balloons.

Then— music started playing.

A saxophonist emerged from my room, holding a small banner that read:

"Turn around."

I slowly turned.

And there he was Jareth.

Alive. Smiling. Holding the same ring I had seen by the ditch.

"Babe,"

he grinned.

"You always say nothing scares you. So, I decided to put that to the test. I love you. Please....."

I didn't bother to wait to hear the last sentence before I collapsed.

I woke up to laughter and claps.

Jareth sat beside me, holding my hand.

"So... will you marry me?"

he whispered.

With no strength left to scream or faint again, I nodded.

"Yes."

I will forever love him.

But first...

I need to kill him.

The End.

Men👇 when women call them gentlemen and sweet names 👇👇

KILLING MILLIONS TO MAKE MILLIONS - Volume 1 (Issue 1), 2025.

IS PALM OIL SO GOOD FOR YOU?
PART ONE
Author: Ekemini Ituen (ebituen@gmail.com)

I am very sure that you are very familiar with palm oil – the red syrupy extract from the fruit of palm tree. Undeniably, palm oil is one of the most widely consumed vegetable oils globally. We even use it to make several products, like soaps, cosmetics, and even biofuels.

You can agree with me that palm oil offers several health benefits, but what if I tell you that production and consumption of palm oil is associated with a lot of risks and concerns? U go believe me?

Oya na, let’s take a deeper look at palm oil from another light…health and safety - the good, the bad and the ugly. Don’t worry, I no go bore you with my chemistry or too much science…we go do am the layman’s way!

Let's go...

PALM OIL (PO) - THE GOOD

PO is rich in nutrients – very good amount of vitamin E, i.e. tocopherols and tocotrienols. My mouth shut up…sorry, I say I no go bother you with chemistry, but just maage that ‘toco’ something. Vitamin E is a powerful antioxidant that helps fight oxidative stress. That one go come make your body fresh and not prone to chronic diseases. Your body cells no go damage, and you no go quick grow old…Chai…you don see natural fresh skin before?… palm oil consumption fit run am.

Let’s keep going….PO is also rich in beta-carotenes – na this one dey give am that red colour. Check out ‘carotene’ and ‘carot’, you can imagine the red colour, e clear now, abi? Beta-carotene easily converts into vitamin A and this plays great roles in eye vision and immune building. Wow! We go talk about this one another time if you remind me.

PO makes our cookies delicious – it is stable at high temperatures due to its high smoke point, so it fits for all our delicious cooks, fries and bakes. I dey even carry palm oil fry stew sef. You know that taste palm oil gives with yam, roasted yam, plantain and cocoyam? Cha…I dey salivate sef.

PO does not contain trans-fat like the partially hydrogenated oils that people buy and consume to show ‘rich kid’ or ‘big man’ vibes. I no wan mention names of some of those hydrogenated oil products because I no get money for court cases. But I go mention butter, anything wey wan happen mek e happen.

Butter or margarine na hydrogenated oil. Mek I stop there for now. I doubt if those products are so good for your heart, especially when you cross 40. I no be medical doctor sha, or dietician. However, from the point of biological chemistry (what you call biochemistry), your palm oil is comparably better alternative for the heart to other vegetable oils, even olive oil wey dey try sumol.

Having said all these, can such a product that is this ‘good’ and useful has a bad side? The things and things wey I go clear you unto the bad and the ugly side of palm oil go shock you! Just stay tuned! Part 2 on it’s way!

Please feel free to comment, like and share. I am not a medical doctor or dietician, but now a researcher in chemical toxicology. I no go do research and I no come bring you up to speed.

SOME GBAGYI NAMES AND THEIR MEANINGS:

1. Shekwolo -there is God.
2. Adamilo -I am happy.
3. Pasinya -remember yesterday.
4. Amajelo -there are others like me.
5. Bmyitawu - hatred doesn't kill
6. Akulo -there is a judgment day.
7. Shekwo'aga -God's gift.
8. Ognatulo - there is a limit.
9. Chawo -shame on them.
10. Ache'ada -let them say.
11. Pambolo -God still remember me.
13. Asibyi -Saturday
14. Tanyi -Monday
15. Afagamyi - leave it for me.
16. Bazhe -hero
17. Yemilo -God loves me.
18. Alamiche -life has made me wise.
19. Tabache -Miracle
20. Chekai - portable
21. Gwuayinpi- be careful with the world
22. Nyachesa - its time..
23. Gwoyinzhe- Rule the world
24. Naba - placed there (as in God placed me there
25. Gazaguru - the brave
26. Duwumi - (shown to me)
27. Alaluma (already been born) e.t.c

Follow for more
The morning light did nothing to chase away the unease clawing at Vanessa’s chest. Shadows still clung to the corners of her room as if reluctant to let go. The deep scratch on the door was real—she had run her fingers over it more than once, feeling the raw edges where the wood had been torn.

Something had been outside her door last night. Something that wasn’t human.

She needed answers.

Vanessa stepped into the hallway, every step careful, her ears tuned for any sound. The Hollow Inn was quiet, but not the peaceful kind. It was the kind of quiet that hummed with something unseen, something waiting.

Downstairs, the innkeeper was behind the front desk, her thin fingers slowly polishing a tarnished key. She didn’t look up when Vanessa approached.

"I need to ask you something," Vanessa said, keeping her voice steady.

The old woman exhaled through her nose, still not looking up. "You should leave."

Vanessa tightened her grip on her notebook. "I got a note last night. Someone—something—was outside my door." She hesitated. "And I saw the newspaper. Black Hollow disappeared in 1962. But it’s here. And so are you."

The innkeeper’s hands stilled.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, slowly, she lifted her head. Her eyes were pale, almost colorless, like fog rolling over dead water.

"You ask too many questions."

Vanessa swallowed. "I’m a journalist. It’s my job."

The woman’s gaze darkened. "Your job won’t matter if you’re dead."

A chill crawled up Vanessa’s spine. She wanted to push, demand more, but something in the woman’s tone—something final—made her pause.

Before she could say anything else, the bell above the inn’s door jingled.

A man stepped inside. He was older, his face lined with deep wrinkles, his clothes faded and worn. His eyes locked onto Vanessa, and she swore she saw recognition flicker there—though she had never seen him before in her life.

"New girl should go," he muttered. "Before it finds her."

Vanessa frowned. "Before what finds me?"

The man hesitated, glancing at the innkeeper. Her expression didn’t change, but something unsaid passed between them.

Then he turned back to Vanessa and said, "The thing that took this town."

The air left her lungs.

The innkeeper let out a slow breath. "Don’t say its name."

The man’s mouth tightened. "Names give power. And it’s already watching her."

Vanessa’s heart pounded. "What is watching me?"

The man licked his lips, hesitating. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said:

"The Hollow Man."

The room seemed to shrink around her, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

The innkeeper’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood. "You fool," she hissed. "Do you want to call it here?"

The man’s hands trembled. He took a step back. "It already knows."

A gust of wind howled through the inn, rattling the windows. The front door—though it had been firmly shut—creaked open an inch.

Vanessa’s breath hitched.

Outside, through the tiny gap in the door, something stood in the fog.

Tall. Motionless.

Waiting.

And though it had no face, she could feel its gaze locked onto her.

Follow for more

I just dey watch all of una were run comot for Facebook I will make sure I write all of una names including my name give Facebook owner tomorrow

If you know this player.
Oya drop the names of your children
Let's go😂😂

This combo here was bought and used by me.
I bought this last year to treat infection and it worked for me perfectly.

It was easier for me to get here in Lagos because I just went with pictures to their shop and they gave me everything

I don’t know the names of all these ……..

But there’s ginger 🫚
Cloves
Lemon 🍋
Garlic
Guava leaf 🍂
Cinnamon
Adian
Bargaruwa seed

I can’t type the names of the rest correctly

Please this combo is bitter to take those that like sweet things I bet this one isn’t for you

This is what your vendors cook and package for you to buy but it is better you do it your self

This combo help you to get pregnant ( cleans the womb)

This combo help to treat infection
This combo regulate your body (period)

Wash all the ingredients and cook till the colour changed
Warm it daily to enable you drink

For the one you will use to wash your vjay
Get a bottle water and soak only cloves
Use it to wash your vjay twice a day
Within 3 days you will put your hand their on a norms and don’t feel any smell (soak it for three days before using)
It has this menthol sensation when you use it to wash

This combo is not for pregnant women
This combo is not for breastfeeding mothers

PLEASE CHECK YOUR SUGAR LEVEL BEFORE TAKING THIS

THIS WAS WRITTEN BY MUMMY YETTY

@highlight

This argument no really concern me
I sha learn fine igbo pet names from the movie