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Igbo Amaka Nwanne! Biafra to the World!

You only need to read Walter Rodney's book "How Europe Underdeveloped Africa" for you to understand that men like Blessed Hushpuppi are on a divine mission. You may choose not to exalt them, but please do not castigate them either. The Caucasians are cold-blooded motherfuckers! They have been raping us mercilessly!

The National Youth Service Corp scheme was introduced in 1973 by the then Head of State Gen Yakubu Gowon with a stated intention of wanting to foster national unity and cohesion by having graduates sent off on a one year compulsory service to areas other than their region of birth. As always, it is a scheme most graduates are itchy to be a part of, perhaps, owing in a large part to the many exaggerated tales of funfare, as well as, the associated puns and pageantries it comes with. The question with regards to if the scheme has failed in achieving its set aim is a subjective one that only the individual can answer.
Considering that I am not so much of the religious type, I am very tempted not to use the word “testimony” in reference to my sojourn as a corper in Northern Nigeria, because of the strongly perceived religious connotations, or more appropriately, the undertones it carries, especially for the Pentecostal Christians. But it is infact the best word that I think better convey my very close shave with death. Cold shivers never ceases to run down my spine whenever I think of what had happened and what it would have become had the grace of God not intervened.
I was posted to one of the North-western States for my compulsory service to the fatherland. For the sake of stereotyping, I shall be keeping the name of the state to myself irrespective of the fact that it is quite a common occurrence in the whole of the Muslim North.
In spite of the shortcomings on basic amenities, camp was fun.
We got our posting letters for our “Places of Primary Assignment” with some of my colleagues complaining of some Corpers getting “choice postings” or as they call it in NYSC terms “consensual postings” simply as a result of their Faith. While we were being sent to both primary and secondary schools, they were getting posted to private firms with good corper's incentives, state ministries, and other federal government parastatals where chances of retainment are higer. We heard it on good account that they were demanded to write down their names and where they want to be posted when they went to their religious center for prayers. Those who had no predetermined choice of postings were guided onto the best choices that there is to be made.
Well…at the time, I never really gave it much of a thought because after spending 21 days on camp, I was starting to get that sick feeling of claustrophobia. I was burning on all cylinders to hit the towns and meet the people. Infact my eagerness was very glaring and somewhat infectious as I hurried a colleague of mine, who coincidentally shares the same place of primary assignment, for us to get going.
Luckily enough, we met some senior colleagues (seniority no dey NYSC) at our PPA. Sensing our acute eagerness to enter the class as soon as we possibly can, they gave us a ringing warning that unfortunately didn’t sound like one.
“Guy make una calm down, na North una dey o!”
Naively, i had mistook it for the almost characteristic air of “we-were-here-before-us” that sort of goes about with some Corpers. That mistake would have probably cost me my life had things not turned out differently. Here is what happened.
Trying to trace back chronologically where I had mistepped, I think I can very convincingly point to the morning assembly of that very day. I can to school feeling very energized and keen on entering the class to impact knowledge. At least, I loved my job enough for such a feeling to come up from time to time. It was my duty day and I was very keen on having everyone (both staff and students alike) do the right thing. I made the boys dress smartly by having them tuck-in their shirts which they almost never do. It was for some the shame of having rope in place of belt, some other was to conceal a wear or two on their trousers, but the majority felt there was actually no need for it.
For the ladies, I made attempt at sending back home those who had “lalai” (Henna) inked on their body as it was against the school rules. I only had to permit them in when one of the permanent staff pleaded on their behalf. This is where I think I drew the first blood. They went in eyeing me in that disgusted feminine look. They were saying a lot of things in Hausa language which I did not understand, but I was able to pick out the word “Shegia” because of the frequency with which it came. I got to know it was an abuse when I enquired about it from a friend.
Coincidentally, the “shegia” squad of girls (a term that I letter began to covertly refer to them as) that I attempted to send back home were all in the same class that I was to have my first lesson with that morning. The class like almost everything else in the North was polarized according to gender. Boys were sitting separate from the girls. Ordinarily, there are no officially stated school rules that allows them to sit that way. It only appears that class teachers have all resigned to indifference about the whole sitting arrangement thing, since the students will not stick to the seats assigned to them. By clustering together in their gender, it gives them room to disturb the class and cheat during test and exams.
Let me digress a little in order to give you a complete picture of what I meant by “…almost everything else.” Virtually all of the cities in the North is polarized either according to religious divide or according to residential status. First time visitors are not always conscious of this fact until probably when they want to rent an apartment.
Frankly speaking, there are places where the landlords will outrightly refuse to rent out his apartment to you for the singular reason that your faith does not align with his own and that of the majority of those that resides within that vicinity. Christians resides within Christian communities, the same way Muslims lives within Muslim communities. Settlers resides in the many Sabon Gari’s, away from where the indigenes resides. Almost every major town has its own Sabin Gari; which in most part makes up the bulk of the Christian community. It is infact so serious that I can conveniently tell your faith by merely looking only at your address.
When I enquired to know why, I was simply told that it is as a result of security and trust reasons. Both sides have always lived in suspicion of each other. Evident in the frequent riots and unrest that are characteristic of the North. According to a settler-friend, they live side by side with their fears; knowing that any moment, “Kasala fit burst!” Those who are unfortunate enough to be on the wrong side of town as at when the “Kasala burst” are usually the first causalities. There are actually no specific day for these riots, but my Christian Landlady warned me as a newcomer to be very mindful of my movements on Fridays especially when jummat prayers are going on. Muslims are told likewise to be mindful of Friday evenings (Night vigils) and Sunday mornings.
Back to the issue. I entered the class to their discomfort, answered to their lackadaisical chorus greetings and went straight to the chalkboard to rewrite the topic of the day. Behold the lesson was began! I teach Government to Ss3 students only. As it is with my style; a steady sequence of writing, explaining and writing again. I had the class as I was explaining a concept on the topic of discuss, when I noticed a particular girl among the “Shegia square of girls”. She was quiet but was obviously not paying attention. She was reading from a cheap story book which she tried to conceal under her desk.
I accosted her and told her to put away the book and pay attention to what I was saying. I returned back to the board to write some more. As I write I heard a few giggling laughter and a long sigh, which obviously came in the direction of the “Shegia squad of girls”. I was at this point slightly upset. It was clear that I was being made a mockery of behind my back.
I turned back again to explain another concept but this time I saw this very same girl reading very comfortably a pocket-sized copy of the Holy Koran. I became furious with anger. I walked straight to where she was sitting almost without thinking. She, by reflex, retreated with the Koran. I demanded in anger that she hand over the book to me. It never really occurred to me that it was not just any book; it was the Holy Koran. The entire class was in graveyard silence as the all continue to watch the unfolding drama.
Suddenly there was a sort of realization in her eyes. She was no longer as defensive of the Book as she initially was. She sort of relaxed her dispositions, perhaps expecting me to wrestle the Book out of her hands and do whatever I Intend to do with it. I stretched out my hand, still in anger, insisting that she hands over the book or I will deal with her mercilessly. A grim appeared on the side of her face which further enraged me as she made attempt to hand the Book out to me.
At I was about taking the Koran, I heard a loud and commanding “Stop!”. The commanding nature sound was what actually stopped me from taking the book. Because I really did not know what to do with the book and even careless what it stands for, my first instinct would have been to fling it out of the class through the window.
Miraculously, the voice was that of a fellow Corper who was himself a Muslim. He came into the class, collected the Book and left without saying a word to either me or the student.
Thankfully I did not touch the Book or desecrate it. That would have just sealed my death warrant. The angelic Corper who saved my life letter explained to me why a non-Muslims should never be allowed to touch the Koran not to talk of holding it. He frankly told me that we (non-Muslims) are considered ritually unclean, especially since we urinate without washing our penis and hands, as well as, our preference for tissue paper over water when we defecate.
I soon heard from one of the class members that the “shegia squad of girls” had gossiped among themselves that since I was becoming overzealous, all they needed to do was to dig a ditch and watch me fall into it. Thank God that their plans never came to fruition.

How Northern Muslim Students are intentionally implicating Southern Christian Corpers into committing blasphemy.
The National Youth Service Corp scheme was introduced in 1973 by the then Head of State Gen Yakubu Gowon with a stated intention of wanting to foster national unity and cohesion by having graduates sent off on a one year compulsory service to areas other than their region of birth. As always, it is a scheme most graduates are itchy to be a part of, perhaps, owing in a large part to the many exaggerated tales of funfare, as well as, the associated puns and pageantries it comes with. The question with regards to if the scheme has failed in achieving its set aim is a subjective one that only the individual can answer.
Considering that I am not so much of the religious type, I am very tempted not to use the word “testimony” in reference to my sojourn as a corper in Northern Nigeria, because of the strongly perceived religious connotations, or more appropriately, the undertones it carries, especially for the Pentecostal Christians. But it is infact the best word that I think better convey my very close shave with death. Cold shivers never ceases to run down my spine whenever I think of what had happened and what it would have become had the grace of God not intervened.
I was posted to one of the North-western States for my compulsory service to the fatherland. For the sake of stereotyping, I shall be keeping the name of the state to myself irrespective of the fact that it is quite a common occurrence in the whole of the Muslim North.
In spite of the shortcomings on basic amenities, camp was fun.
We got our posting letters for our “Places of Primary Assignment” with some of my colleagues complaining of some Corpers getting “choice postings” or as they call it in NYSC terms “consensual postings” simply as a result of their Faith. While we were being sent to both primary and secondary schools, they were getting posted to private firms with good corper's incentives, state ministries, and other federal government parastatals where chances of retainment are higer. We heard it on good account that they were demanded to write down their names and where they want to be posted when they went to their religious center for prayers. Those who had no predetermined choice of postings were guided onto the best choices that there is to be made.
Well…at the time, I never really gave it much of a thought because after spending 21 days on camp, I was starting to get that sick feeling of claustrophobia. I was burning on all cylinders to hit the towns and meet the people. Infact my eagerness was very glaring and somewhat infectious as I hurried a colleague of mine, who coincidentally shares the same place of primary assignment, for us to get going.
Luckily enough, we met some senior colleagues (seniority no dey NYSC) at our PPA. Sensing our acute eagerness to enter the class as soon as we possibly can, they gave us a ringing warning that unfortunately didn’t sound like one.
“Guy make una calm down, na North una dey o!”
Naively, i had mistook it for the almost characteristic air of “we-were-here-before-us” that sort of goes about with some Corpers. That mistake would have probably cost me my life had things not turned out differently. Here is what happened.
Trying to trace back chronologically where I had mistepped, I think I can very convincingly point to the morning assembly of that very day. I can to school feeling very energized and keen on entering the class to impact knowledge. At least, I loved my job enough for such a feeling to come up from time to time. It was my duty day and I was very keen on having everyone (both staff and students alike) do the right thing. I made the boys dress smartly by having them tuck-in their shirts which they almost never do. It was for some the shame of having rope in place of belt, some other was to conceal a wear or two on their trousers, but the majority felt there was actually no need for it.
For the ladies, I made attempt at sending back home those who had “lalai” (Henna) inked on their body as it was against the school rules. I only had to permit them in when one of the permanent staff pleaded on their behalf. This is where I think I drew the first blood. They went in eyeing me in that disgusted feminine look. They were saying a lot of things in Hausa language which I did not understand, but I was able to pick out the word “Shegia” because of the frequency with which it came. I got to know it was an abuse when I enquired about it from a friend.
Coincidentally, the “shegia” squad of girls (a term that I letter began to covertly refer to them as) that I attempted to send back home were all in the same class that I was to have my first lesson with that morning. The class like almost everything else in the North was polarized according to gender. Boys were sitting separate from the girls. Ordinarily, there are no officially stated school rules that allows them to sit that way. It only appears that class teachers have all resigned to indifference about the whole sitting arrangement thing, since the students will not stick to the seats assigned to them. By clustering together in their gender, it gives them room to disturb the class and cheat during test and exams.
Let me digress a little in order to give you a complete picture of what I meant by “…almost everything else.” Virtually all of the cities in the North is polarized either according to religious divide or according to residential status. First time visitors are not always conscious of this fact until probably when they want to rent an apartment.
Frankly speaking, there are places where the landlords will outrightly refuse to rent out his apartment to you for the singular reason that your faith does not align with his own and that of the majority of those that resides within that vicinity. Christians resides within Christian communities, the same way Muslims lives within Muslim communities. Settlers resides in the many Sabon Gari’s, away from where the indigenes resides. Almost every major town has its own Sabin Gari; which in most part makes up the bulk of the Christian community. It is infact so serious that I can conveniently tell your faith by merely looking only at your address.
When I enquired to know why, I was simply told that it is as a result of security and trust reasons. Both sides have always lived in suspicion of each other. Evident in the frequent riots and unrest that are characteristic of the North. According to a settler-friend, they live side by side with their fears; knowing that any moment, “Kasala fit burst!” Those who are unfortunate enough to be on the wrong side of town as at when the “Kasala burst” are usually the first causalities. There are actually no specific day for these riots, but my Christian Landlady warned me as a newcomer to be very mindful of my movements on Fridays especially when jummat prayers are going on. Muslims are told likewise to be mindful of Friday evenings (Night vigils) and Sunday mornings.
Back to the issue. I entered the class to their discomfort, answered to their lackadaisical chorus greetings and went straight to the chalkboard to rewrite the topic of the day. Behold the lesson was began! I teach Government to Ss3 students only. As it is with my style; a steady sequence of writing, explaining and writing again. I had the class as I was explaining a concept on the topic of discuss, when I noticed a particular girl among the “Shegia square of girls”. She was quiet but was obviously not paying attention. She was reading from a cheap story book which she tried to conceal under her desk.
I accosted her and told her to put away the book and pay attention to what I was saying. I returned back to the board to write some more. As I write I heard a few giggling laughter and a long sigh, which obviously came in the direction of the “Shegia squad of girls”. I was at this point slightly upset. It was clear that I was being made a mockery of behind my back.
I turned back again to explain another concept but this time I saw this very same girl reading very comfortably a pocket-sized copy of the Holy Koran. I became furious with anger. I walked straight to where she was sitting almost without thinking. She, by reflex, retreated with the Koran. I demanded in anger that she hand over the book to me. It never really occurred to me that it was not just any book; it was the Holy Koran. The entire class was in graveyard silence as the all continue to watch the unfolding drama.
Suddenly there was a sort of realization in her eyes. She was no longer as defensive of the Book as she initially was. She sort of relaxed her dispositions, perhaps expecting me to wrestle the Book out of her hands and do whatever I Intend to do with it. I stretched out my hand, still in anger, insisting that she hands over the book or I will deal with her mercilessly. A grim appeared on the side of her face which further enraged me as she made attempt to hand the Book out to me.
At I was about taking the Koran, I heard a loud and commanding “Stop!”. The commanding nature sound was what actually stopped me from taking the book. Because I really did not know what to do with the book and even careless what it stands for, my first instinct would have been to fling it out of the class through the window.
Miraculously, the voice was that of a fellow Corper who was himself a Muslim. He came into the class, collected the Book and left without saying a word to either me or the student.
Thankfully I did not touch the Book or desecrate it. That would have just sealed my death warrant. The angelic Corper who saved my life letter explained to me why a non-Muslims should never be allowed to touch the Koran not to talk of holding it. He frankly told me that we (non-Muslims) are considered ritually unclean, especially since we urinate without washing our penis and hands, as well as, our preference for tissue paper over water when we defecate.
I soon heard from one of the class members that the “shegia squad of girls” had gossiped among themselves that since I was becoming overzealous, all they needed to do was to dig a ditch and watch me fall into it. Thank God that their plans never came to fruition.

The National Youth Service Corp scheme was introduced in 1973 by the then Head of State Gen Yakubu Gowon with a stated intention of wanting to foster national unity and cohesion by having graduates sent off on a one year compulsory service to areas other than their region of birth. As always, it is a scheme most graduates are itchy to be a part of, perhaps, owing in a large part to the many exaggerated tales of funfare, as well as, the associated puns and pageantries it comes with. The question with regards to if the scheme has failed in achieving its set aim is a subjective one that only the individual can answer.
Considering that I am not so much of the religious type, I am very tempted not to use the word “testimony” in reference to my sojourn as a corper in Northern Nigeria, because of the strongly perceived religious connotations, or more appropriately, the undertones it carries, especially for the Pentecostal Christians. But it is infact the best word that I think better convey my very close shave with death. Cold shivers never ceases to run down my spine whenever I think of what had happened and what it would have become had the grace of God not intervened.
I was posted to one of the North-western States for my compulsory service to the fatherland. For the sake of stereotyping, I shall be keeping the name of the state to myself irrespective of the fact that it is quite a common occurrence in the whole of the Muslim North.
In spite of the shortcomings on basic amenities, camp was fun.
We got our posting letters for our “Places of Primary Assignment” with some of my colleagues complaining of some Corpers getting “choice postings” or as they call it in NYSC terms “consensual postings” simply as a result of their Faith. While we were being sent to both primary and secondary schools, they were getting posted to private firms with good corper's incentives, state ministries, and other federal government parastatals where chances of retainment are higer. We heard it on good account that they were demanded to write down their names and where they want to be posted when they went to their religious center for prayers. Those who had no predetermined choice of postings were guided onto the best choices that there is to be made.
Well…at the time, I never really gave it much of a thought because after spending 21 days on camp, I was starting to get that sick feeling of claustrophobia. I was burning on all cylinders to hit the towns and meet the people. Infact my eagerness was very glaring and somewhat infectious as I hurried a colleague of mine, who coincidentally shares the same place of primary assignment, for us to get going.
Luckily enough, we met some senior colleagues (seniority no dey NYSC) at our PPA. Sensing our acute eagerness to enter the class as soon as we possibly can, they gave us a ringing warning that unfortunately didn’t sound like one.
“Guy make una calm down, na North una dey o!”
Naively, i had mistook it for the almost characteristic air of “we-were-here-before-us” that sort of goes about with some Corpers. That mistake would have probably cost me my life had things not turned out differently. Here is what happened.
Trying to trace back chronologically where I had mistepped, I think I can very convincingly point to the morning assembly of that very day. I can to school feeling very energized and keen on entering the class to impact knowledge. At least, I loved my job enough for such a feeling to come up from time to time. It was my duty day and I was very keen on having everyone (both staff and students alike) do the right thing. I made the boys dress smartly by having them tuck-in their shirts which they almost never do. It was for some the shame of having rope in place of belt, some other was to conceal a wear or two on their trousers, but the majority felt there was actually no need for it.
For the ladies, I made attempt at sending back home those who had “lalai” (Henna) inked on their body as it was against the school rules. I only had to permit them in when one of the permanent staff pleaded on their behalf. This is where I think I drew the first blood. They went in eyeing me in that disgusted feminine look. They were saying a lot of things in Hausa language which I did not understand, but I was able to pick out the word “Shegia” because of the frequency with which it came. I got to know it was an abuse when I enquired about it from a friend.
Coincidentally, the “shegia” squad of girls (a term that I letter began to covertly refer to them as) that I attempted to send back home were all in the same class that I was to have my first lesson with that morning. The class like almost everything else in the North was polarized according to gender. Boys were sitting separate from the girls. Ordinarily, there are no officially stated school rules that allows them to sit that way. It only appears that class teachers have all resigned to indifference about the whole sitting arrangement thing, since the students will not stick to the seats assigned to them. By clustering together in their gender, it gives them room to disturb the class and cheat during test and exams.
Let me digress a little in order to give you a complete picture of what I meant by “…almost everything else.” Virtually all of the cities in the North is polarized either according to religious divide or according to residential status. First time visitors are not always conscious of this fact until probably when they want to rent an apartment.
Frankly speaking, there are places where the landlords will outrightly refuse to rent out his apartment to you for the singular reason that your faith does not align with his own and that of the majority of those that resides within that vicinity. Christians resides within Christian communities, the same way Muslims lives within Muslim communities. Settlers resides in the many Sabon Gari’s, away from where the indigenes resides. Almost every major town has its own Sabin Gari; which in most part makes up the bulk of the Christian community. It is infact so serious that I can conveniently tell your faith by merely looking only at your address.
When I enquired to know why, I was simply told that it is as a result of security and trust reasons. Both sides have always lived in suspicion of each other. Evident in the frequent riots and unrest that are characteristic of the North. According to a settler-friend, they live side by side with their fears; knowing that any moment, “Kasala fit burst!” Those who are unfortunate enough to be on the wrong side of town as at when the “Kasala burst” are usually the first causalities. There are actually no specific day for these riots, but my Christian Landlady warned me as a newcomer to be very mindful of my movements on Fridays especially when jummat prayers are going on. Muslims are told likewise to be mindful of Friday evenings (Night vigils) and Sunday mornings.
Back to the issue. I entered the class to their discomfort, answered to their lackadaisical chorus greetings and went straight to the chalkboard to rewrite the topic of the day. Behold the lesson was began! I teach Government to Ss3 students only. As it is with my style; a steady sequence of writing, explaining and writing again. I had the class as I was explaining a concept on the topic of discuss, when I noticed a particular girl among the “Shegia square of girls”. She was quiet but was obviously not paying attention. She was reading from a cheap story book which she tried to conceal under her desk.
I accosted her and told her to put away the book and pay attention to what I was saying. I returned back to the board to write some more. As I write I heard a few giggling laughter and a long sigh, which obviously came in the direction of the “Shegia squad of girls”. I was at this point slightly upset. It was clear that I was being made a mockery of behind my back.
I turned back again to explain another concept but this time I saw this very same girl reading very comfortably a pocket-sized copy of the Holy Koran. I became furious with anger. I walked straight to where she was sitting almost without thinking. She, by reflex, retreated with the Koran. I demanded in anger that she hand over the book to me. It never really occurred to me that it was not just any book; it was the Holy Koran. The entire class was in graveyard silence as the all continue to watch the unfolding drama.
Suddenly there was a sort of realization in her eyes. She was no longer as defensive of the Book as she initially was. She sort of relaxed her dispositions, perhaps expecting me to wrestle the Book out of her hands and do whatever I Intend to do with it. I stretched out my hand, still in anger, insisting that she hands over the book or I will deal with her mercilessly. A grim appeared on the side of her face which further enraged me as she made attempt to hand the Book out to me.
At I was about taking the Koran, I heard a loud and commanding “Stop!”. The commanding nature sound was what actually stopped me from taking the book. Because I really did not know what to do with the book and even careless what it stands for, my first instinct would have been to fling it out of the class through the window.
Miraculously, the voice was that of a fellow Corper who was himself a Muslim. He came into the class, collected the Book and left without saying a word to either me or the student.
Thankfully I did not touch the Book or desecrate it. That would have just sealed my death warrant. The angelic Corper who saved my life letter explained to me why a non-Muslims should never be allowed to touch the Koran not to talk of holding it. He frankly told me that we (non-Muslims) are considered ritually unclean, especially since we urinate without washing our penis and hands, as well as, our preference for tissue paper over water when we defecate.
I soon heard from one of the class members that the “shegia squad of girls” had gossiped among themselves that since I was becoming overzealous, all they needed to do was to dig a ditch and watch me fall into it. Thank God that their plans never came to fruition.

Millenniumlady:
The man just played himself he'll leave to regret the curse of his actions.......how dare you take side With your mother when i'm your wife which automatically makes me your new mum ......Ladies never you marry a guy that's so close to his mum if you want a successful marriage.

What I this one saying sef

globalresource:

Igbos dominate that area bro

you are a shameless lair!

Lipscomb:
It's very true like my friends said. The igbo that causing problem and instigating tribalism on nairaland are the one that living in their region.

Ajegunle and makoko is a igbo dominated area. Hardly you will see other tribe there. The Yoruba that living there are coordinated and very rich.

Finally airpeace belong to Nigerians and of course federal government property managing by Onyema time shall tell.

you are a shameless lair to claim the Igbos dominate ajegunle and makoko and only rich Yoruba people lives there. Chai!!!! Blood of Jesus Christ. It is the same Aj city that I was born or do we have another? my guy, even the devil himself is marvelled.

Poorboy:
I am.suspecting you, yes you op.

What difference does it make�

My SS 3 students are very fond of me. As their government teacher, they very much prefer my teaching style, a conscientious balance of work, play and interactive sessions, to the very stoic and ultra-formal style of the other teachers. In return for my making of learning to be fun, I earned their respect and confidence.



For a born and breed Lagosian, whose first ever visit to northern Nigeria came courtesy of the Clarion call to the service of the fatherland, I was itching to learn more about my new environment. My students were more than willing to help out in all of my curiosity-driven quests. Here is my encounter with a Dan Daudu (Singular for Yan Daudu).



It all started off with my interest to get for myself my first ever “babariga”. I have never own one before. Growing up in the cosmopolitan city sort of tuned me up into a straight shirt and jeans kind of guy. We had this impression about those wearing “babariga” as being primitive, untutored and unsophisticated. We’ve always craved jeans for Christmas and this disposition towards “babariga” sort of stayed on until now.



I had one of my student Hamza (Not real name) work me through the process of picking a material. We scout through the market; moving from stall to stall in search for a good bargain. Apart from the predetermined color which I perfer, I really had no knowledge of the various grade and quality of materials on offer. Infact the style was to be determined by Hamza himself, since I had none in mind. All that I cared about was having a “babariga” to my name.



After all the haggling between Hamza and the trader (done in Hausa language), a price was agreed and payment made. The material (a “Cheddar” as I was latter informed) was packaged and handed over.



It was at this point that I enquired for where we could have lunch. It wasn’t that I was too hungry not to be able to wait until I get home first. It was more of my concealed way of showing appreciations to Hamza without him getting to decline it. Anything else would have been politely turned down.



Perhaps fearing for the strength of my pocket, Hamza took me to the motor pack adjacent the market. We got to what i can most descriptively refer to as a roll of shanks right behind the motor pack. We picked one of the many food canteens and went in. We both took our seats opposite each other.



We were deliberating on what to eat with regards to what they have. I don’t understand the local language sufficiently enough to order my own food. I was still telling Hamza what I wanted to eat, since he is the one who is to place the orders when the woman whom I presumed was the owner of the food canteen came forward. At this point, I became dumbstruck.



The woman was by every inch a male. His masculine frame betrayed the layers of foundations and concealers he had on his face. One could still pick out the little strands of growing beards underneath his jaw if one looks hard enough. His make-up wasn’t just heavy, I find them to be somewhat repulsive judging by southern standard. Outside his masculine frame, he was every bit of a woman. His clothes, his jewelries, his hair extensions, his mannerism, even the sound of his voice.



Hamza, sensing my apprehension, asked “her” to get us a plate of rice and beans each. I watched “her” labouring to swing her stiff waist from side to side as “she” went about this task. It took me a while for my head to fully process where i really was. Almost all around me were people. Dinners eating their food, Wristwatch merchants hawking their wears, Almajiris begging and eating from the remnants of the dinner’s plates. And ultimately, many of whom I had mistook for salesgirls, on closer inspection were actually men.



My initial apprehension soon gave way to indifference because I am very much myself a liberalist. In as much as I do not subscribe to homosexuality, I still believe in the credo of “live and let’s live”. An Igbo adage loosely translates that “let the kite perch, let the eagle perch. Which that says the other should not perch, let it’s wing break”.



While I feast on my meal, I decided to engage the “madam” in a conversation with the help of Hamza as our interpreter.



Teacher: Madam this your food e sweet o!



Food seller: na gode (Hausa for “thank you”)



Teacher: What is your name?



Food seller: Amina



Teacher: Amina you are very beautiful and a very good cook.



Food seller: na gode. (“She” even blushed girlishly)



From where we sat, I could observe how the cross-dressers were relating with the other proper males of the community. I watched as some of the motor park touts seized the tray of one of the “salesgirls” and were playfully passing it around among themselves, leaving the hapless but somewhat cheerful “girl” to chase after them in a quest to retrieve back her tray. I watched as some of them spanked “her” ass, and I equally observed how “she” don’t seems to care or perhaps she was enjoying it all. From the much I saw, the relationship between this two segments of the community within the motor park was cordial.



Hamza made me understand that associating with a crossdresser publicly or, more appropriately, outside of the motor park is something that most people will never ever attempt. Amina speaking through Hamza made us understand the respectable men of the society, including politicians, successful business men and Islamic clergymen alike, do visit them and seek their services, but mostly using the cover of the nights.



I asked Hamza how came such a thriving community of cross-dressers in a conversative and almost ultra-religious Northern Nigeria?



Hamza made me understand that there various angles by which one can seek to answer this question. It could be historical/cultural, contemporary pop culture, nature and finally, nurture.



Historically or culturally speaking, there are no obvious Hausa cultural practice that somewhat encourages Homosexuality. Atleast, not any that I could make reference to in the course of my research. Considering that very little form of record keeping happened within most traditional African societies (mostly sub-saharan Africa), one can not sufficiently argue whether or not these practices were present with the African cultural practices.



Dan Daudu, loosely translates to mean “son of Daudu”. Yan Daudu and it’s practices are parts of the baggages that came along with Islam courtesy of the trans-saharan trade routes. The trans-saharan trade routes were the corridor through which Islam was brought to the old Hausa kingdoms of Gobir, so also were the practice of Yan Daudu. The practice involves the entertaining of guests at “biki”(weddings) or those returning from a long journey across the desert through erotic dances and other associated acts like “madigo” (intercourse between women), “aras” (intercourse between men), etc. These dances were preformed by “mai harkas”.



It is a practice that is deeply entrenched in the Islamic cultures of the Arabs, Persians, ancient Egyptians and Moroccans. Rich Arabians could offer one of the women of their harem or a male slave to an honored guest for his entertainment. Since women were such a very difficult and scarce commodity to come by on the trans-saharan trade routes, it will not be out of place for such to be a breeding ground for homosexuality.



The term “Yan Daudu” was never considered a derogatory term long before now. Infact practitioners addresses themselves by it. This is because even though it wasn’t such a profession for one to be most proud of, it was still a profession nonetheless; One which was necessarily tolerated for the proper functioning of an Islamic society. This evidently explains why almost all “Yan Daudu” professes the Islamic faith. They go to the mosque without hindrance, perform ablutions (ritual bath) and observe their prayers. They believe in Allah and equally believes he created them into who they are.



Contemporary pop culture: I personally have no intentions of dwelling too much on this, since it is all taking place right before our very eyes. The media is helping to polish, sell, and conscienciatize us into accepting it as a normal part of the human society. Bobrisky is evidently the poster child of this movement within Nigeria.



The part that really struck me most in the course of my interaction with Amina was the “nature or nurture” part. According to her, cross-dressing just come naturally to some people like fish takes to water. For her, certain things defiles explanations because they are just as Allah designed then to be. And discriminating against them is like discriminating against Allah’s creation.



Society (contemporary society) many times misconceives cross-dressers to be social deviants, misfits and in so many cases, deranged. Amina posited that it is outrightly ludicrous to believe that all cross-dressers are homosexual. Just like “herself”, she has a wife and four kids. So also are many of her friends, many of already have four wives as is permitted by islam. “She” stated that she enjoys the company of a man just as she enjoys the company of a woman. Cross-dressers are like normal people with dreams, goals and aspirations.



When I asked if “she” would want any of her sons to become like her. She gave a slight sigh. After a few silent and thoughtful moments, she replied through my interpreter that “Only Allah charts the course of one’s destiny”.



She told us that some parents actually nurture their sons into Yan Daudu. She spoke of the case of a housewife who have had six sons and was seriously praying for a daughter. It only happened that on the seventh birth, it was still a son. Disappointed that he wasn’t a girl, the woman nurtured her seventh son the way she would a girl. For all she cares, he was for her a girl.



Amina also spoke of males who grow up in a predominantly female environment like boys with too many big sisters. There is every tendency for such to pick up certain female mannerism for it is what they are most exposed to for the formative part of their life.



I enquired to know if there was anything society can do to help out, perhaps to stop the Yan Daudu practice. Amina replied that there are two answers to that question and that the question she gives is solely dependent on who is asking. I pleaded that she gave me both answers.



1st answer: Government should reduce the poverty level, encourage education, uphold transparency and accountability and reform the almajiri system. Many people take up to the “Yan Daudu” trade as a result of frustrations and the dare need to survive. Young Almajiris are target for sodomization(willing or unwilling) just for the sheer need of the stomach.



2nd answer: Frankly speaking, society can never really put an end to the Yan Daudu trade because just like everything else within the society, it is a necessary part of it. Prostitution (whether heterosexual, bisexual or homosexual) is the oldest trade know to man. We just can devoice it from society. We can only manage it.



Conclusively, whichever prism through which one chooses to look at the issue of Yan Daudu, just understand that your freedom ends at when it starts affecting other people's peace. “Live and let’s live!”







Teacher writing from Kano.

My SS 3 students are very fond of me. As their government teacher, they very much prefer my teaching style, a conscientious balance of work, play and interactive sessions, to the very stoic and ultra-formal style of the other teachers. In return for my making of learning to be fun, I earned their respect and confidence.



For a born and breed Lagosian, whose first ever visit to northern Nigeria came courtesy of the Clarion call to the service of the fatherland, I was itching to learn more about my new environment. My students were more than willing to help out in all of my curiosity-driven quests. Here is my encounter with a Dan Daudu (Singular for Yan Daudu).



It all started off with my interest to get for myself my first ever “babariga”. I have never own one before. Growing up in the cosmopolitan city sort of tuned me up into a straight shirt and jeans kind of guy. We had this impression about those wearing “babariga” as being primitive, untutored and unsophisticated. We’ve always craved jeans for Christmas and this disposition towards “babariga” sort of stayed on until now.



I had one of my student Hamza (Not real name) work me through the process of picking a material. We scout through the market; moving from stall to stall in search for a good bargain. Apart from the predetermined color which I perfer, I really had no knowledge of the various grade and quality of materials on offer. Infact the style was to be determined by Hamza himself, since I had none in mind. All that I cared about was having a “babariga” to my name.



After all the haggling between Hamza and the trader (done in Hausa language), a price was agreed and payment made. The material (a “Cheddar” as I was latter informed) was packaged and handed over.



It was at this point that I enquired for where we could have lunch. It wasn’t that I was too hungry not to be able to wait until I get home first. It was more of my concealed way of showing appreciations to Hamza without him getting to decline it. Anything else would have been politely turned down.



Perhaps fearing for the strength of my pocket, Hamza took me to the motor pack adjacent the market. We got to what i can most descriptively refer to as a roll of shanks right behind the motor pack. We picked one of the many food canteens and went in. We both took our seats opposite each other.



We were deliberating on what to eat with regards to what they have. I don’t understand the local language sufficiently enough to order my own food. I was still telling Hamza what I wanted to eat, since he is the one who is to place the orders when the woman whom I presumed was the owner of the food canteen came forward. At this point, I became dumbstruck.



The woman was by every inch a male. His masculine frame betrayed the layers of foundations and concealers he had on his face. One could still pick out the little strands of growing beards underneath his jaw if one looks hard enough. His make-up wasn’t just heavy, I find them to be somewhat repulsive judging by southern standard. Outside his masculine frame, he was every bit of a woman. His clothes, his jewelries, his hair extensions, his mannerism, even the sound of his voice.



Hamza, sensing my apprehension, asked “her” to get us a plate of rice and beans each. I watched “her” labouring to swing her stiff waist from side to side as “she” went about this task. It took me a while for my head to fully process where i really was. Almost all around me were people. Dinners eating their food, Wristwatch merchants hawking their wears, Almajiris begging and eating from the remnants of the dinner’s plates. And ultimately, many of whom I had mistook for salesgirls, on closer inspection were actually men.



My initial apprehension soon gave way to indifference because I am very much myself a liberalist. In as much as I do not subscribe to homosexuality, I still believe in the credo of “live and let’s live”. An Igbo adage loosely translates that “let the kite perch, let the eagle perch. Which that says the other should not perch, let it’s wing break”.



While I feast on my meal, I decided to engage the “madam” in a conversation with the help of Hamza as our interpreter.



Teacher: Madam this your food e sweet o!



Food seller: na gode (Hausa for “thank you”)



Teacher: What is your name?



Food seller: Amina



Teacher: Amina you are very beautiful and a very good cook.



Food seller: na gode. (“She” even blushed girlishly)



From where we sat, I could observe how the cross-dressers were relating with the other proper males of the community. I watched as some of the motor park touts seized the tray of one of the “salesgirls” and were playfully passing it around among themselves, leaving the hapless but somewhat cheerful “girl” to chase after them in a quest to retrieve back her tray. I watched as some of them spanked “her” ass, and I equally observed how “she” don’t seems to care or perhaps she was enjoying it all. From the much I saw, the relationship between this two segments of the community within the motor park was cordial.



Hamza made me understand that associating with a crossdresser publicly or, more appropriately, outside of the motor park is something that most people will never ever attempt. Amina speaking through Hamza made us understand the respectable men of the society, including politicians, successful business men and Islamic clergymen alike, do visit them and seek their services, but mostly using the cover of the nights.



I asked Hamza how came such a thriving community of cross-dressers in a conversative and almost ultra-religious Northern Nigeria?



Hamza made me understand that there various angles by which one can seek to answer this question. It could be historical/cultural, contemporary pop culture, nature and finally, nurture.



Historically or culturally speaking, there are no obvious Hausa cultural practice that somewhat encourages Homosexuality. Atleast, not any that I could make reference to in the course of my research. Considering that very little form of record keeping happened within most traditional African societies (mostly sub-saharan Africa), one can not sufficiently argue whether or not these practices were present with the African cultural practices.



Dan Daudu, loosely translates to mean “son of Daudu”. Yan Daudu and it’s practices are parts of the baggages that came along with Islam courtesy of the trans-saharan trade routes. The trans-saharan trade routes were the corridor through which Islam was brought to the old Hausa kingdoms of Gobir, so also were the practice of Yan Daudu. The practice involves the entertaining of guests at “biki”(weddings) or those returning from a long journey across the desert through erotic dances and other associated acts like “madigo” (intercourse between women), “aras” (intercourse between men), etc. These dances were preformed by “mai harkas”.



It is a practice that is deeply entrenched in the Islamic cultures of the Arabs, Persians, ancient Egyptians and Moroccans. Rich Arabians could offer one of the women of their harem or a male slave to an honored guest for his entertainment. Since women were such a very difficult and scarce commodity to come by on the trans-saharan trade routes, it will not be out of place for such to be a breeding ground for homosexuality.



The term “Yan Daudu” was never considered a derogatory term long before now. Infact practitioners addresses themselves by it. This is because even though it wasn’t such a profession for one to be most proud of, it was still a profession nonetheless; One which was necessarily tolerated for the proper functioning of an Islamic society. This evidently explains why almost all “Yan Daudu” professes the Islamic faith. They go to the mosque without hindrance, perform ablutions (ritual bath) and observe their prayers. They believe in Allah and equally believes he created them into who they are.



Contemporary pop culture: I personally have no intentions of dwelling too much on this, since it is all taking place right before our very eyes. The media is helping to polish, sell, and conscienciatize us into accepting it as a normal part of the human society. Bobrisky is evidently the poster child of this movement within Nigeria.



The part that really struck me most in the course of my interaction with Amina was the “nature or nurture” part. According to her, cross-dressing just come naturally to some people like fish takes to water. For her, certain things defiles explanations because they are just as Allah designed then to be. And discriminating against them is like discriminating against Allah’s creation.



Society (contemporary society) many times misconceives cross-dressers to be social deviants, misfits and in so many cases, deranged. Amina posited that it is outrightly ludicrous to believe that all cross-dressers are homosexual. Just like “herself”, she has a wife and four kids. So also are many of her friends, many of already have four wives as is permitted by islam. “She” stated that she enjoys the company of a man just as she enjoys the company of a woman. Cross-dressers are like normal people with dreams, goals and aspirations.



When I asked if “she” would want any of her sons to become like her. She gave a slight sigh. After a few silent and thoughtful moments, she replied through my interpreter that “Only Allah charts the course of one’s destiny”.



She told us that some parents actually nurture their sons into Yan Daudu. She spoke of the case of a housewife who have had six sons and was seriously praying for a daughter. It only happened that on the seventh birth, it was still a son. Disappointed that he wasn’t a girl, the woman nurtured her seventh son the way she would a girl. For all she cares, he was for her a girl.



Amina also spoke of males who grow up in a predominantly female environment like boys with too many big sisters. There is every tendency for such to pick up certain female mannerism for it is what they are most exposed to for the formative part of their life.



I enquired to know if there was anything society can do to help out, perhaps to stop the Yan Daudu practice. Amina replied that there are two answers to that question and that the question she gives is solely dependent on who is asking. I pleaded that she gave me both answers.



1st answer: Government should reduce the poverty level, encourage education, uphold transparency and accountability and reform the almajiri system. Many people take up to the “Yan Daudu” trade as a result of frustrations and the dare need to survive. Young Almajiris are target for sodomization(willing or unwilling) just for the sheer need of the stomach.



2nd answer: Frankly speaking, society can never really put an end to the Yan Daudu trade because just like everything else within the society, it is a necessary part of it. Prostitution (whether heterosexual, bisexual or homosexual) is the oldest trade know to man. We just can devoice it from society. We can only manage it.



Conclusively, whichever prism through which one chooses to look at the issue of Yan Daudu, just understand that your freedom ends at when it starts affecting other people's peace. “Live and let’s live!”







Teacher writing from Kano.

My SS 3 students are very fond of me. As their government teacher, they very much prefer my teaching style, a conscientious balance of work, play and interactive sessions, to the very stoic and ultra-formal style of the other teachers. In return for my making of learning to be fun, I earned their respect and confidence.

For a born and breed Lagosian, whose first ever visit to northern Nigeria came courtesy of the Clarion call to the service of the fatherland, I was itching to learn more about my new environment. My students were more than willing to help out in all of my curiosity-driven quests. Here is my encounter with a Dan Daudu (Singular for Yan Daudu).

It all started off with my interest to get for myself my first ever “babariga”. I have never own one before. Growing up in the cosmopolitan city sort of tuned me up into a straight shirt and jeans kind of guy. We had this impression about those wearing “babariga” as being primitive, untutored and unsophisticated. We’ve always craved jeans for Christmas and this disposition towards “babariga” sort of stayed on until now.

I had one of my student Hamza (Not real name) work me through the process of picking a material. We scout through the market; moving from stall to stall in search for a good bargain. Apart from the predetermined color which I perfer, I really had no knowledge of the various grade and quality of materials on offer. Infact the style was to be determined by Hamza himself, since I had none in mind. All that I cared about was having a “babariga” to my name.

After all the haggling between Hamza and the trader (done in Hausa language), a price was agreed and payment made. The material (a “Cheddar” as I was latter informed) was packaged and handed over.

It was at this point that I enquired for where we could have lunch. It wasn’t that I was too hungry not to be able to wait until I get home first. It was more of my concealed way of showing appreciations to Hamza without him getting to decline it. Anything else would have been politely turned down.

Perhaps fearing for the strength of my pocket, Hamza took me to the motor pack adjacent the market. We got to what i can most descriptively refer to as a roll of shanks right behind the motor pack. We picked one of the many food canteens and went in. We both took our seats opposite each other.

We were deliberating on what to eat with regards to what they have. I don’t understand the local language sufficiently enough to order my own food. I was still telling Hamza what I wanted to eat, since he is the one who is to place the orders when the woman whom I presumed was the owner of the food canteen came forward. At this point, I became dumbstruck.

The woman was by every inch a male. His masculine frame betrayed the layers of foundations and concealers he had on his face. One could still pick out the little strands of growing beards underneath his jaw if one looks hard enough. His make-up wasn’t just heavy, I find them to be somewhat repulsive judging by southern standard. Outside his masculine frame, he was every bit of a woman. His clothes, his jewelries, his hair extensions, his mannerism, even the sound of his voice.

Hamza, sensing my apprehension, asked “her” to get us a plate of rice and beans each. I watched “her” labouring to swing her stiff waist from side to side as “she” went about this task. It took me a while for my head to fully process where i really was. Almost all around me were people. Dinners eating their food, Wristwatch merchants hawking their wears, Almajiris begging and eating from the remnants of the dinner’s plates. And ultimately, many of whom I had mistook for salesgirls, on closer inspection were actually men.

My initial apprehension soon gave way to indifference because I am very much myself a liberalist. In as much as I do not subscribe to homosexuality, I still believe in the credo of “live and let’s live”. An Igbo adage loosely translates that “let the kite perch, let the eagle perch. Which that says the other should not perch, let it’s wing break”.

While I feast on my meal, I decided to engage the “madam” in a conversation with the help of Hamza as our interpreter.

Teacher: Madam this your food e sweet o!

Food seller: na gode (Hausa for “thank you”)

Teacher: What is your name?

Food seller: Amina

Teacher: Amina you are very beautiful and a very good cook.

Food seller: na gode. (“She” even blushed girlishly)

From where we sat, I could observe how the cross-dressers were relating with the other proper males of the community. I watched as some of the motor park touts seized the tray of one of the “salesgirls” and were playfully passing it around among themselves, leaving the hapless but somewhat cheerful “girl” to chase after them in a quest to retrieve back her tray. I watched as some of them spanked “her” ass, and I equally observed how “she” don’t seems to care or perhaps she was enjoying it all. From the much I saw, the relationship between this two segments of the community within the motor park was cordial.

Hamza made me understand that associating with a crossdresser publicly or, more appropriately, outside of the motor park is something that most people will never ever attempt. Amina speaking through Hamza made us understand the respectable men of the society, including politicians, successful business men and Islamic clergymen alike, do visit them and seek their services, but mostly using the cover of the nights.

I asked Hamza how came such a thriving community of cross-dressers in a conversative and almost ultra-religious Northern Nigeria?

Hamza made me understand that there various angles by which one can seek to answer this question. It could be historical/cultural, contemporary pop culture, nature and finally, nurture.

Historically or culturally speaking, there are no obvious Hausa cultural practice that somewhat encourages Homosexuality. Atleast, not any that I could make reference to in the course of my research. Considering that very little form of record keeping happened within most traditional African societies (mostly sub-saharan Africa), one can not sufficiently argue whether or not these practices were present with the African cultural practices.

Dan Daudu, loosely translates to mean “son of Daudu”. Yan Daudu and it’s practices are parts of the baggages that came along with Islam courtesy of the trans-saharan trade routes. The trans-saharan trade routes were the corridor through which Islam was brought to the old Hausa kingdoms of Gobir, so also were the practice of Yan Daudu. The practice involves the entertaining of guests at “biki”(weddings) or those returning from a long journey across the desert through erotic dances and other associated acts like “madigo” (intercourse between women), “aras” (intercourse between men), etc. These dances were preformed by “mai harkas”.

It is a practice that is deeply entrenched in the Islamic cultures of the Arabs, Persians, ancient Egyptians and Moroccans. Rich Arabians could offer one of the women of their harem or a male slave to an honored guest for his entertainment. Since women were such a very difficult and scarce commodity to come by on the trans-saharan trade routes, it will not be out of place for such to be a breeding ground for homosexuality.

The term “Yan Daudu” was never considered a derogatory term long before now. Infact practitioners addresses themselves by it. This is because even though it wasn’t such a profession for one to be most proud of, it was still a profession nonetheless; One which was necessarily tolerated for the proper functioning of an Islamic society. This evidently explains why almost all “Yan Daudu” professes the Islamic faith. They go to the mosque without hindrance, perform ablutions (ritual bath) and observe their prayers. They believe in Allah and equally believes he created them into who they are.

Contemporary pop culture: I personally have no intentions of dwelling too much on this, since it is all taking place right before our very eyes. The media is helping to polish, sell, and conscienciatize us into accepting it as a normal part of the human society. Bobrisky is evidently the poster child of this movement within Nigeria.

The part that really struck me most in the course of my interaction with Amina was the “nature or nurture” part. According to her, cross-dressing just come naturally to some people like fish takes to water. For her, certain things defiles explanations because they are just as Allah designed then to be. And discriminating against them is like discriminating against Allah’s creation.

Society (contemporary society) many times misconceives cross-dressers to be social deviants, misfits and in so many cases, deranged. Amina posited that it is outrightly ludicrous to believe that all cross-dressers are homosexual. Just like “herself”, she has a wife and four kids. So also are many of her friends, many of already have four wives as is permitted by islam. “She” stated that she enjoys the company of a man just as she enjoys the company of a woman. Cross-dressers are like normal people with dreams, goals and aspirations.

When I asked if “she” would want any of her sons to become like her. She gave a slight sigh. After a few silent and thoughtful moments, she replied through my interpreter that “Only Allah charts the course of one’s destiny”.

She told us that some parents actually nurture their sons into Yan Daudu. She spoke of the case of a housewife who have had six sons and was seriously praying for a daughter. It only happened that on the seventh birth, it was still a son. Disappointed that he wasn’t a girl, the woman nurtured her seventh son the way she would a girl. For all she cares, he was for her a girl.

Amina also spoke of males who grow up in a predominantly female environment like boys with too many big sisters. There is every tendency for such to pick up certain female mannerism for it is what they are most exposed to for the formative part of their life.

I enquired to know if there was anything society can do to help out, perhaps to stop the Yan Daudu practice. Amina replied that there are two answers to that question and that the question she gives is solely dependent on who is asking. I pleaded that she gave me both answers.

1st answer: Government should reduce the poverty level, encourage education, uphold transparency and accountability and reform the almajiri system. Many people take up to the “Yan Daudu” trade as a result of frustrations and the dare need to survive. Young Almajiris are target for sodomization(willing or unwilling) just for the sheer need of the stomach.

2nd answer: Frankly speaking, society can never really put an end to the Yan Daudu trade because just like everything else within the society, it is a necessary part of it. Prostitution (whether heterosexual, bisexual or homosexual) is the oldest trade know to man. We just can devoice it from society. We can only manage it.

Conclusively, whichever prism through which one chooses to look at the issue of Yan Daudu, just understand that your freedom ends at when it starts affecting other people's peace. “Live and let’s live!”



Teacher writing from Kano.

Sheuns:
I heard of such people too while serving in Katsina. A corps member (female) narrated her ordeal when she went to a salon in Daura to make her hair; how she saw Men dressed as women with makeup fixing nails. The one fixing nails as she said, appears to be the girlfriend while the boyfriend waited for her(him) in the salon. I was surprised how such could be possible in the north. This your narrative explains why she said the people(fellow northerners) were not surprised seeing them.

There are indeed pockets of northerners who individually are liberals, but collectively, they can be a complete mess. Just don't be on the wrong side of town when they erupt.

Lonelyhrt1:
Too Long

Lazy Nigerian youth

My SS 3 students are very fond of me. As their government teacher, they very much prefer my teaching style, a conscientious balance of work, play and interactive sessions, to the very stoic and ultra-formal style of the other teachers. In return for my making of learning to be fun, I earned their respect and confidence.
For a born and breed Lagosian, whose first ever visit to northern Nigeria came courtesy of the Clarion call to the service of the fatherland, I was itching to learn more about my new environment. My students were more than willing to help out in all of my curiosity-driven quests. Here is my encounter with a Dan Daudu (Singular for Yan Daudu).
It all started off with my interest to get for myself my first ever “babariga”. I have never own one before. Growing up in the cosmopolitan city sort of tuned me up into a straight shirt and jeans kind of guy. We had this impression about those wearing “babariga” as being primitive, untutored and unsophisticated. We’ve always craved jeans for Christmas and this disposition towards “babariga” sort of stayed on until now.
I had one of my student Hamza (Not real name) work me through the process of picking a material. We scout through the market; moving from stall to stall in search for a good bargain. Apart from the predetermined color which I perfer, I really had no knowledge of the various grade and quality of materials on offer. Infact the style was to be determined by Hamza himself, since I had none in mind. All that I cared about was having a “babariga” to my name.
After all the haggling between Hamza and the trader (done in Hausa language), a price was agreed and payment made. The material (a “Cheddar” as I was latter informed) was packaged and handed over.
It was at this point that I enquired for where we could have lunch. It wasn’t that I was too hungry not to be able to wait until I get home first. It was more of my concealed way of showing appreciations to Hamza without him getting to decline it. Anything else would have been politely turned down.
Perhaps fearing for the strength of my pocket, Hamza took me to the motor pack adjacent the market. We got to what i can most descriptively refer to as a roll of shanks right behind the motor pack. We picked one of the many food canteens and went in. We both took our seats opposite each other.
We were deliberating on what to eat with regards to what they have. I don’t understand the local language sufficiently enough to order my own food. I was still telling Hamza what I wanted to eat, since he is the one who is to place the orders when the woman whom I presumed was the owner of the food canteen came forward. At this point, I became dumbstruck.
The woman was by every inch a male. His masculine frame betrayed the layers of foundations and concealers he had on his face. One could still pick out the little strands of growing beards underneath his jaw if one looks hard enough. His make-up wasn’t just heavy, I find them to be somewhat repulsive judging by southern standard. Outside his masculine frame, he was every bit of a woman. His clothes, his jewelries, his hair extensions, his mannerism, even the sound of his voice.
Hamza, sensing my apprehension, asked “her” to get us a plate of rice and beans each. I watched “her” labouring to swing her stiff waist from side to side as “she” went about this task. It took me a while for my head to fully process where i really was. Almost all around me were people. Dinners eating their food, Wristwatch merchants hawking their wears, Almajiris begging and eating from the remnants of the dinner’s plates. And ultimately, many of whom I had mistook for salesgirls, on closer inspection were actually men.
My initial apprehension soon gave way to indifference because I am very much myself a liberalist. In as much as I do not subscribe to homosexuality, I still believe in the credo of “live and let’s live”. An Igbo adage loosely translates that “let the kite perch, let the eagle perch. Which that says the other should not perch, let it’s wing break”.
While I feast on my meal, I decided to engage the “madam” in a conversation with the help of Hamza as our interpreter.
Teacher: Madam this your food e sweet o!
Food seller: na gode (Hausa for “thank you”)
Teacher: What is your name?
Food seller: Amina
Teacher: Amina you are very beautiful and a very good cook.
Food seller: na gode. (“She” even blushed girlishly)
From where we sat, I could observe how the cross-dressers were relating with the other proper males of the community. I watched as some of the motor park touts seized the tray of one of the “salesgirls” and were playfully passing it around among themselves, leaving the hapless but somewhat cheerful “girl” to chase after them in a quest to retrieve back her tray. I watched as some of them spanked “her” ass, and I equally observed how “she” don’t seems to care or perhaps she was enjoying it all. From the much I saw, the relationship between this two segments of the community within the motor park was cordial.
Hamza made me understand that associating with a crossdresser publicly or, more appropriately, outside of the motor park is something that most people will never ever attempt. Amina speaking through Hamza made us understand the respectable men of the society, including politicians, successful business men and Islamic clergymen alike, do visit them and seek their services, but mostly using the cover of the nights.
I asked Hamza how came such a thriving community of cross-dressers in a conversative and almost ultra-religious Northern Nigeria?
Hamza made me understand that there various angles by which one can seek to answer this question. It could be historical/cultural, contemporary pop culture, nature and finally, nurture.
Historically or culturally speaking, there are no obvious Hausa cultural practice that somewhat encourages Homosexuality. Atleast, not any that I could make reference to in the course of my research. Considering that very little form of record keeping happened within most traditional African societies (mostly sub-saharan Africa), one can not sufficiently argue whether or not these practices were present with the African cultural practices.
Dan Daudu, loosely translates to mean “son of Daudu”. Yan Daudu and it’s practices are parts of the baggages that came along with Islam courtesy of the trans-saharan trade routes. The trans-saharan trade routes were the corridor through which Islam was brought to the old Hausa kingdoms of Gobir, so also were the practice of Yan Daudu. The practice involves the entertaining of guests at “biki”(weddings) or those returning from a long journey across the desert through erotic dances and other associated acts like “madigo” (intercourse between women), “aras” (intercourse between men), etc. These dances were preformed by “mai harkas”.
It is a practice that is deeply entrenched in the Islamic cultures of the Arabs, Persians, ancient Egyptians and Moroccans. Rich Arabians could offer one of the women of their harem or a male slave to an honored guest for his entertainment. Since women were such a very difficult and scarce commodity to come by on the trans-saharan trade routes, it will not be out of place for such to be a breeding ground for homosexuality.
The term “Yan Daudu” was never considered a derogatory term long before now. Infact practitioners addresses themselves by it. This is because even though it wasn’t such a profession for one to be most proud of, it was still a profession nonetheless; One which was necessarily tolerated for the proper functioning of an Islamic society. This evidently explains why almost all “Yan Daudu” professes the Islamic faith. They go to the mosque without hindrance, perform ablutions (ritual bath) and observe their prayers. They believe in Allah and equally believes he created them into who they are.
Contemporary pop culture: I personally have no intentions of dwelling too much on this, since it is all taking place right before our very eyes. The media is helping to polish, sell, and conscienciatize us into accepting it as a normal part of the human society. Bobrisky is evidently the poster child of this movement within Nigeria.
The part that really struck me most in the course of my interaction with Amina was the “nature or nurture” part. According to her, cross-dressing just come naturally to some people like fish takes to water. For her, certain things defiles explanations because they are just as Allah designed then to be. And discriminating against them is like discriminating against Allah’s creation.
Society (contemporary society) many times misconceives cross-dressers to be social deviants, misfits and in so many cases, deranged. Amina posited that it is outrightly ludicrous to believe that all cross-dressers are homosexual. Just like “herself”, she has a wife and four kids. So also are many of her friends, many of already have four wives as is permitted by islam. “She” stated that she enjoys the company of a man just as she enjoys the company of a woman. Cross-dressers are like normal people with dreams, goals and aspirations.
When I asked if “she” would want any of her sons to become like her. She gave a slight sigh. After a few silent and thoughtful moments, she replied through my interpreter that “Only Allah charts the course of one’s destiny”.
She told us that some parents actually nurture their sons into Yan Daudu. She spoke of the case of a housewife who have had six sons and was seriously praying for a daughter. It only happened that on the seventh birth, it was still a son. Disappointed that he wasn’t a girl, the woman nurtured her seventh son the way she would a girl. For all she cares, he was for her a girl.
Amina also spoke of males who grow up in a predominantly female environment like boys with too many big sisters. There is every tendency for such to pick up certain female mannerism for it is what they are most exposed to for the formative part of their life.
I enquired to know if there was anything society can do to help out, perhaps to stop the Yan Daudu practice. Amina replied that there are two answers to that question and that the question she gives is solely dependent on who is asking. I pleaded that she gave me both answers.
1st answer: Government should reduce the poverty level, encourage education, uphold transparency and accountability and reform the almajiri system. Many people take up to the “Yan Daudu” trade as a result of frustrations and the dare need to survive. Young Almajiris are target for sodomization(willing or unwilling) just for the sheer need of the stomach.
2nd answer: Frankly speaking, society can never really put an end to the Yan Daudu trade because just like everything else within the society, it is a necessary part of it. Prostitution (whether heterosexual, bisexual or homosexual) is the oldest trade know to man. We just can devoice it from society. We can only manage it.
Conclusively, whichever prism through which one chooses to look at the issue of Yan Daudu, just understand that your freedom ends at when it starts affecting other people's peace. “Live and let’s live!”

Teacher writing from Kano.

LadySarah:


You need to be saved first.Onye ara!! You should be Thankful that You are still alive. You are one of Those giving Igbos a bad name in the north. ITK

Omo see aunty wey mumu! #Laughing

Wagasigiungu:


Bros abeg hush!!!!

This is all damage control. We are educated enough to read between the lines and make inferences from your write up. All of us no fit sleep face thesame side na. Just change ur mindset and predisposition to your host community.

Do you honestly think all the commenters on here who called you out or have contrary views to yours are daft? Admit you were wrong and move past this. Shikenan. No one is infallible. Don't try and justify your wrong. Do you honestly believe you know better than the parents who would most likely be your elders by the way. Do you know what is best for theit kids? Perhaps when you become a parent in future, you would hv a different perspective and see things the way you should.

Stupidity is when you try to justify an issue based on the number of people supporting it. In the sciences, it is called "Herd Psychology". Nicholas Copernicus at one time was the only "stupid" man that believed the sun was the center of the solar system. Today, we are all as "stupid" as Copernicus. #Laughing

Let me correct some false impressions here.
1) The entire event as narrated by me is not fiction. It is all facts as they had happened. There are no exaggeration whatsoever.
2) I was not teaching "sex education". The topic was "Marriage" in social studies.
3) I am not gay, neither am I a member of that community. I infact have a girlfriend that I shagg as mercilessly as my stamina can carry. But it is my personal believe that "the Eagle should be allowed to perch, likewise the Kite".
4) My mention of the LGBTQ community was in passing and was never dwelled on. My reference to the GEJ dispensation was only to highlight that this "global phenomenon" was already at our doorstep.
5) Part of my job description is to expose subject-matters as comprehensively as possible, highlight their merits and demerits; without making recommendations or drawing conclusion. Doing that will amount to indoctrination and not teaching.
6) I didn't not pick the topic. The syllabus does that. Topic that are not "supposed" to be treated shouldn't be on the syllabus.
7) Trying to justify an arrant display of timidity of the locals by referring the American phobia for communism is a shameless misrepresentation of facts. America is a country built upon personal liberty. It is a country where "intentions alone", doesn't constitute a crime. It is nowhere on records that communist sympathizers, and even outright deflectors were ever arrested. They were nevertheless placed under secret surveillance. An example is Lee Harvey Oswald (the communist deflector who assasinated JFK). He was a Russian returnee and was never arrested until after his crime. In as much as it is considered un-american to be a communist, they never hid it from their kids/students that communists do exist. Today the Soviet Union is no more. Russia is a democracy; not minding how flawed. China is incorporating some capitalist tenets into her system. They won't be doing this had the pretended to themselves that the otherside does not exist.
The take-home for me is that there are Cultural or more appropriately, social constraints that limits what is to be talked about, how it is to be talked about, where it is to be talked about and when it is to be talked about. These constraints, even though they may inhibit proper transmission of knowledge, you should just stick to it because that is what the locals want. No matter how at odd these constraints are with the contemporary learning process, they don't give a damn.

Lastly. I once complained to my most Beloved Father about the difficulties that comes with getting married to a well educated woman. The old man looked at me straight in the face. After a few quiet intervals, he opened his mouth and said
"My son, would you prefer to stay in a house with guns, married to a woman that doesn't know how to use them Or would you prefer a woman who knows how to use guns but sees no justification on why she should used them?"
Before I could attempt an answer, he hushed me up and asked me to think a little bit deeper.
"....because the answer you give will say a lot about who you are"
We've been having cases of mindless child molestations, rape, extremism and others. Many of these vices stems from the fact that we as a people have failed to confront the Facts of our fastchanging world. We have built for ourselves self-righteous cocoons where we justify being ignorant to be better than being tolerate. Yet we continue to remain underdeveloped and backward in every sense. Efforts that should rather be invested productively are wasted in a misplaced pursuit of long-held, yet illogically ideologies.
The north have continued to withhold knowledge from her people, yet she has not faired any better than the rest of the country. They still remain the most backward of the entire lot.
In the course of reading through comments on this hallowed platform, I have begin to develop serious concern on the analytic capability of some of my fellow countrymen. Only God can save us from what the future holds.

I was born and raised in the southern part of Nigeria; Lagos to be precised. I had my first degree in eastern Nigeria. The National Youth Service Corp program offered me my first ever opportunity to visit the North.

I served in Taraba State. A very beautiful state that I will love to visit again someday. Infact, my pleasant experience in Taraba was a principal factor in my decision to pursue my Master's degree in a Northern University. I finally settled for the Prestigious Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria.

To help cushion the cost of a second degree, I undertook the job of a teacher in one of the many "secular" secondary schools (Name withheld) in Zaira. I was assigned to teach "Social Studies" to the Junior classes from Jss1-3. Then "English" and on not-too-frequent occasions "Government", to the Senior classes from Ss1-3.

I had my very first lesson with the Jss 3 on Monday; considering that I was taking over from a teacher who had started with them from Week One. The topic i treated was "Harmful Cultural Practices". We have "Female Genital Mutilation" as a subtopic; which was actually what I taught.
I took time to explain to the students what "Female Genital Mutilation" also known as "Female Circumcision" was all about. I explained the underlying reasons why the natives had to introduce it, what they had hoped to achieve and the resulting problems they created. In other to be better understood, I drew a mock diagram of a female anatomy on the blackboard. This was geared towards a proper understanding of the differences between Partial Circumcision (Scarification) and Complete Mutilation.

In the course of the lesson, the students exhibited some form of childish repulsions, which I attributed to the very nature of the subject-matter. On my part, I tried as much as possible to stick to the topic without cracking jokes or even laugh at jokes from them. Many even asked inquisitive and probing questions. I only answered those that I considered relevant to the issue of discuss. I left the class with some of the students still showing signs of repulsion.
My next lesson was with the Jss 1. The topic was "Marriage". I tested the class previous knowledge by asking them what they understand by the word "Marriage". A female student stood up to defined marriage as a "union between a man and a woman". I asked the entire class to clap for her, given her very bold attempt. But to their bewilderment, I told the class that she was wrong after they were done clapping. Some of them even protested; inquiring why I adjuged her to be wrong.

I told the class that her definition was wrong because it did not sufficiently capture the very essence of the concept as it applies to our contemporary times. I told them that marriage is rather "a legal union between two consenting adults", "....it could either be between two people of the same gender or two opposing genders".
At this point, I had their undivided attention. They were all hushed and concentrated. I told them about the LGBTQ community and their persistent struggle for acceptance.

I made them understand that is a global community with a global agenda. To drive home my point, I made them understand that the last dispensation of Goodluck Jonathan, had infact blamed this global phenomenon to be principally responsible for his failure at the polls as result of his refusal to give consent. I equally put in the same energy to explain the more common types of marriage (Christian, Islamic, Traditional, and Court). I left my class feeling every earned sense of fulfillment; having done my job to the best of my ability.

THE NEXT DAY.

I was in my office, when I got a message that the Director wants to see me. It was not my first time of receiving such a call from the Director. Staff meetings were almost becoming as frequent as one going to make use of the Convenience. Well... I took it like "Nwa it's nothing" ( in Phyno's voice). I stood up from my chair, adjusted my belt and then, swaggered away towards the Director's Office.

Before the office of the Director is the office of his secretary. The population of parents I saw there was quite more than what we normally receive on a daily bases. But considering that for the past week, we have been emphatic on the need for school fees debtors to come effect their payment, I didn't give their presence much thought. I was infact glad that at least, Madam will no longer hold us responsible for the poor response of parents to this obligation.

My indifference soon started giving way to some form of anxiety; more like fear, when I began to notice the "sea of eyes" looking my way with every step I took towards the Director's Office. As I got closer to the door, I discovered that the population in the Director's Office was even more that the spillover outside. I could feel the suppressed tension in the air. The faces were not bright or even welcoming to say the least. They did not appear to me like those who came to pay school fees.

I was able to excuse my way into the Secretary's Office. The Director motioned for me to come into his office at once, as soon as he saw me making my way in. He wasn't sitting on his chair. Standing with him as I was latter told is the School PTA chairman. A very respectable man judging by his outward disposition. He was an elderly man; infact the oldest among the lot.
As soon as the Director motioned me in, the crowd standing between me and the Director's Office just parted in two like the Red Sea to make way for me. I felt my heart sink into my stomach. My legs instantly felt heavy. But I had myself under strict comportment. My face were without emotions. Afterall, I was guilty of nothing (or so I thought).

As I walked into the office, the elder man (PTA chairman) was looking almost piercingly at me. As if sizing me up. My presence caught him in the middle of his address to the gathering.
My Director asked me to take a seat; which I did. I infact, sat at the edge of my seat, still wondering why I was the only teacher that was called to such a gathering of not-so-happy-looking parents. My Director (also an elderly Muslim man) sensing my apprehension, asked me to relax with what I considered to be a mischievous grim on his face. Well...I knew better than to do as instructed. I was on guard.
The first question I was asked was "How long have you been in the North?".

"About 15 months Sir" I replied as loud enough as my dried throat will permit me. "The first 12 months was at Jalingo and just 3 months in Zaria." i quickly added emphatically.

"Where were you born?"
"Lagos but I did my first degree in the East. My family is still based in Lagos"
"Are you Igbo?"
"Yes Sir"
There was a little thoughtful pause after that answer. Then he continued..
"What brought you to Zaira?"
"I'm a student of ABU and I'm here for my Master's degree program Sir"
"That's good" he said thoughtfully as he continued to gaze at me as if studying my disposition.
The others just continue to look as us without saying a word. A few of them (matured men) were occupying the few seats in the office. The rest (mostly the hijab wearing women and young fathers) were standing.
"Our Children came home to complain that you are teaching them bad things. That you are saying negative things that they don't like in class. What is it that you are teaching them?"
At this moment, I almost felt like bursting out in laughter. I had to pinch myself to remain composed.

Well...to cut the story short, I took time to explain to the parents what it was that I taught. The Director even sent for my textbooks without allowing me to go get them myself. I don't know if they were nursing the impression that I might escape. Funny them! Escape for what? Mtcheeeu!

When my textbooks came, it was confirmed that I had actually taught in accordance to the dictates of the textbook for the case of the Jss3. As for the Jss1, the topic was actually confirmed to be on marriage too, but the textbook (which was an old textbook of course) was silent on the issue of same sex marriage.

I was given a very strict warning to stick only to the content of the textbook. In the course of all of the admonishment, the PTA Chairman was smiling, but I knew better than to take the smiles for their face value. This people were dead serious!

I have since swore to myself, that I shall never try to "do pass myself". if I teach and you understand....fine! if you don't.... that's your cup of tea! I can't come and kill myself.
This was my experience! I felt compelled to write it down in order to help save someone somewhere from falling into my kind of situation. That is wasn't attacked by the parents is infact a miracle that I thank God and the respectable PTA chairman for. My intentions were pure. But here in the North, intentions can easily be misinterpreted especially when coming from a non-muslim and worst still, from a Nyamiri.
I personally think there is still a need for mass sensitisation of the Northerner on the usefulness of Western Education. The illiteracy rate is high. Those that even manage to go to school are just doing it with the impression that it is merely to fulfill all righteousness. Little wonder why we keep discovering "torture houses" on a daily bases. If the University community of Zaria could be this timid, how much more the Northern interiors.

Thank you.

TACTICAL ANALYSIS OF THE MUCH DISCUSSED LANDLOCKED JARGON BY THE YORUBA MISLEADING MEDIA AND THE NORTHERN FEUDAL LORDS.
Landlocked South vs Deadlocked North
Who actually has the padlock?? Who has the keys??
By Edwin Bishops
.
This Hausa man took a deep cut of his gworo and said to me,
"Biafra will be landlocked, over populated, they will loose so
much wealth and the separation will most likely be a war"..
.
I sipped my wine, because I knew he was on the cheapest
fears and I said to him,"I have all the keys to those pad
locks"..
.
First look at these..
Two scenarios.. A Biafra with the south south and another
without the south south.
Without the South South... How has landlock stopped a nation
from growing? In this era of Antonov An-225 Hercules planes
that can lift over 450000kg equivalent to almost 2 ships and
who remembers a SEAPORT in this generation of INTERNET-
PORT when 85% of world's transactions are done through high
speed broad band Internet. Gambia, Togo, Benin, Mauritania,
Guinea etc all have unlimited assess to the sea.. Ha ji ya mee
gini?? Are they in anyway doing better than Rwanda, Bostwana
and little Djibouti. In fact Djibouti is servicing 25 African
countries with its Antonov plane nicknamed SKY-PORT that
covers its most distant point in Africa from Djibouti in 18hrs
while it will take 3 days to move a 40ft container from Apapa
to Aba.. Rwanda without a StreamPort nor RiverPort, not to
talk of seaport is Africa's best growing economy!
.
In Europe, the PIIGS (Portugal, Italy, Ireland, Greece and
Spain) have a peninsulaic access to the sea, whenever the storm of recession comes, it first sweeps them into the same damn sea, they are Eurozone weakest nations while
landlocked countries like Luxembourg, Austria and Germanyare waxing strong..
As in ha kwu chim n'ala...
In Asia, Qatar, Abu Dhabi, Dubai are not only landlocked but desert locked and how has that affected them?.. Who sea epp??
If the SS is not Biafra, there are various international corridors and laws that can sort things out, not forgetting that a greater
communication with that region must cross through the South east (Biafra)
But if the Yoruba republics are declared and the complete anticipated Biafra is pronounced with the SS..
Then the north is simply DEADLOCKED and then mallam, I will advice you to chew less of this gworo now, so you can have what to eat
then...
On the population, what laws says all Biafrans must live in Biafra land.. What percentage even lives in the north?? Less than 3%!!!.. Yes..
when you go to some places in the south east, the population looks like there is a festivity going on but you must admit that
the Greater Tokyo Metropolitan has a population of 37million people and Monaco has a density of 22500 per sq. km.. I don't
see people walking on the heads of others there, rather I see a China, India, Japan, USA, Mexico that has harnessed and
muscled the strengths of their population into development..
Even Lagos explosively developed due to population increase, that people had to push back the sea.. 1000 skyscrapers in
Biafra land, in no joke will solve the housing problem of Biafra by 95%!.. Take this to the bank!
.
On Biafrans loosing their wealth, I need not go outside Nigeria for an answer..
In 1970, Biafrans got £20 and in 1975, there
were millionaires already in Biafra land, the likes of Chisco, Ekene Dili Chukwu, Emeka Offor and even in 1979, Alex Ekwueme single handedly sponsored NPN to presidency that
he was rewarded with a VP seat... Now show me one man, east, south, north and west that is wealthy from all the inheritance of the abandoned property??
The north is still underdeveloped, impoverished and incomparably out of tone in this 21st century...
.
On separations meaning a war.. This defines the sum of the accumulation of the northern cowardice, as if Russia broke up through a war, what about Eritrea? Singapore and Malaysia??..
There are more peaceful resolutions to conflicts than the vampire attitudes of the north but let it be clear to you mallam, eshi à muru dike na mba, ka à muru ibe ya!..
.
The problem of the North is that they are brainlocked, spirituallocked, psycholocked, greedlocked, futurelocked, even landlocked and above all DEADLOCKED by their ancestors who have long lost the keys to UNLOCK them and yet they want everyone to synchronize with their backwardness and then still
think its about PDP vs APC.

Just watch how the Afonjas will tactically pretend not to see where it was explicitly written that Yemi Tella was in charge of the team as at that time.



AFONJA AND HYPOCRISY IS LIKE 5&6.



Someone should please help me with that Jacob Zuma's meme

He jumped bail because there was an attempt on his life. the judge should do well to consider the circumstances that had led to his nonavailability.

AFONJALIZED THE IDIOT

No one has Monopoly to violence. Paying them back with their own coin. #laughin

Please give me your phone number, so that I can give you a call. Mine 08132944388

OCEANMORGAN:



Maybe there is no test for the course you applied for, but I will still make inquiry about it. I will be going to the school today.

Please how were you informed that you will be sitting for an entrance exam for your own course?

OCEANMORGAN:





It is test fee.

Please, I applied for MSc in Political Science in AHMADU BELLO UNIVERSITY. I hold a Bachelor of Art in Philosophy, UNIVERSITY of Nigeria, Nsukka. I wasn't given any prior notice of any entrance exam for Saturday. I did not get any text message, neither was there a message sent to my dashboard or email. From information on the ABU's website, the entrance exam is not meant for every course. I am a corper serving in Jalingo.
Please someone with a better information should please help a distressed brother. 08132944388. God bless you!

islamics:

In Sha Allah I will be there. I am working towards traveling Saturday morning. Somebody has paid the 5k for me.

please what is the 5k for?

Please, I applied for MSc in Political Science in AHMADU BELLO UNIVERSITY. I hold a Bachelor of Art in Philosophy, UNIVERSITY of Nigeria, Nsukka. I wasn't given any prior notice of any entrance exam for Saturday. I did not get any text message, neither was there a message sent to my dashboard or email. From information on the ABU's website, the entrance exam is not meant for every course. I am a corper serving in Jalingo.
Please someone with a better information should please help a distressed brother. 08132944388. God bless you!

BuhariLooter:
My message to my Igbo brothers is that in the short run Buhari has to go. For those who are protesting for Biafra, you cannot go protest with hunger, or empty stomach ,let the man go first, leave Aso Rock, let someone who is reasonable enter Aso Rock, then we continue our dialogue on the Nigerian project. Boycotting the election like Kanu said will not help the igbos rather it helps Buhari to win the election remember Peter Obi is the second igboman to contest as Vice Presidential Candidate after Dr Alex Ekwueme let's support PDP just because of our Igbo Brother Peter Obi. I believe he will try his best if elected
Daluu kwa nu ooooooo!!Gullibility is now a norm. You don’t even need to use your brain. Why do you think some educated dummies are swarming all over the internet screaming Baba Oyoyo and four plus four, despite the crass failure of the Buhari’s administration and the cluelessness, now derangement of a president who should be recuperating in a hospital taking care of his health?

Don't be ridiculous. If we must support our own, it must be Mughalu. He is an igboman and he is gunning for the top position. Not one privileged FULANI Cameroonian. Hypocrites. Enemy posing like friend.