₦airaland Forum

chukzyblingz:
Beat me? Lol!!! I'm 100% sure you're not from Delta state. I'm also 100% sure you're one Nwoke in one of the local SE markets. Igbos are known fabricators, propagandists, distorters or facts and imposters. I have proofs of this but I don't want to go into that. I'm a very busy man and I don't like to stay on one Nairaland thread making pointless arguments with demented fellows. We in Anioma are civilized people. We can stand any intellectual discourse with civility and maturity and we don't resort to insults when someone doesn't agree with us, go to Anioma pages and blogs and find out. But Igbos are the complete opposite. They can't stand a divergent view or opinion without resulting to insults and you exhibits all these traits alien to Anioma people.

It would be senseless, pointless and foolhardy to remain on a thread that has been hijacked by tens of jobless Igbos who have all the time in the world to trade words and insult whoever doesn't agree with them. I have important things to do with my time and I don't find any pleasures in online battles, so I had to leave that thread for you. Igbos have population advantage and elyou people use propaganda, fabrications, distortion and conspiracy theories as your weapons. That's what everyone know you people for.

I don't understand your bitterness against Easterners, what have they done to you?

no matter what bitter post civil war inspired anti-igbo tale your folks may have told you, Anioma and Easterners are united in interests and culture, and will achieve much more if they work together than separate.

we Igbos need to unite.

krasican:
abeg remove dis two ..dooo

I'm an Ika man from Owa, so I will put Agbor there.
who are you? where are you from?

not some communities, one-third of Delta is Igboid!

go to Asaba, Agbor, Issele uku and Kwale, and ask them about Biafra, the eyes of the people are open, Nigeria is not a must.

Joshuamilarge:
this cannot be in warri, check first pix, warri gat no mountain.

gbam!
you talk my mind

SABA2002:
This garri processing thing no easy ooo.

Abeg my good brothers and sisters, who get her number.... I think I just found my missing rib.

Help a brother out please.

make I no enter u o!
U no dey see her facebook name there?

QuotaSystem:
[s]Ibos are finally waking up to the clueless and failed administration of Jonathan and the charm used to blind the SE to Jonathan's failure to develop the region is fast wearing off.

So it's today they are realizing Jonathan failed to do anything for the South East? That their most important roads were abandoned, the 2nd Niger bridge was not delivered and Jonathan failed to build any strategic critical infrastructure for the region?

Is it just now they are realizing how disgraceful it is to be dominated by minority Ijaws to the point where an Ibo leader can shamelessly state that Ibos were given their identity by an Ijaw zoologist?

Ndigbo una Good morning. [/s]

.

Abagworo:
You are wrong you know. Igbo language is too diverse that you have to be versed in it to understand the names as applied in our hundreds of dialects. In Ngwa dialect "Ikpegh" means money and "azugh" means cannot buy. Literally it translates to "money cannot buy" but culturally it means "incorruptible".

Ezenwo in Ikwerre language means same as Ezenwa in Igbo distinguishable from Ezemati in Ikwerre or Ezenta in Igbo.

Nyesom in Ikwerre language is same as Onyesom in Igbo language and Wike in Ikwerre is same as Nwike in Igbo.

Okowa and Okorocha/Okocha are basically in reference to male specie as used in older Igbo. Oko owa means Nwoke Owa in Igbo of today while Okocha means Nwokeocha in recent Igbo. Oko Owa means an Owa man. Okowa might have links to Owa kingdom of Ika ethnic group as we have such names as Nwangwa or Nworu in Igbo parts.

Okowa is from Owa-Alero in Owa kingdom

AWONEYAN:
The fear of Niger Delta scavenger won't allow that.

there are no militants in Delta north

that's an Anioma son
God bless his hustle

Topiipii:
I'm not sure if 'colour coding' is applicable in Nigeria yet, that's why I did not indicate the country. I shared the info so that people know that things like this exist, The UK for example uses one.

regardless of if it is applicable in the UK, USA or a caucasian utopia
so far it is not applicable in 9ja, it is not universal.

1bkaye:
Lmao their testing department must be in the deepest of sh*ts

I'm sure heads are already rolling

cgnfg

dmcdad:
But the reality is this; as universally accepted as the 3.5mm headphone jack is, it is outdated. And the fact that something has always been this way and hence should continue so is the thought of weak minds I would say. How about it could be made better or be completely isolated, with the provision of a better way of achieving that same thing? Technology is advancing by the day, and thus, outdated tech needs to give way for more advanced and sophisticated tech.

I don't always like the crowd thingy. Do you know that recently major browsers are ditching flash player for good in favour of HTML 5? This is something Steve Jobs had seen and thus why he refused to ever run flash on their browser (Safari) by default. When he wrote an article several years ago, a lot thought he was crazy and was being overly critical, and years later they discovered he was right about the security flaws and threats flash player possess. Sometimes you just have to look at the bigger picture.

Remember when it was just happy producing non-removable batteries in their phones. They were mocked for it. Now what's happening with high end phones? Let me see how you combine using premium materials with a removable back.

Or was it when they delved into building their chips using 64bits architectures? A lot aaid it was a gimmick, amd that it doesn't give any performance improvement when the amount of RAM ain't in the 4gb range. Today, every one of em (Qualcomm and the likes...) have followed suit.

Do you even know that USB-C was developed by Apple, and they pushed it through the necessary organisation to be made a standard? Knowing fully well that the adoption by other brands may be very slow, they pushed to make it a standard so that others would see it as the way to go.

Let's just watch and see how things unfold. Good morning.

you were just appealing to my emotions with Apple's popularity in your pseudo-argument! No facts

Analyzing the removal of headphone jack with facts.
1. It is wasteful, already owned wired headphones cant be used without adapter.

2. It is inconvient, you can't charge and use wired headphones same time.

3. it is unnecessary, you can start a wireless revolution without removing the 3.5 mm headphone jack.

I believe no other company will follow them on that path of folly
you can face a wireless future without having to discard something as universally accepted as the 3.5 mm headphone jack.

this is not a rule!

the company where I'm attached to, red is for safety and fire
other colours are used by anybody.

Mark Zuckerberg came to 9ja? Yes
he dressed simple? Yes
he acted humble? Yes

Is that why person no go hear word again! Every man to his own abeg!

But yes, Mr. Zuckerberg displayed some commendable qualities, the only ones that will help in Nation building is Entrepreneurship and charity.

Have a happy Sunday.

Nwokem, you are gonna meet your match,
in the meantime, just keep doing your thing.

.

Tiri gbosa for Mama
you married an Icon.

wristbangle:
Nigerians blasting themselves within but outside there is unity. I hope this one voice can speak in all ramifications.

don't start!
enjoy the attack on CNN's ignorance and leave it at that.

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THE THING AROUND YOUR NECK
you thought everybody in America had a car and a gun; your uncles and aunts and cousins
thought so, too. Right after you won the American visa lottery, they told you: In a month, you
will have a big car. Soon, a big house. But don’t buy a gun like those Americans.
They trooped into the room in Lagos where you lived with your father and mother and three
siblings, leaning against the unpainted walls because there weren’t enough chairs to go round, to
say goodbye in loud voices and tell you with lowered voices what they wanted you to send them. In
comparison to the big car and house (and possibly gun), the things they wanted were minor—
handbags and shoes and perfumes and clothes. You said okay, no problem.
Your uncle in America, who had put in the names of all your family members for the American
visa lottery, said you could live with him until you got on your feet. He picked you up at the airport
and bought you a big hot dog with yellow mustard that nauseated you. Introduction to America, he
said with a laugh. He lived in a small white town in Maine, in a thirty-year-old house by a lake. He
told you that the company he worked for had offered him a few thousand more than the average
salary plus stock options because they were desperately trying to look diverse. They included a
photo of him in every brochure, even those that had nothing to do with his unit. He laughed and said
the job was good, was worth living in an all-white town even though his wife had to drive an hour
to find a hair salon that did black hair. The trick was to understand America, to know that America
was give-and-take. You gave up a lot but you gained a lot, too.
He showed you how to apply for a cashier job in the gas station on Main Street and he enrolled
you in a community college, where the girls had thick thighs and wore bright-red nail polish, and
self-tanner that made them look orange. They asked where you learned to speak English and if you
had real houses back in Africa and if you’d seen a car before you came to America. They gawped
at your hair. Does it stand up or fall down when you take out the braids? They wanted to know. All
of it stands up? How? Why? Do you use a comb? You smiled tightly when they asked those
questions. Your uncle told you to expect it; a mixture of ignorance and arrogance, he called it. Then
he told you how the neighbors said, a few months after he moved into his house, that the squirrels
had started to disappear. They had heard that Africans ate all kinds of wild animals.
You laughed with your uncle and you felt at home in his house; his wife called you nwanne,
sister, and his two school-age children called you Aunty. They spoke Igbo and ate garri for lunch
and it was like home. Until your uncle came into the cramped basement where you slept with old
boxes and cartons and pulled you forcefully to him, squeezing your buttocks, moaning. He wasn’t
really your uncle; he was actually a brother of your father’s sister’s husband, not related by blood.
After you pushed him away, he sat on your bed—it was his house, after all—and smiled and said
you were no longer a child at twenty-two. If you let him, he would do many things for you. Smart
women did it all the time. How did you think those women back home in Lagos with well-paying
jobs made it? Even women in New York City?
You locked yourself in the bathroom until he went back upstairs, and the next morning, you left,
walking the long windy road, smelling the baby fish in the lake. You saw him drive past—he had
always dropped you off at Main Street—and he didn’t honk. You wondered what he would tell his
wife, why you had left. And you remembered what he said, that America was give-and-take.
You ended up in Connecticut, in another little town, because it was the last stop of the
Greyhound bus you got on. You walked into the restaurant with the bright, clean awning and said
you would work for two dollars less than the other waitresses. The manager, Juan, had inky-black
hair and smiled to show a gold tooth. He said he had never had a Nigerian employee but all
immigrants worked hard. He knew, he’d been there. He’d pay you a dollar less, but under the table;
he didn’t like all the taxes they were making him pay.
You could not afford to go to school, because now you paid rent for the tiny room with the
stained carpet. Besides, the small Connecticut town didn’t have a community college and credits at
the state university cost too much. So you went to the public library, you looked up course syllabi
on school Web sites and read some of the books. Sometimes you sat on the lumpy mattress of your
twin bed and thought about home—your aunts who hawked dried fish and plantains, cajoling
customers to buy and then shouting insults when they didn’t; your uncles who drank local gin and
crammed their families and lives into single rooms; your friends who had come out to say goodbye
before you left, to rejoice because you won the American visa lottery, to confess their envy; your
parents who often held hands as they walked to church on Sunday mornings, the neighbors from the
next room laughing and teasing them; your father who brought back his boss’s old newspapers from
work and made your brothers read them; your mother whose salary was barely enough to pay your
brothers’ school fees at the secondary school where teachers gave an A when someone slipped
them a brown envelope.
You had never needed to pay for an A, never slipped a brown envelope to a teacher in
secondary school. Still, you chose long brown envelopes to send half your month’s earnings to your
parents at the address of the parastatal where your mother was a cleaner; you always used the
dollar notes that Juan gave you because those were crisp, unlike the tips. Every month. You
wrapped the money carefully in white paper but you didn’t write a letter. There was nothing to
write about.
In later weeks, though, you wanted to write because you had stories to tell. You wanted to write
about the surprising openness of people in America, how eagerly they told you about their mother
fighting cancer, about their sister-in-law’s pree mie, the kinds of things that one should hide or
should reveal only to the family members who wished them well. You wanted to write about the
way people left so much food on their plates and crumpled a few dollar bills down, as though it
was an offering, expiation for the wasted food. You wanted to write about the child who started to
cry and pull at her blond hair and push the menus off the table and instead of the parents making her
shut up, they pleaded with her, a child of perhaps five years old, and then they all got up and left.
You wanted to write about the rich people who wore shabby clothes and tattered sneakers, who
looked like the night watchmen in front of the large compounds in Lagos. You wanted to write that
rich Americans were thin and poor Americans were fat and that many did not have a big house and
car; you still were not sure about the guns, though, because they might have them inside their
pockets.

.
.
.
.
.
to be continued

...

His excellency, how many of this uncircumcised muslim governors will bid farewell to christian pilgrims?

Efulefu reasoning!

The hausas made threats to Mr. Chinakwe's life, you and the police don't see that that is the actual crime.

Anyone that makes the hausa masters have committed a crime?

The Bike had better not be chain or belt driven.
It won't be pretty if the chain gets their wrapper.

It all makes sense

This is not 1967

see who 'people who did not put all their eggs in one basket' has brought to power.
an unrepentant ethnocentric dictator.

why is the police stopping at curfew? won't they fish out the murderers?

Christians need to start burning things before the authorities realize that there is no peace without justice.

what is the student's name?