₦airaland Forum

QuinQQ:
DNA testing of children is NOT an improvement. It is just an unnecessary fishing expedition that doesn't benefit the child, the man, or society!

Okay,I rest my case .
Not everybody can be helped .

QuinQ:
Throughout human history there was no DNA test. That's how it used to be!

So there shouldn’t be room for improvement?
Since there were no cars in the olden days why u no dey trek?
Why use cars?
In a bid to sound woke y’all appear the opposite.

QuinQQ:
But you can skip all that by simply going back to how it used to be - if you have a child from infancy you're his father and you have an obligation to raise him. And that can be accomplished by simply banning DNA testing of MINORS!

Are you scared of accountability?
“ Going back to how it used to be” as how nau

Exousiang01:
I hope you are not raising children with this brain??

Asin ehn
This Quin Q and Canada or Bust nigga need help.

CanadaOrBust:
Seriously, learn to THINK. It will free you from living by instinct like an animal. For example it will free you from the irrational obsession with DNA. Thinking will let you see that what makes a person your son and you their father is NOT sperm!

On the verge of trying to sound woke,u sound naive and dumb

Teach yourself,you go need am….

CanadaOrBust:
Quite the opposite. I'm teaching you to THINK rather than going by mindless instinct. Nature gave us strong instinct to have our genes survive exactly like lower animals. That's why men have an instinctive urge to sleep with as many women as possible - thereby guaranteeing survival of their genes.
But you can override that animal instinct with THOUGHT! If you THINK about it, your particular genes surviving benefits you NOTHING. What's important is that you are father to a well-raised child who respects and references you as his father!

CanadaOrBust:
Just throwing out words because they sound cute to you. Define "accountability" for us.
Can't you see that some of your forefathers might not have been your biological forefathers? All through history there has not been DNA. Sometimes, unbeknownst to them, the most successful child is not even a biological child of the father but he gets all the accolade as his father and he carries his name and proudly references him as his father.
Can't you see that matters more than sperm??

If person spend time with you,u go reduce the person IQ

Tomorrow they’ll say tinubu’s government was flourishing

CanadaOrBust:
It's an honest question. You use your ITK to break up a happy, loving family that the father happily provided for. HOW does that benefit even the man talkless of society. In the old days whatever children your wife had were legally your children - even if you were already dead, as long as she remained your wife. So paternity was determined by whose wife she was when she gave birth NOT by sperm. That's a more sensible way. Example, what does it benefit you if you found out your father was not your biological father and he left the family and stopped training you?
DNA testing is not how nature intended things!

What a naive thing to say
This is 2026 not 1914
Like I said u dont value accountability and I’m not surprised

safarifarms:
Yet some people claim Iran isn't a terrorist country.

Iran is jus a violent nation
They hate peace

CanadaOrBust:
So how does it benefit society?

It won’t to you because u know nothing about accountability.

Doris go use all their money buy powder and cream

You typed this?…,,,quote author=womilojublog post=140013783]she is absolutely right, I have warned about single mothers on Womiloju Blog,

Google womiloju Blog

They inherited character or the lack thereof and followed on in the lifestyle of their own mother.
There is a particular kind of inheritance that arrives without a will, without a ceremony, without anyone signing their name to the transfer. It does not come in envelopes or boxes carried from one house to another. It comes in the way a girl watches her mother's eyes go cold across a dinner table. It comes in the curl of a lip, the dismissal in a voice, the architecture of contempt that a child absorbs the way dry earth absorbs rain completely, and without knowing it is happening at all.

This is the inheritance that was passed to seven daughters. And by the time each of them had stood before an altar of their own, smiled in white, and later walked away from the rubble of yet another marriage, the pattern had written itself so completely into their lives that it had begun to look, from the outside, like fate.

It was not fate. It was something far more precise. It was education.
A home is the first school any human being ever attends, and it is the one whose lessons last the longest. Before language is fully formed, before a child can name what she is seeing, she is already cataloguing it. Filing it. Building from the raw material of her parents' daily interactions a blueprint of what love looks like, what marriage means, what a man deserves, and what a woman is permitted to feel. Children do not learn relationships from textbooks. They learn them from the kitchen. From the hallway argument that stops abruptly when they enter the room. From the silence at the dinner table that is louder than any shouting. From the expression on their mother's face when their father speaks and what that expression teaches them about the value of the man who calls himself husband.

In this house of seven daughters, their father was not honored. He was endured. Perhaps he had his failings most men do, as most women do but what the daughters witnessed was not a mother navigating a flawed marriage with grace and wisdom. What they witnessed was contempt. Open, daily, unguarded contempt. Their father was spoken over, spoken down to, dismissed in front of his children with the casual cruelty of someone who had long stopped pretending. He was ridiculed. Made small. His presence in the home reduced to a kind of tolerated inconvenience, and his voice stripped of its authority not by his own failures alone but by the consistent, deliberate undermining of the woman who had once vowed to stand beside him.

The daughters watched all of this. And what seven young minds heard, beneath all the noise of it, was a theology of marriage: Men are to be managed. Men are to be endured. Men are, ultimately, to be despised.

They did not know they had learned this lesson. That is the most devastating feature of generational patterns they do not announce themselves. A young woman does not walk into her first marriage thinking, I will now reproduce my mother's dysfunction. She walks in with hope, with love, with the genuine desire for something different. But desire is not enough to override programming. And programming runs deep.

The first daughter married a man who, by all accounts, was decent. Hardworking. Present. But something in her could not settle into the quiet comfort of a man who did not need to be fought. She had grown up in the electricity of conflict, in the charged atmosphere of a home where tension was the permanent weather. Peace felt like stagnation to her. Respect felt like weakness. She began, almost unconsciously, to test him. To push. To apply the same corrosive dismissal she had watched her mother apply to her father, as though she were following a recipe she had memorized in childhood. When he eventually pulled away as men do when they feel perpetually diminished she called it abandonment. She did not recognize it as consequence.

The second daughter was more subtle. She did not fight openly. She withheld. She had learned, watching her mother, that the most powerful weapon a woman holds in a marriage is the power to make a man feel invisible. To look through him rather than at him. To respond to his warmth with the perfect temperature of indifference. Her husband tried for years to reach her, to break through the wall of cool remove that she had constructed so expertly that she herself could no longer find the door. He eventually stopped trying. She called it his failure of persistence. He called it exhaustion. The court called it irreconcilable differences.

The third carried her mother's tongue sharp, quick, and deadly accurate. She had a gift for identifying a man's deepest insecurity and, in moments of conflict, driving straight to it with surgical precision. She had watched her mother do this to her father countless times watched the way it made him flinch, watched the power it produced and she had absorbed it as a tool, without understanding that tools of destruction do not distinguish between enemies and the people you love. Her marriages there were two did not survive her gift. After the second ended, she sat with a friend and said, with genuine bewilderment, I don't understand why I cannot keep a man. Her friend, who had watched her in action for twenty years, could not find the words to answer.

What none of the seven daughters had been given was the one thing that might have interrupted the pattern: a model of honor. Not the performance of honor. Not the gritted-teeth tolerance of a woman who stays but makes her staying feel like a life sentence served by two. But genuine, daily, chosen honor. The kind of honor that says: this man is not perfect, but he is mine, and I will speak of him to my children as someone worthy of respect, and I will disagree with him in private and stand beside him in public, and I will remember that what my daughters see me do to their father is what they will one day do to their own husbands.

Their mother never learned this. Perhaps she had never been taught it either. Perhaps she too was a daughter of a broken altar, sitting in her own childhood kitchen cataloguing her own mother's contempt, writing her own unconscious curriculum. Generational curses and the word curse is appropriate here, not as superstition but as precision are rarely invented by the generation that carries them. They are inherited, refined, and passed forward in the guise of personality.

By the time a pattern has traveled through three generations of women, it no longer feels like a learned behavior. It feels like character. It feels like just the way I am. And that is the precise moment at which it becomes most dangerous when dysfunction achieves the dignity of identity.
There is a particular conversation that happens in certain circles, spoken in the language of grievance and solidarity, that says the problem is the scarcity of good men. And there is, to be fair, some truth embedded in it the world does not lack for men who are uncommitted,
emotionally unavailable, or unwilling to build. But the conversation becomes a prison when it is used to foreclose self-examination. When seven daughters from the same mother have each watched a marriage collapse, and the shared explanation is always the man a different man each time, in different cities, at different ages, under different circumstances the mathematics of that pattern eventually demands a different question.

What is the variable that does not change?
It is not the men. The men were different. The variable that does not change is what these women brought with them through every front door of every new beginning the unexamined inheritance of a home where their father was small, their mother was bitter, and marriage was a theater of endurance rather than a covenant of love.
This is not said to condemn them. It is said because condemnation is easy and understanding is necessary. These women did not choose their childhoods. They did not sit as little girls and decide to absorb contempt as a marital strategy. They were victims, first, of a model they had no power to refuse. The tragedy is not that they were given this inheritance the tragedy is that they were never told they were carrying it. That they mistook the weight of it for their own natural disposition. That they went through marriage after marriage without anyone sitting them down and saying: What you saw in your mother's house is not what love is supposed to look like. And until you unlearn it, you will keep rebuilding that house, with different furniture and different men, and arriving at the same ruin.

Character, in the context of marriage, is not a single grand gesture. It is not the wedding day or the anniversary dinner or the public declaration. Character is the Tuesday morning when you are tired and irritated and your husband says something clumsy and your first instinct is the sharp word, the cold shoulder, the rolling eyes and you choose, instead, something different. Character is the accumulation of ten thousand small choices to honor rather than diminish, to soften rather than wound, to remember that the man sitting across from you is also someone's son, also carrying his own inheritance, also trying to build something durable from the materials of his own imperfect past.
No woman is born without the capacity for this character. But capacity must be cultivated. And it cannot be cultivated in a home where it was never modeled. It cannot grow in soil that was never prepared for it.

The seven daughters were handed a world where marriage was a wound and a man was a burden. They were never handed the alternative. And so they stepped, each of them, into their own marriages as architects who had only ever studied ruins, and they built accordingly.
The cycle breaks if it breaks not through blame, and not through the pretense that the past did not happen. It breaks through the terrifying, necessary act of seeing clearly. Of a woman sitting still long enough to ask herself not why did he fail me but what did I bring into this room? Of daughters who loved their mother but refuse to finish her sentences. Of women who look at the pattern laid out across the years of their family's history and say, with grief and without self-destruction: This stops with me.
It requires the kind of courage that never makes headlines not the courage of the battlefield or the boardroom, but the quiet, daily courage of unlearning. Of sitting with a therapist or a pastor or a trusted elder and saying the unsayable: I think I have been the problem. Not entirely. Not without cause. But I have been part of this. Of choosing, in the morning before the day has had a chance to challenge you, to be different from what you were shown.

The altar that was broken in that house of seven daughters can be rebuilt. Not the same altar that one is ash. But a new one, built on different ground, with different materials, by hands that have finally decided they will not pass this particular inheritance forward.
Because somewhere, in the next generation, there are daughters watching. There are always daughters watching.
And what they see will become what they know. And what they know will become what they do. And what they do will become the world their own children inherit.

The question is never only what happened to us. The question the harder, more honest, more redemptive question is always:
What will we do with what happened to us?
That answer does not belong to the past. It belongs entirely to the living.[/quote]

Dzzzz:
Instead of me to marry single mother,I go buy 2 Ekuke wey I go Dey train for house..

lol
Omo
😂

Zonefree:
Man is supposed to start a Family not join a Family.


Single mothers are for men not serious with their lives.

Gbam

“Give themselves independence “
lol 😂 😂

Man was created to start a family not join one.
Wetin happen,family na wifi wey u wan join?

CanadaOrBust:
And if the child turns out not to be the man's will government help the mother raise it?

No they won’t
They have saved someone from paternity fraud
Moreover DNA no cheap for Naija
Should be about 700k

Oboy where’s the lie ?

Sonnobax15:

Na to go hustle like 2k firewood put for ground keep,cuz there's no way that dog is gonna escape being calabarised

lol
Werey

Atlantis585:
Then he should not worry about it and just walk around among Israelis without security.

That’s all.

The problem is not the Israelis

Franking:
I don't know your reason for attributing whatever is happening in your life to a God.

I don’t know your reason for trying to question this process in my life
Different strokes for different folks.
Dunno if you can relate

ednut1:
he was killed , he didn’t die for anyone

No doubts

AkpaMgbor:
A lot of people who don’t give a flying fvck about your god are also doing great.

Variety is the spice of life
I don’t expect you to understand 💁🏽‍♂️

1Alex:
are you sure you read the post before jumping to comment?

Lol

Better for y’all
Smart choice

These things suppose Dey free

Because in all you do Give Thanks

announcement:
How did you believe that the man that gave birth to your great grand father existed When you were not there?

lol
No mind am
Trying to form woke