₦airaland Forum

[quiote author=nakaman post=82957032]Bloody pretty. You get jr sis wey I fit date.[/quote]miscreant

Bhami:
Bruh she refused due to some prophecy we've been dating for like 10months but we start to have sex just last week I came to realize how complicated her health issue was yesterday

so much hypocrisy tufiakwa! I hate prophecy, prophecy has died since old testament she bleeps and feel prophecy of anointing is still on her Head, OK Mr bhamiloko put your hand on your head and repeat after me,my Father! my father! may I never fall in the hands of sisters using men of God to truncate my dreams while at the same time having selfish worldly desires if you say that ,pls go in peace and end this relationship of darkness. AMEN!!!

the main killers are not the thugs the real killers are the hospital staff,the doctors,the nurses, the matrons, the hospital board of directors etc
like seriously doctors don't end well it is either they are drug addicts,womanisers, drunkereds ,died of sudden heart attack or worst still are down with debilitating sickness that even the devil could not diagnose if you are a doctor and see did change your ways.

NASA Launches Parker Solar Probe For
Historic Mission To The Sun (Photos)
/ NASA Launches N541b Parker Solar
Probe Into The Sun's Atmosphere To
Study It
/ Paul Allen Unveils World's Largest
Plane With Two Cockpits(Photos).THESE ARE THE KIND OF TOPICS I WANNA READ INTO NAIRA LAND COS NEXT TO GOD AND JESUS I Revere TECHNOLOGY.

oluwasegun007:
There's something in the white man DNA Africans don't have.

all DNAs are the same greed is what blinds us every thing u see is born of the metaphysic called witchcraft,don't we have it let's take ours to the lab for the betterment of our society.

daddytime:
Na una dey find Toto trouble na oo

oooooooh! stop calling her Toto today is Sunday.

You read the Bible with decernings of the flesh that's why you felt there's a contradiction, at first I thought you were a converted Alfa,a lawyer or a historian looking for loopholes to become an athies
Well you are entitled and tied to your opinions.

For you to live happily with this kind woman you must be a farmer Or an importer of food items I picture her waking in the middle of the night saying "honey!I yam hungry and I wan chop"/

Courtesy demands when you enter a place and meet pple seated even kids say Hi to them becos they are there beforehand .you might ask for directions,, same applies to them when they meet you there common sense is what separates us from animals, so the guy is 200℅ right,what of if she slips,had a luggage,was stalk on,or they knew the directions of one something,somebody?aren't they capable of helping gladly?

Science and Technology, the only threat to all forms of orthodox myths and superstitions.
I hope they can go as far as i wish before I drop this body.

Mr nobody may God make you into "somebody"...next to God/Jesus I worship technology.

Find and download" the book of Adam" for other eye opening expositions of the Bible I suggests "the lost books of the Bible"

So so sad, facts about elephant's:
-The only mammal that gives birth after two years.
-the only mammal a pride of lions couldn't attack and kill(matured).
-the only mammal that never forgets a wrong done to it.
-the only mammal next to a donkey with everlasting memory whilst alive.
-the only mammal that celebrate with its family in birth and in mating season.-
-the only mammal that grieves and mourn on sighting the carcass or demise of an elephant even if it comes from another herd.(it is also known to mourn the corpses of humans when chance on one.
-the only mammal that helps other injured or stranded animals in the wild even predators like lions.
-the only mammal the can lift tons of loads.
-the mammal only royalty cherish alive or dead.
-the only mammal that sings and trumpets when in love or changes color from grey to reddish purple when courting.
-the only mammal that could pick a peanut with its large tusk as if with a finger.
-the only mammal with a priceless teeth (tusk)fit for royals.
The only animal with less than 3000 population worldwide.
With this and many more isn't it a thing of sorrow for one to withness the demise of one elephant.let's say no to poaching no to the extinction of this wise,awesome,exotic animal.[color=#006600][/color]

Pettyprincess:
Any man telling a lady to abort is a murderer,hw will you be driving in raw nd doesn't want to accept responsibility?that is why ladies should always date responsible nd financial buoyant guys.

but they only love the irresponsible

mybestlove:
We didn't offend anybody. Just that we refuse to act and are afraid to confront the ruling class

no we refuse to confront our selves

AFRICA WAKE UP

I read this piece with pain but full of inspiration. I urge all my friends to read too. It is disheartening, let’s wake up from our slumber, let us make the best use of our education and research.
This lengthy discussion between a Zambian and an American in a flight to Boston will lighten your spirit and agitate you.
Every Patriot in Africa should read this article; penned by US-based Zambian media practitioner and author. He is a PhD candidate with a B.A. in Mass Communication and Journalism, and an M.A. in History.
They call the Third World the lazy man’s purview; the sluggishly slothful and languorous prefecture.
In this realm people are sleepy, dreamy, torpid, lethargic, and therefore indigent—totally penniless, needy, destitute, poverty-stricken, disfavored and impoverished. In this demesne, as they call it, there are hardly any discoveries, inventions, and innovations.
Africa is the trailblazer. Some still call it “the dark continent” for the light that flickers under the tunnel is not that of hope, but an approaching train.
And because countless keep waiting in the way of the train, millions die and many more remain decapitated by the day.
“It’s amazing how you all sit there and watch yourselves die,” the man next to me said. “Get up and do something about it.
When I first discovered I was going to spend my New Year’s Eve next to him on a non-stop JetBlue flight from Los Angeles to Boston I was angst-ridden.
I associate marble-shaven Caucasians with iconoclastic skin-heads, most of who are racist.
“My name is Walter,” he extended his hand as soon as I settled in my seat.
I told him mine with a precautious smile.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Zambia.”
“Zambia!” he exclaimed, “Kaunda’s country.”
“Yes,” I said, “Now Sata’s.”
“But of course,” he responded. “You just elected King Cobra as your president.”
My face lit up at the mention of Sata’s moniker. Walter smiled and in those cold eyes I saw an amenable fellow, one of those American highbrows who shuttle between Africa and the U.S.
“I spent three years in Zambia in the 1980s,” he continued. “I wined and dined with Luke Mwananshiku, Willa Mungomba, Dr. Siteke Mwale, and many other highly intelligent Zambians.” He lowered his voice. “I was part of the IMF group that came to rip you guys off.” He smirked. “Your government put me in a million dollar mansion overlooking a shanty called Kalingalinga.
From my patio I saw it all—the rich and the poor, the ailing, the dead, and the healthy.”
“Are you still with the IMF?” I asked.
“I have since moved to yet another group with similar intentions.
In the next few months my colleagues and I will be in Kenya to hypnotize the Raisi
I work for the broker that has acquired a chunk of your debt. Your government owes not the World Bank, but us millions of dollars.
We’ll be in Lusaka to offer your president a couple of millions and fly back with a check twenty times greater.”
“No, you won’t,” I said. “King Cobra is incorruptible. He is …”
He was laughing. “Says who? Give me an African president, just one, who has not fallen for the carrot and stick.”
Quett Masire’s name popped up.
“Oh, him, well, we never got to him because he turned down the IMF and the World Bank.
It was perhaps the smartest thing for him to do.”
At midnight we were airborne.
The captain wished us a happy 2015 and urged us to watch the fireworks across Los Angeles.
“Isn’t that beautiful,” Walter said looking down.
From my middle seat, I took a glance and nodded admirably.
“That’s white man’s country,” he said. “We came here on Mayflower and turned Indian land into a paradise and now the most powerful nation on earth.
We discovered the bulb, and built this aircraft to fly us to pleasure resorts like Lake Zambia or lake Kenya .
I grinned. “There is no Lake Zambia or lake Kenya
He curled his lips into a smug smile. “That’s what we call your countries . You guys are as stagnant as the water in the lake.
We come in with our large boats and fish your minerals and your wildlife and leave morsels—crumbs. That’s your staple food, crumbs.
That corn-meal you eat, that’s crumbs, the small Tilapia fish you call Kapenta/omena are crumbs.
We the Bwanas (whites) take the cat fish.
I am the "Bwana" and you are the "mtu".
I get what I want and you get what you deserve, crumbs.
That’s what lazy people get—Zambians, Kenyans, other Africans and the entire Third World.”
The smile vanished from my face.
“I see you are getting pissed off,” Walter said and lowered his voice.
“You are thinking this Bwana is a racist.
That’s how most Zambians & Kenyans respond when I tell them the truth.
They go ballistic.
Okay. Let’s for a moment put our skin pigmentations, this black and white crap, aside.
Tell me, my friend, what is the difference between you and me?”
I said
"There’s no difference.”
“Absolutely none,” he exclaimed. “Scientists in the Human Genome Project have proved that. It took them thirteen years to determine the complete sequence of the three billion DNA subunits.
After they were all done it was clear that 99.9% nucleotide bases were exactly the same in you and me.
We are the same people. All white, Asian, Latino, and black people on this aircraft are the same.”
I gladly nodded.
“And yet I feel superior,” he smiled fatalistically. “Every white person on this plane feels superior to a black person.
The white guy who picks up garbage, the homeless white trash on drugs, feels superior to you no matter his status or education.
I can pick up a nincompoop from the New York streets, clean him up, and take him to Lusaka and you all be crowding around him chanting muzungu, muzungu and yet he’s a riffraff.
Tell me why my angry friend.”
For a moment I was wordless.
“Please don’t blame it on slavery like the African Americans do or colonialism, or some psychological impact or some kind of stigmatization.
And don’t give me the brainwash poppycock. Give me a better answer.”
I was thinking.
He continued. “Excuse what I am about to say. Please do not take offense.”
I felt a slap of blood rush to my head and prepared for the worst.
“You my friend flying with me and all your kind are lazy,” he said. “When you rest your head on the pillow you don’t dream big.
You and other so-called African intellectuals are lazy, each one of you only going for leadership; just to fill their own stomach and steal from the poor.
It is you and not those poor starving people, who are the reason Africa is in such a deplorable state.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say,” I protested.
He was implacable. “Oh yes it is and I will say it again, you are lazy in your minds.
Poor and uneducated Africans are the most hardworking people on earth. I saw them in the Lusaka markets and on the street of Nairobi selling merchandise. I saw them in villages toiling away.
I saw women on Kafue Road crushing stones to sell and I wept. I said to myself where are the Zambian intellectuals? And in kenya l saw women as bricklayers. Where are these intellectual men?
Are the Zambian or Kenyans engineers so imperceptive they cannot invent a simple stone crusher or a simple water filter to purify well water for those poor villagers? Or sort out the drainage system to make Biogas or rivers purification systems.
Are you telling me that after thirty-seven years or more of independence your university school of engineering has not produced a scientist or an engineer who can make simple small machines for mass use?
What is the school there for?”
I held my breath.
“Do you know where I found your intellectuals? They were in bars quaffing.
I saw with my own eyes a bunch of alcoholic graduates. Calling themselves policy makers
Zambian, Kenyans , other African intellectuals work from eight to five and spend the evening drinking. We don’t. We reserve the evening for brainstorming.”
He looked me in the eye.
“And you flying to Boston and all of you Africans in the Diaspora are just as lazy and apathetic to their country.
You don’t care about your country and yet your very own parents, brothers and sisters live there.
Many have died or are dying of neglect by you as democratic government .
They are dying of AIDS because you cannot come up with your own preventive measures. Too much immorality.
You are here calling yourselves graduates, researchers and scientists and are fast at articulating your credentials once asked—oh, I have a PhD in this and that, so what?
What next? Handouts from IMF? Then repay?
I was deflated.
“Wake up you all!” he exclaimed, attracting the attention of nearby passengers. “You should be busy lifting ideas, formulae, recipes and diagrams from American manufacturing factories and sending them to your own factories.
All those dissertation papers you compile should be your country’s treasure. Why do you think the Asians are a force to reckon with? They stole our ideas and turned them into their own. Look at Japan, China, India, just look at them.”
He paused. “The Bwana has spoken,” he said and grinned.
“As long as you are dependent on my plane, I shall feel superior and you my friend shall remain inferior, how about that?
The Chinese, Japanese, Indians, even Latinos are a notch better.
You Africans are at the bottom of the totem pole.”
He tempered his voice. “Get over this white skin syndrome and begin to feel confident.
Become innovative and make your own stuff for God’s sake.”
At 8 a.m. the plane touched down at Boston’s Logan International Airport. Walter reached for my hand.
“I know I was too strong, but I don’t give a damn. I have been to Zambia , Kenya , other African countries and have seen too much poverty.”
He pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something. “Here, read this. It was written by a friend.”
He had written only the title: “Lords of Poverty.”
Thunderstruck, I had a sinking feeling.
I watched Walter walk through the airport doors to a waiting car. He had left a huge dust devil twirling in my mind, stirring
I remembered some who have since passed—how they got the highest grades in mathematics and the sciences and attained the highest education on the planet.
They had been to Harvard, Oxford, Yale, Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), only to leave us with not a single invention or discovery.
I knew some by name and drunk with them at the Lusaka Playhouse and intercontinental hotel, safari park Kenya and Central Sports in Lusaka
Walter is right. It is true that since independence we have failed to nurture creativity and collective orientations.
We as a nation lack a workhorse mentality and behave like 13 million civil servants dependent on a government pay cheque.
We believe that development is generated 8-to-5 behind a desk wearing a tie with our degrees hanging on the wall.
Such a working environment does not offer the opportunity for fellowship, the excitement of competition, and the spectacle of innovative rituals.
But the intelligentsia is not solely or even mainly, to blame.
*The larger failure is due to political circumstances*.
Knowing well that King Cobra , Kenyatta, and others will not embody innovation at Walter’s level let’s begin to look for a technologically active-positive leader who can succeed them after a term or two.
That way we can make our own stone crushers, water filters, water pumps, razor blades and harvesters or dig our own boreholes without IMF being involved.
Let’s dream big and make tractors, cars and planes,
or like Walter said, forever remain inferior...
A fundamental transformation of our country from what is essentially non-innovative to a strategic superior African country requires a bold risk-taking educated leader with a triumphalist attitude and we have one in YOU.
Don’t be highly strung and feel insulted by Walter. It is like shooting the messenger.
Take a moment and think about our country.
Our journey from 1963 has been marked by tears. It has been an emotionally overwhelming experience.
Each one of us has lost a loved one to poverty, hunger, and disease.
The number of graves is catching up with the population.
It’s time to change our political culture. It’s time for Zambian, Kenyans, Nigerians and other Africans intellectuals to cultivate an active-positive progressive movement that will change our lives forever.
Don’t be afraid or dispirited, rise to the challenge and salvage the remaining.copied

AFRICA WAKE UP

I read this piece with pain but full of inspiration. I urge all my friends to read too. It is disheartening, let’s wake up from our slumber, let us make the best use of our education and research.
This lengthy discussion between a Zambian and an American in a flight to Boston will lighten your spirit and agitate you.
Every Patriot in Africa should read this article; penned by US-based Zambian media practitioner and author. He is a PhD candidate with a B.A. in Mass Communication and Journalism, and an M.A. in History.
They call the Third World the lazy man’s purview; the sluggishly slothful and languorous prefecture.
In this realm people are sleepy, dreamy, torpid, lethargic, and therefore indigent—totally penniless, needy, destitute, poverty-stricken, disfavored and impoverished. In this demesne, as they call it, there are hardly any discoveries, inventions, and innovations.
Africa is the trailblazer. Some still call it “the dark continent” for the light that flickers under the tunnel is not that of hope, but an approaching train.
And because countless keep waiting in the way of the train, millions die and many more remain decapitated by the day.
“It’s amazing how you all sit there and watch yourselves die,” the man next to me said. “Get up and do something about it.
When I first discovered I was going to spend my New Year’s Eve next to him on a non-stop JetBlue flight from Los Angeles to Boston I was angst-ridden.
I associate marble-shaven Caucasians with iconoclastic skin-heads, most of who are racist.
“My name is Walter,” he extended his hand as soon as I settled in my seat.
I told him mine with a precautious smile.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Zambia.”
“Zambia!” he exclaimed, “Kaunda’s country.”
“Yes,” I said, “Now Sata’s.”
“But of course,” he responded. “You just elected King Cobra as your president.”
My face lit up at the mention of Sata’s moniker. Walter smiled and in those cold eyes I saw an amenable fellow, one of those American highbrows who shuttle between Africa and the U.S.
“I spent three years in Zambia in the 1980s,” he continued. “I wined and dined with Luke Mwananshiku, Willa Mungomba, Dr. Siteke Mwale, and many other highly intelligent Zambians.” He lowered his voice. “I was part of the IMF group that came to rip you guys off.” He smirked. “Your government put me in a million dollar mansion overlooking a shanty called Kalingalinga.
From my patio I saw it all—the rich and the poor, the ailing, the dead, and the healthy.”
“Are you still with the IMF?” I asked.
“I have since moved to yet another group with similar intentions.
In the next few months my colleagues and I will be in Kenya to hypnotize the Raisi
I work for the broker that has acquired a chunk of your debt. Your government owes not the World Bank, but us millions of dollars.
We’ll be in Lusaka to offer your president a couple of millions and fly back with a check twenty times greater.”
“No, you won’t,” I said. “King Cobra is incorruptible. He is …”
He was laughing. “Says who? Give me an African president, just one, who has not fallen for the carrot and stick.”
Quett Masire’s name popped up.
“Oh, him, well, we never got to him because he turned down the IMF and the World Bank.
It was perhaps the smartest thing for him to do.”
At midnight we were airborne.
The captain wished us a happy 2015 and urged us to watch the fireworks across Los Angeles.
“Isn’t that beautiful,” Walter said looking down.
From my middle seat, I took a glance and nodded admirably.
“That’s white man’s country,” he said. “We came here on Mayflower and turned Indian land into a paradise and now the most powerful nation on earth.
We discovered the bulb, and built this aircraft to fly us to pleasure resorts like Lake Zambia or lake Kenya .
I grinned. “There is no Lake Zambia or lake Kenya
He curled his lips into a smug smile. “That’s what we call your countries . You guys are as stagnant as the water in the lake.
We come in with our large boats and fish your minerals and your wildlife and leave morsels—crumbs. That’s your staple food, crumbs.
That corn-meal you eat, that’s crumbs, the small Tilapia fish you call Kapenta/omena are crumbs.
We the Bwanas (whites) take the cat fish.
I am the "Bwana" and you are the "mtu".
I get what I want and you get what you deserve, crumbs.
That’s what lazy people get—Zambians, Kenyans, other Africans and the entire Third World.”
The smile vanished from my face.
“I see you are getting pissed off,” Walter said and lowered his voice.
“You are thinking this Bwana is a racist.
That’s how most Zambians & Kenyans respond when I tell them the truth.
They go ballistic.
Okay. Let’s for a moment put our skin pigmentations, this black and white crap, aside.
Tell me, my friend, what is the difference between you and me?”
I said
"There’s no difference.”
“Absolutely none,” he exclaimed. “Scientists in the Human Genome Project have proved that. It took them thirteen years to determine the complete sequence of the three billion DNA subunits.
After they were all done it was clear that 99.9% nucleotide bases were exactly the same in you and me.
We are the same people. All white, Asian, Latino, and black people on this aircraft are the same.”
I gladly nodded.
“And yet I feel superior,” he smiled fatalistically. “Every white person on this plane feels superior to a black person.
The white guy who picks up garbage, the homeless white trash on drugs, feels superior to you no matter his status or education.
I can pick up a nincompoop from the New York streets, clean him up, and take him to Lusaka and you all be crowding around him chanting muzungu, muzungu and yet he’s a riffraff.
Tell me why my angry friend.”
For a moment I was wordless.
“Please don’t blame it on slavery like the African Americans do or colonialism, or some psychological impact or some kind of stigmatization.
And don’t give me the brainwash poppycock. Give me a better answer.”
I was thinking.
He continued. “Excuse what I am about to say. Please do not take offense.”
I felt a slap of blood rush to my head and prepared for the worst.
“You my friend flying with me and all your kind are lazy,” he said. “When you rest your head on the pillow you don’t dream big.
You and other so-called African intellectuals are lazy, each one of you only going for leadership; just to fill their own stomach and steal from the poor.
It is you and not those poor starving people, who are the reason Africa is in such a deplorable state.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say,” I protested.
He was implacable. “Oh yes it is and I will say it again, you are lazy in your minds.
Poor and uneducated Africans are the most hardworking people on earth. I saw them in the Lusaka markets and on the street of Nairobi selling merchandise. I saw them in villages toiling away.
I saw women on Kafue Road crushing stones to sell and I wept. I said to myself where are the Zambian intellectuals? And in kenya l saw women as bricklayers. Where are these intellectual men?
Are the Zambian or Kenyans engineers so imperceptive they cannot invent a simple stone crusher or a simple water filter to purify well water for those poor villagers? Or sort out the drainage system to make Biogas or rivers purification systems.
Are you telling me that after thirty-seven years or more of independence your university school of engineering has not produced a scientist or an engineer who can make simple small machines for mass use?
What is the school there for?”
I held my breath.
“Do you know where I found your intellectuals? They were in bars quaffing.
I saw with my own eyes a bunch of alcoholic graduates. Calling themselves policy makers
Zambian, Kenyans , other African intellectuals work from eight to five and spend the evening drinking. We don’t. We reserve the evening for brainstorming.”
He looked me in the eye.
“And you flying to Boston and all of you Africans in the Diaspora are just as lazy and apathetic to their country.
You don’t care about your country and yet your very own parents, brothers and sisters live there.
Many have died or are dying of neglect by you as democratic government .
They are dying of AIDS because you cannot come up with your own preventive measures. Too much immorality.
You are here calling yourselves graduates, researchers and scientists and are fast at articulating your credentials once asked—oh, I have a PhD in this and that, so what?
What next? Handouts from IMF? Then repay?
I was deflated.
“Wake up you all!” he exclaimed, attracting the attention of nearby passengers. “You should be busy lifting ideas, formulae, recipes and diagrams from American manufacturing factories and sending them to your own factories.
All those dissertation papers you compile should be your country’s treasure. Why do you think the Asians are a force to reckon with? They stole our ideas and turned them into their own. Look at Japan, China, India, just look at them.”
He paused. “The Bwana has spoken,” he said and grinned.
“As long as you are dependent on my plane, I shall feel superior and you my friend shall remain inferior, how about that?
The Chinese, Japanese, Indians, even Latinos are a notch better.
You Africans are at the bottom of the totem pole.”
He tempered his voice. “Get over this white skin syndrome and begin to feel confident.
Become innovative and make your own stuff for God’s sake.”
At 8 a.m. the plane touched down at Boston’s Logan International Airport. Walter reached for my hand.
“I know I was too strong, but I don’t give a damn. I have been to Zambia , Kenya , other African countries and have seen too much poverty.”
He pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something. “Here, read this. It was written by a friend.”
He had written only the title: “Lords of Poverty.”
Thunderstruck, I had a sinking feeling.
I watched Walter walk through the airport doors to a waiting car. He had left a huge dust devil twirling in my mind, stirring
I remembered some who have since passed—how they got the highest grades in mathematics and the sciences and attained the highest education on the planet.
They had been to Harvard, Oxford, Yale, Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), only to leave us with not a single invention or discovery.
I knew some by name and drunk with them at the Lusaka Playhouse and intercontinental hotel, safari park Kenya and Central Sports in Lusaka
Walter is right. It is true that since independence we have failed to nurture creativity and collective orientations.
We as a nation lack a workhorse mentality and behave like 13 million civil servants dependent on a government pay cheque.
We believe that development is generated 8-to-5 behind a desk wearing a tie with our degrees hanging on the wall.
Such a working environment does not offer the opportunity for fellowship, the excitement of competition, and the spectacle of innovative rituals.
But the intelligentsia is not solely or even mainly, to blame.
*The larger failure is due to political circumstances*.
Knowing well that King Cobra , Kenyatta, and others will not embody innovation at Walter’s level let’s begin to look for a technologically active-positive leader who can succeed them after a term or two.
That way we can make our own stone crushers, water filters, water pumps, razor blades and harvesters or dig our own boreholes without IMF being involved.
Let’s dream big and make tractors, cars and planes,
or like Walter said, forever remain inferior...
A fundamental transformation of our country from what is essentially non-innovative to a strategic superior African country requires a bold risk-taking educated leader with a triumphalist attitude and we have one in YOU.
Don’t be highly strung and feel insulted by Walter. It is like shooting the messenger.
Take a moment and think about our country.
Our journey from 1963 has been marked by tears. It has been an emotionally overwhelming experience.
Each one of us has lost a loved one to poverty, hunger, and disease.
The number of graves is catching up with the population.
It’s time to change our political culture. It’s time for Zambian, Kenyans, Nigerians and other Africans intellectuals to cultivate an active-positive progressive movement that will change our lives forever.
Don’t be afraid or dispirited, rise to the challenge and salvage the remaining.

I just hope tacha doesn't have a hand in this, tacha this tacha that "therealMrStan"rest in peace for dead is a garment we shall all wear some days, sometimes.

Na so she fine chai!all for not watching bbnija wow! Margret tacha should go to hell

See rascals being celebrated mtchhhhw!

hensben:
I’m not a fan of Buhari but if he was the one that did this will you talk this way. Hypocrites and Nigerians. Smh.

Buhari again what has BUHARI to do with selfie. I love every leader without Gods anointing Buhari wouldn't be president.

Always insure what you have

An indomie generation sees suicide as a panacea

hensben:
Smh. Unserious leaders everywhere.

see dis one even Obama became president due to social media he made bbm very popular.

paddyofboss:
Who told you the bbn idea was from SA. Don't let ignorance kill u oooo

none ignorance I just need something to strike a ZULU I hope you are with me?

paddyofboss:
Who told you the bbn idea was from SA. Don't let ignorance kill u oooo

none ignorance I just need something to strike a ZULU ODIOT I hope you are with me?

Seriously this tacha na dish all I want na for me to smell her armpit and I will go down in peace see how awoke my d....k is just viewing her pic-now,this is the price I am paying for not having anything to do with big bro,if tacha is viewing this page let her call me on this number 08166670664 toll free I will pay in case you call and I am playing big man the pervert in me is just playing shy and hard to get

Wow all because I no dey watch bbnija ,so did stupid ikechukwu wan diss this sexy geh ,chisosu! I find tacha insanely attractive, I no mind to lick her armpit I can do anything to have did bad character as my wife.sexy tacha +sweet body fragrance+bad character=hard penis to Bleep all night long

subtlemee:
I'm indifferent....my only advice is that anywhere you find yourself let the world know your parent did a good job on you

or you did a good job on your character you would be very sure she came from decency but choose to deviate.

Na so I rent house for wan estate that year, furnish am to taste,states of the art décor and pristine,the boy perching with the landlord come easy come sabbi me,become like my boy every gossips about the estate na from im mouth I dey hear, :Dfood na my ends comfort and company edey get,my problems is e no dey take care of him body mouth smell,body smell,like corpse upon that e full of bad words and protest when ever. You wan correct am,sha eget as e be,
I come manage am due to him handyness,
One day e no come sleep for him house because him and landlord other son fight two days when him sleep for my Parisian carpet my whole palour begin smell like mortuary na so so anger chatch me ask am why rat die rotting for beautiful parlor na so so bad mouth did charlatan follow mi with I have to bundle him out ,fumigate room,change Parisian rug,sun every thing and wash every thing now we no dey talking mood ,if him take left I take right so I cannot remember the crime of odor.I swear tacha should change you cannot be having body odor and be rude.

Na so I rent house for wan estate that year, furnish am to taste,states of the art décor and pristine,the boy perching with the landlord come easy come sabbi me,become like my boy every gossips about the estate na from im mouth I dey hear, :Dfood na my ends comfort and company edey get,my problems is e no dey take care of him body mouth smell,body smell,like corpse upon that e full of bad words and protest when ever. You wan correct am,sha eget as e be,
I come manage am due to him handyness,
One day e no come sleep for him house because him and landlord other son fight two days when him sleep for my Parisian carpet my whole palour begin smell like mortuary na so so anger chatch me ask am why rat die rotting for beautiful parlor na so so bad mouth did charlatan follow mi with I have to bundle him out ,fumigate room,change Parisian rug,sun every thing and wash every thing now we no dey talking mood ,if him take left I take right so I cannot remember the crime of odor.[b][/b]I swear tacha should change you cannot be having body odor and be rude.