Kutunban's Posts
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kpankpangolo:It could be that everything was staged or planned with those acclaimed "Robbers" including him perhaps to cheat out someone, family or associate he is having dealings with. |
Thank you so much for this piece. Kalatium: |
Sirchiboy: |
fuckJones:Move on, I don't want you anymore. |
Hamachi:Hi, I know the question is not for me but I guess trying my luck might work. I'm a data scientist too with skills in statistics, the nuts and bolts of machine learning and highly proficient with BI tools. I'm also proficient with Database language like SQL and programming languages like Python and R. I just rounded up the Advanced Google Data analytics certificate course on Coursera which gave me the opportunity to build projects that solve real problem. I can share my GitHub link if you don't mind. |
Great development, our financial institutions need to be strong.Honestly, this recapitalization thing is good for everyday Nigerians. It helps make banks stronger, so people won’t wake up one morning and hear stories of banks crashing with their savings inside. Stronger banks also means more loans for businesses, more jobs, and better support for things like farming, housing, and small businesses. At the end of the day, it’s about protecting our money and giving the economy more breathing space. |
All these things you wrote will be what you will tell your self not to do in the future again. You are either 16 or 19 years. Sirchiboy: |
This has been my major concern lately. Earlier this term, we had to withdraw our daughter from her school in Barnawa, along Angola Road. I don’t want to mention the name of the school, but they kept increasing their fees unnecessarily and introducing activities that didn’t make any sense. They also no longer had a qualified maths teacher the one they used to have probably left because of poor salary. What made it even worse was discovering that the person teaching them mathematics actually studied English. My daughter is already in Primary Three, yet they only just started teaching them the basic concepts of fraction addition and subtraction. Even back in Primary Two, the teacher who handled their maths would simply rush through many pages, skip the important topics, and then give them assignments. Who exactly was she expecting to teach them the mathematics we are paying her to teach? We, the parents, would end up teaching the children at home, and when they returned to school, she wouldn’t even revisit the topic she would just move on to the next one. Instead of building proper mathematical foundations, the school kept asking pupils to bring fruits and random items “for fraction practicals” another tactic to make parents spend unnecessary money that was why I withdraw her. During our own time, it wasn’t like this at all; we were taught the real basics early, and we understood them well. This is why Nigeria’s education system urgently needs an overhaul. But that’s not even the biggest issue. My daughter had already started the term and I had bought her new uniforms. What really bothered me was seeing that most of the teachers trekked long distances to school, and it was obvious they were struggling financially. I doubt many of them earn up to ₦70,000. And honestly, how can teachers who are earning such poor salaries give your children the quality of education they deserve? To make it worse, I was the one who taught my daughter how to read and spell using phonics, and I’m also the one who taught her basic mathematics. It honestly felt like I was just wasting money in that school without getting any meaningful results. Everything she knows from reading to solving maths she learned because I taught her myself, not because of the school. |
iamrealdeji:Many will not understand you. All these politicians are the same, he wants to get Nigerians emotional. Change can only start from family and our Justice system. |
Why do you care if she talks to you or not? Bro build some esteem. |
SmartPolician:Poor comprehension, they don't mean civilians but recruits. |
You are a divergent thinker. We only have few of them in Nigeria. Tinubu is always checkmating his foes like how he played the clown as a frail old presidential aspirant and how he played Elrufai too. Tinubu is a friend to the French and an asset to the US allegedly. Both US and French want a base in the Sahel... TallNigerian: |
But the case was different during Jonathan's administration. |
I have it too, I wanted to disagree not until I checked my hand and indeed the assertion is true but can't believe 90%. How did the op arrive at such estimate? |
Which part of Kaduna? |
Nickisindigo:That desired business mostly fail if "Some people" use the fraudulent funds as capital. |
Solidex:OG |
From the Bible to the Qur’an, taking human life is seen as the ultimate sin. Yet wars, executions, violence, and accidents show it still happens. But my question is: when a person kills for the very first time, what do they feel deep inside? Do they collapse in guilt, haunted by nightmares and begging God for mercy? Or does it awaken something vile, a dark appetite to kill again? The soldier in war. The executioner carrying out “justice.” The man who kills in anger. The driver whose mistake ends a life. Does that first kill push someone closer to God in repentance or further into darkness? What’s your take? Does the first kill destroy the soul, or reveal it? |
Dazzay:It is, Nigeria prisons. |
All these points are quite relative. I believe many of them may come from personal experiences or the shared struggles of married men within your circle. It’s true that men face silent battles, but not every man interprets or responds to them the same way. For some, these concerns may weigh heavily; for others, they may not resonate at all. Marriage is a unique journey for every couple. What strengthens one relationship might not apply in another. That’s why conversations like this are important, they open our eyes to the different realities men and women go through, and they help us learn how best to support one another. |
So you got D7 in Physics but now you want to be lecturing PhD students in UNIBEN? Bros, abeg calm down. 🤣 Even Germany no dey use juju, na merit. If you can’t even pass the subject at secondary school level, how do you plan to publish “papers” that will get you a lecturer position? PhD no be “aso ebi” wey you just buy because your secondary school classmate has one. It’s earned with years of serious research, sweat, and brains. Stop comparing yourself with others. If teaching is really your passion, start from where your strength lies. Maybe adult education, secondary school, or tutorial centers. PhD is not a poverty escape plan, it’s a calling. If na survival, go learn tech, data, trade, or even handywork, those things can put food on the table faster than you dreaming of PhD in Denmark with D7 in Physics. In short: PhD no be visa, and UNIBEN no be N-Power. |
Trump’s comment is deeper than the sarcasm. What we’re seeing is a shift in global alliances. India and Russia drawing closer to China because of mutual interests, while America isolates itself with heavy-handed policies. This same thing happens in Nigeria. When leaders fail to treat partners with respect or put unfair burdens, those partners simply look elsewhere. It’s like how Nigerian politicians lose allies overnight because of arrogance, broken promises, or selfish deals. Once trust is broken, people cross over to another camp even if they were loyal before. Look at how Tinubu and El-Rufai’s relationship is playing out. Once allies, now cracks are showing because El-Rufai feels his value isn’t being fully acknowledged. Same with Wike, he was PDP’s bulldozer, but the moment Atiku sidelined him, he found comfort with Tinubu and APC. Atiku too has been losing grip, because loyalty in politics isn’t emotional but transactional Just as America’s approach is pushing India into China’s arms, we’ve seen how PDP lost ground to APC, and now APC is also struggling because the same mistakes are repeating. Politics, whether global or local, is about balance, respect, and shared benefit. No nation or party can keep friends by bullying them. The lesson for Nigeria is clear: if we keep playing “big brother” without fairness, smaller groups, regions, or even other African countries will look elsewhere for partnerships. In this new world, loyalty is no longer permanent, it follows interest. |
My candid advice is that you maintain the school’s rules and not bend them, because once you make exceptions for one family, other parents will expect the same and it will be difficult to enforce standards. Rules are not just about regulation; they reflect the school’s principles, discipline, and fairness. Take Zamani College in Kaduna as an example: the proprietress is a Muslim, yet she does not allow her female students to wear hijabs because it is not a faith-based school. Also, no matter the parents’ wealth or influence, if a child fails an exam, that child must repeat the class. These consistent standards are what have earned Zamani lasting respect and credibility. If you start bending rules, it could: Weaken the school’s reputation as parents may see it as inconsistent. Encourage other parents to demand similar exceptions. Reduce fairness and discipline among students. Offering beret caps after school is already a reasonable compromise, but I strongly believe the school should stick to its standards so as to protect its integrity and the respect it commands. |
The Phone That Broke the Heart It was a cool evening in Barnawa, Kaduna, the kind of evening where the air smelled faintly of roasted suya and the chatter of young people filled the cafés. Nasir Musa, dressed in a simple white kaftan and brown sandals, walked into Amal Café, one of the popular hangout spots. He carried himself with quiet confidence, though his appearance was modest. Nasir placed his iPhone 11 on the table while waiting for his order of kunu and masa. He wasn’t a man of show, but a man of substance. Unknown to most, he was the CEO of Uniti Commercial Bank, one of the largest commercial banks in Northern Nigeria. Yet, he always lived with humility, choosing simplicity over flamboyance. At the far corner of the café, he noticed Amina Abdullahi, a lady he had admired from a distance. Amina was known around Barnawa for her beauty and elegance. She wore a neatly tied hijab, her makeup subtle but perfect, her laughter carrying across the café like music. Nasir had seen her around, always surrounded by friends, but today she sat alone. Taking a deep breath, Nasir stood up and walked toward her. “Assalamu Alaikum, Amina,” he greeted softly. She looked up, her smile polite. “Wa Alaikumus Salam. Yes?” “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he continued, his voice steady, “but I’ve always admired your confidence and grace. I’d love to know you better, if you’ll allow me.” Amina tilted her head slightly, studying him. Her eyes wandered to his phone on the table. She raised an eyebrow. “Is that… an iPhone 11?” she asked. “Yes,” Nasir answered, not suspecting anything. Amina’s smile faded, replaced by a dismissive smirk. “I’m sorry, Nasir. You seem like a decent man, but I can’t be with someone still using an iPhone 11. I need a man who is current. At least iPhone 14 or 15 Pro Max. A man who can keep up with my lifestyle.” Her words stung like a sharp blade. Nasir stood frozen for a moment, his heart heavy. He wanted to tell her that phones did not define a man, that wealth wasn’t always shown on a screen. But instead, he forced a smile. “I understand,” he replied softly. “Thank you for your honesty.” He turned and walked away, leaving his kunu untouched. Weeks passed. Nasir buried himself in work, traveling between Abuja and Kaduna, meeting with board members, signing deals worth billions. His name was often in the newspapers and financial reports, though Amina never paid attention. Until one day. Amina’s friends, Zainab and Hauwa, mentioned in casual conversation that the “simple man with an iPhone 11” she had rejected was none other than Alhaji Nasir Musa, CEO of Uniti Commercial Bank. “What?” Amina gasped, nearly spilling her drink. “Yes,” Hauwa replied with a laugh. “He’s one of the richest men in Northern Nigeria. Owns properties across Kaduna, Kano, even Abuja. But he lives simply. You didn’t know?” Amina’s heart sank. Memories of that evening at Amal Café flashed before her eyes. The man she had dismissed over a phone was the very man every woman in Kaduna dreamed of marrying. The following week, she began trying to reach him. She sent messages: “Assalamu Alaikum, Nasir. Hope you are doing well. I’d love to meet up and talk.” “It’s been a while. I regret not giving you a chance that day.” She even tried to greet him warmly whenever she saw him at events or on the streets of Barnawa. But Nasir’s heart had changed. He remained polite, responding with brief words, but never opening his heart again. One evening, Amina saw him again at Murtala Square during a community event. She gathered courage and approached him. “Nasir,” she said, her voice trembling. “I made a mistake. That day at the café… I judged you wrongly. I was foolish. Please, give me another chance.” Nasir looked at her, his eyes deep with sadness. “Amina,” he said quietly, “when I approached you, I came with sincerity. You rejected me, not for who I was, but for the phone I used. Now you only see me because of what others told you. My heart is no longer there.” Amina’s eyes welled with tears. “But… I truly regret it.” Nasir gave a faint smile, but it was a smile filled with sorrow. “Regret does not undo wounds,” he said. “I pray you find what you’re looking for.” With that, he walked away, leaving Amina standing in the middle of the crowd, broken and ashamed. As the night grew darker, the sound of music and laughter filled the square. But in Amina’s heart, there was only silence; the silence of losing a man she could never have, all because of a phone. Author Kutunban |
How Yusuf Knacked Malam Idris Woman in Kaduna. It started with an invitation Yusuf could not explain. Malam Idris, a trader Yusuf barely knew from Kaduna Central Market, sent him a message one evening: “Come to my house tonight. My wife is waiting for you.” Yusuf laughed nervously when he read it. It had to be a mistake. But the message came again, sharper this time, followed by the address in Unguwan Rimi. Against all reason, Yusuf went. Idris received him with silence. He was tall, broad, his face unreadable, his white kaftan glowing faintly in the dim light. Without a word, he led Yusuf to a bedroom where Zainab, Idris’s wife, sat quietly on the bed, her eyes downcast. Something was wrong, Yusuf felt it. But Idris stood in the corner, arms folded, his gaze like a nail pinning Yusuf to the ground. Yusuf could not resist. That night, Yusuf did what Idris had invited him to do. When it was over, Idris opened the door without speaking. Yusuf left, feeling he had walked into a trap. The next day, Yusuf saw him. Idris stood across the road from his shop in Tudun Wada, eyes fixed on him. He didn’t greet, didn’t move just stared until Yusuf closed the door. At Kawo park, Idris was there again, standing beside the buses, his face turned toward Yusuf. At Sultan Bello Mosque, as Yusuf bowed his head in prayer, he lifted it to see Idris standing at the back, eyes burning into him. No one else seemed to notice. When Yusuf asked a friend if he could see Idris, the man squinted and shook his head. “Wallahi, there’s nobody there.” But Yusuf knew. Idris was everywhere. Soon, Yusuf could not sleep. He heard slow footsteps pacing outside his compound in Unguwan Dosa. His door creaked open at night though he locked it with a chain. Sometimes he woke to find damp footprints on the floor, leading from the window to his bed. One night, while drinking water, he glanced through the window and dropped the cup in terror. Idris stood outside in the rain, kaftan dripping, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. He was smiling now. The torment deepened. His phone rang at midnight, carrying only the sound of breathing. Steam appeared on his mirror, words etched across it: NAWA NE — Mine. At times, Yusuf heard a whisper in his ear, cold and sharp: “You touched what belongs to me.” His friends thought he was losing his mind. His mother urged him to seek ruqya, Quranic healing. But when Yusuf visited a mallam in Rigasa, the man paled as soon as Yusuf described Idris. “You should not have gone to that house,” the mallam muttered. “Idris died five years ago. He was buried in Unguwan Sarki.” Yusuf’s heart froze. He remembered the weight of Idris’s hand when he opened the door, the glare of his eyes. Dead? How could a dead man have stood before him? The mallam gave him verses to recite, amulets to wear, but nothing helped. Wherever Yusuf went—Barnawa, Kakuri, even when he tried to escape to Zaria—Idris was there. Waiting. Watching. Now Yusuf avoids sleep. Because when he does, Idris no longer stands at a distance. He sits at the foot of the bed, smiling in the darkness, whispering words Yusuf cannot repeat. And in those moments, Yusuf understands the truth: Idris had never invited him out of kindness. He had lured him. Offered his wife as bait. So that Yusuf, too, would belong to him. Forever. Author Kutunban |
An AI algorithm can be programmed to validate any opinion you hold good or bad even something as dark as a fascination with suicide. The world was warned, someone in China is trying to start a genetic modification laboratory recently his wife was banned she's a Chinese too but a citizen of the US but she was banned from entering China. I think we are already the cyborg as long as we are using those models. |
Understanding wan wound you!😂 No go give your husband diabetes oh, because I just dey see amm for all the meals you posted. |