₦airaland Forum

Speaking while addressing PDP supporters in Borno at the Forshams Hall in Maiduguri, Alhaji Atiku Abubakar on Tuesday, vowed and promised to end the lingering Boko Haram crisis and other criminal activities such as the herdsmen/farmers clashes within shortest possible time if elected as President of Federal Republic of Nigeria come 2019.
The former Vice President who is now aspiring for President on the platform of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) ahead of 2019 general election, said:
He said “Nigeria ended its civil war in only 2 and half years despite the thick forest in the south-east. I wonder why the war against insurgency took us 9 Years without headway, there must be something wrong some where.
“if elected as President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, i will not allow any commander to tell me stories, we must end insurgency within shortest possible time because the insurgency has crippled everything in the Northeast”, he added.
He said Nigeria is one of the most poorest nation in the world, characterized with abject poverty, unfortunately, insurgency is associated with poverty. So given the mandate, he will also address poverty which is more prevalence in the Northeast.
Atiku alleged that the increasing cases of criminal activities associated with herdsmen/farmers clashes, leading to loss of lives and property, was as a result of bad governance under the present administration.
He noted that, unless Nigerians team up and voted against the present ruling All Progressive Congress (APC) government at National, states and local government levels, the situation the country found itself will even be worst in near future.


More Yarn From Source:

https://zenithnaija.com/what-ill-do-to-boko-haram-if-elected-president-atiku-speaks-loud-2/

MrRichmond:
He saw space and meteorites , other people saw Jesus and Michael Jackson...
This shows that the after life might not be the same for everyone...
humans are unique and thus may have unique experiences on the other side.

You've a point

Arsene Wenger concedes that spending 22 years in charge of Arsenal was a mistake, with the Frenchman feeling as though he became “a prisoner of my own challenges”.
Having worked so hard to rebuild the Gunners in his image, the long-serving coach found it difficult to sever ties with the club. There were plenty of opportunities for him to walk away, with Real Madrid and England having made several attempts to secure the services of a proven performer.
Wenger also faced fan protests towards the end of his reign, but he eventually departed on his own terms at the end of the 2017-18 season.
The 68-year-old admits that he should have probably made a fresh start some time ago, rather than clinging on in north London, but his passion for a high-profile job kept him coming back for more.
Wenger told RTL when asked to pick out the biggest mistake of his career: “Perhaps staying at the same club for 22 years.
“I’m someone who likes to move around a lot, but I also like a challenge. I've been a prisoner of my own challenge at times.”
Wenger guided Arsenal to three Premier League titles, with his iconic ‘Invincibles’ side of 2003-04 negotiating an entire English top-flight campaign unbeaten.
He also reached the 2006 Champions League final, but saw European dreams crumble as a succession of last-16 exits were followed by two finishes outside of the top four in England.
FA Cup success helped to paper over the cracks at times, with Wenger leaving north London with seven winners’ medals from that competition.
He is yet to take on a new role ahead of the 2018-19 campaign, with the latest reports suggesting that a man who left Nagoya Grampus Eight to take the reins at Arsenal in 1996 could soon be heading back to Japan.

From Zenithnaija.com


Source;

https://zenithnaija.com/how-i-wasted-22-years-in-arsenal-arsene-wenger-2/

cc; Lalasticlala Mynd44

Ladies take note

In what will come across as a rather shocking development, a man has admitted to being a r*pist and deliberately spreading HIV.
Only identified as David, the man was interviewed by BBC Africa Eye by crime reporter, Golden Mtika, in a documentary titled My Neighbour The R*pist.
David who comes from Diepsloot in Gauteng, South Africa admitted to being a r*pist and to have r*ped several women.
Mtika who said David was his childhood friend, said he had previously saved David from mob justice in Diepsloot.
In the documentary, the reporter asks David how he feels that he gave his former girlfriend HIV.
“I feel okay,” answers David.
In the same interview he admits to have r*ped a total of 21 or 24 women.
Asked if he uses protection, David said “No… I didn’t use any protection…I know I’m HIV positive so I want to spread that HIV. I feel good because I can’t die alone.”
He then tells the reporter that he can’t stay 3 days without s*x because he is “a powerful guy”.
The reporter then continues to ask him if he thinks he is a dangerous man in the society, and David proudly says
“they are scared of me…they know I can take action anytime”.
The visibly disturbed man then asked David if he was ever s*xually abused while he was growing up.
“Yes, I was around 14 or 15 years old at the time, the police started to treat me like a wife, then have s*x with me…so I learnt it from there and started doing it outside,” he said.

More below;

https://zenithnaija.com/i-spread-hiv-i-cant-die-alone-man-who-has-forcefully-slept-with-over-20-women/

Lol

You've seen it o

Fweshspice:
Scaryyy!!!
Father Lawd 4give me of my sins, the one i knw and d one i know not

See them

dynicks:
good for you!

Now please could someone give us an explanation as to what's encrypted in that work of art or rather what every bit of it is all about?


Hope that isn't what or how judgement day is gonno look like?

hey like wtf ! is that d teeth of a greatwhite shark at d top left corner of the paint work?

hell no!

Lol

Ok

A Shakespearean actor who died for seven minutes painted what he saw when he was unconscious.
Shiv Grewal, from Peckham, London, suffered a massive cardiac arrest after going out for lunch with his wife five years ago - and now depicts what he believes is the afterlife in his art.
The 60-year-old, who just finished an RSC production of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, had to be revived by paramedics.
He had been previously healthy and fit, but on the way home from the restaurant he began to feel unwell, before his eyes rolled back into his head.

He said: "I knew, somehow, that I was dead.”
“I was aware my brain was dying and crying out for help. But, at the same time, I felt things completely separate from my body. It was like I was in a void but could feel emotions and sensations.
“Despite knowing I was dead, I also knew that there was a chance of coming home.
“I also understood that I’d be reincarnated, but I didn’t want that just yet. I wanted to return to life, to the material world and to my wife. I demanded that I was coming back and I got my wish.”
Arriving within minutes, paramedics were able to restart his heart, but, in the seven minutes when the actor said it stopped, he went on a strange “cosmic journey,” during which he had the power to choose between life and death.

Shiv said: “I felt there was a whole set of possibilities, various lives and reincarnations that were being offered to me. But I didn’t want them. I made it very clear that I wanted to return to my body, to my time, to my wife and to go on living.
He was rushed into surgery at Kings College Hospital for an operation to put a stent into his fully clogged main artery, Shiv went into an induced coma for a month, because of cerebral hypoxia – oxygen starvation in the brain – which has left him with epilepsy.
The actor and artist is unable to return to the stage and has speech and mobility problems.
He continued: “I needed to be proactive. I said I was coming back. I said it as a demand not a request.”
As part of his recovery he has found painting what he saw a good form of therapy.
He said: “I remembered everything that happened when my heart stopped and have tried to translate it into art.
“My works act as a map to rediscovery and to understanding my experience.”
His art will be at an exhibition called Reboot at The Sanctum Hotel in London’s Soho, from August 15 to September 24.


Gist From Zenithnaija.com

More photos below

https://zenithnaija.com/man-who-died-for-seven-minutes-paints-what-he-saw-photos/

cc: Fynestboi, Mynd44

More Gists
From Zenithnaija.com
https://zenithnaija.com/

Charley Boy’s daughter, Dewy Oputa has shown off her girlfriend while revealing they have created a page together.

Dewy, who is dating SJ, shared photos and a video showing them engaged in PDA. She revealed she was nervous at first about making her private business public but decided to come out with it.

She wrote: “I was kind of nervous about this but fuckkkkkkkkk ittttttttttt! …….Clears throat sooooooooooooo I and my Girlfriend decided to create a couples page because why not go follow @dewyandsj … ??”


See post below;

https://zenithnaija.com/charley-boys-daughter-boldly-shows-off-her-girlfriend/

Haha

No sense at all

Bossontop:

So las las dis pikin can come down

Haha

Two fans died as France celebrated its World Cup victory over Croatia , as police had to fire tear gas amid clashes following the win.

As France became world champions for a second time beating Croatia 4-2 in Moscow, cops were forced to use water canon on fans who went on violent rampages. It was gathered that in Alpine city of Annecy, a 50-year-old France fan broke his neck after jumping into a canal at the end of the team’s 4-2 triumph over Croatia in Moscow on Sunday. In nearby Saint-Felix, there was another death when a man in his 30s died when his car crashed into a tree as he celebrated the win.
The death of the two fans were accompanied by baton charges by CRS riot squads, as tear gas was used to keep crowds in order. The worst clashes however, were in the centre of the capital where the Champs Elysee remained shut into the early hours of this morning.

Looters broke into shop fronts and smashed windows before they were driven back by riot police brandishing shields. About 30 people, many wearing ski masks, broke into the Publicis Drugstore, leaving with bottles of wine and champagne, smiling and filming themselves with cellphones.
Some also threw objects including bottles and chairs at police forces who responded with tear gas.



More below:
https://zenithnaija.com/two-fans-die-as-frances-world-cup-celebrations-turns-violent-photos/

cc; Fynestboi

chymes0359:
Joker..
This is just a letter..
Anything can still happen..
#thisisNigeria



Our Normal way nah..
Ojoro method...
This is Nigeria!

Hahaha

My Great-Grandfather, the Nigerian Slave-Trader

Adaobi Tricia NwaubaniJuly 15, 2018 5:00 AM


My parents’ home, in Umujieze, Nigeria, stands on a hilly plot that has been in our family for more than a hundred years. Traditionally, the Igbo people bury their dead among the living, and the ideal resting place for a man and his wives is on the premises of their home. My grandfather Erasmus, the first black manager of a Bata shoe factory in Aba, is buried under what is now the visitors’ living room. My grandmother Helen, who helped establish a local church, is buried near the study. My umbilical cord is buried on the grounds, as are those of my four siblings. My eldest brother, Nnamdi, was born while my parents were studying in England, in the early nineteen-seventies; my father, Chukwuma, preserved the dried umbilical cord and, eighteen months later, brought it home to bury it by the front gate. Down the hill, near the river, in an area now overrun by bush, is the grave of my most celebrated ancestor: my great-grandfather Nwaubani Ogogo Oriaku. Nwaubani Ogogo was a slave trader who gained power and wealth by selling other Africans across the Atlantic. “He was a renowned trader,” my father told me proudly. “He dealt in palm produce and human beings.”

Long before Europeans arrived, Igbos enslaved other Igbos as punishment for crimes, for the payment of debts, and as prisoners of war. The practice differed from slavery in the Americas: slaves were permitted to move freely in their communities and to own property, but they were also sometimes sacrificed in religious ceremonies or buried alive with their masters to serve them in the next life. When the transatlantic trade began, in the fifteenth century, the demand for slaves spiked. Igbo traders began kidnapping people from distant villages. Sometimes a family would sell off a disgraced relative, a practice that Ijoma Okoro, a professor of Igbo history at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, likens to the shipping of British convicts to the penal colonies in Australia: “People would say, ‘Let them go. I don’t want to see them again.’ ” Between the fifteenth and nineteenth centuries, nearly one and a half million Igbo slaves were sent across the Middle Passage.

My great-grandfather was given the nickname Nwaubani, which means “from the Bonny port region,” because he had the bright skin and healthy appearance associated at the time with people who lived near the coast and had access to rich foreign foods. (This became our family name.) In the late nineteenth century, he carried a slave-trading license from the Royal Niger Company, an English corporation that ruled southern Nigeria. His agents captured slaves across the region and passed them to middlemen, who brought them to the ports of Bonny and Calabar and sold them to white merchants. Slavery had already been abolished in the United States and the United Kingdom, but his slaves were legally shipped to Cuba and Brazil. To win his favor, local leaders gave him their daughters in marriage. (By his death, he had dozens of wives.) His influence drew the attention of colonial officials, who appointed him chief of Umujieze and several other towns. He presided over court cases and set up churches and schools. He built a guesthouse on the land where my parents’ home now stands, and hosted British dignitaries. To inform him of their impending arrival and verify their identities, guests sent him envelopes containing locks of their Caucasian hair.

Funeral rites for a distinguished Igbo man traditionally include the slaying of livestock—usually as many cows as his family can afford. Nwaubani Ogogo was so esteemed that, when he died, a leopard was killed, and six slaves were buried alive with him. My family inherited his canvas shoes, which he wore at a time when few Nigerians owned footwear, and the chains of his slaves, which were so heavy that, as a child, my father could hardly lift them. Throughout my upbringing, my relatives gleefully recounted Nwaubani Ogogo’s exploits. When I was about eight, my father took me to see the row of ugba trees where Nwaubani Ogogo kept his slaves chained up. In the nineteen-sixties, a family friend who taught history at a university in the U.K. saw Nwaubani Ogogo’s name mentioned in a textbook about the slave trade. Even my cousins who lived abroad learned that we had made it into the history books.

Last year, I travelled from Abuja, where I live, to Umujieze for my parents’ forty-sixth wedding anniversary. My father is the oldest man in his generation and the head of our extended family. One morning, a man arrived at our gate from a distant Anglican church that was celebrating its centenary. Its records showed that Nwaubani Ogogo had given an armed escort to the first missionaries in the region—a trio known as the Cookey brothers—to insure their safety. The man invited my father to receive an award for Nwaubani Ogogo’s work spreading the gospel. After the man left, my father sat in his favorite armchair, among a group of his grandchildren, and told stories about Nwaubani Ogogo.

“Are you not ashamed of what he did?” I asked.

“I can never be ashamed of him,” he said, irritated. “Why should I be? His business was legitimate at the time. He was respected by everyone around.” My father is a lawyer and a human-rights activist who has spent much of his life challenging government abuses in southeast Nigeria. He sometimes had to flee our home to avoid being arrested. But his pride in his family was unwavering. “Not everyone could summon the courage to be a slave trader,” he said. “You had to have some boldness in you.”

My father succeeded in transmitting to me not just Nwaubani Ogogo’s stories but also pride in his life. During my school days, if a friend asked the meaning of my surname, I gave her a narrative instead of a translation. But, in the past decade, I’ve felt a growing sense of unease. African intellectuals tend to blame the West for the slave trade, but I knew that white traders couldn’t have loaded their ships without help from Africans like my great-grandfather. I read arguments for paying reparations to the descendants of American slaves and wondered whether someone might soon expect my family to contribute. Other members of my generation felt similarly unsettled. My cousin Chidi, who grew up in England, was twelve years old when he visited Nigeria and asked our uncle the meaning of our surname. He was shocked to learn our family’s history, and has been reluctant to share it with his British friends. My cousin Chioma, a doctor in Lagos, told me that she feels anguished when she watches movies about slavery. “I cry and cry and ask God to forgive our ancestors,” she said.

The British tried to end slavery among the Igbo in the early nineteen-hundreds, though the practice persisted into the nineteen-forties. In the early years of abolition, by British recommendation, masters adopted their freed slaves into their extended families. One of the slaves who joined my family was Nwaokonkwo, a convicted murderer from another village who chose slavery as an alternative to capital punishment and eventually became Nwaubani Ogogo’s most trusted manservant. In the nineteen-forties, after my great-grandfather was long dead, Nwaokonkwo was accused of attempting to poison his heir, Igbokwe, in order to steal a plot of land. My family sentenced him to banishment from the village. When he heard the verdict, he ran down the hill, flung himself on Nwaubani Ogogo’s grave, and wept, saying that my family had once given him refuge and was now casting him out. Eventually, my ancestors allowed him to remain, but instructed all their freed slaves to drop our surname and choose new names. “If they had been behaving better, they would have been accepted,” my father said.

The descendants of freed slaves in southern Nigeria, called ohu, still face significant stigma. Igbo culture forbids them from marrying freeborn people, and denies them traditional leadership titles such as Eze and Ozo. (The osu, an untouchable caste descended from slaves who served at shrines, face even more severe persecution.) My father considers the ohu in our family a thorn in our side, constantly in opposition to our decisions. In the nineteen-eighties, during a land dispute with another family, two ohu families testified against us in court. “They hate us,” my father said. “No matter how much money they have, they still have a slave mentality.” My friend Ugo, whose family had a similar disagreement with its ohu members, told me, “The dissension is coming from all these people with borrowed blood.”

I first became aware of the ohu when I attended boarding school in Owerri. I was interested to discover that another new student’s family came from Umujieze, though she told me that they hardly ever visited home. It seemed, from our conversations, that we might be related—not an unusual discovery in a large family, but exciting nonetheless. When my parents came to visit, I told them about the girl. My father quietly informed me that we were not blood relatives. She was ohu, the granddaughter of Nwaokonkwo.

I’m not sure if this revelation meant much to me at the time. The girl and I remained friendly, though we rarely spoke again about our family. But, in 2000, another friend, named Ugonna, was forbidden from marrying a man she had dated for years because her family found out that he was osu. Afterward, an osu friend named Nonye told me that growing up knowing that her ancestors were slaves was “sort of like having the bogeyman around.” Recently, I spoke to Nwannennaya, a thirty-nine-year-old ohu member of my family. “The way you people behave is as if we are inferior,” she said. Her parents kept their ohu ancestry secret from her until she was seventeen. Although our families were neighbors, she and I rarely interacted. “There was a day you saw me and asked me why I was bleaching my skin,” she said. “I was very happy because you spoke to me. I went to my mother and told her. You and I are sisters. That is how sisters are supposed to behave.”

Modernization is emboldening ohu and freeborn to intermarry, despite the threat of ostracization. “I know communities where people of slave descent have become affluent and have started demanding the right to hold positions,” Professor Okoro told me. “It is creating conflict in many communities.” Last year, in a town in Enugu State, an ohu man was appointed to a traditional leadership position, sparking mass protests. In a nearby village, an ohu man became the top police officer, giving the local ohu enough influence to push for reform. Eventually, they were apportioned a separate section of the community, where they can live according to whatever laws they please, away from the freeborn. “It will probably be a long time before all traces of slavery disappear from the minds of the people,” G. T. Basden, a British missionary, wrote of the Igbo in 1921. “Until the conscience of the people functions, the distinctions between slave and free-born will be maintained.”

Nwaubani Ogogo was believed to have acquired spiritual powers from the shrine of a deity named Njoku, which allowed him to wield influence over white colonists. Among his possessions, which are passed down to the head of the family, was the symbol of his alliance with Njoku: a pot containing a human head. “You had to cut the head straight into the pot while the person was still alive, without it touching the floor,” my father said. “It couldn’t just be anybody’s head. It had to be someone you knew.” In Nwaubani Ogogo’s case, this someone was most likely a slave. When Gilbert, my great-uncle and a previous head of our family, died in 1989, his second wife, Nnenna, a devout Christian, destroyed the pot. Shortly afterward, her children began to die mysterious deaths, one after another. Nnenna contracted a strange ailment and died in 2009. Some relatives began to fear that dark forces had been unleashed.

Last July, my father’s cousin Sunny, a professor of engineering, visited my parents to discuss another concern: a growing enmity in our family. Minor arguments had led relatives to stop speaking to one another. Several had become estranged from the family. “We always have one major disagreement or division or the other,” my father’s cousin Samuel told me. My cousin Ezeugo was not surprised by the worrying trend. “Across Igbo land, wherever there was slave trade with the white people, things never go well,” he said. “They always have problems there. Everybody has noticed it.” My relatives thought that our family’s history was coming back to haunt us.

Prior to colonization, the Igbo believed that spiritual forces controlled events. If enough misfortune piled up, a family might come to believe that it was the victim of an intergenerational curse resulting from the actions of an ancestor. Family members would seek out a juju priest, who would consult a deity, diagnose the root of the curse, and then expel it through a religious ritual. When foreign missionaries arrived, they persuaded the Igbos to embrace Christianity—openly, at least. But belief in ancestral curses has remained, cloaked in Bible passages that refer to God “visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation.” Many churches now offer services similar to the old rituals, in which a pastor replaces the juju priest and Jesus replaces the pagan god. This way, evil forces can be exposed without Christians engaging in idolatry. Deliverance usually requires a family to pray, fast, and renounce atrocities.

In 2009, the late priest Stephen Njoku wrote a book called “Challenge and Deal with Your Evil Foundations,” in which he argued that some people should change their names to rid themselves of curses. “It’s like building a house,” he told me. “If you don’t get the foundations right, if you used substandard materials or if the stones were not laid properly, the building will inevitably develop cracks and collapse.” A number of Igbo communities with names that extol gory histories have taken new ones. In 1992, people in my home town became concerned about several unexplained deaths of young people. After a period of communal prayer, people gathered in the village hall and voted to discard the community’s historic name, Umuojameze, which means “children of Ojam, the king.” Ojam was a deity whom the townspeople had worshipped before Christianization, and to whom they had made regular human sacrifices. They chose the new name, Umujieze, which means “children who hold the kingship,” to reflect our severance from the atrocities of the past.

My relatives disagreed about the cause of our family’s curse. Most believed that it was because of Nwaubani Ogogo’s slave trading. Some suspected that it was his broken alliance with Njoku. My father thought that it might have resulted from his human sacrifices. Sunny was not sure the family was cursed at all. “If our problems are because of the sins of our fathers, why are the white people making progress despite the sins of their fathers?” he said. Nevertheless, they agreed to hold a deliverance ceremony, and settled on a plan. On three days near the end of January, from 6 a.m. until noon, family members around the world would fast and pray. My father sent out a text message in preparation that included passages from the Bible. He has never been overtly religious, and it amused me to watch him organize a global prayer session. I teased him about the fact that he would have to skip breakfast, which was usually waiting for him at the same time each morning. “I’m a saint,” he declared.

On the first day of the fast, members of my family met in small groups in London, Atlanta, and Johannesburg. Some talked on the phone, and others chatted on social media. Thirty members gathered under a canopy in my parents’ yard. With tears in his eyes, my father explained that, in Nwaubani Ogogo’s day, selling and sacrificing human beings was common practice, but that now we know it to be deeply offensive to God. He thanked God for the honor and prestige bestowed on our family through my great-grandfather, and asked God’s forgiveness for the atrocities he committed. We prayed over a passage that my father texted us from the Book of Psalms:


Who can understand his errors?
Cleanse me from secret faults.
Keep back Your servant also from presumptuous sins;
Let them not have dominion over me.
Then I shall be blameless,
And I shall be innocent of great transgression.
During the ceremony, I was overwhelmed with relief. My family was finally taking a step beyond whispering and worrying. Of course, nothing can undo the harm that Nwaubani Ogogo caused. And the ohu, who are not his direct descendants, were not invited to the ceremony; their mistreatment in the region continues. Still, it felt important for my family to publicly denounce its role in the slave trade. “Our family is taking responsibility,” my cousin Chidi, who joined from London, told me. Chioma, who took part in Atlanta, said, “We were trying to make peace and atone for what our ancestors did.”

On the final day, my relatives strolled along a recently tarred stretch of road to our local Anglican church. The church was established in 1904, on land that Nwaubani Ogogo donated. Inside, a priest presided over a two-hour prayer session. At the end, he pronounced blessings on us, and proclaimed a new beginning for the Nwaubani family. After the ceremony, my family members discussed making it a yearly ritual. “This sort of thing opens up the mercy of God,” my mother, Patricia, said. “People did all these evil things but they don’t talk about it. The more people confess and renounce their evil past, the more cleansing will come to the land.”

https://www.google.com.ng/amp/s/www.newyorker.com/culture/personal-history/my-great-grandfather-the-nigerian-slave-trader/amp

Which way naija

samguru:
Madam,The possession is temporal as English premiership and other major leagues are about to start.

Thank you in advance for always tolerating us.

Tell them

Lol

25-year-old Bello Muhe, pictured above, has been arrested by officers of the Niger state police command for killing his 25-year-old wife, Husse Ali, for allegedly being a perpetual adulteress.
It was gathered that Bello who hails from Gautan Fadama village in the Bagudo Local Government Area of Kebbi State, had previously sent Husse back to her parents house when he caught her cheating and that she still continued the act way while at her parents home. After much pleading, he took her back but the deceased still continued to commit adultery. Narrating to Northern City news how he killed her last week, Bello said
“I used machete to kill her for refusing to adhere to my instruction; I told her to desist from sleeping around with other men but she disobeyed me and I blew my top and killed her. My wife was stubborn, I sat her down and told her the implications of what she was doing, she ignored me and she had to pay the price.”.
Confirming the incident, the spokesperson of the Niger state police command, Muhammad Abubakar, said Bello has been charged to court.

Source

https://zenithnaija.com/nigerian-man-kills-wife-for-committing-adultery-photo/

Higher

post=69418894:
Publicity stunt.
Lol@battle line.
Una try.

Lol

Starboy Wizzy Turns 28 Today!!

Happy Birthday Daddy Yo... More Blessings

Fresh Gists

https://zenithnaija.com

amaniro:
who is a chim

Nvm

Viserion:
one thing I know for sure is that this will be a trend in Nigeria

How

Jibola245:
hope this will start in Nigeria soon ���

Wake up

Former Vice President Atiku Abubakar has advised supporters of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) in Ekiti to remain peaceful, orderly and cooperate with the party at the state and national levels as they determine the next steps.

Abubakar gave the advice in a statement issued by his Media Office on Sunday in Abuja.
The Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) had declared the governorship candidate of the All Progressives Congress (APC), Dr Kayode Fayemi as the winner of the election held on Saturday. .
Fayemi had resigned his appointment as the Minister of Mines and Steel Development to contest the election.

Read more from source

https://zenithnaija.com/atiku-begs-pdp-supporters-to-wait-for-partys-decision-on-ekiti-election-results/