Kaiii...love to yansh this sanetor babe mennnn coz am ready to pay N500k...cash.. If she looook anytin like dat Gandollar..i will not pat more than N12k...i swaaaar!!(no oofencsse)
So u doin Shakara becuzz of ordnarrry pucccci..abi?.... Are u beyansi? Ordnarrrrry english grama...u cannot spek..ordnarrrrry london, u never beeen. Do u even hav paaaapot & are u aware u tañlkin to a londoner?, one of us!!
Jamal77: Hello guys, good afternoon and happy Eid-ul-fitri to the Muslims faithful, I need an advice from this great family. I have changed the names of the people involved for some reasons, I(Tunde) served in Lagos with my now ex-girlfriend(kemi), kemi was a primary school teacher close to her house, I kept motivating her to be better by sending jobs links to her, planning on interview questions and otherwise. Grace smiled on kemi she got a job at the airport, buh another hurdle, she needed guarantors that were not her family, because of love then and someone I wanted to settle down with I became her guarantor and a friend of mine. I fell very ill and reached out to kemi to help me with some funds that I was at the pharmacy and my bank app wasn't responding, she told me to reach out to my family that she didn't have enough on her. I felt very bad for my girlfriend to say such, I didn't tell her that I had bought the drugs and she never did ask, we quarreled and broke up, after the split sometimes I would reach out to her to check up on her buh she would be very harsh to me over the phone. She said I should stop communicating with her. Fast forward she reached out to me asking over my whereabouts, I was shocked buh calm, then after a while she told me that her office asked her to bring the id cards of her two guarantors ( me& my friend) . For someone who ghosted me for weeks to just show up and ask for a favour with any remorse, it baffles me.
Jerry....so u angry coz babe dint giv u puccccci & u want us to help u......corrrrect?.(no oofencse)
Jamal77: Hello guys, good afternoon and happy Eid-ul-fitri to the Muslims faithful, I need an advice from this great family. I have changed the names of the people involved for some reasons, I(Tunde) served in Lagos with my now ex-girlfriend(kemi), kemi was a primary school teacher close to her house, I kept motivating her to be better by sending jobs links to her, planning on interview questions and otherwise. Grace smiled on kemi she got a job at the airport, buh another hurdle, she needed guarantors that were not her family, because of love then and someone I wanted to settle down with I became her guarantor and a friend of mine. I fell very ill and reached out to kemi to help me with some funds that I was at the pharmacy and my bank app wasn't responding, she told me to reach out to my family that she didn't have enough on her. I felt very bad for my girlfriend to say such, I didn't tell her that I had bought the drugs and she never did ask, we quarreled and broke up, after the split sometimes I would reach out to her to check up on her buh she would be very harsh to me over the phone. She said I should stop communicating with her. Fast forward she reached out to me asking over my whereabouts, I was shocked buh calm, then after a while she told me that her office asked her to bring the id cards of her two guarantors ( me& my friend) . For someone who ghosted me for weeks to just show up and ask for a favour with any remorse, it baffles me.
Jacktheripper: I wouldn’t have called my late father’s number if I had known what was waiting for me on the other end. But as they say, curiosity killed the cat.
A Little Backstory...My dad died in 2020, just before the COVID-19 wave hit the world. But his was not a pandemic-related death, it was a car accident. One moment, he was coming back from work; the next, he was gone. We buried him less than a week later, and that was it. Life moved on… well, at least for everyone else.
For us, his wife and four children, were left to figure out how to exist in a world that no longer had him in it. But apart from the usual grief and occasional cries in the bathroom, nothing out of the ordinary happened.
One fateful day, I was scrolling through Twitter when I saw a tweet that MTN recycles old numbers and gives them to new users. The replies were filled with people confirming this horror.
My curiosity woke up from its long nap and stretched dramatically.
Wait a minute, what about my dad’s number? Nobody had touched his SIM since he died, and it wasn’t linked to any bank account, so I figured it must have been reassigned by now.
So, naturally, I did what any reasonable person would do. I dialed the number.
And, not to my surprise, it rang.
I chuckled. "MTN, well done. Anyway, let me wait for the person to pick up so I can tell them it was a wrong number before they start hunting me down trying to figure out who called."
But then they picked up. And the voice that said, "Hello" was... familiar. Too familiar.
It was my father’s voice.
I ended the call so fast, I nearly flung my phone across the room.
At this point, my whole body was vibrating like an overused tiger generator. But I’m a rational person (or so I told myself), so I turned to Google for answers. That was when I stumbled upon something called auditory pareidolia, basically, when your brain tricks you into hearing familiar voices in random sounds. That made sense.
So, I called the number again to prove to myself that I was just "pareidolia-ing" (yes, I just made that a word).
I called the number again.
This time, it was unreachable.
I tried the next day. Unreachable.
I tried for weeks. Still unreachable.
I even took things further, checked WhatsApp, Truecaller, every caller ID app I could find. Nothing. It was as if the number didn’t exist.
I didn’t tell anyone, because let’s be real, imagine explaining to your family that you think Dad’s ghost might have answered a phone call. I have been called weird enough, I don't want to add to it.
But then, around two months later, the knocking started.
At first, it was small. A knock here, a knock there. We assumed it was one of the neighborhood kids playing a prank (Even though that explanation makes no sense, as our neighbor doesn't have kids, and our house is fenced).
But soon, the knocks became frequent.
Morning. Afternoon. Evening. midnight.
It got to a point where nobody in the house could sleep properly.
The worst part is that whenever we opened the door, we saw nothing. No sound of footsteps running away, no neighbor pretending they weren’t involved. Just silence.
It became so frequent we had to call for intervention. CCTV cameras were installed. Nothing. We called in the uncles, the cousins, even the nosy neighbors, everybody investigated, nobody found anything.
It was when the knocks started happening inside the house that we knew it was time to carry our bags and go.
We called in spiritual reinforcements. The prayer warriors came with their holy water, anointing oil, and enough incense to suffocate a mosquito. They sprinkled, they prayed, they chanted, they burned things.
Finally, they said, “It is done. You can move back in.”
And because it was our only house, we had no choice but to believe them.
Thankfully, the knocking stopped.
But my curiosity didn't stop.
I didn’t think too much about any connection between a random phone call and the mysterious knocking on our door. After all, strange things happen every day.
So, I kept trying the number.
One fateful evening, the line rang again.
I had my script ready. The moment they picked, I would say, “Please, is this Mr. Felix?” (my dad’s name). If they said no, I’d apologize and move on. If they said yes…well, God abeg.
The person picked up. And before I could speak, I heard:
"Stop calling this number."
Not in English. Not in a strange voice. In my father’s exact tone and our local language.
Ah. Who sent me message?
I tried calling back immediately. Unreachable.
At this point, my brain was screaming “Let it go!”, but curiosity had already replaced my common sense.
That night, at around 2:12 AM, we heard sweeping in the compound.
First of all, who sweeps at that hour?
I turned to my mother. She turned to me. The unspoken agreement was clear: We must confirm what is going on.
We stepped outside. Nothing.
No person. No broom. No sound of footsteps. But the sweeping was loud and clear.
For months, this unseen housekeeper continued. Sweeping the compound. Sweeping the passage inside the house. And yet, somehow, the place never got cleaner, everything was the same except the sound of sweeping.
At this point, enough was enough.
We reached for the leftover incense from the first time. If it worked before, it must work again.
Despite all the warnings from the universe, I still wanted to know who was behind the voice.
So I still kept trying to reach the person, and finally, on November 21, 2024, the line rang again.
I opened my mouth to speak, but my tongue refused to move.
I tried again. Nothing.
The only thing I heard from the other end was “Bye.” In my dad’s voice.
The call ended.
From that day till now, my tongue has remained twisted. I have not been able to speak a single word.
I wrote everything down for my mother. We went to the MTN office, provided every document they asked for, hoping to track the person who answered the calls.
Their response was cold: “There has been no activity on this line since 2020.”
We have seen every doctor possible. Nothing. Nobody can explain why I cannot speak.
Our last hope is an appointment with a top doctor in India this August. Until then, all I can do is wait.
And most importantly, maybe never, ever call a dead man’s number again.
...SON....QUiT LYiN & GO FIND GIRLFRIEND
....and iF U CANT FIND ANY...PAY FOR ONE!!! ((no oofencse))
Jacktheripper: I wouldn’t have called my late father’s number if I had known what was waiting for me on the other end. But as they say, curiosity killed the cat.
A Little Backstory...My dad died in 2020, just before the COVID-19 wave hit the world. But his was not a pandemic-related death, it was a car accident. One moment, he was coming back from work; the next, he was gone. We buried him less than a week later, and that was it. Life moved on… well, at least for everyone else.
For us, his wife and four children, were left to figure out how to exist in a world that no longer had him in it. But apart from the usual grief and occasional cries in the bathroom, nothing out of the ordinary happened.
One fateful day, I was scrolling through Twitter when I saw a tweet that MTN recycles old numbers and gives them to new users. The replies were filled with people confirming this horror.
My curiosity woke up from its long nap and stretched dramatically.
Wait a minute, what about my dad’s number? Nobody had touched his SIM since he died, and it wasn’t linked to any bank account, so I figured it must have been reassigned by now.
So, naturally, I did what any reasonable person would do. I dialed the number.
And, not to my surprise, it rang.
I chuckled. "MTN, well done. Anyway, let me wait for the person to pick up so I can tell them it was a wrong number before they start hunting me down trying to figure out who called."
But then they picked up. And the voice that said, "Hello" was... familiar. Too familiar.
It was my father’s voice.
I ended the call so fast, I nearly flung my phone across the room.
At this point, my whole body was vibrating like an overused tiger generator. But I’m a rational person (or so I told myself), so I turned to Google for answers. That was when I stumbled upon something called auditory pareidolia, basically, when your brain tricks you into hearing familiar voices in random sounds. That made sense.
So, I called the number again to prove to myself that I was just "pareidolia-ing" (yes, I just made that a word).
I called the number again.
This time, it was unreachable.
I tried the next day. Unreachable.
I tried for weeks. Still unreachable.
I even took things further, checked WhatsApp, Truecaller, every caller ID app I could find. Nothing. It was as if the number didn’t exist.
I didn’t tell anyone, because let’s be real, imagine explaining to your family that you think Dad’s ghost might have answered a phone call. I have been called weird enough, I don't want to add to it.
But then, around two months later, the knocking started.
At first, it was small. A knock here, a knock there. We assumed it was one of the neighborhood kids playing a prank (Even though that explanation makes no sense, as our neighbor doesn't have kids, and our house is fenced).
But soon, the knocks became frequent.
Morning. Afternoon. Evening. midnight.
It got to a point where nobody in the house could sleep properly.
The worst part is that whenever we opened the door, we saw nothing. No sound of footsteps running away, no neighbor pretending they weren’t involved. Just silence.
It became so frequent we had to call for intervention. CCTV cameras were installed. Nothing. We called in the uncles, the cousins, even the nosy neighbors, everybody investigated, nobody found anything.
It was when the knocks started happening inside the house that we knew it was time to carry our bags and go.
We called in spiritual reinforcements. The prayer warriors came with their holy water, anointing oil, and enough incense to suffocate a mosquito. They sprinkled, they prayed, they chanted, they burned things.
Finally, they said, “It is done. You can move back in.”
And because it was our only house, we had no choice but to believe them.
Thankfully, the knocking stopped.
But my curiosity didn't stop.
I didn’t think too much about any connection between a random phone call and the mysterious knocking on our door. After all, strange things happen every day.
So, I kept trying the number.
One fateful evening, the line rang again.
I had my script ready. The moment they picked, I would say, “Please, is this Mr. Felix?” (my dad’s name). If they said no, I’d apologize and move on. If they said yes…well, God abeg.
The person picked up. And before I could speak, I heard:
"Stop calling this number."
Not in English. Not in a strange voice. In my father’s exact tone and our local language.
Ah. Who sent me message?
I tried calling back immediately. Unreachable.
At this point, my brain was screaming “Let it go!”, but curiosity had already replaced my common sense.
That night, at around 2:12 AM, we heard sweeping in the compound.
First of all, who sweeps at that hour?
I turned to my mother. She turned to me. The unspoken agreement was clear: We must confirm what is going on.
We stepped outside. Nothing.
No person. No broom. No sound of footsteps. But the sweeping was loud and clear.
For months, this unseen housekeeper continued. Sweeping the compound. Sweeping the passage inside the house. And yet, somehow, the place never got cleaner, everything was the same except the sound of sweeping.
At this point, enough was enough.
We reached for the leftover incense from the first time. If it worked before, it must work again.
Despite all the warnings from the universe, I still wanted to know who was behind the voice.
So I still kept trying to reach the person, and finally, on November 21, 2024, the line rang again.
I opened my mouth to speak, but my tongue refused to move.
I tried again. Nothing.
The only thing I heard from the other end was “Bye.” In my dad’s voice.
The call ended.
From that day till now, my tongue has remained twisted. I have not been able to speak a single word.
I wrote everything down for my mother. We went to the MTN office, provided every document they asked for, hoping to track the person who answered the calls.
Their response was cold: “There has been no activity on this line since 2020.”
We have seen every doctor possible. Nothing. Nobody can explain why I cannot speak.
Our last hope is an appointment with a top doctor in India this August. Until then, all I can do is wait.
And most importantly, maybe never, ever call a dead man’s number again.
Luke 19:39 And some of the Pharisees from among the multitude said on to JESUS, Master, rebuke your disciples.
19:40 And JESUS answered and said on to them, I tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out.
But could the stones cry out? Assuredly they could if he who opens the mouth of the dumb should bid them lift up their voice.
Certainly if they were to speak, they would have much to testify in praise of him who created them by the word of his power; they could extol the wisdom and power of their Maker who called them into being.
Shall not we speak well of him who made us anew, and out of stones raised up children on to Abraham?
The old rocks could tell of chaos and order, and the handiwork of GOD ALMIGHTIEST in successive stages of creation’s drama; and cannot we talk of GOD'S decrees, of GOD'S great work in ancient times, in all that he did for his church in the days of old?
If the stones were to speak, they could tell of their breaker, how he took them from the quarry, and made them fit for the temple, and cannot we tell of our glorious Breaker, who broke our hearts with the hammer of his word, that he might build us into his temple?
If the stones should cry out they would magnify their builder, who polished them and fashioned them after the similitude of a palace; and shall not we talk of our Architect and Builder, who has put us in our place in the temple of the living God?
If the stones could cry out, they might have a long, long story to tell by way of memorial, for many a time have a great stone been rolled as a memorial before the Lord; and we too can testify of Ebenezers, stones of help, pillars of remembrance.
The broken stones of the law cry out against us, but Christ himself, who has rolled away the stone from the door of the sepulchre, speaks for us.
Stones might well cry out, but we will not let them: we will hush their noise with ours; we will break forth into sacred song, and bless the majesty of the Most High, all our days glorifying him who is called by Jacob the Shepherd and Stone of Israel.
Mercisharelove do u hav yansh?...pleasse desskribe yor sef again?
Breeze111: Am really feeling so bad today...i stayed in a self con apartment with neighbours. So this evening it was raining heavily, but I had light because I put on my gen and the rain did not affect my gen because I build a small house for it. I heard a knock on my door, I was supprise on who might be knocking because I don't talk to any body in the compound(just greatingz na join me and them) and before any of my friends come to my place they most put me on call(my Principles though). When I open the door it was my neighbour wife who he brought newly from where I don't know nor care. She say she wanted to charge her phone but her charger use to check so she would love to set it herself mean while my hands werr oiled because I was cooking so I ask her to come and plug it close to the fridge. So I went straight to the kitchen to continue what I was doing when I get back(madam Don sit down for my chair they watch the Naija film wai I b they watch). Before you know she started asking me plenty questions like why is my room this fine, where am I working, am too young to have all this, she noticed I don't talk to any body in the compound. Tou from there we enter discussion, she started complaining of how her husband don't use to take her out, that her husband brought her to Abuja to suffer, that she regret rushing into marriage bla-bla-bla( but abeg ooh, why is it that all married people be it male or female like complaining about their marriage or rushing into it, we send una) omo before you know eye contact started coming in.( I swear devil na bastard, if you never do the evil wai he want he no go leave you) Tooh food was ready, I brought the food we ate, jess the food burst her head (fufu and Egusi soap) I trust myself when it comes to food I dey murder. After the meal, omo the eye contact became too much before you say Jack we were kissing...To God how I pull this woman cloth, suck boobs then........i can't explain till now, it was like firm. Have done many bad thing, kai but I think this one is the hight of all, just can't get the act out of my head...i sincerely regret my action...i don't know if I should tell her husband and ask for forgiveness
SIN HOW? WHERE?.. .BRO MARRRRYED WOMENS ARE THE BEST & ARE MORE LOYAL SIR.....i yansh dem every time am in Nigeria...Congratttts!!! ((Truss me))
Breeze111: Am really feeling so bad today...i stayed in a self con apartment with neighbours. So this evening it was raining heavily, but I had light because I put on my gen and the rain did not affect my gen because I build a small house for it. I heard a knock on my door, I was supprise on who might be knocking because I don't talk to any body in the compound(just greatingz na join me and them) and before any of my friends come to my place they most put me on call(my Principles though). When I open the door it was my neighbour wife who he brought newly from where I don't know nor care. She say she wanted to charge her phone but her charger use to check so she would love to set it herself mean while my hands werr oiled because I was cooking so I ask her to come and plug it close to the fridge. So I went straight to the kitchen to continue what I was doing when I get back(madam Don sit down for my chair they watch the Naija film wai I b they watch). Before you know she started asking me plenty questions like why is my room this fine, where am I working, am too young to have all this, she noticed I don't talk to any body in the compound. Tou from there we enter discussion, she started complaining of how her husband don't use to take her out, that her husband brought her to Abuja to suffer, that she regret rushing into marriage bla-bla-bla( but abeg ooh, why is it that all married people be it male or female like complaining about their marriage or rushing into it, we send una) omo before you know eye contact started coming in.( I swear devil na bastard, if you never do the evil wai he want he no go leave you) Tooh food was ready, I brought the food we ate, jess the food burst her head (fufu and Egusi soap) I trust myself when it comes to food I dey murder. After the meal, omo the eye contact became too much before you say Jack we were kissing...To God how I pull this woman cloth, suck boobs then........i can't explain till now, it was like firm. Have done many bad thing, kai but I think this one is the hight of all, just can't get the act out of my head...i sincerely regret my action...i don't know if I should tell her husband and ask for forgiveness
Monimaker22: The above thoughts have being on my mind for so long and i know many Nigerians are on same page of thought and seeking reasons behind it when Nigeria is not a Muslim country, so if you have legit information kindly drop at the comment section.
If it can be pushed to front page for others to see and comment, that act is very much welcome.
Wow....so u tryin to raise moiney for this muslim árab alawakaba terrrrrrorist people......corrrrect....u shold be jail sir!!(no oofencsse)
PJtech: You fit do wetin your mate dey do make you no succeed
Ok So u all ready ulanning to be come arm robbber be coz u blame tinubu......corrrrect? ..U A DISGRASE TO SOUTH AFRICA & SHAME ON YOU SIR!!!!! ((no oofencse))
Romance › Re: Women should not take ofennce if we ask if they are fat by MrCork(op): 3:39pm On Apr 01, 2025
