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Welcome!!

ANNOUNCEMENT OF WINNERS

kadeerna wins the 1st prize of ₦60,000 for the sheer audacity of what he tried to accomplish.
techytom wins the 2nd prize of ₦50,000 for following the rules, working hard, and embracing feedback.
pystar wins the 3rd prize of ₦40,000 for really neat code and a professional UI (he didn't complete it)

Please send your "cashless" payment details to --. I look forward to working with you guys soon.

Similar question here: https://forums.oracle.com/forums/thread.jspa?threadID=1272584

@seunosewa python, mysql. Love Scala and the JVM platform, can use Java, interested in the next Java (Go).

blank: How did this uari win prize sef? With all these her half and half stories.

She wrote a novel 'Twilight At Terracotta Indigo'

khukhi: I beg, don kill me with laughter.

What was he trying to say exactly, in relation to the issue we were discussing?

kadeerna's repo: http://code.google.com/p/kadeer-jambpy/ (implemented the most advanced concepts & features)
pystar's repo: http://code.google.com/p/nairaland-jamb-checker/ (implemented the most polished UI)
techytom's repo: http://code.google.com/p/emergency-jamb-result-checker/ (most compliant and least buggy)

After testing the code and soliciting comments from a fellow Pythonista (the owner of hotels.com.ng) I've come to the conclusion that the 3 entries are very close and it would be unfair to award one of the contestants N150k and leave the other two empty handed.

With the consent of the three contestants, I will like to divide & share the N150k prize as follows:
- 60,000 naira for the overall best entry.
- 50,000 naira for the second best entry.
- 40,000 naira for the third best entry.

I will like the 3 contestants to indicate on this thread whether or not they accept the above proposal. If three of them accept it, then we will go ahead with it. If any of them refuses to accept it, we will award the full prize (N150k) to the best entry and the 2nd and 3rd best overall will get nothing. I would strongly advice the contestants to agree to share the money as described above.

“What happened after then?” Samuel asked, washing down his meal with the glass of water beside the plates. Mildred hung her head.

“It was terrible. For two weeks we slept in the Church. The prophetess would beat us and ask us to confess to our witchcraft.”


……“Confess!” the woman screamed, brandishing a thin evil looking whip in her right hand as she stood on the pavement where the children had been sleeping in the biting cold. Mildred’s teeth chattered and her eyes were swollen shut from constant crying. She didn’t care anymore.

“I am a witch! I am a witch!” She screamed in frustration. Her body was still sore from being beaten the night before and it hurt to move. “Please don’t beat me again. I am a witch.” She announced with a sigh as the prophetess lowered her hand, satisfaction in her eyes.

“Praise Jesus.” She said, raising her hand towards the still dark sky, the unmistakable white of spittle gathered at the corner of her mouth. “The last of these wicked ones has confessed.”

“Amen.” The slim chorister said behind the woman, struggling to keep her eyes open as she nodded more in sleep than in agreement. Like all the other days since the last three weeks, it had been an early morning ritual to drill the hapless children that were dumped together in a small windowless room in the small unpainted single room bungalow that was behind the church. A small toilet and bathroom with yellow stained tiles and a pungent odour of urine was at the end of the bungalow. The room where the children slept was bare, except for an uncomfortable nine inch mattress where they piled on top of each other at night in sleep. Sometimes Mildred stayed awake, looking at the dark sky and wondering about the scary thought of a snake crawling through the open window. Last night had been different. After a grueling night vigil, after which the prophetess slapped her for asking to see her mother, Mildred and the other children had been ordered to sleep outside the bungalow, on the freezing pavement.

Mildred looked at the pathetic creature mumbling incoherently at the far end of the group. Her name was Arit and Mildred had learned from one of the other children that she was mad.

“E be like say they put something inside her head.” Ebenezer, a wiry looking boy of eight told her, his eyes open with wonder. Mildred nodded, remembering seeing an open rotting wound on the girl’s head.

“I hear say na nail.” Another girl called Affiah had told them. Affiah was the oldest in the group. At fifteen, she was tall with a full grown figure and the other children looked up to her. Mildred thought it was odd that the drummer who lived beside the prophetess gave Affiah bags of sweets and biscuits after disappearing with her behind the bungalow for hours but she didn’t share her thoughts with anyone.

“Wake up!” the prophetess ordered, the whish of the serpentine whip flying through the air to land on the back of a dozing boy of five. The boy whelped in pain, coming awake immediately. He stared at the woman in her shapeless white garment with big eyes filled with resentment.

“This morning, all of you will go to the river to purify yourselves,” the prophetess said.

“I am hungry.” One child complained.

“Amen.” The chorister mumbled, thoroughly asleep on her feet.

“Shut up,” the prophetess shot at the child. “Wake up.” She said, slapping the chorister awake. The girl jerked, standing at attention and grabbing the slipping torch that illuminated the dirty, hungry figures huddled together before her.

“Sorry,” the chorister apologized, looking at her feet.

Mildred scratched her arm, looking down the stony path with a few wilting flowers at the pretty red brick building beside the bungalow where a small shrub of hibiscus flowers framed the steps leading to the doorway. An ash gray tarpaulin covered a car, leaving only its tires peeping out from underneath it, but Mildred knew it was a brand new Mercedes Benz like the one her late father drove in Uyo. The one once heard her father’s friend called a V-Boot. One time, she had seen the prophetess sitting at the back of the car while “drummer boy” drove her. Drummer boy was the nickname the children gave the drummer.
The tempting smell of something frying was coming from the direction of the red bungalow and Mildred stomach growled longingly. It had been forever since she had a good meal. She looked down at her chaffed feet with a sigh. She was growing to resent her mother for not doing enough to rescue her from the clutch of the prophetess. Since that deliverance night when her ordeal began, she had only seen her mother once.

“Take me back home.” She had pleaded, grabbing at her mother’s long skirt while Auntie Imaobong now changed from the sweet caring aunt that served her and her brothers sweet tea and chunky bits of unsliced bread after their father’s funeral screamed in disgust behind them.

“Which home?” You witch!” She jumped up and down, spoiling for a fight with the trembling Mildred who ignored her as she looked up into her mother’s moist eyes.

“I didn’t kill daddy.” she said, tears falling down her cheeks. “I am not a witch.”

Her mother’s only answer had been a sigh before she turned away with Aunty Imaobong back to the path that took them to the village.

I hate her, Mildred thought again, shaking from the early morning chill.

“So you all will go to the stream today.” The prophetess continued, her whip now resting beside her. “So don’t let me catch anybody baffing.” She told them with a dark look. The children nodded together, giving her assurance that they would stay away from washing their bodies as they had for the past week.

“Psst. Psst!”

Mildred looked around her, wondering where the sound was coming from. Soon she saw drummer boy’s head at the wall of the church.

“Di!” he ordered, his raised hand showed his index finger moved snapping back towards his palm.

“Me?” Mildred asked in confusion, looking around at the empty court yard. The other children were in the room, preparing to go to the river with the prophetess. Her leather sandals were already on her feet, so she had been waiting inside. She stared incredulously as drummer boy rolled his eyes.

“Come!” he snapped, this time in English. Sensing his urgency, Mildred quickly stood up and ran towards him. He pulled her to the side of the wall, and they stood beside the small bush where the children threw their waste wrapped in polythene bags. Drummer boy’s face was twisted in disgust and he held a hand over his nose.

“Cowufmeh.”

“Heh?” Mildred said in confusion. Drummer boy snatched his hand off his face.

“I said, come with me.” He said, stamping his feet in annoyance and clamping his hand over his nose again. He turned back and walked briskly down the narrow path that was between the church and the bush, down to the open clearing that led to the path to the village. Mildred blinked in confusion at the promise of freedom staring her in the face.

“What?” she asked, pausing in her steps. “Where are we going?”

Drummer boy said nothing, hurrying faster along the clearing and Mildred had no choice but to run after him. Finally they stood at the end of the clearing and the beginning of the path to the village, the church behind them. A shadow crept out of the thick bush and Mildred jumped.

“Mummy!” she squealed, recognizing her mother’s red wrapper. She ran towards her mother, her heart thumping in excitement. She was free at last!

- Written By Umari Ayim (2011 winner of the ANA/NDDC Flora Nwapa Prize for Women Writing)

See also: UNILAG Runs Girl's First Day & Kidnapped By A Very Nice & Handsome Man.

What do you guys think about the code?

New Topic Feature returned.

maclatunji: What if my device gets lost or stolen? Whoever gets it can take-on my online identity.

You can change your Nairaland password if that ever happens. As long as they don't have your email password.

jmaine: Why are we forced into following a topic we have no interest in or know nothing about . .could this be a bug . .I keep getting email notification of topics i know nothing about . .Mods abeg pass this message to Seun Python brain storming programming cartel . . .

This should not be happening anymore. You won't be emailed about threads you've never visited. Fixed yesterday.

maclatunji: I have a new issue I want addressed. It is about multiple log-ins on separate devices. The old Nairaland allowed me to sign-in on a computer and phone without logging me out of either. However, with the new Nairaland, if I login on one device it logs me out of the other almost automatically.

This means I have to sign-in several times a day as I switch from my laptop to my phone frequently. As a user it is irritating. As a moderator, it is a bit frustrating.

Eyah. It's a choice I made with the intention of improving security. Do your browsers not store your password?

All other things being equal, a business that needs less money should be better than one that needs more money.

active - recently updated topics in the entire forum
trending - topics people are currently enjoying

I want to know if anyone uses the Active Topic section. If it's not being used by anyone, then I will remove it.

[s]It's just an excerpt from a novel. That's why it's so short. Child withcraft was not the central issue in the novel. So sorry.[/s]

The author says she has more material, so stay tuned.

pystar: So the prize goes to @Techytom!!!. cool, you deserve it bro. @Seun, at least I get an honourable mention or presidential handshake abi?

The winner has not been selected yet. I'm going to be commenting on the pros and cons of each entry for a while.

OLD KHAKI by Umari Ayim

As the church roused from the preaching session, the slim built chorister in dull yellow top and a floor sweeping brown skirt took her place in front of the congregation and began to belt a melodious tune about the greatness of God. Her small upturned face was lit with wonder as she pointed skywards and sometimes toward the crowd in a beckoning gesture. "Won't you help me sing?" she beseeched the small crowd. "Our God is good!"

The preacher raised her hand suddenly, cutting her congregation halfway through the song. “The Holy Spirit is here!” she screeched, her body jerking convulsively. A low murmur broke among the crowd. She straightened suddenly with a wild look in her eye.

“There are witches in this place.” She yelled, raising her left hand to point forward as her eyes scanned the crowd. “Forces of darkness are trying to disrupt the gathering of the righteous.” She said, shaking some more. More murmurs ran through the crowd as the people looked at each other for signs of witchcraft. The woman marched down the space in the middle of the two rows of benches. Mildred heard a sharp twack and craned her neck to see what was happening. Her mouth fell open as she saw the woman drag a young girl to the foot of the podium.

“Kneel down, you witch.” She spat, looking down at the bowed head of the girl. Her eyes bright with purpose, she scanned the crowd again. Mildred heard Offiong begin to whimper and she looked down to see him hold on to their mother’s green wrapper in fright. Aunty Imaobong had an odd smile on her face. She nodded hard at the witch hunt taking place in the small church. Mildred shivered. She had a bad feeling about what was happening. The preacher walked down the path between the benches again, pulling another child out of the crowd with a loud slap. The crowd screamed, “thank you blessed Jesus,” every time a child was singled out for witchcraft. Mildred felt her feet grow clammy in the leather sandals she wore. There was something about the woman that scared her. Suddenly, the woman was marching towards where she stood with her family.

“You!” she screamed, pointing a crooked finger at Mildred. “Come out, you child of the devil.”

Mildred looked around her in confusion. A hush fell on the section of the crowd where she was crammed in with her aunt, mother and two brothers.

“Me?” Mildred asked in confusion, looking around and desperately wishing there was a mistake. She felt the sharp sting of a slap before the horror of what was happening dawned on her. Still blinded from the slap, she heard her mother’s cry of protest and saw Aunty Imaobong shrink away as the woman dragged her to the front of the church.

“Kneel there!” she screamed, pointing at the dusty floor. In a daze, Mildred obeyed the woman and dropped to her knees.

“You killed your father.” The woman accused, red eyes bulging as if they saw something the crowd couldn’t see. “You shared him among your fellow witches in your coven.”

Mildred started to cry. “I didn’t kill my daddy.”

“Shut up.” The woman screamed at her. Then she pivoted on her heel to look menacingly at the crowd. “These children,” she said, her hand sweeping the line of five children cowering at the foot of the podium. “Might look innocent to you, brethren, do not be deceived, for even the holy book says in the book of Mathew chapter seventeen that the wolves will appear in Sheep’s clothing.”

Exclamations rent the air as more women grabbed their bosoms, heads shaking in wonder at the drama unfolding before them. Mildred was still confused. What was happening? Why is mummy not coming to help me?

Her witch hunting over, the woman returned to the podium and began preaching. The service went on with passages from the Bible exhorting the faithful not to rob God.

“Pay your tithes brethren.” The prophetess said solemnly. “In Malachi three verses eight…” her voice rose in a shout. “It is written, can a man rob God?” She lowered her voice and looked around the church in an almost benevolent manner. “Brethren, our God is a consuming fire. Don’t let him visit his anger on you.” She turned toward the pulpit. “Bring your tithes so that it may be well with you.” The smallish chorister walked around the crowd with a purple pouch on a long stick and the women dipped their offerings into it, making the sign of the cross afterwards.

The five children at the foot of the podium were still kneeling down when the service ended. The chorister led them to some chairs and they sat down with wide eyes, stunned at the misfortune that had befallen them. Mildred could see her mother talking with the preacher and the alarm in Akpan and Offiong’s eyes. Their mother was wiping her eyes with the edge of the wrapper as Aunty Imaobong consoled her with a hand on her shoulder. The women slowly filed out of the church, leaving the condemned children to wait for their sentence.

... scroll down or click here to read the rest of the story

Currently, we don't track the topics you've read unless you follow them, so the implementation will be different...

So should I remove the Active Topic section and replace it with the original New Topic section?

@Tinyemeka: Good point. Definitely,techytom was the contestant who followed the rules of the contest most closely. He indicated interest early, updated his repo regularly, responded to feedback gracefully, and his final submission was much better for it. pystar also indicated his interest early but failed to update his repo until second-to-last day of the contest, and as a result, he discovered a bug in the final moments of the contest. kadeerna submitted his entry very late and because of this, despite his impressive intent, I'm yet to be able to run his code (he didn't have enough time to fix the issues that came up, because he submitted so late)

Thanks, y'all, for participating.

The deadline has been extended to 11:59pm today. Good luck!

@techytom: There seems to be an issue with the footer in your results page.