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I'm gonna share it exactly d way I found it, except 4d ending part. It's a VERY funny one. ENJOY!

'I was struggling very hard to look at Musa sympathetically when he finished telling me this story last Friday. As the words ‘ndo, pele, sannu and sorry’ kept tumbling out of my mouth, deep down my heart I concluded that he was not just a fool but also an idiot.
As a bachelor who’s currently experiencing the gnawing bite of the economy of this country (no thanks to MMM and Christmas celebration that drained the money I had in my account), I punch the calculator these days before I decide to buy a bag of sachet water, and when I eventually make up my mind to buy, I don’t drink water as much as I used to so that the bag of water would last longer. Of course, that’s an exaggeration but I feel that there’s no better way to explain my financial situation than to use the sachet water scenario_____ water is life. Be that as it may, I know that my situation would change for good once January salary shows or the moment MMM merges me for payment. Honestly, I’ve NEVER been this broke in my life.
Before I go into the story that Musa, my colleague (whom I’m ashamed to call my friend after listening to him tell me his story at lunch break two days ago), let me paint a little picture of the current situation of yours truly. I got a job at one of the ministries in Nigeria in August last year (2016). As it’s the norm with government parastatals, I was paid 3 months arrears. Prior to that time, I had been participating in MMM with meagre sums. When on 1st December my 3 months salaries landed gidigba in my account, I needed no body to advise me to invest big in the scheme. I gave help on December 7th. The rest of the story is history. Although I’m a man of strong will, I went hysterical when I heard the news that MMM has been put on hold till January. I was not just frustrated; I was devastated and deep down my heart I felt that my hard earned money had gone down the drain. I thought the witches in my village had finally gotten to me.
Fast forward to January 13th, I danced and leaped with joy when I heard that MMM is back. For the first time since December, I was so happy that I felt I could jump up and my head would touch the sky. Oluwa noni! I exploded into a maniacal laughter two days ago not because I was sure that MMM would pay me this month, I laughed heartily after listening to Musa’s story. Musa, who got a job at the Ministry almost the same time that I did, told me about his ordeal in Lagos when we were having a bottle of coke and meat pie at a nearby cafeteria; I stopped patronizing Mama Iyabo’s Restaurant since she started selling a plate of food for N450, once again, no thanks to MMM.

It was last weekend in Ikeja, Nigeria. Musa had just travelled to Lagos from Abuja to accompany his mum to Murtala Mohammed Airport to board a flight to the US____ her daughter, Musa’s elder sister had given birth to a baby boy in the States a fortnight ago. My colleague had just said goodbye and safe trip to his mum who thereafter found her way to the Departure Lounge when he decided to pick a cab to Festac town. As he told me, he had given Cynthia, a crush in his University days the address of the hotel where he was lodged in Festac, For Musa, it was the proverbial saying of killing two birds with a stone. My friend, who lives the most frugal lifestyle I’ve ever seen in the world, took a bus to Lagos and pocketed the remaining part of the money which his sister had sent to him for a flight from Abuja to Lagos. Did I just say he pocketed the money? Don’t mind my choice of words. Although Musa can be very stingy to himself when it comes to the things he needs, however, when it comes to showing-off to a girl he’s interested in he becomes a slowpoke who would not only borrow his uncle’s car to impress the girl in question, he could also spend to the very last kobo in his pocket. I remember the day my pretty younger sister came to see me at my place of work, This olodo colleague of mine, for the first time paid for my meal during lunch, and pestered me all through that day for my sister’s number. Well, that’s a story for another day.
Before Musa’s mother arrived the land where Donald Trump would be sworn in as the 45th President come the 20th day of this month, her son paid fifteen thousand naira into Cynthia’s account before she agreed to come and see him in the hotel room where he spent the night before with his mother. Musa’s mother had flown into Lagos from Jos, her city of residence, and because her flight to the US was an evening flight, she was lodged in a hotel in Festac town. Her daughter’s husband, through the help of a friend booked for two nights in the exquisite hotel. The woman only got to spend a night at the hotel as she and her son left for Murtala Mohammed Airport the following day. Unbeknown to her, her supposedly responsible son had paid some lady 15k to pay him a visit that night.
Musa told me that this lady friend of his that stays in Ikeja was a big girl. When I asked what she does, he stuttered as he says that she works for an advertising agency and was also into modelling. When I gave him that look that suggests that I needed more clarification, He said well that the girl didn’t ask for the money; that it was just him that offered to give it to her after lying that he was coming to Lagos on a business trip and would love to see her. He said the money was meant to have her do her hair, fix her nails and other exigencies, And, because I ask too many questions, I asked him why a girl who was not just his schoolmate but also a big girl would need such an impression before accepting to come and see him. He simply said that he had always presented himself as I big boy to the girl, especially since he got a federal job. In his exact words, ‘You must be a big boy (or act as one) to get the big girls.’ I know Musa too well to know that he wasn’t telling me the whole story.
I felt very sad when, in this hardship yours truly is facing, Musa opened his mouth to tell me that he gave a woman N15,000 even before he got to see her face. I’m not trying to sound holier-than-thou but I know a lot of things that amount of money would do for me at this critical era. No thanks to MMM and the yuletide season that engulfed my savings. When you look at it closely, my colleague, Musa is so much unlike me; I’m the first of seven children, he’s the last of five. My dad is late and my mum has a small business I recently upgraded for her but Musa’s father retired as a Permanent secretary and his elder sister married a rich man who’s based in the US. I made a 2:1 and saw hell before I got an appointment letter from the Ministry of...; my friend made a 2:2 and I’m sure his appointment letter was delivered to him at home. So, really, Musa was a big boy. Having painted a little picture of myself, I’m sure you can now relate to what 15k would’ve meant for me. Before you think you completely understand my anger, wait until you finish reading Musa’s story.
When I asked Musa how close he was to Cynthia before he travelled to Lagos, he said that they were both in the same faculty at the University of Maiduguri. In his voice, ‘that girl pine well well!’

When he said the final bye bye to his mother, Musa was on his way to pick a cab back to Festac when he decided to eat at a buka somewhere around the airport. He probably did not want to spend too much money paying for room service when he gets back to his hotel or, he was too hungry at that moment that he couldn’t wait until he gets back to the hotel. Although I didn’t ask him which it was, but the Musa I know would prefer to eat a cheap food at a buka over an expensive one in a hotel even if the meal was prepared by the same chef.
Musa told me that he had finished eating and when it was time to pay, he dipped his right hand in his pocket only to find out that the five thousand naira he came out with was no longer there. Thinking it was a joke, he fumbled through the pocket of his trousers and all he could come up with was the two hundred naira change he collected from the cab man that dropped him and his mother at the airport. According to him, his mother who paid the taxi man had stretched her hand to collect the change but her son, snatching it from her said, ‘You’re going to the US so stop bothering about naira notes because it’s not a legal tender there.’
When Musa see say water don pass garri, he paid for his food with the N200 note he found in his breast pocket, thankfully, he had eaten ‘Without’.
Thinking of how to get back to his hotel in Festac on that Saturday evening, Musa started sweating profusely. He thought about calling Cynthia who had told him that she lives in Ikeja. Her house could be close to the airport, he thought. ‘If only I had come out with my ATM card,’
To cut the long story short, Musa called Cynthia to hear her voice and also find out the time that she would be coming to his hotel room but she did not pick. He concluded that she was busy as he checked the time in his wristwatch; it was 6:35pm. On the spur of the moment, he decide to pick a cab straight to his Festac.
Musa told me that what pained him the most was not that a taxi man drove him from Ikeja to Festac and still followed him to his hotel room to collect a fare of N8000 that he had charged for the journey but that his anger was that when he arrived his hotel room and called Cynthia all through that night she refused to pick. He said he was so angry he couldn’t sleep, and that if he was not a Muslim he would’ve gone the bar and drank himself to stupor.
After patiently listening to...If You Want To Know Whether CYNTHIA Eventually Showed Up, You Can Read Up The Post At SADOZO. IT'S JUST A FEW MORE LINES REMAINING.

In the mean time, pls, if MMM has merged u 4 payment, just halla at ur guy via this platform through comment section.

Source: http://sadozo.com/mmm-back-i-will-soon-start-balling/

cc: Lalasticlala and other Super super Modes
I've done my job as a NL, it's now time for u guys to do yours. And sorry I initially posted this in the wrong section; these things can be very confusing especially to old men like us. Thanks for d first move; you can now do d last and final movement
Like some young ppl on this platform would say, 'FP things on my mind.' You guys are doing a great job

I was struggling very hard to look at Musa sympathetically when he finished telling me this story last Friday. As the words ‘ndo, pele, sannu and sorry’ kept tumbling out of my mouth, deep down my heart I concluded that he was not just a fool but also an idiot.
As a bachelor who’s currently experiencing the gnawing bite of the economy of this country (no thanks to MMM and Christmas celebration that drained the money I had in my account), I punch the calculator these days before I decide to buy a bag of sachet water, and when I eventually make up my mind to buy, I don’t drink water as much as I used to so that the bag of water would last longer. Of course, that’s an exaggeration but I feel that there’s no better way to explain my financial situation than to use the sachet water scenario_____ water is life. Be that as it may, I know that my situation would change for good once January salary shows or the moment MMM merges me for payment. Honestly, I’ve NEVER been this broke in my life.
Before I go into the story that Musa, my colleague (whom I’m ashamed to call my friend after listening to him tell me his story at lunch break two days ago), let me paint a little picture of the current situation of yours truly. I got a job at one of the ministries in Nigeria in August last year (2016). As it’s the norm with government parastatals, I was paid 3 months arrears. Prior to that time, I had been participating in MMM with meagre sums. When on 1st December my 3 months salaries landed gidigba in my account, I needed no body to advise me to invest big in the scheme. I gave help on December 7th. The rest of the story is history. Although I’m a man of strong will, I went hysterical when I heard the news that MMM has been put on hold till January. I was not just frustrated; I was devastated and deep down my heart I felt that my hard earned money had gone down the drain. I thought the witches in my village had finally gotten to me.
Fast forward to January 13th, I danced and leaped with joy when I heard that MMM is back. For the first time since December, I was so happy that I felt I could jump up and my head would touch the sky. Oluwa noni! I exploded into a maniacal laughter two days ago not because I was sure that MMM would pay me this month, I laughed heartily after listening to Musa’s story. Musa, who got a job at the Ministry almost the same time that I did, told me about his ordeal in Lagos when we were having a bottle of coke and meat pie at a nearby cafeteria; I stopped patronizing Mama Iyabo’s Restaurant since she started selling a plate of food for N450, once again, no thanks to MMM.

It was last weekend in Ikeja, Nigeria. Musa had just travelled to Lagos from Abuja to accompany his mum to Murtala Mohammed Airport to board a flight to the US____ her daughter, Musa’s elder sister had given birth to a baby boy in the States a fortnight ago. My colleague had just said goodbye and safe trip to his mum who thereafter found her way to the Departure Lounge when he decided to pick a cab to Festac town. As he told me, he had given Cynthia, a crush in his University days the address of the hotel where he was lodged in Festac, For Musa, it was the proverbial saying of killing two birds with a stone. My friend, who lives the most frugal lifestyle I’ve ever seen in the world, took a bus to Lagos and pocketed the remaining part of the money which his sister had sent to him for a flight from Abuja to Lagos. Did I just say he pocketed the money? Don’t mind my choice of words. Although Musa can be very stingy to himself when it comes to the things he needs, however, when it comes to showing-off to a girl he’s interested in he becomes a slowpoke who would not only borrow his uncle’s car to impress the girl in question, he could also spend to the very last kobo in his pocket. I remember the day my pretty younger sister came to see me at my place of work, This olodo colleague of mine, for the first time paid for my meal during lunch, and pestered me all through that day for my sister’s number. Well, that’s a story for another day.
Before Musa’s mother arrived the land where Donald Trump would be sworn in as the 45th President come the 20th day of this month, her son paid fifteen thousand naira into Cynthia’s account before she agreed to come and see him in the hotel room where he spent the night before with his mother. Musa’s mother had flown into Lagos from Jos, her city of residence, and because her flight to the US was an evening flight, she was lodged in a hotel in Festac town. Her daughter’s husband, through the help of a friend booked for two nights in the exquisite hotel. The woman only got to spend a night at the hotel as she and her son left for Murtala Mohammed Airport the following day. Unbeknown to her, her supposedly responsible son had paid some lady 15k to pay him a visit that night.
Musa told me that this lady friend of his that stays in Ikeja was a big girl. When I asked what she does, he stuttered as he says that she works for an advertising agency and was also into modelling. When I gave him that look that suggests that I needed more clarification, He said well that the girl didn’t ask for the money; that it was just him that offered to give it to her after lying that he was coming to Lagos on a business trip and would love to see her. He said the money was meant to have her do her hair, fix her nails and other exigencies, And, because I ask too many questions, I asked him why a girl who was not just his schoolmate but also a big girl would need such an impression before accepting to come and see him. He simply said that he had always presented himself as I big boy to the girl, especially since he got a federal job. In his exact words, ‘You must be a big boy (or act as one) to get the big girls.’ I know Musa too well to know that he wasn’t telling me the whole story.
I felt very sad when, in this hardship yours truly is facing, Musa opened his mouth to tell me that he gave a woman N15,000 even before he got to see her face. I’m not trying to sound holier-than-thou but I know a lot of things that amount of money would do for me at this critical era. No thanks to MMM and the yuletide season that engulfed my savings. When you look at it closely, my colleague, Musa is so much unlike me; I’m the first of seven children, he’s the last of five. My dad is late and my mum has a small business I recently upgraded for her but Musa’s father retired as a Permanent secretary and his elder sister married a rich man who’s based in the US. I made a 2:1 and saw hell before I got an appointment letter from the Ministry of...; my friend made a 2:2 and I’m sure his appointment letter was delivered to him at home. So, really, Musa was a big boy. Having painted a little picture of myself, I’m sure you can now relate to what 15k would’ve meant for me. Before you think you completely understand my anger, wait until you finish reading Musa’s story.
When I asked Musa how close he was to Cynthia before he travelled to Lagos, he said that they were both in the same faculty at the University of Maiduguri. In his voice, ‘that girl pine well well!’

When he said the final bye bye to his mother, Musa was on his way to pick a cab back to Festac when he decided to eat at a buka somewhere around the airport. He probably did not want to spend too much money paying for room service when he gets back to his hotel or, he was too hungry at that moment that he couldn’t wait until he gets back to the hotel. Although I didn’t ask him which it was, but the Musa I know would prefer to eat a cheap food at a buka over an expensive one in a hotel even if the meal was prepared by the same chef.
Musa told me that he had finished eating and when it was time to pay, he dipped his right hand in his pocket only to find out that the five thousand naira he came out with was no longer there. Thinking it was a joke, he fumbled through the pocket of his trousers and all he could come up with was the two hundred naira change he collected from the cab man that dropped him and his mother at the airport. According to him, his mother who paid the taxi man had stretched her hand to collect the change but her son, snatching it from her said, ‘You’re going to the US so stop bothering about naira notes because it’s not a legal tender there.’
When Musa see say water don pass garri, he paid for his food with the N200 note he found in his breast pocket, thankfully, he had eaten ‘Without’.
Thinking of how to get back to his hotel in Festac on that Saturday evening, Musa started sweating profusely. He thought about calling Cynthia who had told him that she lives in Ikeja. Her house could be close to the airport, he thought. ‘If only I had come out with my ATM card,’
To cut the long story short, Musa called Cynthia to hear her voice and also find out the time that she would be coming to his hotel room but she did not pick. He concluded that she was busy as he checked the time in his wristwatch; it was 6:35pm. On the spur of the moment, he decide to pick a cab straight to his Festac.
Musa told me that what pained him the most was not that a taxi man drove him from Ikeja to Festac and still followed him to his hotel room to collect a fare of N8000 that he had charged for the journey but that his anger was that when he arrived his hotel room and called Cynthia all through that night she refused to pick. He said he was so angry he couldn’t sleep, and that if he was not a Muslim he would’ve gone the bar and drank himself to stupor.
After patiently listening to...If You Want To Know Whether CYNTHIA Eventually Showed Up, You Can Read Up The Post At SADOZO. IT'S JUST A FEW MORE LINES REMAINING.

In the mean time, pls, if MMM has merged u 4 payment, just halla at ur guy via this platform through comment section.

Source: http://sadozo.com/mmm-back-i-will-soon-start-balling/

devilmaycry:
Following !!!! ... Update biko

Would soon do so. This festive season is the greatest thief of time

Where are these guys that love stories?
I think I should invite them; the more the merrier.

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EPISODE 3

“Well, I think it’s high time I told you this. Sylvia was here this afternoon complaining bitterly. She said you wouldn’t pick her calls for three days now.”
Ikenna’s heart skipped when he heard that his fiancée came by the house. He wanted to hear more. “What did she tell you?” he asked
“She said you started acting strangely after you left the hospital with her three days ago. She said you even sent her a text message saying that you two were not compatible and that she should move on with her life.”
“She told you that!” Ikenna sounded surprised.
“Yes she did. Now tell me, why would you do such a thing to that nice girl? Someone that loves you so much as to use the influence of her father to get you a job. Ikenna, that girl is heartbroken and she deserves better than this your stupidity. Come to think of it, you would’ve amounted to nothing without her help.”
“Mama, that’s a lie! Oh, you think it’s easy to come out of the university with a 2:1? I was employed on merit,” he bragged
“You were employed on merit my foot! Where was merit when you roamed the streets without a job for two calendar years? Where was merit when you could not afford a one room self contained apartment? Now we live in a flat and you even have a car of your own. Thanks to the job you secured through the influence of that girl’s father.”
“Point of correction, Mama, Sylvia didn’t get me this job so that I’ll marry her. There are other better, healthier and more promising young men out there. And, for your information, when she introduced me to her father six months ago, before I was given appointment letter, she told him I was just a friend.”
“You’re an idiot!” his mother said angrily. “You think you’re doing Sylvia a favour by being in a relationship with her? On the contrary, she did you a favour by accepting that useless ring you put in her finger a month ago.”
“Mama, that’s enough!” a drop of tears impulsively fell from Ikenna’s eyes...

To BE CONTINUED

gtin:
Am present Sir, thanks for mention, oya fire on

Thanks. bro. Merry Christmas!

EPISODE 2
Thanks to you all for having time to go through it.

Almost immediately, his mother who was sleeping in the adjoining room ran into his room barefooted. She stepped on a piece of the broken glass and blood started splattering out. She sat on the bed crying ‘Chim egbumuo!’ My God has killed me.
Ikenna rushed with a tissue paper as he struggled to stop the bleeding. “Bia, kedu ife bu nsogbo gi? What’s your problem?” She asked with a frowned face.
“Mama, please I’m sorry. Biko gbahara m.”
“That’s not the issue here. The last time I checked, you came home drunk and the smell of cigarette on your t-shirt was awful. Ikenna, when did you start drinking and smoking?”
“Mama, keep pressure on the wound so that the bleeding will stop,” he ignore her question.
“This is the third time you’re coming home drunk. Tell me, what’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem at all. I just hung out with some of my old friends.”
“So hanging out with friends means you should get drunk? Do you want to die before your time?”
“Mama, nobody is dying. Let me get methylated spirit and a cotton wool so that I can dress your wound.”
“It has stopped bleeding,” the woman held her son by the hand and tried to make him sit on the bed beside her. “Sit down, there’s something I want us to talk about”.
“Let me treat your wound first,” he offered.
“It’s just a minor cut,” she examined it closely. “I’m sure I’m ok now.”

Ikenna had barely sat down when his mother said, “My son, you have to tell me what the problem is so that you and I can figure out a way to solve it.”
“Mama, I already told you that everything is fine!” Ikenna blurted out.
The woman allowed some time to pass before she started again, “In case you’ve forgotten, I wasn’t born today. And, you should know that I know you so well to know when you’re lying to me. Look at your eyes, they’re swollen”.
“Nne, honestly you should leave me alone,” he looked away.
“Why would I leave you alone when last night was the third consecutive time you’re coming home drunk? Tell me, what is it? Is it Sylvia? Did she make you angry in any way?”
“Leave her out of this; she has nothing to do with my drinking.”
“Well, I think it’s high time I told you this. Sylvia was here this afternoon complaining bitterly. She said you wouldn’t pick her calls for three days now.”

To Be Continued...

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This is a true life story of someone I know so well. Be that as it may, I exaggerated a little; writers do that sometimes. Get a seat and enjoy urself as I take u through this journey. If u like the flow, talk-am make i hear, OK?

EPISODE 1

It was 3am in the morning and Ikenna was sitting on the edge of his bed sweating profusely. At a time when the whole country was asleep the tears that trickled down his cheeks blurred his vision in the dim-lit room where he was. He blew the content of his nostril into a white handkerchief beside him____ the hanky which was already soaked with tears. He tried to stand up but he could not withstand the stab of hurt which seemed to be tearing his heart out of his chest. “I’m finished!” he mumbled.
Ikenna looked a forlorn figure sitting on the bed. He never believed that anything could make him cry but there he was paralyzed by fear; eyes swollen as a result of having cried for hours. The once ebullient and lively young man who was in his late twenties had gone to bed after drinking heavily. He could not explain how he came home last night and, as for how he ended up on the comfort of the bed in his room, he knew his mother was the hand behind it. Ikenna came home the previous night drunk; the stench of alcohol mixed with the smell of cigarette oozed out of the t-shirt he was wearing. His mother found him lying down on the balcony. He kept talking gibberish. She cleaned him up and like the baby he was twenty something years ago, she, with the help of the houseboy carried her son to his room and laid him down on the bed.
One good thing about getting drunk is that it helps one (the drunkard) forget all his sorrows for as long as the drunkenness lasts. Although it can make one look stupid and talk gibberish like Ikenna did, the feeling is worth trying. Like one frustrated old man once said, “If I have a way I’ll stay drunk all my life.”
Reality was staring Ikenna in the face the moment he woke up that morning. His legs were shaking when he stood up and, in a staggering gait he walked to the corner of the room where a bottle of half empted 501 was lying on the floor. He lifted it with shaky hands and began to examine the label. In a moment of rage, he hurled the bottle against the wall. Within a split second, the bottle broke making a loud noise, and the pieces of the glass splintered everywhere. Almost immediately, his mother who was sleeping in the adjoining room ran into his room barefooted...
TO BE CONTINUED

It’s no longer news that World AIDS day is celebrated every December 1st. The question however is, “How’s has this celebration aided in ridding Nigeria of the HIV virus that’s prevalent in our country?” Do you know that Nigeria ranks second, behind South Africa, in the in the prevalence of HIV? My question now is ‘this celebration that is done all over the world on a day like this na who e done epp for Nigeria?
As a writer, I decided to lend my voice on this year’s celebration. That’s affect carrying out a painstaking research on the matter at hand.
FYI, the story I began with is of course true. Never mind the fact that I added a little distortion.

It Is Not The Bullet In A Gun That Kills But The Hand That Pulls The Trigger

The village of Umuofia was thrown into confusion on an Eke market day. The business of that day was grounded by the tragedy of that morning. At the popular Eke market square, the awful sight that was beheld by many brought tears even to the eyes of strong men. Leaving their thoughts to wonder, emotions were running high. An onlooker who could not hold his feelings exclaimed within the crowd, “Hey, abomination! Arukwonwa!
Cold chill ran down the spin of many as they watched Mazi Okafor’s son suspended on a tree by a rope. His breath was snuffed out by the well looped noose around his neck. The question on everyone’s mind was, “Why would a promising youth of Umuofia take his life in such a despicable manner?”
The answer which was far-fetched from the onlookers was hidden in the lifeless mind of Ifemelu who had been a business man at the popular Onitsha main market. The young man who tested positive to HIV could not contain the thought of the stigma that awaited him in the streets of his country, even in his family. The mere thought of the discrimination that he would face spurred him into going to the market where he bought a rope, went down to his village where he made a noose and hung himself on a tree. Ifemelu’s choice of committing suicide in his village was to be closer to the grave of his fathers.

The rising tide of discriminating against people living with HIV has been a nightmare. We have refused to understand the fact that ‘it is not the virus in HIV that kills but our attitude towards people living with it.’ Yes, our attitude towards people affects their action. The ignorance of men and women in our society kills faster than the virus itself. We often ignore the fact that everyone is at the risk of contracting this virus; whereas those who are living with the virus are erroneously believed to have shaken hands with the devil.
In Nigeria, ministries are scattered to carter for the needs of people living with HIV/AIDS, even ARDs and counselling are most times graciously provided, but it beats my imagination to learn that many who are supposed to take advantage of these offers are nowhere to be found. They are often held bound in their ‘caves’ by the manacles of the fear of stigmatization and discrimination. They wrongly think that coming out to seek for these helps will expose them to the prying eyes of the ‘gossipy’ public. Some, like Ifemelu, go to the point of calling it a quit to this beautiful life, never mind the fact that Nigeria is in recession.
According to Wikipedia, Nigeria ranks second in the prevalence of HIV, but if you ask me, I would say that that is not the worst case scenario. Stigma contributes, to a large extent, the sad stories told by many. An employer whose employee is suspected to be living with the virus gets an immediate sack letter. A woman whose husband is rumoured to have died from the virus is treated like a leper. It was quite pathetic hearing the story of an orphan who was driven into the harshness of the street all because stories had it that his parents died of AIDS. My dear, what do you think would become of you or your child when faced with rejection. “God forbid!” you would say. Well, a biblical injunction says it all__ ‘Do to others as you would have them do to you’.
As someone whose mother gave 35 years of her life tending to the sick in the hospital (UNTH Ituku Ozalla, Enugu state), I sometimes went to their Heart to Heart Centre (clinic) to see young people who, supposedly (i.e by my own assessment) are living with the virus. I found out that as a result of the way people living with HIV/AIDS are being regarded, especially in this part of the world, a man that test positive to the virus would rather hang himself than wait to be greeted by the unfriendly hands of discrimination. But, do you know what? The man that hangs himself and the one that metes out discrimination to someone living with the virus are guilty. Yes, they are guilty of IGNORANCE! The gospel truth is that people who are living with the virus are not barred from living a long and a healthy life. Ask the doctors.
My dear, it is sad to know that young people, especially on campuses and most of our local communities, still indulge in risky behaviours. Many people parade the streets and our campuses without knowing their HIV status. Our stubborn legs have simply refused to conform to the good habit of going for routine HIV test. Little wonder that most people get to find out that they are living with the virus when the head is already chopped off____ when it’s a little late. You that’s reading this article, have you checked your HIV status in the last six months?

The cliché is, “If you’re not infected, you’re affected.” So, let’s join hands in making sure that Africa and indeed the world is rid of this nightmare called HIV/AIDS. Remain vigilant for it may be in your neighbourhood, especially now that a lot of youths are idle. I know you still remember what they say about Idleness. Above all, show love and care to people living with the virus. That’s the only way we can contribute to the international fight against this malady that sneaked into our neighbourhood at night.
Finally, remember that what is good for the goose is also good for the gander. So, show love, not just to loved ones; SHOW LOVE TO PEOPLE LIVING WITH HIV/AIDS.

As you already know that today is World AIDS DAY (WAD), this is the summary of my message.
Keeping The ABC Formula in Mind
We've been Made to Understand that:
A (in d ABC formula) is the Most Assuring!
But, if u MUST do, get a C
However, having a B is also a good grade.

Say no to HIV n AIDS!
Say a vehement NO to stigma n discrimination!


Source: http://sadozo.com/bullet-gun-kills/

I stumbled in2 this and will keep sharing it until it makes HP. Mods, do the needful pls

For fear of being victimized, I’ll choose to be anonymous.

When I heard about the scraping of post UTME, I did not know whether to be happy or sad. Truth be told, we young people are tired of the rigours of having to write two very tough examinations just to gain admission into higher institutions of our choice. Although this is my second JAMB, somehow I have this feeling that if not for this bottleneck that was placed in our education system in the year 2005, yours truly would have been an undergraduate by now. Examination, they say is not a true test of knowledge, but the worst nightmare is to organize a shoddy exam. I have written series of examination, right from my primary school days to the time I wrote WASSCE and emerged as the best graduating student, one thing I’ve come to find out is that people don’t pass exam by chance. However, what happened to me in this year’s JAMB is what I am yet to comprehend.

Last year, I applied for Law at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. When I wrote JAMB and had a score of 270, I sat down and took a closer look at the individual score I made in different subjects; I smiled because the result was a reflection of my ability. From my very tight schedule, I had to make out time to start preparing for the post UTME. Remember that it was the same year I wrote WASSCE and NECO. Honestly, I lost a lot of weight, and when Post UTME result came out, I made 250. My average for both JAMB and PUTME last year was 260. Guess what, that score was not enough to give me Law because UNN had 287 as their cut-off mark. For those of you that wrote JAMB last year, recall that JAMB came up with this idea of redistribution. That is, moving students according to their score to other schools that have less applicants. I was very happy when I heard about the idea. Of course I was happy because I knew that with my 270 JAMB score, I would have a shot at UNN, my dream school. My happiness was short-lived because JAMB later did not implement that policy. I guess that’s what they are trying to enforce this year by getting the Minister of Education, tell us, on the 2nd of this month that Post UTME has been (or should be) scraped. In my opinion, Prof. Dibu Ojerinde is in bed with Mallam Adamu Adamu. They have both orchestrated this wonderful plan. Truth be told, this is a good plan but the timing is very wrong.

Let me take you down memory lane. This year’s JAMB received a lot of criticism. Students complained that the exercise was badly organized. Some aggrieved students even took to the street to vent their anger. Unfortunately, Prof. Ojerinde who, I thought should know better came out and claimed that the demonstration that was carried out by students was orchestrated by aggrieved CBT centres that had their contract cancelled. Prof., you and I know that was a fat lie. By blaming CBT centres and lesson centres instead of accepting the ineptitude of your system and the laxity of your workers, you lost the respect I used to have for you. Prof. let me ask you a question; do you think we are fools? Yes, I know that an average Nigerian youth does not read but the truth remains that we are not fools. I may not have gotten admission into the university but I know whom I am! I am an intelligent Nigerian youth who works hard every day. God knows that I’m better than my counterparts in most part of the world, and I’m not a fool. Having tasted success in my secondary school days, I know what it is like to be a winner. Unfortunately, JAMB decided to make me look like a fool when, on March 10, I wrote JAMB at a centre in Anambra State only to come home two days after and have JAMB send to me a text message that states that I scored 232. How is that possible? I thought. After being depressed for some days, I went online to look at the details of my result. I shouted when I saw that I was given 49 in English. This is not my result, I told mum who was with me in the room.

Well, when after a month I accepted the result that was sent to me by JAMB, I vowed to do my best, in terms of preparation to make sure that I prove my worth in post UTME when the time comes. Because I’m a go-getter, I had since got a Post UTME Past Question Paper and have been marrying my textbooks ever since. So, for Mallam Adamu Adamu to wake up one morning and tell us that he has scraped Post UTME is just unacceptable, especially at this point. In my opinion, I’ll rather they scrap JAMB and allow schools conduct examination for prospective students. JAMB as a body is messing up. They should take a cue from WAEC. Remember that Post UTME was introduced to clean up the mess up by JAMB. If the Federal Government wants JAMB to assume her constitutional role, they should first of all return her to her previous glory.

I gave up a JAMB score of 270 and a post UTME score of 250 because I believed that I’ll do better this year. My friend had advised me to buy a supplementary form and shop into English and Literary Studies last year but I told him that I’d make the merit list for Law this year. I had studied very hard for JAMB but they almost killed my zeal by sending me another person’s result. Just when it seemed I’ve gotten over it, Adamu Adamu now wants to put sand in my garri. God will judge you all! One calendar year of staying at home has taught me a lot of lessons, but trust me, unlike last year, I can settle for another course in UNN but God will punish anyone who reassigns me to any other school that is not University of Nigeria, Nsukka. Apart from the issue of proximity, I’m obsessed about the school.

Finally, Mallam Adamu Adamu, if really you want to scrap Post UTME, I suggest that this year’s JAMB be remarked by a neutral body and the results obtained be checked with what JAMB sent to candidates. I also suggest you call Prof. Ojerinde to come and explain why 40 marks were added to some candidates and were later removed from that of some people. JAMB had a lot of issues and I put it to you that scraping Post UTME shouldn’t be an option until JAMB is brought to a standard.

PLS SHARE UNTIL IT GETS TO MALLAM ADAMU ADAMU.

Source: http://unn-edu.info/2016/06/post-utme-cancellation-unn-aspirant-pens-thought-provoking-article.html

I stumbled in2 this and will keep posting it until it makes HP. Mods, do the needful pls

For fear of being victimized, I’ll choose to be anonymous.

When I heard about the scraping of post UTME, I did not know whether to be happy or sad. Truth be told, we young people are tired of the rigours of having to write two very tough examinations just to gain admission into higher institutions of our choice. Although this is my second JAMB, somehow I have this feeling that if not for this bottleneck that was placed in our education system in the year 2005, yours truly would have been an undergraduate by now. Examination, they say is not a true test of knowledge, but the worst nightmare is to organize a shoddy exam. I have written series of examination, right from my primary school days to the time I wrote WASSCE and emerged as the best graduating student, one thing I’ve come to find out is that people don’t pass exam by chance. However, what happened to me in this year’s JAMB is what I am yet to comprehend.

Last year, I applied for Law at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. When I wrote JAMB and had a score of 270, I sat down and took a closer look at the individual score I made in different subjects; I smiled because the result was a reflection of my ability. From my very tight schedule, I had to make out time to start preparing for the post UTME. Remember that it was the same year I wrote WASSCE and NECO. Honestly, I lost a lot of weight, and when Post UTME result came out, I made 250. My average for both JAMB and PUTME last year was 260. Guess what, that score was not enough to give me Law because UNN had 287 as their cut-off mark. For those of you that wrote JAMB last year, recall that JAMB came up with this idea of redistribution. That is, moving students according to their score to other schools that have less applicants. I was very happy when I heard about the idea. Of course I was happy because I knew that with my 270 JAMB score, I would have a shot at UNN, my dream school. My happiness was short-lived because JAMB later did not implement that policy. I guess that’s what they are trying to enforce this year by getting the Minister of Education, tell us, on the 2nd of this month that Post UTME has been (or should be) scraped. In my opinion, Prof. Dibu Ojerinde is in bed with Mallam Adamu Adamu. They have both orchestrated this wonderful plan. Truth be told, this is a good plan but the timing is very wrong.

Let me take you down memory lane. This year’s JAMB received a lot of criticism. Students complained that the exercise was badly organized. Some aggrieved students even took to the street to vent their anger. Unfortunately, Prof. Ojerinde who, I thought should know better came out and claimed that the demonstration that was carried out by students was orchestrated by aggrieved CBT centres that had their contract cancelled. Prof., you and I know that was a fat lie. By blaming CBT centres and lesson centres instead of accepting the ineptitude of your system and the laxity of your workers, you lost the respect I used to have for you. Prof. let me ask you a question; do you think we are fools? Yes, I know that an average Nigerian youth does not read but the truth remains that we are not fools. I may not have gotten admission into the university but I know whom I am! I am an intelligent Nigerian youth who works hard every day. God knows that I’m better than my counterparts in most part of the world, and I’m not a fool. Having tasted success in my secondary school days, I know what it is like to be a winner. Unfortunately, JAMB decided to make me look like a fool when, on March 10, I wrote JAMB at a centre in Anambra State only to come home two days after and have JAMB send to me a text message that states that I scored 232. How is that possible? I thought. After being depressed for some days, I went online to look at the details of my result. I shouted when I saw that I was given 49 in English. This is not my result, I told mum who was with me in the room.

Well, when after a month I accepted the result that was sent to me by JAMB, I vowed to do my best, in terms of preparation to make sure that I prove my worth in post UTME when the time comes. Because I’m a go-getter, I had since got a Post UTME Past Question Paper and have been marrying my textbooks ever since. So, for Mallam Adamu Adamu to wake up one morning and tell us that he has scraped Post UTME is just unacceptable, especially at this point. In my opinion, I’ll rather they scrap JAMB and allow schools conduct examination for prospective students. JAMB as a body is messing up. They should take a cue from WAEC. Remember that Post UTME was introduced to clean up the mess up by JAMB. If the Federal Government wants JAMB to assume her constitutional role, they should first of all return her to her previous glory.

I gave up a JAMB score of 270 and a post UTME score of 250 because I believed that I’ll do better this year. My friend had advised me to buy a supplementary form and shop into English and Literary Studies last year but I told him that I’d make the merit list for Law this year. I had studied very hard for JAMB but they almost killed my zeal by sending me another person’s result. Just when it seemed I’ve gotten over it, Adamu Adamu now wants to put sand in my garri. God will judge you all! One calendar year of staying at home has taught me a lot of lessons, but trust me, unlike last year, I can settle for another course in UNN but God will punish anyone who reassigns me to any other school that is not University of Nigeria, Nsukka. Apart from the issue of proximity, I’m obsessed about the school.

Finally, Mallam Adamu Adamu, if really you want to scrap Post UTME, I suggest that this year’s JAMB be remarked by a neutral body and the results obtained be checked with what JAMB sent to candidates. I also suggest you call Prof. Ojerinde to come and explain why 40 marks were added to some candidates and were later removed from that of some people. JAMB had a lot of issues and I put it to you that scraping Post UTME shouldn’t be an option until JAMB is brought to a standard.

PLS SHARE UNTIL IT GETS TO MALLAM ADAMU ADAMU.

Source: http://unn-edu.info/2016/06/post-utme-cancellation-unn-aspirant-pens-thought-provoking-article.html

Faba:
I wish it gets to the table of FG for them to see that Prof. Dibu has really brainwashed Mallam Adamu Adamu, for his own selfish interest, knowing fully well that his tenure expires April 2017.

It's obvious they're both in bed.

Mods: Lalasticlala, Olawalebabs, Fynestboi, Richiez
Abeg make una do the needful.
This stuff deserve go HP.
Seun, tell ur ppl to arrange n position this article where e suppose dey.

Jifem:
How I wiiiiiiiiiiiish dis msg gets to Adamu Adamu and everyother educational bodies...Buhari u promised to fight corruption till end,wat Jamb is doing is corruption of de highest order,so wat ar u waiting for to fight Jamb.....anyway Thanks broh for de write up

Jifem:
How I wiiiiiiiiiiiish dis msg gets to Adamu Adamu and everyother educational bodies...Buhari u promised to fight corruption till end,wat Jamb is doing is corruption of de highest order,so wat ar u waiting for to fight Jamb.....anyway Thanks broh for de write up

Jifem:
How I wiiiiiiiiiiiish dis msg gets to Adamu Adamu and everyother educational bodies...Buhari u promised to fight corruption till end,wat Jamb is doing is corruption of de highest order,so wat ar u waiting for to fight Jamb.....anyway Thanks broh for de write up

Jifem:
How I wiiiiiiiiiiiish dis msg gets to Adamu Adamu and everyother educational bodies...Buhari u promised to fight corruption till end,wat Jamb is doing is corruption of de highest order,so wat ar u waiting for to fight Jamb.....anyway Thanks broh for de write up

Help me beg Mods make them take-am go homepage

Stubbled in2 this:

For fear of being victimized, I’ll choose to be anonymous.

When I heard about the scraping of post UTME, I did not know whether to be happy or sad. Truth be told, we young people are tired of the rigours of having to write two very tough examinations just to gain admission into higher institutions of our choice. Although this is my second JAMB, somehow I have this feeling that if not for this bottleneck that was placed in our education system in the year 2005, yours truly would have been an undergraduate by now. Examination, they say is not a true test of knowledge, but the worst nightmare is to organize a shoddy exam. I have written series of examination, right from my primary school days to the time I wrote WASSCE and emerged as the best graduating student, one thing I’ve come to find out is that people don’t pass exam by chance. However, what happened to me in this year’s JAMB is what I am yet to comprehend.

Last year, I applied for Law at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. When I wrote JAMB and had a score of 270, I sat down and took a closer look at the individual score I made in different subjects; I smiled because the result was a reflection of my ability. From my very tight schedule, I had to make out time to start preparing for the post UTME. Remember that it was the same year I wrote WASSCE and NECO. Honestly, I lost a lot of weight, and when Post UTME result came out, I made 250. My average for both JAMB and PUTME last year was 260. Guess what, that score was not enough to give me Law because UNN had 287 as their cut-off mark. For those of you that wrote JAMB last year, recall that JAMB came up with this idea of redistribution. That is, moving students according to their score to other schools that have less applicants. I was very happy when I heard about the idea. Of course I was happy because I knew that with my 270 JAMB score, I would have a shot at UNN, my dream school. My happiness was short-lived because JAMB later did not implement that policy. I guess that’s what they are trying to enforce this year by getting the Minister of Education, tell us, on the 2nd of this month that Post UTME has been (or should be) scraped. In my opinion, Prof. Dibu Ojerinde is in bed with Mallam Adamu Adamu. They have both orchestrated this wonderful plan. Truth be told, this is a good plan but the timing is very wrong.

Let me take you down memory lane. This year’s JAMB received a lot of criticism. Students complained that the exercise was badly organized. Some aggrieved students even took to the street to vent their anger. Unfortunately, Prof. Ojerinde who, I thought should know better came out and claimed that the demonstration that was carried out by students was orchestrated by aggrieved CBT centres that had their contract cancelled. Prof., you and I know that was a fat lie. By blaming CBT centres and lesson centres instead of accepting the ineptitude of your system and the laxity of your workers, you lost the respect I used to have for you. Prof. let me ask you a question; do you think we are fools? Yes, I know that an average Nigerian youth does not read but the truth remains that we are not fools. I may not have gotten admission into the university but I know whom I am! I am an intelligent Nigerian youth who works hard every day. God knows that I’m better than my counterparts in most part of the world, and I’m not a fool. Having tasted success in my secondary school days, I know what it is like to be a winner. Unfortunately, JAMB decided to make me look like a fool when, on March 10, I wrote JAMB at a centre in Anambra State only to come home two days after and have JAMB send to me a text message that states that I scored 232. How is that possible? I thought. After being depressed for some days, I went online to look at the details of my result. I shouted when I saw that I was given 49 in English. This is not my result, I told mum who was with me in the room.

Well, when after a month I accepted the result that was sent to me by JAMB, I vowed to do my best, in terms of preparation to make sure that I prove my worth in post UTME when the time comes. Because I’m a go-getter, I had since got a Post UTME Past Question Paper and have been marrying my textbooks ever since. So, for Mallam Adamu Adamu to wake up one morning and tell us that he has scraped Post UTME is just unacceptable, especially at this point. In my opinion, I’ll rather they scrap JAMB and allow schools conduct examination for prospective students. JAMB as a body is messing up. They should take a cue from WAEC. Remember that Post UTME was introduced to clean up the mess up by JAMB. If the Federal Government wants JAMB to assume her constitutional role, they should first of all return her to her previous glory.

I gave up a JAMB score of 270 and a post UTME score of 250 because I believed that I’ll do better this year. My friend had advised me to buy a supplementary form and shop into English and Literary Studies last year but I told him that I’d make the merit list for Law this year. I had studied very hard for JAMB but they almost killed my zeal by sending me another person’s result. Just when it seemed I’ve gotten over it, Adamu Adamu now wants to put sand in my garri. God will judge you all! One calendar year of staying at home has taught me a lot of lessons, but trust me, unlike last year, I can settle for another course in UNN but God will punish anyone who reassigns me to any other school that is not University of Nigeria, Nsukka. Apart from the issue of proximity, I’m obsessed about the school.

Finally, Mallam Adamu Adamu, if really you want to scrap Post UTME, I suggest that this year’s JAMB be remarked by a neutral body and the results obtained be checked with what JAMB sent to candidates. I also suggest you call Prof. Ojerinde to come and explain why 40 marks were added to some candidates and were later removed from that of some people. JAMB had a lot of issues and I put it to you that scraping Post UTME shouldn’t be an option until JAMB is brought to a standard.

PLS SHARE UNTIL IT GETS TO MALLAM ADAMU ADAMU.

Source: http://unn-edu.info/2016/06/post-utme-cancellation-unn-aspirant-pens-thought-provoking-article.html

Why won't u say that. This is a sister defending a fellow sister. But, Nne, whether u accept it or not, we've been suffering from una hands since the time of Adam

Swissheart:
Why would you blame her for your failure? She saw you had no control of yourself hence parking to your house/life and parking out. Several ppl combine academics and a lil social life without failing that's because they know how to balance it. But you were enjoying her company at the detriment to your study. Whatever she graduated with, she sha graduated despite having you. You had better adjust and see beyond blaming her. Be like say woman na your weakness

Make una help me beg Mods make them move this to FP so that other guys like me can read and learn. Guys, Be Wise!

I WAS USED

This evening, I sat down at CEC quadrangle and couldn’t help but noticed a boy and a girl holding hands in a lovey-dovey manner. I was enjoying my bottle of chilled star alone looking rather aloof. I smiled as I watched these lovebirds who, I suppose are students of this university, giggling at each others joke. The girl was tall, beautiful and elegantly dressed. The guy who was obviously enjoying her company had a goatee; he was probably five feet-four and was putting on a well starched white shirt and black trousers. He looked like these pharmacy students who are either in their final or penultimate year. As for the girl, it was difficult to guess which department she was from. But, there was something remarkable about her_____ she was wearing the kind of hairstyle that Florence wore most of the time in our undergraduate days. Did I just say ‘our’…? I mean her undergraduate days. I had to correct that statement because, although Florence is now a graduate, I’m still an undergraduate despite the fact that we were supposed to have graduated the same time.

When I boycotted the 45th convocation ceremony of the University of Nigeria, I spent the whole evening crying a room. It was supposed to be my convocation, a happy moment but there I was blubbering like a child. And because I knew a lot of persons would be calling to ‘congratulate’ me, I switched off my phone because I didn’t want anything to remind me of how badly I had failed. I didn’t want to be reminded of the fact that I’m not graduating with my set. As my mates were at Nsukka celebrating, I curled up on the bed in my Uncle’s visitor’s room playing blues. I choose to visit Uncle Goddy at that time because I know that his house would afford me the kind of solitude I needed. His children were all grown ups and outside the country except for his last child, Kaodilichukwu, who is in Abuja in search of greener pasture. As Uncle Goddy and his wife were hardly around, I had all the time in the world to cry.

Having witnessed three covocations in my days as an undergrate, I know how ecstatic and blissful the atmosphere can be but, on that convocation Friday, there I was at Independence Layout in a ‘kingly’ apartment bemoaning while my mates were having fun as they waited to collect a certificate that would certify that they had passed in both character and learning. I felt really bad when on that night, I logged onto facebook and saw pictures of friends and classmates on their convocation gowns and well tailored suit. I was ashamed for having failed myself and family.

After crying my eyes out, I sat down thinking about what really happened. Where did I get it wrong? Why would someone who started his academic pursuit on a GPA of 4.5 not graduate with his set? Then it struck me!

My problem was Florence (or should I say Karma?). I met Florence at the later part of my second year in the university. She’s dark in complexion with a pointed nose that would make you think that she would be among the first to give up if God decided to reduce the oxygen in the air and makes it breath-in-as-much-as-your-nose-can-accommodate. She was in Biological Sciences and I was (or should I say, I am) in the Faculty of Physical sciences? One thing leading to another we became too familiar. Fast forward to 3rd year. Although I was no longer in first class, I was in a comfortable 2:1. I started loosing grip of myself when she started spending weekends in my house. I loved her company and she enjoyed the commitment, the love and, of course, the money I ‘lavished’ on her.

Things became a lot more lively when Florence came into my life but my academic began to suffer. Put it this way, the joy that she brought into my life was the bane of my academics. I started skipping lectures when she moved into my apartment. I was so fond of her that sometimes, when I’m in class I find it difficult refraining from thinking about her. This continued until in my third year second semester exam, I failed a prerequisite course. Those in Physical science, especially the department of Pure and Industrial Chemistry will understand what a prerequisite course means; once you goof in them, its an automatic extra year.

To make matters worse, Florence broke up with me in final year. I was heart broken because she couldn’t give me any singular reason why she doesn’t want to hang out with me again. She just said she was tired of being in a relationship and that she needed sometime to think about her life.

My X, Florence graduated with 2:2 in record time and was at the convocation. It was on that Convoc night, when I saw hundreds of pictures of hers on facebook that if dawned on me that I had not unfriended her. I had delected her from my mind when I heard from the grapevine that she was engaged to the son of a politician. I became vindictive, when I heard a week ago that she would be getting married this Easter. However, what’s my greatest concern right now is to write this my carry-over and leave this environment for good.

Sitting down in CEC quadrangle, and not knowing what to expect from the carry-over course that I have on Tuesday, I was reminded of Florence again by those two lovebirds who were lost in the company of each other.

As I stole a glance at them, my prayer is that their love story shouldn’t end like mine.

Source: http://unn-edu.info/2016/03/she-used-me-and-dumped-me.html

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I shared this piece early yesterday morning. I had to share it again because I feel it didn't get the desired reach. In this time of JAMB, There's no gainsaying the fact that the piece of information here would help JAMB candidate immensely.

Super Mods abeg make una help move this post where e suppose be! All d best to Jambytes


I decided to share this experience of mine because I know it will help a great number of people, especially those who’re yet to sit for JAMB exam.

I’m Godswill by name and this is my story. On Friday February 19th I re-printed my Jamb slip and hated myself when I saw a notification that stated that my exam date was 27th of February. I couldn’t believe I had just 7 days to conclude my preparation and be in the hall or be marked absent. When I got home that evening from the cyber café, my dad who is a pastor in a well known church in Nigeria asked why my countenance was the way it was. I told him that the devil and his agents have conspired to make me fail Jamb. After a brief discussion, my ebullient father found out that my anger was that I had been drafted to be among the first set of candidates to begin this year’s JAMB. He smiled and told me not to feel bad about it. In his words he said, ‘My son, be careful and don’t let the devil put fear in you; that’s his method.” My dad spoke about the devil___ Ekwensu as if he was just a next door neighbour. He ended his ‘sermon’ by saying, “Someone has got to be the first, son. If you ask me, I’ll say it’s the will of God. I named you Godswill for a reason.”

One thing about my dad is that he has a way of making me feel pacified. But after the father and son discussion we had that day, I went to my room and what was ringing in my ears all through the night was that portion of the scripture that says that the first shall be the last. On that Friday night, I lay down on my bed listening to the clock ticking until I fell asleep. I didn’t even know when my alarm which was set for 3am rang. What I remembered was that when my mum woke me up at 5:30am for morning devotion, I noticed that the alarm clock which I had been using for months was smothered under my pillow. I couldn’t believe that ‘again I failed to wake up at night to study even with the recent development.’

Although this was my first JAMB (was because I’ve written already), on that December afternoon that my mum drove me to a cyber café where I was registered, there was this awkward feeling that I had all through that day. I can’t say if it was Jambphobia but, with all that people keep saying about JAMB and how they continue to jam students year in year out, I just couldn’t help being scared when I suddenly found out I had seven days to face this ‘hydra-headed monster’ of an examination.

I concluded that being among the first to write would translate to being among the first to taste failure. I wanted to hear about people’s result or performance before I go into the hall. Also, I was even more scared of being among the first to experience the glitches of JAMB and the ineptitude of CBT centre operators. After the glittery moments I had on that Friday, with the counsel of my dad, and my mum who obliged to fast and pray for the success of my exam, I was able to deal with my fears. I stopped the extramural lesson I was attending and used the remaining days for my revision. I swotted as if there was no tomorrow.

On the eve of my exam date, I had gotten my confidence back. I kept reminding myself that as the best student in the SS3 mock exam of my school, I have everything it takes to score very high in JAMB and get my desired course of choice.

Guess what? When I got to Afrihub, IMT (the venue of my exam) I became anxious again. After the queue and all the necessary information was passed down to us by the examiner, I sat in front of my computer unable to read the comprehension passage before my eye. It took me like ten minute of silently pep talking myself before the monitor to gather my wit. I will confess that it wasn’t a roller coaster ride but I put up a strong fight.

The moment I left the hall, I came home took my bath, eat and for the first time in seven days I slept without setting an alarm. You won’t believe I slept for twelve straight hours. Although, at first, I wasn’t happy that I had to be among the first set to open this year’s exam but having finished it. I think I wouldn’t have preferred any better date. Thank God is behind me now; never mind that I am scared each time my text message tone beeps. As I pray and look forward to a high score that’ll enable study Medicine at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, I have this little piece of advice for you who is yet to write:

Study as much as you can within the remaining time you have
Stop all tutorial at least 5 days to your exam and pay attention to solving and answering past questions
Look at JAMB syllabus and see if you’ve covered at least 90% of what you’re expected to
Once you enter the hall, be calm and pay attention to details why reading the questions
Be fast and accurate. If you can’t be fast (because it’s not Frank Edoho’s Fastest Finger First WWTBAM), make sure you’re accurate
Don’t spend too much time on a question you don’t know the answer
Make sure you answer all the questions before you leave the hall (by hook or by crook). However if you’re caught, don’t say Godswill Nwa Pastor told you to cheat. God knows I’ve never cheated in my life.
If you’ve not been preparing for this exam, don’t bother showing up at the venue because JAMB go disgrace you. I think it’ll be better to say that you missed UTME than to say you scored…
More importantly, pray for God’s help

Abeg, as I still dey wait for alert from JAMB, help me pray that I won’t score less than 300. God bless you!

Source: http://unn-edu.info/2016/02/35493.html

I saw this somewhere and copied it.
Super Mods Do The Needful!


I decided to share this experience of mine because I know it will help a great number of people, especially those who’re yet to sit for JAMB exam.

I’m Godswill by name and this is my story. On Friday February 19th I re-printed my Jamb slip and hated myself when I saw a notification that stated that my exam date was 27th of February. I couldn’t believe I had just 7 days to conclude my preparation and be in the hall or be marked absent. When I got home that evening from the cyber café, my dad who is a pastor in a well known church in Nigeria asked why my countenance was the way it was. I told him that the devil and his agents have conspired to make me fail Jamb. After a brief discussion, my ebullient father found out that my anger was that I had been drafted to be among the first set of candidates to begin this year’s JAMB. He smiled and told me not to feel bad about it. In his words he said, ‘My son, be careful and don’t let the devil put fear in you; that’s his method.” My dad spoke about the devil___ Ekwensu as if he was just a next door neighbour. He ended his ‘sermon’ by saying, “Someone has got to be the first, son. If you ask me, I’ll say it’s the will of God. I named you Godswill for a reason.”

One thing about my dad is that he has a way of making me feel pacified. But after the father and son discussion we had that day, I went to my room and what was ringing in my ears all through the night was that portion of the scripture that says that the first shall be the last. On that Friday night, I lay down on my bed listening to the clock ticking until I fell asleep. I didn’t even know when my alarm which was set for 3am rang. What I remembered was that when my mum woke me up at 5:30am for morning devotion, I noticed that the alarm clock which I had been using for months was smothered under my pillow. I couldn’t believe that ‘again I failed to wake up at night to study even with the recent development.’

Although this was my first JAMB (was because I’ve written already), on that December afternoon that my mum drove me to a cyber café where I was registered, there was this awkward feeling that I had all through that day. I can’t say if it was Jambphobia but, with all that people keep saying about JAMB and how they continue to jam students year in year out, I just couldn’t help being scared when I suddenly found out I had seven days to face this ‘hydra-headed monster’ of an examination.

I concluded that being among the first to write would translate to being among the first to taste failure. I wanted to hear about people’s result or performance before I go into the hall. Also, I was even more scared of being among the first to experience the glitches of JAMB and the ineptitude of CBT centre operators. After the glittery moments I had on that Friday, with the counsel of my dad, and my mum who obliged to fast and pray for the success of my exam, I was able to deal with my fears. I stopped the extramural lesson I was attending and used the remaining days for my revision. I swotted as if there was no tomorrow.

On the eve of my exam date, I had gotten my confidence back. I kept reminding myself that as the best student in the SS3 mock exam of my school, I have everything it takes to score very high in JAMB and get my desired course of choice.

Guess what? When I got to Afrihub, IMT (the venue of my exam) I became anxious again. After the queue and all the necessary information was passed down to us by the examiner, I sat in front of my computer unable to read the comprehension passage before my eye. It took me like ten minute of silently pep talking myself before the monitor to gather my wit. I will confess that it wasn’t a roller coaster ride but I put up a strong fight.

The moment I left the hall, I came home took my bath, eat and for the first time in seven days I slept without setting an alarm. You won’t believe I slept for twelve straight hours. Although, at first, I wasn’t happy that I had to be among the first set to open this year’s exam but having finished it. I think I wouldn’t have preferred any better date. Thank God is behind me now; never mind that I am scared each time my text message tone beeps. As I pray and look forward to a high score that’ll enable study Medicine at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, I have this little piece of advice for you who is yet to write:

Study as much as you can within the remaining time you have
Stop all tutorial at least 5 days to your exam and pay attention to solving and answering past questions
Look at JAMB syllabus and see if you’ve covered at least 90% of what you’re expected to
Once you enter the hall, be calm and pay attention to details why reading the questions
Be fast and accurate. If you can’t be fast (because it’s not Frank Edoho’s Fastest Finger First WWTBAM), make sure you’re accurate
Don’t spend too much time on a question you don’t know the answer
Make sure you answer all the questions before you leave the hall (by hook or by crook). However if you’re caught, don’t say Godswill Nwa Pastor told you to cheat. God knows I’ve never cheated in my life.
If you’ve not been preparing for this exam, don’t bother showing up at the venue because JAMB go disgrace you. I think it’ll be better to say that you missed UTME than to say you scored…
More importantly, pray for God’s help

Abeg, as I still dey wait for alert from JAMB, help me pray that I won’t score less than 300. God bless you!

Source: http://unn-edu.info/2016/02/35493.html

Don't worry, they'll still send it. Isi aka!
Read; u no go read
Get small sense; u no go get

Anu mpama!