His Wife Abandoned Him and their Twin Girls, Unaware they will Later Become Billionaires The little girls cried loudly as her mother threw them on the bed and began packing her clothes into a bag. Her face was tight with anger like someone ready to fight the whole world. Mr. Peter, her husband, said gently, "The babies are crying. They need their mother." But Linda answered in a cold and sharp voice, "They are no longer my concern. I'm leaving you." She continued stuffing her clothes into the bag without looking at him. Please don't go, Peter begged. If not for me, then stay for the sake of these innocent children God gave us. Linda turned to him and snapped. I didn't marry you to suffer. Since you can't give me the life I want. I'm done. Don't come looking for me. As for the babies, do whatever you want with them. I don't care. She paused, twisted her lips bitterly, and added, "To be honest, I don't even care if they live or die." With that, she zipped up her bag and stormed out of the house, slamming the door hard behind her. Everything had once been peaceful between Peter and his wife. But things changed the day he lost his job. Since then, Linda had been threatening to leave. She complained about everything. The small room they moved into, the plain food they had to eat. Peter kept begging her, not just because he loved her, but for the sake of their little daughters, Mary and Naomi, who were just 3 months old, but Lyndon never listened. Mr. Peter carried the babies in his arms and gently cuddled them. Though they kept crying, he rocked them back and forth until they slowly calmed down. As he looked at their innocent faces, his heart grew heavy, but his voice was firm. I may not have money to give you the best life, he whispered. But I promise I will be the best father in the whole world to you. He kept rocking them softly and not long after the twin girls drifted off to sleep. The next morning came with hunger and worry.

#Discipline #myMentor #nakupenda

I am a Prince and my names are King lord. How will you address me with my names and tittle. Drop ur ans on my comment section.

In 1993, Émile Leray, a French electrician, broke down in the middle of the African desert while driving an old Citroën 2CV out of Morocco to join a military site. His car was seriously damaged after hitting a rock. Unable to repair on site, and too risky to walk in this hostile environment. So he came up with this crazy but genius idea to turn his wrecked car into... On a motorcycle! With the tools he had with him and recycling car parts, he built a functional motorcycle in 12 days, using the supplies (water and food) he had in the trunk. Shortened the chassis, fitted two wheels, moved the engine to the center... and it worked! Thus he managed to leave the desert and join civilization, but was welcomed... by a fine from the Moroccan police for driving a vehicle that did not match the official documents! His improvised motorcycle still exists today, preserved as a symbol of ingenuity and adventure in the heart of the desert. 🛠️🏍️☀️ #history #historia #historyfacts #historymatters #historylovers #historyinthemaking #Egypt #egyptian #nakupenda #Discipline

Catching up with breakfast late

This evening I planned to meet with Jeremy's mother the moment I returned from work. His mum goes out very early in the morning and comes back late at night. Since it was about to rain heavily, I felt the mum would have returned home earlier today. So when I got back home this evening, I changed and headed straight for an eatery to buy some snacks for Jeremy. I bought an extra plate for the mother as well. I took these snacks and went to the house to knock. Jeremy was the one who opened the door when I knocked. He paused like he had seen a ghost. Then he glanced back and returned his gaze to me and whispered. "Dad." I whispered back. "Jeremy." Is your mummy in?" "Yes. She just came back." "Tell her I want to see her." He froze for a moment. I could see fear in his eyes. "Will you be in trouble?" I asked. He nodded his head. I understood his fear. I knew he was scared of his mother's reaction. Especially as she had already warned him about me. Just as I was about to turn back, his mother showed up at the door and opened the curtain. She must have heard my voice when I was talking with Jeremy. She pushed Jeremy behind her and the boy just went inside. "Good evening." "What do you want?" "I came to talk with you and I also brought some snacks and food for you and for Jeremy too. I stopped by the eatery." Jeremy was peeping through the window and I could see his face. "Did Jeremy tell you we were hungry?" "No...no. Not at all. I just wanted to see you and discuss with you. So I felt I shouldn't come empty-handed. I thought of what to get and believe me this was the best thing I could come up with." "We are not hungry, sir. We just ate dinner not long ago." I nodded. "Can I come in. So we talk?" "About what?" "Ummm... I understand you do not know me that well. I am your neighbor. I stay just over there. Jeremy and I have been friends and I met him once when I gave him a lift to school and since then I have been giving him lifts to school." "Are you a driver?" "No... I am a writer and script writer and I work for an establishment as well." "So since you are not a driver why are you interested in giving him a lift?" "I just... I mean since we go out together in the morning and I... Madam listen. Jeremy is a nice boy and I have seen him as my son as well as you have. I just wanted you to understand..." "Jeremy is not looking for a father. If he were I would have shown him where his father is. Please stay clear from my son. Please." She entered the house and shut the door angrily. For a moment I felt embarassed and useless. Jeremy waved at me and I waved back. I do not know if he was saying sorry or saying goodnight to me. But before I could wave back, his mother forcefully dragged him away from the window. I felt bad. I turned and left. On my way home, I got beaten by the rain. My clothes were drentched. It was as if the heavens were in agreement with her. I do not know if to stay off or try one more time. I do not know at all #nakupenda #Discipline

I am Prince lord King

*Hello everyone,* If you are testing, keep testing. If you are onboarding the waitlist, keep onboarding. If you are not participating. Continue still. If you are sleeping here, continue. If you are working hard. Don't stop. Everyone, please keep doing what you are doing best. *Launch is eminent.* The way, I love to think about it is, Nakupenda will become a Unicorn ( Unicorn in business) within 4 years. Who are they that will be there with us? Fantastic evening! #Discipline #nakupenda #mybrotherHUSTLEOOH

#Discipline THE SECRET OF A SLAY QUEEN WHO ONLY SLEEPS WITH MAD MEN Her name was Maliya—fierce, bold, unapologetically beautiful. On the outside, she was every man’s fantasy and every woman’s envy. Slay queen by title, heartbreaker by reputation. But what nobody knew was that behind her polished nails, heavy makeup, and thousand-dollar shoes was a twisted obsession—one that could ruin her life forever. Maliya didn’t sleep with rich politicians, or musicians, or sugar daddies. No. Her secret desire was far darker. She only felt true lust for men society called “mad.” The street wanderers. The mentally unstable. The forgotten souls. The kind who talked to the air, laughed at nothing, and roamed in tattered rags. She believed madness held a kind of freedom no rich man could ever give her. At night, when her friends were clubbing or posting half-naked pictures online, Maliya would sneak out in disguise. She wore an oversized hoodie, no makeup, just a scarf. She’d go behind the abandoned rail tracks where she knew one of them always slept. His name was Dogo. People said he had once been a brilliant university professor before something snapped in his head. Now he danced naked in the streets and barked like a dog. But to Maliya, Dogo was beautiful. She brought him food, bathed him, whispered to him, and made love to him like he was a king. And the terrifying part? He remembered her name. Every single time. “Maliya,” he would say, looking into her soul with eyes that once knew more than the world allowed. “They’ll never understand you, but I do.” She thought no one knew. Until one day, her closest friend, Anita, followed her. Anita had always suspected something strange about Maliya’s behavior. So when she saw Maliya sneaking behind the slums, she trailed her—and what she found left her speechless. Maliya on her knees, feeding a mad man with such devotion it almost looked holy. Anita tried to confront her. “Are you sick in the head? What if someone finds out? Your brand, your endorsements, your family—everything will be gone!” Maliya didn’t flinch. “I’m already gone, Anita. I’ve been gone since I was twelve and I watched my stepfather beat my mother to death and everyone called him a pastor. Madness feels safer than sanity to me.” Anita backed off. She didn’t understand, but she knew better than to question a pain she couldn’t imagine. But secrets don’t stay buried. A vlogger spotted Maliya a few days later, in her disguise, embracing another mad man near the river. The video went viral within hours. “Famous Slay Queen Seen Kissing Lunatic,” the headlines read. Her followers dropped. Brands cut ties. Her family disowned her. But strangely, she didn’t cry. She laughed. Laughed louder than ever before. Because now—finally—she didn’t have to hide. She took Dogo and two other mad men, moved into a remote area outside the city, and built a shelter for the mentally ill. She named it “The Free Mind.” But what she didn’t know was that one of the men she loved—one of the supposed “mad” men—wasn’t mad at all. He was a billionaire’s son hiding from a murderous conspiracy. And everything was about to change. To be continued.... Written by Real Life Stories Follow Bleeding pen for more

#nakupenda # best app

FROM ANOTHER PLATFORM By Obi Nwakanma And I hear you, bro. But think about it: from 1970- 1979, the generation of the Igbo who had fought and funded the war, were not talking of marginalization. They took on the task of restoration. I remember the story the late Mbazulike Amaechi told me when I once visited him in Ukpor. At the end of the war, the Igbo business elite who had been in PH, and whose property had been forcibly acquired by the new government in Rivers state went to Asika to intervene. Asika sat with them and urged them to seek the intervention of the courts and make this a seminal case on the defense of Igbo property rights in Nigeria. He did not want to seem to put undue pressure in a very sensitive time on the government of Rivers state. The Igbo were being harassed and stopped from work and resuming their life in PH. Asika encouraged them to seek the legal benefits of Awolowo who was the most powerful politician in government at the time. These Igbo businessmen met Awo, in Lagos, and after he heard them, Awo demanded that they go and pay 1 million pounds into his Chambers account, before he would could take on their plea. The Igbo business men asked Awo where he thought they could get one million pounds, having just come out of a devastating war. He said it was their business and dismissed them. The men later met in ZC Obi’s home, and after rounds and rounds of discussions, they agreed at ZC Obi’s urging, that they would no longer pursue the matter. ZC Obi said, “ let us ge back to work. Let us send our young men back to work. We shall build Aba until it gets into Port Harcourt, and no one will know the difference.” And that was precisely what they set out to do, and were about accomplishing that feat up till 1987. By 1979, the Igbo were powerful enough to ge a serious factor in Nigerian politics. Between 1979-83, the Igbo were not talking about marginalization. They were engaged in restoration . Mbakwe had asked Ihechukwu Madubuike as minister for education, to place as priority the establishment of another federal university in Igbo land. Thus FUTO in 1980. Between he and Jim Nwobodo, they launched an industrial policy that quickly turned the East once more into an active economic belt. They did not wait for the federal government. Imo state University and Anambra state university of Technology were the first state universities to be established under the state laws. I was reading the Imo State University Act that established the charter of the old Imo state university the other day, and I am still utterly impressed by the quality and precision of thought that went into organizing that university under the inimitable MJC Echeruo, one of Igbo lands sharpest minds of the 20th century. The same goes for ASUTHEC. Nwobodo went specifically to Harvard to make Prof Kenneth Dike to return to Enugu and establish ASUTHEC. Now, compare that Igbo, to this generation of the Akalogoli. Mbakwe took Shagari specifically to Ndiegoro, in Aba, wept publicly with dramatic impact , and forced Shagari to promise to establish the ecological fund to deal with places like Ndiegoro in Igbo land. He compelled Shagari to understand that Gas and Petroleum were abundant natural resources from Imo state, and that Imo deserved and must be given new shares/ consideration , if the federal did not want Imo to sue, and even begin to raise questions about the federal government’s s seizure of Eastern Nigerias oil and gas investments, like the PH refinery for which no compensation has even to this day, been paid. Mbakwe pushed the oil issue and said to Shagari that the proposed Petrochemical Plant must be located in Imo, otherwise he would begin to build the Imo Petrochemical Industries himself . The grounds had been cleared by October 1983, and work started at the Imo Petrochemical Plant at Izombe by the time the military struck on Dec. 31, 1983. It was Buhari who later relocated that plant to Eleme. Mbakwe began the first Independent Power company with the Amaraku power station under Alex Emeziem at the Ministry of Utilities. The father of my high school buddy at the Government College Umuahia was the project manager who designed and installed the power station at Amaraku and had begun work at the Izombe Gas power station; all with engineers and technicians from the Imo state ministries of work and public utilities. They did not go to China to sign a contract. They just went to South Korea to procure the parts they designed and which they installed themselves! By 1981/2 most towns in Imo state had electricity under the Imo state Rural Electrification project. Same with the Five Zonal water project under the Mbakwe program. The project manager was Engineer Ebiringa. They did not go to China or America or wait for the federal government. 85% of the Imo Water project had been completed by the time the soldiers struck. There are still giant iron pipes buried underground in almost all the towns in the old Imo state under that project which was designed to give Imo the first constant, clean water of any state of Nigeria. Only a phase of the Owerri water project was completed by the time Mbakwe was kicked out of office, but even so, Owerri had the cleanest, most regular water of any city in Nigeria. Imo organized her public schools. Imo organized a first class public health system. My own father was commissioned under the Health Management board as the government’s Chief Health Statician, to conduct the first broad epidemiological survey of Imo state in 1982. I saw him at work. They were serious and professional men, who took their duties very seriously because they were highly trained. The Imo state civil service was possibly the finest civil service in West Africa; finer than the federal service, because they had a highly selected and well trained pool of civil servants who delivered value to the people. They were not talking about marginalization. You may say what you like today about Jim Nwobodo, but he started the independent satellite newspaper In Enugu, which balanced the story coming out of Lagos. No one was talking about marginalization until Chuba Okadigbo, rightly used that word to decribe the way the federal military government of Nigeria was treating the Igbo, in terms of access to real power. There were not enough Igbo officers represented in the organograms of the military governments, and yes, that word was apt, in that period . But we have taken it too far, and turned it into an excuse for our intellectual and political indolence. The Igbo have waited for their comeuppance on Nigeria, but shit ain’t happening. Nigeria is moving on without us, for better or worse. We must now recalibrate and engage. Let us use the final gas in our tanks, all of us now, between 55-75 years, to complete the work of restoration which the last generation began but which we have abandoned because we dropped the ball. We may weep all we want and complain that Nigeria is unfair, but the universe is indifferent. I dare say, Nigeria actually has no capacity to marginalize the Igbo. We better stop marginalizing ourselves or risk our children and their children inheriting the slave’s mentality!! That’s the danger we court with this story of Igbo marginality, which is actually self imposed, and self indulgent! I pray we rise again!!!! Happy New Month to us all!!! #Discipline

Something went wrong whenever i tried to load #video #reels #audio and #golive. Please #nakupenda come to my #rescue #Eze pleading