• Watch Tabitha MUSIC VIDEO HERE @;- https://www.youtube.com/@goldflyboy "#SUBSCRIBE".
    .
    #Nakupenda #Nowwatching #Nowplaying #Nowstreaming
    Watch Tabitha MUSIC VIDEO HERE @;- https://www.youtube.com/@goldflyboy "#SUBSCRIBE". . #Nakupenda #Nowwatching #Nowplaying #Nowstreaming
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  • So yesterday I kept wondering what the problem with Jeremy was.

    Their school closes by 2 pm. So by 1:30 pm, I was already at Jeremy's school to pick him up so I could take him back home. I parked in front of the school gate, just across the road.

    Jeremy had once told me that his mum always left the key behind so he could pick it up and gain entrance to the house when he returned from school.

    While waiting for him, a young boy waved at me and shouted.

    "Daddy Jeremy."

    He was walking with two other young boys who waved at me in excitement.

    I smiled and waved back. Then quickly called them.

    "Have you seen Jeremy today?" I asked.

    "No sir. He didn't come to school."

    "He didn't?"

    "Yes."

    I thanked them and watched as they left. Well since Jeremy did not come to school, I felt probably he took a day off that day.

    This morning I waited for Jeremy again. I had dressed up very early and was already set to leave the house.

    When it was 6:50 am, and Jeremy didn't show up, I decided to drive to his house to pick him up.

    I got to his house and horned. Then I stepped down to walk to the door.

    I heard Jeremy crying from inside. His mother was seriously shouting at him.

    "So if he is not taking you to school you are not going to school? Is he your father? What is wrong with you? What has he given you to eat. Will you get dressed and go to school now. Are you stup'd? Or is something wrong with you?"

    I paused.

    I knew this whole thing was about me.

    I couldn't knock. I didn't know what her reaction would be next if she sees me.

    I heard running footsteps hitting the floor. I heard hands bagging tables. I heard Jeremy's cries and his mother shouting.

    Suddenly I heard her beating him again.

    "Pick your bags and go to school like other children. Go and join the bus now."

    I turned back, got into my car, and drove off.

    I didn't even know when a teardrop left my eyes.

    I feel hurt today.

    Really hurt.

    Today started out badly for me and not until I am sure Jeremy is fine, I may not be at rest.

    #nakupenda
    #Discipline
    #Chibuzo
    ™ So yesterday I kept wondering what the problem with Jeremy was. Their school closes by 2 pm. So by 1:30 pm, I was already at Jeremy's school to pick him up so I could take him back home. I parked in front of the school gate, just across the road. Jeremy had once told me that his mum always left the key behind so he could pick it up and gain entrance to the house when he returned from school. While waiting for him, a young boy waved at me and shouted. "Daddy Jeremy." He was walking with two other young boys who waved at me in excitement. I smiled and waved back. Then quickly called them. "Have you seen Jeremy today?" I asked. "No sir. He didn't come to school." "He didn't?" "Yes." I thanked them and watched as they left. Well since Jeremy did not come to school, I felt probably he took a day off that day. This morning I waited for Jeremy again. I had dressed up very early and was already set to leave the house. When it was 6:50 am, and Jeremy didn't show up, I decided to drive to his house to pick him up. I got to his house and horned. Then I stepped down to walk to the door. I heard Jeremy crying from inside. His mother was seriously shouting at him. "So if he is not taking you to school you are not going to school? Is he your father? What is wrong with you? What has he given you to eat. Will you get dressed and go to school now. Are you stup'd? Or is something wrong with you?" I paused. I knew this whole thing was about me. I couldn't knock. I didn't know what her reaction would be next if she sees me. I heard running footsteps hitting the floor. I heard hands bagging tables. I heard Jeremy's cries and his mother shouting. Suddenly I heard her beating him again. "Pick your bags and go to school like other children. Go and join the bus now." I turned back, got into my car, and drove off. I didn't even know when a teardrop left my eyes. I feel hurt today. Really hurt. Today started out badly for me and not until I am sure Jeremy is fine, I may not be at rest. #nakupenda #Discipline #Chibuzo
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  • ‎#SUBSCRIBE~ CLICK THE -BUTTON; WATCH & LISTEN HERE;- https://youtube.com/shorts/c467L_llJ8s
    .
    #nakupenda #video #videos
    ‎#SUBSCRIBE~ CLICK THE 🔔-BUTTON; WATCH & LISTEN HERE;- https://youtube.com/shorts/c467L_llJ8s . #nakupenda #video #videos
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  • Over 2,200 years ago, a man measured the Earth… using shadows and a stick.

    In the 3rd century BCE, in the great Egyptian city of Alexandria, lived a man named Eratosthenes.
    Some mocked him by calling him Beta — the second letter of the Greek alphabet — implying he was second-best at everything. But in truth, he was an Alpha in knowledge.

    Astronomer, geographer, philosopher, poet, historian, mathematician, and director of the Great Library of Alexandria — he was a true Renaissance man… centuries before the Renaissance.

    One day, he read in a scroll that in the city of Syene (modern-day Aswan), on June 21st, the summer solstice, a vertical stick cast no shadow at noon. The sun stood directly overhead. But in Alexandria, on the same day and same hour, a stick did cast a shadow.

    Where most would overlook such a detail, Eratosthenes saw a cosmic clue.

    He reasoned:
    If the Earth were flat, the sun’s rays would hit both sticks equally — the shadows would match. But they didn’t.
    So, what could explain the difference?
    Only a curved Earth.

    He measured the angle of the shadow in Alexandria. It was about 7 degrees — roughly 1/50th of a full circle.
    He hired someone to measure the distance between Syene and Alexandria: about 800 kilometers.
    Then he did the math:
    800 km × 50 = 40,000 km — the circumference of the Earth.

    That’s astonishingly accurate.
    No satellites. No telescopes. No calculators.
    Just observation, curiosity, and a mind that dared to ask why.

    Eratosthenes became the first person to calculate the size of a planet — and he did it by watching how a stick cast its shadow.

    ~ Carl Sagan
    #astronomer
    #geographers
    Over 2,200 years ago, a man measured the Earth… using shadows and a stick. In the 3rd century BCE, in the great Egyptian city of Alexandria, lived a man named Eratosthenes. Some mocked him by calling him Beta — the second letter of the Greek alphabet — implying he was second-best at everything. But in truth, he was an Alpha in knowledge. Astronomer, geographer, philosopher, poet, historian, mathematician, and director of the Great Library of Alexandria — he was a true Renaissance man… centuries before the Renaissance. One day, he read in a scroll that in the city of Syene (modern-day Aswan), on June 21st, the summer solstice, a vertical stick cast no shadow at noon. The sun stood directly overhead. But in Alexandria, on the same day and same hour, a stick did cast a shadow. Where most would overlook such a detail, Eratosthenes saw a cosmic clue. He reasoned: If the Earth were flat, the sun’s rays would hit both sticks equally — the shadows would match. But they didn’t. So, what could explain the difference? Only a curved Earth. He measured the angle of the shadow in Alexandria. It was about 7 degrees — roughly 1/50th of a full circle. He hired someone to measure the distance between Syene and Alexandria: about 800 kilometers. Then he did the math: 800 km × 50 = 40,000 km — the circumference of the Earth. That’s astonishingly accurate. No satellites. No telescopes. No calculators. Just observation, curiosity, and a mind that dared to ask why. Eratosthenes became the first person to calculate the size of a planet — and he did it by watching how a stick cast its shadow. ~ Carl Sagan #astronomer #geographers
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  • What happens when corruption meets oil money at the highest levels? MalabuGate delivers the clear, chronological breakdown of Nigeria's most consequential oil scandal that spans multiple administrations, crosses international borders, and involves some of the world's biggest corporations.

    This isn't conspiracy theory—it's meticulously researched investigative journalism based on court documents, financial records, and exclusive sources. For the first time, you'll understand exactly how OPL 245 became a symbol of everything wrong with resource governance in Nigeria.

    Whether you're a policy expert, concerned citizen, or simply someone who cares about justice, this documentary connects dots you never knew existed. Watch now on YouTube and join the growing community of informed Nigerians demanding accountability. Knowledge isn't just power—it's the first step toward #change. #Transparency starts with you.
    #Discipline
    What happens when corruption meets oil money at the highest levels? MalabuGate delivers the clear, chronological breakdown of Nigeria's most consequential oil scandal that spans multiple administrations, crosses international borders, and involves some of the world's biggest corporations. This isn't conspiracy theory—it's meticulously researched investigative journalism based on court documents, financial records, and exclusive sources. For the first time, you'll understand exactly how OPL 245 became a symbol of everything wrong with resource governance in Nigeria. Whether you're a policy expert, concerned citizen, or simply someone who cares about justice, this documentary connects dots you never knew existed. Watch now on YouTube and join the growing community of informed Nigerians demanding accountability. Knowledge isn't just power—it's the first step toward #change. #Transparency starts with you. #Discipline
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  • Believe this video at your own risk. Watch till the end to understand why. #Ngo_123 #grace
    Believe this video at your own risk. Watch till the end to understand why. #Ngo_123 #grace
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  • WATCH, STREAM,#SUBSCRIBE,LEAVE A COMMENT;- https://youtube.com/shorts/d3E3st-QMks?si=FLEXF1aH28v5KuIh
    WATCH, STREAM,#SUBSCRIBE,LEAVE A COMMENT;- https://youtube.com/shorts/d3E3st-QMks?si=FLEXF1aH28v5KuIh
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  • The Character. The Habit. The You.
    At the end of the day, what really follows us isn’t just what we’ve said or achieved—it’s who we’ve become.
    The character we have lived.
    The habit we have formed.
    The you that played the role.

    Our character is the unseen voice that speaks for us even in our absence. It’s not built in the spotlight, it’s forged in the quiet, private choices we make when no one is watching us.

    Our habits?
    Well, as we know it is the small, repetitive steps that shape our direction.
    They either grow us or ground us. Build us or break us.
    We don’t rise to the level of our dreams by just dreaming—we fall to the level of our discipline. The rigorous process that forms that very habit.

    And then there’s you !
    The version of yourself you’re becoming daily.
    Not the curated one for others, but the raw, real one. The one who’s learning, failing, showing up, healing, becoming.

    So don’t just work on what you do; work on who you are.
    Because eventually, the life you live will reflect the character, the habit, and the you, that you’ve built over time.
    #GodsGeneration
    #spreadthelove
    The Character. The Habit. The You. At the end of the day, what really follows us isn’t just what we’ve said or achieved—it’s who we’ve become. The character we have lived. The habit we have formed. The you that played the role. Our character is the unseen voice that speaks for us even in our absence. It’s not built in the spotlight, it’s forged in the quiet, private choices we make when no one is watching us. Our habits? Well, as we know it is the small, repetitive steps that shape our direction. They either grow us or ground us. Build us or break us. We don’t rise to the level of our dreams by just dreaming—we fall to the level of our discipline. The rigorous process that forms that very habit. And then there’s you 🙃! The version of yourself you’re becoming daily. Not the curated one for others, but the raw, real one. The one who’s learning, failing, showing up, healing, becoming. So don’t just work on what you do; work on who you are. Because eventually, the life you live will reflect the character, the habit, and the you, that you’ve built over time. #GodsGeneration #spreadthelove
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  • #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
    #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
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  • Let love continue to be ur watchword
    #SpreadTheLove
    #team B
    #Esther Ekpenyong
    Tizzy_luv
    Let love continue to be ur watchword #SpreadTheLove #team B #Esther Ekpenyong Tizzy_luv
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  • "The Bench by the Lake"

    Every Sunday, Evelyn sat on the old wooden bench by the lake, a worn book in her hands and a thermos of tea by her side. The bench had seen better days, but to her, it was sacred—etched with laughter, promises, and silent moments shared.

    Years ago, it was where she met Thomas.

    He was sketching the water, frowning at the light. She offered him a cup of tea, and he offered her a smile. That small exchange became a ritual. Sunday after Sunday, their conversations deepened, laughter came easier, and so did the silence between them.

    One day, he simply said, “Let’s not spend Sundays apart anymore,” and she said yes with a nod, heart full.

    Decades passed, and Thomas grew slower, gentler, but never stopped sketching her by the lake. When he was gone, Evelyn returned to the bench, their bench, every Sunday.

    She didn’t read much anymore. Just watched the water, feeling the warmth of memories wrapped around her like sunlight.

    Love, she knew, doesn’t vanish. It lingers—in the worn bench, in the wind off the lake, and in the quiet spaces where hearts once met.

    #knowledge #stella
    "The Bench by the Lake" Every Sunday, Evelyn sat on the old wooden bench by the lake, a worn book in her hands and a thermos of tea by her side. The bench had seen better days, but to her, it was sacred—etched with laughter, promises, and silent moments shared. Years ago, it was where she met Thomas. He was sketching the water, frowning at the light. She offered him a cup of tea, and he offered her a smile. That small exchange became a ritual. Sunday after Sunday, their conversations deepened, laughter came easier, and so did the silence between them. One day, he simply said, “Let’s not spend Sundays apart anymore,” and she said yes with a nod, heart full. Decades passed, and Thomas grew slower, gentler, but never stopped sketching her by the lake. When he was gone, Evelyn returned to the bench, their bench, every Sunday. She didn’t read much anymore. Just watched the water, feeling the warmth of memories wrapped around her like sunlight. Love, she knew, doesn’t vanish. It lingers—in the worn bench, in the wind off the lake, and in the quiet spaces where hearts once met. #knowledge #stella
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  • Don't watch the clock, do what it does. Keep going." - Sam Levenson #Ngo_123 #grace
    Don't watch the clock, do what it does. Keep going." - Sam Levenson #Ngo_123 #grace
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