Content _Chic_writer | Travel Agent

A proud Rotarian.

@Babex111 @sheggzolu 🤣

@writerspec @sheggzolu E reach to ask 😡

Omo ologo 5G! Too loyal, too disciplined. I’ll never defend nonsense, I’ll never get distracted from my purpose. Blessed 🤞🏽❤️

Good morning madam, I need your help, I need a loyal, respectful and submissive wife who would remove pride and submit to the leadership of her husband without questioning. My fiancee broke up with me because of I refused to accept disrespect from both she and her family. I dated this girl for 2 good years, it was a long distance relationship, she told me she worked in an NGO casually, she never explained that she worked in an international NGO where she was earning more than me. She said she was from a humble, she never said almost all her relations where living abroad, infact she had dual citizenship.it was after the proposal that I went to see her parents that I observed that she was from wealth. That was a major red flag for me because I naturally do not fancy girls who are from wealth because you can't impress them and they can't submit totally to your commands. When she visited me for the wedding planning, while sleeping I used her finger print to open her phone. I saw her family group chat. Her family pledged a huge amount of money in dollars for her wedding gift. They asked her what she wanted as a wedding gift, she said she wanted a house in lekki. And they obliged. Wow! immediately I started having doubts because I have never seen that kind of money. As a smart man, I linked her Whatsapp to mine so that I can monitor her and not lose control of my own home. when she woke up in the morning, I let her know that I saw the chat with her family, she became furious, she said I crossed a boundary, honestly she was not well trained because a homely woman would know her husband is her God on earth.and I can do as I pleased. I applauded her for choosing a house instead of car but I instructed her to tell her family to put the house in my name as her husband, she bluntly refused. The audacity! I informed my parents about the situation and my parents called the both of us home to resolve our issues. My parents advised her to put the house in my name and every other property in my name because I am her head. If a man doesn't set boundaries with his woman from the beginning he will face a lot of challenges. Surprisingly she accepted to talk to her parents and I also instructed her never to tell her family we had such a meeting with my parents Unknown to me, she recorded everything my parents said to us. She posted the recording on her family Whatsapp group and her family were laughing at my family. I called her immediately to confront her, she was surprised I saw their conversation, that was when I informed her I linked her Whatsapp, she unlinked me, sent me a break up message and blocked me. Honestly I dodged a bullet, I feel lucky that she left because an old woman of 31 years who still has issues to submit totally to her husband, her head is a red banner It was God who saved me. I need a humble submissive virtuous woman who I can marry Her age range must be within 19-22 She should not be too educated, weac level is preferred. I don't want a woman from a rich family. She must be ready to be a stay at home wife, I promise to start a business for her after she finishes giving birth to my children. I'm not playing around, I'm 43 years old, I need to marry as soon as possible.

@Ihavenoide53124 @lorahmoe Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!!!!!!!!!!!!

@writerspec @lorahmoe Not always,coz my one had to take out loans to finance his cheating ways🤣

My husband cheated on me while I was pregnant with our second child. Not emotionally cheated. Full relationship. Vacations, gifts, matching bracelets the whole embarrassing midlife-crisis starter pack. When I found out, he begged me not to leave because he “couldn’t afford child support and alimony.” That sentence healed me instantly. Imagine cheating on your wife and then asking HER to help YOU avoid consequences. I stopped crying that same day.

They dont want her body count to go up

I hired a 16-year-old babysitter, and on her first day, she arrived late, disheveled, and wearing two different shoes. I thought, “This girl is going to burn my house down.” But my three daughters hugged her as if they had been waiting for her their whole lives… and that same girl ended up keeping the secret that, years later, would return to me the only thing I lost while saving my daughter.💔 Her name was Lucy. She arrived one rainy afternoon at my house in the suburbs of Chicago, carrying a torn backpack, her hair tied back with a purple hair tie, and a notebook filled with stickers. She rang the doorbell twenty minutes after the agreed-upon time. I opened the door with my baby in my arms, my oldest daughter crying because she didn't want to do her homework, and my middle one spilling cereal all over the sofa. “I’m sorry, ma'am, I missed my bus… well, I didn’t exactly miss it, I got on the wrong one… and then I got off at a convenience store that I thought was the one near here, but it wasn't.” I looked her up and down. “You’re the babysitter?” “Yes,” she said, smiling as if she weren't about to lose the job before she’d even started. “But I learn fast.” I don’t know why I didn't close the door in her face. Maybe because I was desperate, too. My husband worked away all day, my mom couldn't help me anymore because of her knees, and I had three little girls who seemed to have brand-new batteries every morning. I had tried two other babysitters before. One quit after three days. The other left in tears after my daughters painted the dog with washable markers. So, I let Lucy in. Five minutes later, she had already spilled water on the table. At ten minutes, she burned a quesadilla. At fifteen, my youngest daughter, Sophie, was sitting on her lap, showing her a headless doll as if it were the greatest treasure in the world. “Can she come back tomorrow?” my oldest, Valerie, asked me before bed. “We’ll see if she can make it on time tomorrow,” I replied, serious. She didn't make it on time. But she arrived with pastries for the girls and a made-up story about a princess who lived in a street market and fought with dragons that smelled like onions. My daughters fell in love with her. They called her “Luci.” Then “sister.” Then “our Luci.” I didn't understand any of it. Lucy was a whirlwind. She lost her keys, forgot where she left her phone, started doing the dishes and ended up fixing hair ribbons, put on cartoons, and then did voice impressions like a theater actress. But there was something in her that my daughters recognized before I did: a desperate tenderness, the kind that people have when they have received very little affection and therefore give it all away. One night, I found her crying in the kitchen. It was almost eleven. The girls were asleep. I went down for water and saw her sitting next to the refrigerator, hugging her knees. “What’s wrong, Lucy?” She wiped her face quickly. “Nothing, ma'am.” “Don’t tell me ‘nothing’ with that face.” She stayed silent. Then, she pulled a crumpled pregnancy test out of her hoodie pocket. I didn't have to ask. “How far along?” “I’m not sure… maybe two months.” I felt my chest tighten. “And your parents?” She laughed, but there was no joy in it. “They kicked me out yesterday. My dad said I was a disgrace. My mom wouldn't even look at me. I slept at a friend’s house, but her mom doesn’t want me there anymore.” The girl who burned quesadillas, who confused bus routes, who made my daughters laugh with absurd stories, was completely alone. “And the baby’s father?” Lucy lowered her gaze. “He says it’s not his.” I’m no saint. I was scared. Of course I was scared. Having a pregnant teenager in my house, with my little girls, with bills that barely reached the end of the month… anyone would have told me not to get involved. But then I heard my daughter Sophie’s voice from the stairs: “Mom, is Luci going to leave?” Lucy closed her eyes. I took a deep breath. “No,” I said. “Lucy is staying.” She looked up. “What?” “You’re going to stay here. There’s an empty room next to the girls'. I’ll keep paying you, but now we’re going to do things right: schedules, school if possible, a doctor, and calm. You’re not a disgrace, Lucy. You’re just a scared girl.” She covered her mouth and began to sob, as if for the first time, someone had taken a heavy stone off her back. That night, I didn’t sleep. My husband, Raul, didn't take it well either. “Are you crazy, Patricia?” he said in a low voice, so as not to wake the girls. “We can't carry other people's problems.” “She’s not an outsider. She takes care of our daughters.” “She’s an employee.” That word hurt me. “She’s a child.” Raul went to the couch. I stayed watching the door of the room where Lucy was sleeping for the first time without fearing she’d be kicked out. As the months passed, the house changed. Lucy was still a disaster. She lost her medical ID twice, threw white laundry in with red socks, and once put salt in the coffee because, according to her, “the jars looked the same.” But she also learned to make baby food, to keep a notebook with schedules, and to breathe when the world piled up on top of her. I took her to a psychologist at a nearby clinic. After several sessions, Lucy came out with damp eyes. “She says I might have ADHD… that’s why it’s hard for me to organize things, to focus, to remember. I thought I was just stupid.” I hugged her on the sidewalk, in front of a food truck. “You’re not stupid. It’s just that no one stopped to understand you.” When her baby, Mateo, was born, my daughters made drawings to hang on the wall. Sophie put a little blue bow on the newborn’s teddy bear. Valerie said that now we really were a big family. And without realizing it, Lucy stopped being the babysitter. She became part of the table. Part of the photos. Part of the noise in the house. Four years passed. And then, life took everything back at once. Sophie started with a fever. Then bruises. Then exhaustion. At the Children’s Hospital, they told us words no mother should ever have to hear: labs, oncology, treatment, urgency. Cancer. Raul broke down first. I couldn't. A mother doesn't break down in front of her daughter; she breaks down in the bathroom, in silence, biting a towel so no one hears her. We sold the car. Then the jewelry. Then we borrowed money. Then came the day I signed the sale of my house. The same house where Lucy arrived late, where Mateo took his first steps, where my daughters grew up believing that love could fit in any room if they arranged themselves well enough. I signed with a trembling hand. “What matters is Sophie,” I kept telling myself. And it was true. Sophie was saved. But when we moved into a small apartment loaned to us by a cousin, I wasn’t the same. I would sit on the bed at night with boxes all around me, feeling like the illness had gone, but had left us naked. Lucy worked days at a café, studied online at night, and kept coming to see us with Mateo on Sundays. She was no longer the disheveled teenager. Well… she was still disheveled, but her eyes were different. One Friday, she showed up with a yellow envelope. She looked serious. Too serious. “Patty, I need you to come with me tomorrow to a notary’s office.” “To a notary’s office? What did you do now?” She didn’t laugh. She handed me the envelope. Inside was a copy of a deed. I recognized the address before I read the name. My house. The house I had sold to save Sophie. I felt the air leave my body. “Lucy… what is this?” She pressed her lips together, as if she were about to confess something she had been keeping for years. “I didn't buy the house alone,” she whispered. “Someone helped me… someone you think abandoned you when you needed them most.” At that moment, my cell phone rang. It was Raul. We hadn't spoken in three months. I answered with a cold hand. And the first thing he said was: “Patricia, don’t sign anything tomorrow… because Lucy didn’t tell you who provided the money or why.”

I can help you japa. I do work visas for applicants

No gold diggers needed ❌❌ Name: Jane Location: Bristol, UK 🇬🇧 Occupation: Project Manager in a top aerospace company Marital Status: Single (Never Married) Gender: Female Age: 43 Complexion: Caramel Religion: Christian HIV Status: Negative Qualification: MSc (and relevant professional certifications) About Me: I’m a gentle, easygoing lady who enjoys deep conversations and an stress-free life. I’m ready to settle down and build a serious relationship that leads to marriage. 😍 I’m looking for a mature, responsible and caring Christian man aged 37 and above. He should be tall, financially stable and genuinely serious about marriage. No gold diggers please. I’m open to long-distance for now, but I will process the papers for my future husband to relocate to the UK after marriage. I will be in Abuja this Summer and would love to meet a serious-minded man during this period.

How do women even work and give men money? Aren’t you taking away his pride as a man? Aren’t you swapping gender roles?

He is eyeing you and don’t want you getting close to his wife and telling her

Poor people sometimes know how to think outside the box in funny situations. Never in how to move away from poverty.

Typical example of most men can’t take what they dish out

Ekwy please help me post and ask your fellowers. I gave birth few days ago through cs. Before my due date, I have been begging my husband to allow my mother to come for my omugu but he's insisting that his own mother will come first. My mother is younger and considering my situation, I am sure my mother will take a better care of me. Few times my mother in law visited, I was the one doing everything. My husband is not listening to me and I am very scared. Another thing is, he said that if I don't allow his mother to come I would have to deal with myself by myself. No Omugo for me. I begged him to allow my mother to come first and after a month or 2, his mother will come but he refused. At this point, I am at a crossroads and very scared for myself. I am dealing with cs pa!n and now this. I don't know if I am overreacting. This is why I need others who have been in my shoes to help me. Copied

I’ll create a telegram channel tomorrow, and post the free tools for pc and android users, iPhone users aren’t left out. Free CapCut Gemini Nano banana pro 🍌 Chat Gpt Claude

@chefpizza51 @BJosh_22_ You sef. Why that joke? If they pick you up now, You will say they are intimidating you

@BJosh_22_ @writerspec You don’t have any right to tell me my limits , it’s a ragebait . You are not the only one on twitter . It’s a joke and will always be a joke . Get the fuck off .

Not supporting him o. What if it was a bant?

If you are yet to start earning on X and you truly want to, here is what you should start doing. This is based on my personal experience: 1. Be a reply guy. No reply guy stays broke for long. Drop 100 to 300 valuable comments under people's posts daily. This is how you gain followers and visibility. This is how I connected with some of my closest mutuals. Repost for people too. Give generously. 2. Use the quote feature wisely. Whenever you have a story to share, a strong point to make or a reason to disagree, do not drop it in the comments alone. Do the double style. Drop your story in the comments and quote the post with it too. Double visibility. Double win. 3. Share stories from your past and present experiences. Stories people can learn from. Stories that are relatable. And please, make them concise sometimes. Not every story needs to be a thread. Short and powerful hits just as hard. 4. Turn on notifications for at least 20 accounts. Big or small, it does not matter. What matters is that you are learning from them or they are genuinely supportive. Do not turn on notifications for an account just because of their size. Ask yourself two questions: Am I learning from this account? Is this account supportive or stingy with engagement? 5. Have your own voice. Be bold with your takes and do not let anyone silence you because they think you cannot do without them. I built this account from scratch without any big account carrying me. The few shoutouts I received, I earned them. I engaged those accounts back to back to back until they noticed my consistency. That is the only shortcut that works. 6. Subscribe to one or two accounts that can push you, if you can comfortably afford it. It is not compulsory but it can accelerate things. Most importantly, nobody can build your page for you. That responsibility is 90% yours. People can support you by engaging but if you do not create content, what exactly will they engage with? Start. Stay consistent. The earnings will follow. Above all, love God.

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@dawisu Sounds like the boy was high on drugs

The man was our direct neighbour in Guzape. He was hardly around because he spent most of his time out of the country. In fact, he had just returned from Turkey barely two days before his son killed him. His children lived in the house and lacked nothing. They even had an inverter, and my sister would often joke about their electricity bill because their ACs were almost always on, especially in this Adelabu Band A era. Only for the shocking truth to emerge that his own son killed him. At first, the boy tried to make it look like armed robbers had attacked the house. But thankfully, a neighbour’s CCTV camera was reviewed, and it showed that he was the last person to enter the compound with his girlfriend around 2am. Honestly, this world is becoming frightening. It is heartbreaking that a son could do something like this to his own father! 😪