Happy weekend.

Week three of clinical posting at FUTA Teaching Hospital Eight more weeks to go 😭😭 Infectious disease Laboratory. Haematology chemical pathology.

“People say the Chinese make engines while Nigerians pray. But what many don’t understand is that nations have callings. Nigeria’s calling is to send missionaries into the whole world.” — Apostle Arome Osayi

Venture Capital and Private Equity are supposed to give everyone the privilege of doing anything they choose, regardless of their background. The truth is, money won't take a risk on you unless you have a proven track record of achievements or are co-signed by those who do.

Billionaire Okoya’s son, Siraheem has finally moved to construction and building his first warehouse after leaving music for good 🦺

Pradoxalgo consistent delivery through the week💪🔥

“Just 48 hours to my 50th birthday, fully armed policemen dragged me out of my shop. They were shouting to the whole street that I was the "Mama Isale" (godmother) keeping ransom money for kidnappers. My husband died two years ago. Since then, I’ve just been living my quiet life here in Ilorin. I sell provisions in front of my house, and my only movement is from my shop to the central mosque, and back home. Everybody in my area respects me. They all call me Alhaja. But one foolish mistake from my own flesh and blood almost sent me to prison for a crime I knew nothing about. It started one Tuesday afternoon. One young guy walked up to my shop looking very stranded. He begged that he needed an account number to quickly receive money from his brother so he could pay his transport fare. I just looked at him and shook my head. As a widow doing business, I don't joke with my account details. I never give strangers my account number. With all the EFCC and POS fraud happening everywhere now, you cannot use your own hands to buy trouble. I told him point-blank that I couldn't help him. I even advised him to go to the mosque down the street and speak to the committee members, if his problem was genuine, they would surely help him. Immediately I mentioned the mosque, he just squeezed his face and walked away. I thought the matter had ended there. I didn't know the devil was already sitting right in front of my house. When the guy left my shop, he met my 17-year-old son two streets away. He changed the story completely. He told my son he was expecting some money and promised him a whole ₦30,000 if he could provide an active account and an ATM card to withdraw it immediately. My son, because of the greed for quick money, quickly agreed. But he didn't even use his own account. He sneaked into my room and took his late father's ATM card. That specific bank account was the one I kept active just to save my daily profits for this same boy’s university school fees. The money dropped. My son gave the guy the ATM card and the PIN. They went to a POS, cleared the money, and the guy gave my son his ₦30,000 share. Exactly 48 hours later, three police Hilux vans blocked our street. They had tracked the account number used to receive a kidnapped victim's ransom. And it was traced straight to my house. When the police jumped out with their guns, my son had already seen them from afar. Do you know what this boy did? He turned around and ran away. He disappeared into thin air and left his widowed mother to face the fire. The policemen entered my shop, grabbed me, and pushed me inside the back of their van. I will never forget that embarrassment. The same neighbors who used to greet me with respect were standing far away, whispering and covering their mouths. The police officers were shouting, "See her innocent face! You are their Mama Isale! You are the godmother keeping ransom money for kidnappers!" I was just crying, swearing by Allah that I didn't know anything about it. They searched my room and found the ATM card. The evidence was complete. I slept inside a police cell for days. A whole Alhaja like me, sitting on a cold floor smelling of urine, paying for a crime I knew absolutely nothing about. It took the serious intervention of community leaders, lawyers, and the eventual confession of how the money was transferred to finally get me out on bail. The pain wasn't even the police cell. The real pain that broke my heart was that the child I gave birth to with my womb, the same boy whose school fees I was saving inside that exact account, was the one who sold my life for just ₦30,000. To every mother and father reading this: please pay very close attention to your teenagers. The love of quick, unexplained money is destroying our youth today. They want to wear the latest sneakers and buy iPhones, and they don't care if it puts their parents inside the grave.