Ajanwal @ajanwal

Penalty saved

The Pontiff came to my city on Saturday, and the entire energy of the city shifted.

Check out Aishat Sunmonu's video! #TikTok vm.tiktok.com/ZNRcjyPk2/ The CS cracked me up

Intesa prepares Monte dei Paschi bid to gatecrash BPM’s €50bn bank merger

Milano Non Finisce Dove Pensi

IVF IN NIGERIA: I WILL EXPOSE ALL THE BAD PRACTICES BEFORE YOU DO IVF IN NIGERIA, PLEASE READ THIS POST READ, SHARE AND REPOST. Walk with me. A long read! Dear Nigerians, You know I am always here for you. When Hope Is Monetised: A Quiet Reckoning with IVF Practice in Nigeria I will speak now, carefully and firmly, and without raising my voice, because some truths do not need shouting. They only need honesty, and courage, and a willingness to look at oneself in the mirror and not look away. IVF is hope with a needle, and science with a prayer stitched quietly into it. And so when hope is mishandled, when science is bent, when desperation is treated as a business model, something sacred is broken. Not loudly. But deeply. Too many IVF centres in Nigeria are breaking that trust. Yes, success rates can be high in a batch, and yes, miracles do occur. But statistics, like stories, must be told whole. To announce a 70% success rate without disclosing the average is to sell aspiration without context. Globally, we know the numbers hover around 39–45%, and patients deserve that truth, not a curated fantasy designed to make them sign consent forms with trembling hands. And then there is competition. Oh, how ugly it becomes when it forgets dignity. To pull another centre down in order to appear taller is not excellence; it is insecurity dressed in a lab coat. Let your outcomes speak. Let your ethics speak louder. Some women should not proceed with IVF at a given time. A thin endometrium is not an inconvenience to be ignored because the patient is hopeful and uninformed. It is a message. And good medicine listens before it acts. There is also the quiet danger of underqualified hands, staff hired cheaply, trained poorly, and placed in rooms where lives, embryos, futures are handled. Cost-cutting that endangers patients is not innovation; it is negligence pretending to be efficiency. And please, let us stop pretending we can guarantee twins or triplets. Doctors are not gods, no matter how advanced the laboratory. To promise multiples is to lie, softly perhaps, but still to lie. Worse still is the reckless transfer of too many embryos, gambling with women’s bodies in the name of higher odds. The world has moved toward single-embryo transfer for a reason. Multiple pregnancies are not trophies; they are high-risk realities. Patients, already bruised by time and bills and monthly disappointment, deserve respect. Not eye-rolling. Not impatience. Not silence. Certainly not deception, like injecting hCG injection to manufacture a positive pregnancy test, or withholding a negative result because 'she isn’t ready to hear it.' Who decides readiness? Truth delayed is still harm delivered. You are a serial killer if you inject hcg injections to your patients so it looks like it's positive pregnancy test. And then there is the cruelty of omission: skipping essential medications to save money and calling it 'coasting,' proceeding to egg retrieval when stimulation has clearly failed, administering placebos as if patients will not one day ask questions. These are not grey areas. They are wrong. Bad news must be broken gently, and honestly, and by people trained to hold grief without dropping it. Counselling is not an optional extra. It is part of care. If a procedure is beyond your skill, refer. If a complication occurs, disclose. Duty of candor is not a Western idea; it is a human one. And yes, IVF is expensive. Drugs are costly. But exploitation wears a particular smell, and patients can sense it even when invoices are wrapped in polite language. Medications are not communal property. Embryos are not to be shared, traded, or 'managed' without explicit consent. These are not resources. They are possibilities. They are futures. STOP GIVING PEOPLE'S EMBRYOS OUT WITHOUT CONSENT. YALL BE MOVING MAD! Do your best, always. But remember the limits of medicine. Playing God has never ended well. IVF is already an emotional rollercoaster, and patients climb aboard with faith, and fear, and emptied savings accounts. What they deserve is transparency, integrity, and care that does not flinch when tested. So this is a call,not for punishment, but for accountability. Not for silence, but for reform. Not for perfection, but for decency. Do better. Because hope, when entrusted to you, should never leave your hands diminished.

Heavenly~Céline @celine_amarachi

2 months ago

IVF centres are exploiting girls

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#BAYPSG something is wrong with Bayern

#PSGBAY Average time to return the goal is 7.5 mins

The top 5 EPL clubs' points be like someone's first-semester result: 70 A, 61 B, 55 C, 54 C, and 49 D.

My father never came to a single thing I invited him to. Not my primary school graduation. Not my secondary school prize giving where I collected 3 awards and kept looking at the gate. Not my university matriculation. Not the ceremony when I got called to bar in 2012. I'd send him the date weeks in advance and he'd say I'll try and that was always the full sentence. I'll try. No follow up. No explanation after. My mother would sit in his place and clap loud enough for 2 people. I stopped inviting him after the bar call. Not from anger. Some people love you completely and still cannot show up and after a while you stop making them feel guilty about it. He was not a bad man. I want to be clear about that. He was a mechanic in Mushin for 35 years. Worked 6 days a week. Sent every one of us to school. Never raised his hand. Never left. The lights stayed on and the rent was paid and there was always food and he did all of it quietly without asking to be celebrated. He just could not sit in a plastic chair and watch something. I accepted that and moved on. Last year I bought my first property. A flat in Ojodu. Took 9 years of saving and 2 years of paperwork and a lawyer who nearly finished me. When the keys finally came I sat in the empty flat on the floor for an hour just breathing. I called my mother first. She screamed. My sister cried. I didn't call my father. 3 days later he called me. Said he heard about the flat from my mother. Said he wanted to come and see it. I didn't know what to do with that so I just said okay. Gave him the address. Figured he'd say I'll try and we'd never speak of it again. He showed up on Saturday at 9am. Stood at the door in his good agbada. The one he only wears for serious things. Holding a small nylon bag. I let him in and he walked through every room without speaking. Not quickly. Slowly. Like he was counting something. He checked the pipes under the kitchen sink. Knocked on the walls. Opened and closed the windows twice each. Looked at the ceiling in every room the way only a man who has fixed things his whole life looks at ceilings. Then he came and stood in the sitting room and looked at me. Said the pipework is good. Said the windows seal properly. Said whoever built this knew what they were doing. I nodded. Long silence. Then he opened the nylon bag. Inside was a small framed photo. Me at maybe 7 years old sitting on the bonnet of an old car in his workshop. Grinning. Both legs swinging. He's standing beside me with his hand on my shoulder looking at something outside the frame. I remember that day. I had gone to the workshop after school and he let me sit there while he worked and gave me a Fanta and put a Michael Jackson cassette on the small radio. I didn't know anyone had taken a photo. He said he kept it on his workshop table for 22 years. Said he wanted me to have something for the new place. I held that frame and stood very still. He said he knew he missed things. Said he was not good at the sitting and watching. That crowds made something in him go wrong in a way he never knew how to explain. Then he said the flat was good and he was proud and he asked if there was anything in the kitchen because he hadn't eaten. I laughed. Made him eggs and bread while he sat at my kitchen table in his good agbada like he owned the place. We ate and he told me about a car he was working on. I told him about a case that was giving me trouble. Normal conversation. The kind we should have been having for years. He left at 1pm. At the door he gripped my shoulder the same way he did in that photo. Didn't say anything. Didn't need to. The photo is on my sitting room wall now. First thing I hung in the whole flat. Some fathers cannot sit in the plastic chair. But mine drove to Ojodu in his good agbada on a Saturday morning with a 22 year old photograph in a nylon bag. That was his standing ovation. I just didn't know to look for it in that shape.

@kentucky373 @Meiyurrrr As expected. Someone in the CS said its our culture in Nigeria

@Thazhigilla_ Well articulated 😊

Corporate Greed vs Everyday workers: Life of a contract staff in Nigeria My father worked at Zenith Manufacturing Ltd in Apapa for 28 years. Never missed a day. Won Best Staff twice at their annual dinner. Last Monday, the HR manager called him on WhatsApp. 4 minutes. That was it. Retired early. No severance. Nothing. The same month, the MD flew to Dubai for the company’s “executive retreat.” Dubai. My father left Ikorodu at 5am every morning to beat third mainland bridge traffic. Every single day for 28 years. He turned down a government job in 2009 because he believed in that company. They let go of 280 staff that week. 280 families. The disengagement letter came via email. They spelled his surname wrong. After 28 years, they couldn’t spell ADEYEMI correctly. He sat in the parlour that evening and just stared at the wall. My mother kept bringing him tea he never touched. We didn’t know what to say. He’s 56. No pension processed. NSITF contributions? Unaccounted for. NHF? Nobody is picking up. This is happening in companies all over Lagos, Abuja, PH. Everyday Nigerians sacrificing everything while oga at the top is chilling. Make una repost. Make this reach.

@drealbigvirg Finished 180 questions in 30 minutes? physics had only two calculations? UME or UTME? cc @Meiyurrrr @kentucky373

I strongly feel if you have never lived outside Lagos and Abuja and if you have never been to the 6 geo political zones of Nigeria You should not hold serious opinions about Nigeria If you are arguing the Piggyvest 1m a month statistics, you are out of touch In every Nigerian state, If you announce that you will share 20,000 Naira to each person, you will fill up a 100k capacity stadium and have a stampede You people don't know the level of poverty our leaders have dipped this country into.

This lady has a sick husband with kidney failure. While trying to solicit help for his transplant, she reached out to popular influencers and philanthropists, but they gave her their rate cards before agreeing to post about her husband on their pages According to her, she gave a philanthropist ₦1 million and also paid a popular influencer ₦5 million before they agreed to post about her sick husband.

Three Medical officers in Lagos looked at the ₦24 million USMLE bill and knew the truth: none of them could do it alone. So they did what Nigerian boys do when the future is too heavy for one back: they formed a financial covenant. They didn't use razor blades and incantations this time, they did something far worse. Three grown men spent 36 months dumping every single kobo of their salaries into a joint account to fund just one person's USMLE dream. Dr. Femi was chosen, he was the sharpest, the one whose brain moved like lightning across differentials. If anyone could cross over, it was him (Baba had 7 distinctions in Medschool). Dr. Chidi and Dr. Kabiru became the scaffolding, and disappeared into sacrifice. While others upgraded their lives, they reduced theirs. They starved so he could eat well before exams. They wore the same faded scrubs until the fabric remembered every night call. They ran 48-hour locums like possessed men, sleeping on plastic chairs in the duty room, waking up to the smell of disinfectant and hope. And Femi… delivered like the Hebrew women! Step 1. Clean. Step 2. Strong. Step 3. Surgical. He had matched into Orthopedic Surgery in San Jose, California. They knelt together in the dim call room at 2 a.m. and cried like small boys who had just seen God live. The day his visa landed, they held a small thanksgiving behind the hospital with plastic chairs, chilled ''mortuary-standard'' wine, hot 'suya' and loud prayers. Femi hugged them tight and said, “A jọ bẹrẹ, a jọ ma pari ẹ. As we drank the exact same water in this trenches. The day my own light shines, your own no get choice but to blind their eyes.” America received him, California swallowed him whole and gave him a new language of living. Six months passed, the calls started reducing, the replies became delayed. And Excuses grew polite… then thin. “Guy a lot is going on.” “Una no understand this side.” “I’ll call you back.” A year later, Chidi was on night duty when the Instagram notification came. There was Femi in a crisp pin striped tuxedo, smiling beside a Caucasian nurse named Emily and a golden retriever sat at their feet like a well-fed spirit. The caption read “Forever starts here.” Back home, life did not pause to process betrayal. The remaining two are still in Mowe, still wearing time like a burden while negotiating with a wicked matron over a 15k locum balance. The dream is insanely expensive, everybody knows that. But what nobody prepares you for…is that sometimes, the cost is not the exams, or the flights, or the years you pour into another man’s becoming. Sometimes, the real cost is discovering that you were only ever a bridge. And bridges, no matter how strong, are not meant to be remembered once they have been crossed. #Fiction #MATCH2026

Dr Pepple @drpepple_

3 months ago

I’ve done the maths. It’ll take about N24M for a Nigerian doctor to write USMLE and match to American residency program. If they don’t have rich family, how’re they gonna achieve this? The cost of a good life is actually expensive.

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I don’t joke with my investment or my farm security. Before I touched the over 50 acres of land that I now farm on, I did something most farmers are too scared to do… I sat down with the king of the village 👑 Told him straight: “I’m bringing over ₦100M+ investment into your community. Jobs, development, money for everyone.” Then I added ONE condition: “No cows. No Fulani herders. Not even one.” Silence. He looked at me… then stood up. That same week, the king himself went out with his men and cleared every single herder out of that community. Even refunded people they had existing agreements with. Today? 3 years later… Not ONE cow has entered my farm. Not one is seen in the whole community. That’s how you protect your investment. Stop being emotional. Be intentional. Farmers and Fulani herders are not friends and can’t be friends

Consigliere @Faw7an

3 months ago

I initially wanted to just skip this, but here goes my story.. hopefully someone can learn from it. I was invested in agriculture, farming in particular. In 2023, I rented 4 hectares to plant maize and white beans. I had the experience and had done extensive research. 🧵

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A friend called me about someone he was about to donate a huge amount of money to because 'he had an accident and was admitted at OAUTH'. The 'patient' had provided him with a medical report and a document with OAUTH's details, well written. He asked mr to help him make enquiries