Creative Writing

The Tortured Youth Diary (entry 1)

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The Tortured Youth Diary (entry 1)

The following is a fictional diary entry of a ‘tortured youth’ that represents the mental state a young person dealing with trauma. Margaret’s first Diary entry… I have a recurring dream where I stood in front of that dreaded panel, at the end of my time in school and I had to defend the thesis that I single-handedly chose to research on. I had prepared for hours and hours and hours and hours. I had cried for hours longer than I had prepared. But I walked in there, fairly confident and ready to be over with the 10 minutes that I had been assigned. Then I stood to open my mouth and I choked. Not a word came out of my mouth. Not a single sound was able to be produced.  The time on my watch ticked, mirroring the sound of my heart thumping and thumping. And the 10 minutes elapsed. And was handed a fail grade. I wake up from that dream with my breath labored and covered in sweat. I fear for the lack of time I’m faced with on a daily basis. Social anxiety and literal anxiety, laced with an innate fear of failure that could classify me as a perfectionist. Someone once told me that I didn’t want to accept my own flaws because I didn’t believe that I deserved to make mistakes, and they might be right, but somehow, there’s a comfort I get in holding myself to extreme standards that are unattainable. It’s almost like being wrong is a crime punishable by death and death was worse than a sauna. If I were to compare my life to a movie, it would be “The Breakfast Club” and not just because of Judd Nelson, but because of the shared parental trauma these 5 kids shared. They bonded over blunt whiffs and emotional and physical abuse alike, silently forming an alliance against the big bad that was Richard Vernon. They agreed to remain his stereotype, while maintaining that each other were the sum of the stereotypes bestowed on them altogether.  But where am I going with this? The fact that John Hughes is a wonderful director and everyone should watch his films and that the life of a tortured adolescent stems from many things and ends in many things. Like extreme anxiety, fear and an intolerance for failure. Sometimes I disassociate from myself and look at how far I’ve come, and I get the darkness spurs like Adam Petrezelli in “Words on the Bathroom Walls”, except I’m not schizophrenic. Somehow I’m unable to see the achievements and just see the failure, because maybe my glasses are blurred, or I’m repressing the good things or I’m expecting to remain a tortured youth because I’m more comfortable in the chaos of my mind…I know, so quirky right? It’s nauseating sometimes. That isn’t to say I don’t have the good things that I do accept. I’m very keen on my politics and my feelings. I enjoy life in the wildest ways and I celebrate my authenticity with the roar of a thousand Latino people. I’m sure the film references even have you in a frenzy…don’t even get me started on Matt Damon. I always get tired of the way my mind spirals. It can be exhausting hearing the ticking clock even when I’m supposed to be asleep. Insomnia is basically only a few blocks away from arriving at my doorstep. But I don’t know, whether it’s the lack of healing or the lack of trying to heal from my trauma, something is holding me back and keeping me satisfied with the sadness of my youth. I’ll grow one day, or maybe I won’t. It’s just my first diary entry. I might not even write another. I’m very inconsistent. But things will change one day, I know it. I see it happen everyday. I see it in my extended family saying they miss the smile I used to have when I was a kid. I see it in the before and after picture I have of my closet and the descent into my grunge/emo/goth aesthetic. Maybe it’s obvious that I got sad. But people don’t seem to tell me that I’m sad. They just say I seem shy. I’m anxious, I’m young, I’m angsty, that’s what it is. That’s all . Signed,  Margaret A tortured youth. READ ALSO: MENTAL HEALTH: 10 PRACTICAL STEPS TO HELP YOU PRIORITIZE YOUR MENTAL HEALTH

A LETTER OF HOPE TO TOMORROW

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Dear tomorrow, I will cling on to hope. They say tomorrow is too far, but I will patiently wait for the day you come. I tell mother and father that when tomorrow comes, our lives would change. Father will leave the dilapidated oil factory, Mother will leave the market, and I will finally be in school. But every time I remind them that you will come, Father smacks my head and says, “Oghenetega wake up from your dreams and face reality. The tomorrow you should look forward to is when a rich man comes and marries you off.” I get disappointed, but every day that passes by, is a silent promise that tomorrow will soon be here. Mother will leave the Market Women Association. Those rowdy, untidy women that sit all day and complain of the sad wages their “lazy” husbands bring home every day. Men that have been victims of resource exploitation and poverty. I watch with silent disdain and wait for the day Mother will leave those uneducated women and be part of the exposed and educated women we watch on our box television. Father also prayed I will stop rejecting the men who came to ask for my hand in marriage. I was beautiful, and graceful in manner, a contrast to the rugged nature of the Delta women in my community. I was stubborn, a common trait of delta women. Although, I was different. I desired a change in environment and wished to marry one of the European men that waltzed with their wives, took them to fancy dinners, and wore elaborately designed dresses. The life I wanted, I watched daily on our box television, when the cable channel showed European shows. I had memorized the shows and the days they aired. Unfailingly, Monday was for politics, Tuesday was for Sports, Wednesday was for Fashion, which was also my favorite day of the week. Thursday for music and entertainment, Friday was for children shows, where children were taught the letters of the alphabets, numbers and simple sentences. I had learnt new words and knew how to construct simple sentences every Friday. The well-structured grammar that rolls off their tongue with ease, when they say big words like, “Adulterously”. I had heard that word when one of the chairladies was addressing a young girl on the Television. “You ought to behave adulterously in the 21st century.” She had said. I was fascinated and wondered when I would become part of the educated elites who spoke polished English seamlessly. All I heard in this Delta community, was the familiar pidgin English spoken with ease, and of course, the undiluted Urhobo language. Often times, I attempted to speak polished English and said some new vocabulary I had heard from the Television. One day when my father had brought up the discussion of my prospective suitors, I said, “Father, I will not be subject to this unfair treatment if you do not give me a listening ear.” I was proud of myself but was put off when my father laughed heartily in my face. “Small madam, you too don dey speak big big English like Queen Eli abi? Dey there, na Urhobo man you go still marry.” He said, as he walked away. I was not discouraged. I kept my hope high for I knew I was waiting for tomorrow. Today was Wednesday, and I was eager to see the latest fashion the European women would wear. I wondered when I would wear those elegant dresses and feel like a princess. Fashion was declining rapidly as people focused on what to put in their bellies, rather than what to wear on their bodies. I thought of both, and I knew that made me different. Maybe the day after or next week, I would live the life I had only hope for. I was not sure, but I knew that, one day tomorrow would come, even if it felt too far. Yours sincerely, Tega. Check out more articles like this! Feminism and Balance- Should We All Be Feminists?  

A few choice words that don’t lack

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a few choice words

The following article contains a group of words containing a coherent thought on matters pertaining to Nigerian behaviour. I remember that night like it was last night. Truthfully, it was. Pitch black in all its glory. Not a sound could be heard for hours, and I was in a dreamless state, unwilling to rejoin the waking world and its responsibilities. Out of nowhere, it jolted me. I didn’t know the time, it could’ve been 2am, 3am or midnight. I’m a directionless being even wide awake.  The sound began as a piercing scream. I recognized its origin instantly, it stemmed from the house right next to ours. Normally, these kinds of sounds aren’t odd or new, it has dawned on us neighbours that the mother in the house’s mode of discipline is the strong use of hand or whip. And although I am uncomfortable with it generally, I pass it off as just another morning with the wailings of Uju. But this time was different. It pierced, it stirred, it troubled me. It was a male voice, and I heard nothing from the doer of this action, but the recipient was loud and terrifying. It began with shouts and yells, obviously a reaction from the faint whip sounds. Actually, I didn’t know what was causing the shouts. It was dark and silent and I couldn’t make out the source of the wails, maybe that’s what troubled me the most. That the sound seemed origin-less. Nonetheless, the shouts pierced through me. I felt my empathy rise as the sounds got louder. I had never been a fan of the African mode of discipline, especially when it happens in the middle of the night. It made a plausible argument for insanity and absurdity, but I assure you, no one is ready for that conversation. Back to the sounds of hades’ victim, the shouts accelerated and travelled. I recall a small passageway which served as a porch for the house. It occurred to me that the wailer was being chased down, and eventually cornered. His shouts turned to screams, which was when I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, my brother wake up and turn his head toward the sound. Soon after he went back to sleep. He was only 14 and could sleep through a blizzard maybe. I realized that it bothered me how there was a single stirring from anyone. Noise polluting the silent night and my fellow Nigerians didn’t move an inch. The culture of abuse disguised as discipline ran deep and has been so a long time.  After 5 minutes or so, the sound died down. I tried to picture the poor soul. He was curled up at the edge of the passageway, tending to the pain and his wounds. Soft pants were all I heard afterwards, but I couldn’t go back to sleep. Not yet. I was annoyed. Annoyed that a human being was beaten up like a thief and no one inquired. Because it didn’t affect them, or he deserved it. The cycle of abuse was endless. I hated myself for not being able to do anything either. Now I’m typing this at 7am in the morning. There’s gospel music playing out of the scene of the crime. I hear the mother, most likely the culprit, singing along, her conscience probably clean and proud of herself.  I’ve heard no child sounds yet, which is unusual, but I wouldn’t blame them for being silent after the events of the night before. The culture of instilling fear into children at young ages and swearing they turn out well. Spoiler alert – they never do. This takes me back to a few days ago. My phone screen brightly lit against my face, navigating between my texts and twitter, sorry – X. the discourse of the day on +234 twitter centered around a celebrity wedding. The maid of honour, specifically. He was male, and incels and misogynists alike expressed their disdain for the concepts. No worry though, they were drowned out by the hardcore scum male population that threw a hissy fit over the sight of the man of honour in tears as his best friend got married. They swore that he was mourning the sex that they probably never had, and they contradicted themselves by calling his crying ‘feminine’.  Between tweets about WWE and AEW alike on my feed, the discourse trickled down into their problem with effeminate men and gay men alike. They accused the man of honour of being gay and swore they’d prefer their likely nonexistent children to mechanics and agberos, rather than the probability of them kissing someone of the same gender. They boasted of the violence they’d commit to ensure their boys remain ‘masculine’. One user mentioned being interested in breaking bottles on his son’s head when he got to 10 years to build his tear threshold, and got over 13 thousand likes. Another, a patriarchy princess, boasted of the methods her husband used to revert her effeminate son, praising the random squats and excessive gym memberships and kitchen bans her husband undertook. Saviors of mankind, or feminists, expressed their concern for the son and mentioned that the methods would only make their son a good liar, rather than a changed person. Warning her to enjoy his time with her son now, they were sure that eventually, they’d live out their days in a home for the elderly and never see their son again. As I spectate in the social media debacle, and the events of the night before, one thing is certain to me. There is an unhealthy obsession with conservative culture within Nigerians and Africans alike, a culture that irks me from within, as they cosplay as servants of God, while in reality they couldn’t be further from what the teachings of their Lord and savior spread. The religious psychosis, coupled with their ability to pick and choose what kind of religious teachings they want to align themselves with, would make … Read more

Almost Is Never Enough

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Almost is Never Enough

The article you are about to read covers a fictional depiction of Domestic Abuse in a Nigerian household and how sometimes, almost is never enough to gain freedom.   She ran. The trees zipped past her as she did, wind in her face, freedom within her grasp. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her and more.  She pumped harder now, pushing and pushing. The sound of feet close behind her. She had to make it. It couldn’t catch her again, she didn’t come this far just to come this far. She looked ahead of her now, the trees starting to fizzle out, a stream of light ahead of her. It was there, she could just taste it now, freedom. Her throat ached to scream but was sore from shouting a ways back. She would make it. Run to the light, do it for yourself, move your feet. It was mere meters away now, her freedom. The footsteps behind were gaining but she daren’t look back. It wouldn’t follow her into the light. She just needed to make it, and she was going to.  Then a voice cried out, distracting her. A child’s. Why now? She whipped her head towards the sound, her steps faltering. Then, silence. It made no sense, where could it have come from? Why now? She remembered her mission. She readied her feet to move. The footsteps had stopped now. She turned to check for it. It consumed her. Adah’s phone buzzed on the table. She’d get to it later. She focused on the document in front of her, putting the finishing touches as her fingers hit the keyboard with intensity. She hit the full stop with a thud and sighed, satisfactorily. She was finally done with it. Edith had convinced her to work on a portfolio, and she realized the life of a housewife wasn’t very appealing now that she was one. She spent her days sitting at home, switching from channel to channel, and cooking. She didn’t even do the house cleaning or go to the market because her husband made sure to employ services to keep her indoors.  Her only avenue to leave was Sundays, where she had joined a number of church groups in order to keep busy and make some friends. That was where she met Edith. They had hit it off instantly, Edith’s blatant honesty pairing nicely to Adah’s silent compliant self.  Edith was very critical of Adah’s housewifely duties, and urged her to indulge in something worthwhile. They came to a compromise that she would create a resume and portfolio and they’d go from there.  She shut her laptop and glanced at her phone. Her eyes widened in shock, she only had so much time to get dinner ready before her husband got home. He liked his food hot and waiting as he came in from the day’s work. Adah had mastered the art of managing her time, depending on the meal being prepared, and getting it ready just in time. She dashed to the kitchen and the sound of pots and pans filled the empty house. Peeling, cutting, pounding, dicing, picking, boiling, frying. The aroma filled the whole house, inviting all that could smell it. Unfortunate that no one but Adah could be graced with its scent.  An hour and a half later, Adah turned off the gas cooker, and dished out the food into its serving bowls. The sound of the gate being opened caught her attention, David had returned. Jamiu, the gateman, saluted his boss, and David waved him off. He drove the car into the compound and parked it, grabbing his briefcase and locking the car behind him. His suit jacket was slung over his arm as he walked into the house.  The door flew open revealing Adah, a wide smile on her face, ushering her husband into their home. His face however, failed to mirror hers. The second the door closed behind them, he started, “I called your phone this afternoon Adah. why didn’t you pick up?” She searched her mind, then it hit her. The call she got while she was finishing the portfolio, “My love, I’m sorry. I was finishing up some things so I forgot to call you back.” His voice thundered through the empty house, bouncing off the walls and into Adah’s ears, “So you’re saying you saw my call and ignored it? This stupid woman. What nonsense were you doing that you couldn’t answer your phone? Entertaining your lover in my house abi?” Adah shuddered at his tone. Her eyes welled up with tears, but she daren’t show them. She readied herself for the reprimanding she was about to get.  He pulled her by the ear, his jacket and case long forgotten on the floor, and tossed her about the living room. She landed by the wall, banging her head in. her eyes spun in its socket and she just focused her mind on the finished document that had put her in this predicament.  It was a regular occurrence though. Little human errors that caused her to get sprawled out on the floor or pounded into the chair ever so often. She thought back to the first time it happened… “You want to go where? Why? Is my house not good enough for you? Oh, it’s those witches that you used to gather and see that fill your mind with useless ideologies that you want to see ehn? You’re not going anywhere!” David spat out, barely even sparing her a glance. She was shocked by his response. David was never mean to her. It was three months into their marriage now, and she had begun to see a side of him that was carefully concealed for the 2 years they had been dating. But this one was new, blatantly refusing her requests and insulting her friends.  Annoyed, she scoffed, “David why would you say that now? Those are my friends and I haven’t seen them since … Read more

A PAINFUL EXPERIENCE THAT TAUGHT ME FINANCIAL DISCIPLINE

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A PAINFUL EXPERIENCE THAT TAUGHT ME FINANCIAL DISCIPLINE 600x400

A painful experience I had of recent made me finally stick to the principle of spending money wisely that I learnt years back from Robert Kiyosaki and Sharon Lechter’s Rich Dad, Poor Dad. Let me share how it finally cured me of financial indiscipline. It was a very painful experience. So intense. I pushed and I pushed. It felt like I wasn’t going to leave that place alive. I had exhausted all my strength, but if I dared to rest, what I was pushing would crawl right back inside. No nurse, no drip, no one at home to help induce anything. It was just me — me and this pain. To aid my delivery, I tried different postures, shifting and adjusting, just for what was disturbing me inside to come out. But nothing worked. In that moment of struggle, I wished I could rewind time. If I had known, I would have rejected everything they offered me at Yemi’s wedding party, my former classmate. I just didn’t want her to know what I was really passing through. I wanted to show her that I had also “made it” in life. Imagine paying ₦250K for Asoebi. Then renting the latest Lexus for ₦150K — just to show off. And yes, I still sprayed money at the party. I know you’re thinking that I’m rich, but I’m nothing close to it. Everything I spent to appear “big” at the wedding was borrowed. After spending all that, how could I allow any plate pass me by untouched? I ate everything. Everything. I mean… I tasted Asaro (yam porridge). Then, what’s the name of that other thing sef? Ehen! Abacha (African Salad)! I mixed them together. My stomach was saying no, but my mouth kept saying yes. I didn’t leave one thing untouched. And now, here I am. Honestly, it’s high time I stop living this fake big-girl life. Borrowing money for parties, just to “belong.” I’m not big anything. I dey use shalanga (pit latrine) for my side. Na one room I dey live. Wetin dey do me sef na how I wan take pay the money back! God abeg! it’s just very painful that I  borrowed this  money from LAPO. I told them I wanted to start a small business. But I don’t even know how the money vanished — until it remained just 50k. How I wan explain this one naw? That I spent 450K at a three-hour party? Omo… I just have to work hard to… Knock knock knock! “Aunty Bimbo! Come out now. Are you giving birth ni? You’ve been inside since. Na only you wan shit? Come out o!” Ah. It was like the thing inside heard the knock. It started coming out. I could see its head… black. It was coming, it was coming! Woof! Finally, it came out. Long, multicolored; black, yellow, some green, and red pepper flakes. So this was the demon troubling my stomach. Relieved, I washed my bumbum and quickly stepped out. “Aunty Bimbo! Come back here! You’re very wicked. Very very wicked! You no give me out of the food wey you chop o, but you leave your shit for me.” “Sorry, I forgot.” This girl does not even know what is on my head. How am I going to use 50k to start a business and pay my 500k loan in just a month? “You always forget to flush, but you never forget to refill your belle. Abeg, go flush joor!” Dear Lord, I promise not to waste my money just to please people again. So help me, Lord. Amen. ALSO READ Stress Management and Virtual Assistance: Keys to Triumphant Business Management

Climate Equity in Africa: Bridging the Gap for a Just Future

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By Musa Salihu Introduction: The Unequal the Gap for a Just Future Burden of Climate ChangeImagine a farmer in rural Kenya who wakes up to a sun-scorched field, a fisherman in Senegal whose daily catch has disappeared, or a mother in Nigeria watching her child suffer from heatstroke. This is the stark reality of climate change in Africa—where those least responsible for the crisis bear the heaviest burden.Africa contributes less than 4% of global carbon emissions (UNEP, 2023), yet it faces some of the most severe climate impacts—droughts, floods, desertification, and rising sea levels. The injustice is clear: Africa is paying the price for the pollution of wealthier nations.This is where climate equity comes in. It is not just about reducing emissions but ensuring that Africa gets the financial, technological, and policy support it needs to adapt, survive, and thrive in a warming world. The Reality: Climate Injustice in Africa1. Extreme Weather Events: A Growing ThreatAfrica is experiencing unprecedented climate disasters:In 2022, Nigeria witnessed its worst floods in a decade, displacing over 1.4 million people and killing 600+ (World Bank, 2023).The Horn of Africa is facing its worst drought in 40 years, with over 36 million people suffering from hunger (FAO, 2023).Mozambique, Madagascar, and Malawi have been hit by back-to-back cyclones, wiping out entire communities.While these disasters escalate, funding to help African nations cope remains inadequate. 2. The Broken Promises of Climate FinanceDeveloped nations pledged $100 billion per year to help poorer countries adapt to climate change (UNFCCC, 2023), yet Africa receives only a fraction of this funding.The African Development Bank (AfDB) estimates that Africa needs $277 billion annually for climate adaptation, yet receives less than $30 billion (AfDB, 2023).Only 20% of climate finance goes to adaptation efforts like drought-resistant crops and flood defenses (OECD, 2023). Without adequate funding, millions will continue to lose their homes, livelihoods, and lives. 3. Green Energy Transition: Africa’s Untapped PotentialAfrica has some of the world’s richest renewable energy resources—solar, wind, and hydropower. Yet, over 600 million Africans lack access to electricity (IEA, 2023). The solution? Investing in Africa’s green economy:✅ Solar farms in the Sahara could power the entire continent.✅ Wind energy from the Horn of Africa could revolutionize electricity access.✅ Hydropower projects on the Congo River could supply clean energy to millions.With proper investment and policy support, Africa can leapfrog fossil fuels and become a global leader in clean energy. Climate Equity: The Way Forward for Africa1. Developed Nations Must Honor Their Financial CommitmentsWealthy countries must pay their fair share by delivering the $100 billion climate finance pledge and increasing support for adaptation efforts. 2. African Leaders Must Prioritize Climate-Resilient PoliciesGovernments should invest in:✔ Climate-smart agriculture to protect farmers from droughts.✔ Early warning systems to prevent flood and storm disasters.✔ Reforestation projects to combat desertification. 3. Private Sector & Youth InvolvementAfrican entrepreneurs should be empowered to drive clean energy innovations.Youth-led climate movements should be supported in policy-making decisions. A Call to Action: Africa Must Not Be Left BehindThe time for empty promises is over. Africa needs:Real climate finance, not debt-driven loans.Investment in renewable energy to power its future.Stronger global climate policies that put justice first.???? Africa is not a victim—it is a leader in the fight for climate justice. But the world must act NOW to ensure a future of fairness, sustainability, and equity.

Travel: 4 positive transformative power

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The transformative power of travel

Travel is more than just visiting new places—it’s an experience that shapes how we see the world and ourselves. Whether it’s a short trip to a neighboring town or a journey across continents, traveling opens our eyes to new cultures, perspectives, and ways of life. It teaches lessons that can’t always be learned in a classroom or from books, making it one of the most enriching experiences anyone can have. 1. Experiencing New Cultures One of the most exciting parts of traveling is stepping into a world that feels completely different from what we’re used to. Each place has its own traditions, customs, and ways of doing things, and seeing them firsthand is both eye-opening and humbling. For example, in some cultures, people take life at a slower pace, prioritizing family and social connections over rigid schedules. In others, time is seen as something to be managed efficiently, with productivity being the main focus. Neither way is right or wrong—it’s just different. And experiencing these differences firsthand helps us understand that the way we’ve always done things isn’t the only way. Food is another great way to experience a new culture. Trying dishes that are completely unfamiliar—whether it’s a spicy street food delicacy or a homemade meal from a local—gives insight into the history and traditions of a place. There’s something special about sharing a meal with strangers and realizing that, no matter where we come from, food brings people together. 2. Learning to Adapt Travel isn’t always smooth. Flights get delayed, language barriers make communication tricky, and sometimes things don’t go as planned. But these challenges are part of the experience. They push us to adapt, think on our feet, and stay patient. Over time, we become more resourceful, learning to navigate unfamiliar places with confidence. Travel changes how we see everyday life. It’s easy to assume that our way of doing things is the “normal” way—until we see people living completely differently and thriving. It makes us question things we once took for granted. For example, visiting a place where people have fewer material possessions but seem genuinely happy makes us rethink what’s truly important. Seeing people with strong family bonds despite having little reminds us to appreciate what really matters. 3. The Beauty of Nature Travel isn’t just about people and cultures—it’s also about the natural world. Standing in front of a massive waterfall, walking through an ancient forest, or watching the sunset over an unfamiliar landscape reminds us of how vast and beautiful the world really is. Each environment tells its own story. Coastal towns have a deep connection to the sea, while mountain villages adapt to a completely different way of life. Traveling to different landscapes not only makes us appreciate nature’s beauty but also reminds us of the importance of preserving it. Seeing pollution in a once-pristine location or hearing locals talk about how climate change is affecting their way of life makes environmental issues feel more real and urgent. 4. Connecting with People One of the most memorable parts of any journey is the people we meet along the way. Even brief conversations with strangers can leave lasting impressions. Sometimes, the smallest interactions—a local helping with directions, a shopkeeper sharing a story, or a fellow traveler giving advice—turn into meaningful moments. What’s interesting is that despite cultural differences, human connection remains the same everywhere. A smile, a kind gesture, or shared laughter can break through language barriers. It’s in these moments that we realize we’re not so different after all. Coming Home with a New Perspective Travel changes us, even if we don’t realize it right away. Coming back home after a trip often makes us see familiar things differently. The daily routine that once felt boring might now seem comforting. The food we once took for granted might taste better. And the things we used to complain about might not seem so important anymore. At the end of the day, travel isn’t just about the places we visit—it’s about how those places shape us. It challenges us, teaches us, and reminds us of how much there is to explore and learn. And maybe that’s the greatest thing about it—no matter how many places we go, there will always be more to see, more people to meet, and more experiences waiting for us. Also Read: Mental health: 10 practical steps to help you prioritize your mental health

Unavailability of sanitary pad around UDUS classes

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UDUS Students Laments Unavailability of  Sanitary Pads At Business Centres Inside Campus It was a weekday in UDUS, when the reddish caliphate sun was at its peak. Maryam (last name withheld), was busy going around her academic activities that mounted the hem of her day when she felt the urge to ease herself. Luckily for her, she was close to the academic mosque (one of the masjids that defines the UDUS landscape) so she made her move. Maryam was urinating when she noticed it was the time for her menstrual flow. “I was not with my bag, just my phone, cash and pen,” she retorted. Left in the dilemma of where to get a pad, Maryam wished the blood could wait and allow her to get back to her hostel. What started as a smart day for her quickly transited into a looming embarrassment. For a second, she felt betrayed by the indignity of her own blood giving way between her thighs, down to stain her dress and wished there was a solution close by. “I noticed no pad around the school premise though I’m not sure of the school Mini Mart as I can’t think of going that far. I had to use my handkerchief because I hadn’t finished what brought me to school. The experience was nothing to be proud of,” Maryam recounted the ugly woes that befell her that day. According to Maryam, one of her daily routines now is putting a sanitary pad in her school bag before leaving for school due to emergency and knowing fully well that pad is inaccessible in UDUS classes. Maryam emphasized the essentiality of getting sanitary pads around UDUS classes which in her view helps to save many when the emergency happens. “Sanitary pad is a must for the  females, it is a monthly need and it should be available around the school premises at least it will save faces as unforeseen emergency happens,” Maryam advised. She furthered that, “We can never be too careful when it comes to menses because we experience change of hormones.” Like Maryam, Popoola Tomiwa, a 400 level student of education English recounted an embarrassing day her menstruation met her while in school. In her words, “There was a fateful day in school that I can’t forget in my life, I saw my period in class and I wasn’t with any pad. My dress was ruined before I could get to my hostel by bike because I couldn’t get a pad around class,” Tomiwa told Digest, letting out her disappointment about the lingering situation. She also underscored the importance of sanitary pad to womanhood and why it is essential to get it around school area “Sanitary pad is very important to me and every mature girl out there because of our monthly flow. It is important that we should be able to get pads around our classes because many female students feel embarrassed when their dress is ruined with blood,” she concluded. Period Poverty: The Bigger Picture In Nigeria, an estimated 37 million women and girls experience period poverty, meaning that they are unable to access or afford menstrual products like pads and tampons, but also pain medication and underwear. It’s a situation that remains largely unaddressed within society, even as the escalating cost of sanitary pads over the past five years has made the problem worse, putting an essential product out of reach for a large portion of the population. According to a report in East Africa, 4 out of 5 girls lack access to sanitary pads and related health education. More Woes “I do feel isolated anytime I see it while in the school premises. Because of the possible embarrassment it might bring upon me,” Khadija, another UDUS student, stated. “Inaccessibility of sanitary pads can cause embarrassment and stigma because I might have gotten stained before having access to one.” “Sanitary Pad is important for female fir menstrual hygiene because of absorbs menstrual flow and also serve as a sense of security and comfort when used.” “It is important to have access to it around UDUS classes to prevent females from getting stained/l after seeing it in the school premise before reaching out hostels,” she advised. I would leave the school premise and go to the hostel because I know there’s no way for me to get a pad around the school” another female student Nafeesah explained. Abdulrasaq Nafeesah, a 400 level student of Education English shared her distress toward seeing her menstruation while in school knowing she won’t get access to sanitary pad around the school area. “ I felt ashamed because I was afraid of staining my clothes; fearing that people would discover my situation the moment I start menstruation,” According to her, she knows there is no access to sanitary pads around School premises, so, she would always run back to the hostel when she discovers it is her time of the month. “I’m the kind of person that feels stomach ache whenever I’m expecting my menstruation. So, if I discovered this, I would go to the hostel because I know there is no way for me to get a pad around the school.” Sharafdeen Aisha, a 300 level of education Chemistry department disclosed how stressful it is getting her period on campus and knowing the inaccessibility of sanitary pad. In her words, Honestly, it is stressful. Seeing your period on campus, especially without easy access to a pad feels so uncomfortable and worrysome. You can’t focus and it is hard to feel clean or at ease,” Aisha furthered that she gets her pad outside school which makes her miss class sometimes. “I really wish if something can be done about it” Kawthar Arowona. Kawthar Arowona is a 400 level student of the Agriculture department, wishes sanitary pads could be sold around UDUS classes so as to avoid getting unprecedented embarrassment from both genders. “I have once cried in the toilet before, because I was feeling disgraced as a … Read more

MY BOYFRIENDS SCREWED UP BIG TIME

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My boyfriends screwed up big time

MY BOYFRIENDS SCREWED UP BIG TIME I sat on the couch and stared blankly at the TV as my mind replayed the events of the past days. Really, my boyfriend Alex had messed up this time. I couldn’t believe it. “Hey, what’s wrong?” my best friend, Rachel, asked, plopping down beside me. “It’s Alex,” I said, shaking my head. “He lied to me. Again.” “What did he do this time?” Rachel asked, grimacing her face like one who just tasted a bitter herb. “I found out he’s been talking to his ex behind my back,” I said, feeling a mix of anger and hurt. “That’s awful,” Rachel said. “You deserve so much better.” I nodded, remembering the conversation we had when Alex first told me about his ex. “She’s just a friend,” he had said. “Don’t worry about it.” “Friends don’t text each other at 2 AM,” I replied, raising an eyebrow. Alex laughed it off. “She’s just going through a tough time. I’m trying to be supportive.” I believed him. Or at least, I wanted to. Fast-forward to last night, when I saw the text messages on his phone. “Baby, I miss you,” his ex had written. “I miss you too,” Alex replied. My heart sank. When he tried to hold me while greeting me when he came visiting as usual, I confronted him. “Alex, how could you?” I asked, my voice trembling. “It meant nothing,” he said, minimizing it. “She’s just an old friend.” “An old friend you’re still in love with,” I fired back. Alex sighed. “Look, I know I messed up. But please, don’t leave me.” I rose to my feet and confronted him face-to-face. “You broke my trust, Alex. I don’t think I would ever be able to trust you anymore.” “You don’t have to do this,” he retorted. “Well, I am,” I answered. Rachel reached out and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You did the right thing,” she said. “You deserve someone who respects and loves you fully.” I nodded, knowing she was right. I thought I overreacted but he didn’t try as much as I thought to beg me to return. He did just little. I was broken. The one I trusted had flopped. I sat down on the couch, knowing that all this time, I had been blinded to Alex’s flaws. “It’s time for me to move on,” I said to Rachel. “Oh, about time,” she replied with a smile. It took weeks, but slowly I was healing. Alex tried to win me back, but I wouldn’t budge. It was too late “I’m sorry,” he texted. “Sorry isn’t enough,” I replied. After a few weeks, I was with Racheal when I met someone new. “Hi, I’m Max,” he said, smiling. “Hi,” I replied, my heart fluttering. “I am Bella” READ ALSO A Regret that lasted a lifetime He was perfect, or so I thought. We met over cups of coffee again because we were both into books. The conversations flowed, and on our dates, laughter was never far away. Six months rolled around, and cracks started to appear. “Hey, where were you last night?” I asked him over breakfast. “Out with friends,” he said, not looking my way. “Just friends?” I pushed. Max hesitated before answering. “There was someone else there.from work.” Instinct had kicked in. “Who is she?” I asked firmly. “Emily. She’s new at the office. We just grabbed drinks.” I remembered the texts I’d seen on his phone. “Max, I’ve seen the way you talk to her. Flirty messages, late-night conversations.” Max sighed. “It’s harmless. You’re overreacting.” “Overreacting?” I echoed. “You’re hiding something from me.” Max’s face changed. READ ALSO 5 WAYS TO IMPROVE COMMUNICATION SKILLS “Fine. Emily and I. We have a past. Okay? But it’s over. 5 WAYS TO IMPROVE YOUR COMMUNICATION SKILLS “A past?” I echoed, shocked. “We dated briefly before I met you. It was casual.” “Casual?” I shook my head. “You never mentioned her.” “I didn’t want to hurt you,” Max said. “Hurt me?” I laughed bitterly. “You’re hurting me now.” Max reached for my hand. “I love you. Not Emily.” I pulled away. “Love? You call this love? You’re still connected to her.” The conversation finished with Max storming out, claiming that he needed space. I knew then I was caught in the same cycle. It was hard to admit it. “Why do I always attract these guys?” I later asked Rachel. “Oh, you deserve better,” she said. “Probably take time to put a little more focus on yourself.” I nodded, knowing the truth. “No more relationships for a while. They screwed up or maybe I did.” Rachel smiled.

Marriage: 7 things to consider for a successful marriage

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Marriage.things to do

Marriage isn’t just about wearing a ring or having a beautiful wedding. It’s about choosing someone to walk through life with—someone to share your highest highs and toughest lows. It’s a huge decision, and while love is important, it’s not the only thing you need to make it work. Before you say “I do,” it’s worth sitting down and thinking things through. Here are seven real and important things to consider before taking that step. 1. Do We Truly Match—In Ways That Matter? You don’t need to be exactly the same to be a great match. In fact, your differences can make the relationship even richer. But when it comes to the big stuff—values, beliefs, and life goals—it’s crucial to be on the same page. Ask yourself: Do we both want kids? Are we on the same wavelength about money, religion, or how we want to live? For example, if one of you dreams of a quiet life in the countryside and the other wants the hustle of city life forever, that’s something worth discussing early. Shared values make decision-making easier and reduce conflict later on. 2. Can We Really Talk to Each Other? Good communication is the heartbeat of a healthy marriage. It’s not just about talking, but being honest, vulnerable, and respectful even when you’re upset. Do you feel heard when you express your feelings? Does your partner open up, too? If little misunderstandings often turn into big fights, or if either of you struggles to speak openly about feelings, that’s something to work on before tying the knot. Marriage is full of discussions—about finances, family, plans, and emotions—and being able to navigate those conversations kindly is key. 3. How Do We Handle Money? Let’s be honest, money can get messy. Some people are savers, others are spenders. Some are totally fine with debt, while others feel stressed just hearing the word. Before you get married, talk openly about your financial habits, incomes, savings, debts, and future plans. Are you comfortable combining accounts, or do you prefer to keep things separate? Who handles the budgeting? Will you set financial goals together? These conversations might not be romantic, but they are absolutely necessary for peace of mind. 4. Are We Both Emotionally Ready? Marriage isn’t always easy, and it takes emotional maturity to handle its ups and downs. That means being able to admit when you’re wrong, to apologize, to forgive, and to grow. Take a moment to reflect: When things go wrong, do we blame each other or work together? Can we disagree without being disrespectful? If either of you struggles with emotional regulation or carries unresolved baggage from the past, it might be time for some self-work before stepping into marriage. 5. How Do Our Families Fit Into the Picture? Let’s face it: when you marry someone, you’re also joining parts of their family—and they’re joining yours. So it helps to understand where your partner is coming from. What were they taught about relationships? Are there traditions or expectations that matter to them? Also, don’t shy away from talking about your own future family. How many kids do you want? What’s your ideal parenting style? Will both of you work, or will one stay home? These aren’t just “someday” topics—they can affect your relationship in big ways. 6. How Do We Handle Fights? In marriage, no couple is perfect. Disagreements will happen. What matters is how you deal with them. Do you listen to each other, or just wait for your turn to talk? Do fights become personal, or do you work toward a solution? Think about how you and your partner typically resolve issues. If one of you tends to shut down or if conflicts linger unresolved for days, that could build resentment over time. The way you handle disagreements before marriage often predicts how you’ll handle bigger ones later. 7. Are We Headed in the Same Direction? Love is about more than today—it’s also about where you’re going. Sit down and ask: What does the future look like for us? Do we want to travel the world or settle down early? Start a business together or pursue separate careers? Your dreams don’t have to be identical, but they should be compatible. A couple that dreams together, plans together, and builds together has a much stronger chance of lasting happiness. Marriage is one of the most beautiful commitments you can make, but it’s not something to rush into. Take the time to talk, reflect, and really get to know not just your partner, but yourself. These seven areas—compatibility, communication, money, emotional maturity, family dynamics, conflict resolution, and long-term goals—can make all the difference between a marriage that simply survives and one that truly thrives. You don’t have to have all the answers now. But being open, honest, and intentional sets the foundation for a relationship built on mutual respect, growth, and lasting love.