Prepare yourself🧏🏽
The OJUJU returns 14th November. DISCO
Link in bio to be there
Track ID: Kwado Onwe Gi @talut_kareem @rakafunkmo
mr. momentum retweeted
The OJUJU returns 14th November. DISCO
Link in bio to be there
Track ID: Kwado Onwe Gi @talut_kareem @rakafunkmo
mr. momentum retweeted
Ian McKellen reciting Shakespeare's writing on racist anti-immigration riots in London during his time.
It is excellent.
They have been banging the same drum for 400 years.
mr. momentum retweeted
Find your way to the Sanctum❤️
Forehead kisses for everyone.
Come. Observe. Wonder. Play.
RSVP: docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1F…
music produced by @mikewarhero_ , vocals by me (work in progress).
mr. momentum retweeted
They sentenced her to 14 years in prison using Islamic jurisprudence, even though they knew she was a Christian and she had only advised an adult about her faith, yet the world is silent about it.
Please repost; let the world know.
mr. momentum retweeted
Please make sure your papers are complete. El Niño is making these cops mutate.
mr. momentum retweeted
1 day to go!
Glimpse of Glory Live🎤
🗓️October 31
⏰5 - 10 PM
📍The Yard, Bodija
Opening Acts: Ajoke, @IniOluwa_lomo @uncleluwa
DJ: @talut_kareem
Tattoos by @msnwangwa
🎟️: glimpseofglory.tikka.cloud
see you soon!💙 – at Ibadan, Nigeria
She Hid Her 12-Year-Old Daughter in a Ditch for Nine Months to Save Her From Boko Haram
In August 2014, Zainabu Hamayaji made a decision that would keep her daughter alive but force the young girl to spend nine months hidden underground.
Hassana was only 12 years old. Her mother feared that Boko Haram fighters would abduct her and force her to become a child bride.
To protect her, Zainabu hid her in a deep ditch behind their home in Madagali, Adamawa State, Nigeria.
Then, she did something that made the plan even more extraordinary.
She pretended to be mentally ill so the insurgents would leave her family alone.
When Boko Haram invaded Madagali, families faced a terrifying choice. People who tried to escape were being killed, and Zainabu witnessed the violence firsthand.
Her husband was among those killed.
She was left trying to protect her children in a town controlled by the same fighters she feared would take her eldest daughter away.
Zainabu had heard that the insurgents were looking for young girls to marry. When they learned she had a daughter of marriageable age, they came to her home.
She denied having such a daughter, but they did not believe her.
They beat her repeatedly. Her shoulder was dislocated, and she lost a tooth during the attacks.
Zainabu realised that simply denying Hassana's existence would not be enough. She needed to make the fighters believe there was something about her family that made it dangerous to interfere with them.
So she began acting as though she had lost her sanity.
She loosened her hair, stripped off her clothes and wandered around the community. She rolled in rubbish and smeared herself with urine and faeces.
The woman who had once lived an ordinary life was deliberately making herself an object of avoidance.
The insurgents returned repeatedly to check whether her behaviour was genuine. Each time, Zainabu continued the act.
Her younger children helped her maintain the deception. When the fighters questioned them about their mother's behaviour, they insisted that she had been mentally unwell for a long time and had previously visited a psychiatric hospital.
The children were frightened, but they played their part.
Eventually, the insurgents began to believe the story.
According to Zainabu's account, they feared that harming a mentally ill woman or taking her child could bring a curse upon them. They even left a warning on the family's house telling other fighters not to attack them.
But while Zainabu was trying to convince the insurgents that she was mentally unstable, Hassana was facing a different kind of ordeal.
She was living inside a ditch.
Her mother had prepared the hiding place with supplies, including food, water and matches. Hassana had to cook and manage her basic needs in the confined space. She also had to find a way to dispose of her waste.
For nine months, the ditch became her hiding place.
She could not simply walk outside whenever she wanted. Her safety depended on remaining hidden while her mother continued the deception above ground.
It was an extraordinary burden for a child who should have been able to live without fear of being abducted and forced into marriage.
Zainabu kept up the act, despite the beatings and the physical injuries she had suffered.
Then, in March 2015, Nigerian soldiers recaptured Madagali from Boko Haram.
When the soldiers encountered Zainabu, they were suspicious. They wanted to know how she had survived in the occupied town and questioned whether she had been married to a Boko Haram fighter.
She denied it and explained what she had done to protect her children.
The soldiers did not immediately believe her.
So she took them to the hiding place.
When they opened the ditch, Hassana was there.
After nine months underground, the 12-year-old girl was finally brought out of hiding.
The soldiers took the family to a camp for displaced people in Gwoza, where Zainabu later told her story to journalists.
mr. momentum retweeted
There was a museum I visited in Northern Pakistan and they had a collection of items from stone pots to lanterns etc used in that community over a 100 years ago. Out of curiosity, I asked how they were curated the tour guide said families donated household items as a contribution to the museum.
Take @FuadXIV’s tweet seriously. Personal history is also history. So much is lost but there’s still so much history just sitting in your homes and with your family members. Collect them. Press record. Write. Take pictures. Keep things. Preserving our history is a collective responsibility
Look, I get that people are pissed about this thing—there’s a lot to be mad about. But I was raised by a civil servant, and time and again, I’ve learned that systems collapse gradually, not all at once.
Nobody shows up on their first day of work and decides to destroy archives or anything. Quite often, it’s a series of small decisions, small things we let fester here and there. Culture is whatever a system rewards or punishes.
But the thing about Nigeria is that while we’re always late to one party (the things we’ve lost are lost), I think it’s important to know we’re also always early to another.
So much has been lost, but so much can still be done. And it doesn’t have to be big things; just pick the little things.
For example, if someone in your family was a teenager when Nigeria became independent, statistically, they might be dead in a decade or way less. Sit with them and press record; they have so much to say, and so few people willing to listen. Just listen and press record. In whatever language they understand, no matter how little your understanding of it.
Keep the family album. Use your phone to photograph them. Keep the tapes.
Much of what our civilisation learned about fighting COVID-19 came from what we learned about the Spanish Flu of 1918: a mix of official records documenting death rates, etc., and personal correspondence that captured the experience of living through it.
Personal history is family history is national history.





























