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  • He clearly had doctrinal issues and twisted scriptures to soothe his stance. He was trying to correct someone who didn't know much about the Bible, except for singing "I love Jesus, he's my friend." We patiently listened to him while he scolded the young Christian; apparently, it was an issue of morality, just a minor misdemeanor in my opinion. The girl was really sad, broken, confused, and ashamed.

    Looking for backup after the long sermon, he asked my husband in Yoruba, "Egbon, se mo paro?" (Meaning: Big brother, did I lie/Am I lying?).

    In a soft, measured tone, my darling husband replied: "Iro ko le so, O to le pa" (You did not lie, you killed the truth).

    Him:
    Me: (outwardly) (inside)
    The girl: (with a lightened face) 🙌🏽

    He never spoke to us again even when we tried to fix the situation, he was still angry.

    To

    Angry T: We're sorry the truth hurts. Please forgive us but you hurt that girl badly.
    He clearly had doctrinal issues and twisted scriptures to soothe his stance. He was trying to correct someone who didn't know much about the Bible, except for singing "I love Jesus, he's my friend." We patiently listened to him while he scolded the young Christian; apparently, it was an issue of morality, just a minor misdemeanor in my opinion. The girl was really sad, broken, confused, and ashamed. Looking for backup after the long sermon, he asked my husband in Yoruba, "Egbon, se mo paro?" (Meaning: Big brother, did I lie/Am I lying?). In a soft, measured tone, my darling husband replied: "Iro ko le so, O to le pa" (You did not lie, you killed the truth). Him: 😳😠🤯 Me: (outwardly) 😔 (inside) 😁😂 The girl: (with a lightened face) 😂🙌🏽💫 He never spoke to us again even when we tried to fix the situation, he was still angry. To Angry T: We're sorry the truth hurts. Please forgive us but you hurt that girl badly.
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  • I mistakenly stepped on a Yoruba girl
    Yoruba girl:are u in pain
    Me:no oooh ,am in glo
    I mistakenly stepped on a Yoruba girl Yoruba girl:are u in pain Me:no oooh ,am in glo
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  • Chelsea caoch and man-utd coach s speaks yoruba language
    Another drama between Erik Ten Hag and Enzo Maresca

    #sport #baanuru #Nigeria #yoruba #movies #Chelsea #manchesterunited
    Chelsea caoch and man-utd coach s speaks yoruba language😳😳😳 Another drama between Erik Ten Hag and Enzo Maresca🤣🤣🤣🤣 #sport #baanuru #Nigeria #yoruba #movies #Chelsea #manchesterunited
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  • am sorry if you don't understand Yoruba
    😂😂😂😭😭 am sorry if you don't understand Yoruba
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  • https://amiloadednews.com/yoruba-council-worldwide-announces-date-for-first-obas-summit/
    https://amiloadednews.com/yoruba-council-worldwide-announces-date-for-first-obas-summit/
    AMILOADEDNEWS.COM
    Yoruba Council Worldwide Announces Date For First 'Obas' Summit - AmiLoaded News
    The Yoruba council worldwide has announced Thursday 7th November, 2024 for First Yoruba Obas Summit This was made known during a press conference addressed by Read More
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  • He maintained that Obi got it wrong regarding his comment about Yoruba people as touching the emilokan slogan, adding that Tinubu made the statement as an appeal to members of the All Progressives Congress (APC) in Ogun State to vote for him in the party convention.
    He maintained that Obi got it wrong regarding his comment about Yoruba people as touching the emilokan slogan, adding that Tinubu made the statement as an appeal to members of the All Progressives Congress (APC) in Ogun State to vote for him in the party convention.
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  • If you like if another election come, make it a tribal war. Zombie!! As you be Yoruba or Igbo or Hausa, go buy fuel 200 naira na, or enter market go tell person your tribe make things cheap for you. Shey you see how the sufferings no select who to touch.
    If you like if another election come, make it a tribal war. Zombie!! As you be Yoruba or Igbo or Hausa, go buy fuel 200 naira na, or enter market go tell person your tribe make things cheap for you. Shey you see how the sufferings no select who to touch.
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  • The Land of the Dead

    Late one October night, a young man named Femi stumbled upon an old, tattered book in the dusty corner of his village’s ancient library. He was known as a fearless wanderer who loved exploring the hidden tales and forgotten paths of his homeland. But that night, as the moon hung low and eerie in the sky, Femi discovered something he would never forget: a tale of the "Land of the Dead."

    The legend went that there was a narrow, twisted path deep in the forest that could only be seen when the moon was full. It was said to lead to a cursed land beyond the reach of the living, a place where the souls of the dead lingered in eternal torment. Femi’s curiosity quickly overpowered his fear, and with a small lantern in hand, he set out to find this forbidden place.

    As he walked through the forest, strange noises echoed around him—whispers, cries, and chilling laughter seemed to follow him, though he saw nothing in the dark, twisted trees. His footsteps grew slower, yet he couldn’t stop. Soon, he found the path. It was narrow and overgrown with thorny vines, almost invisible, but as he stepped onto it, the ground seemed to shift under him, as if it were alive.

    Hours passed, or maybe it was only minutes—time seemed to blur. The air grew thick, stinging his lungs, and the shadows deepened into an unnatural darkness. Suddenly, he saw it: the entrance to the Land of the Dead, a gaping archway covered in the blood-red leaves of a vine that pulsed like a beating heart. Cold hands seemed to push him forward, forcing him to step through.

    On the other side, Femi found himself in a desolate wasteland. The sky was filled with ash, and the earth was littered with bones and fragments of ancient, crumbling structures. Strange, mournful figures wandered aimlessly, their skin gray and eyes hollow. He tried to call out to them, but his voice echoed strangely, as though swallowed by the air itself.

    Then, he saw something more terrifying than he could have imagined. The ground began to writhe, and the bones scattered around started to rise and piece themselves together, forming grotesque creatures that began to close in around him. Their hollow eyes fixed on him, filled with an insatiable hunger. He could hear their raspy breaths and the slow, terrible scraping of bones against stones.

    Panicked, Femi turned and ran, but every path seemed to lead him deeper into the cursed land. The creatures followed him, relentless, their hands clawing at him, cold as ice. His lantern flickered and died, plunging him into darkness.

    He stumbled into an ancient tombstone. Chiseled in old Yoruba script, it warned: “All who enter the Land of the Dead must pay with their soul.”

    Realization gripped him—he was trapped. He tried to scream, but his voice was gone. Then he saw a figure in the distance, an elderly woman cloaked in tattered robes, her face hidden in shadow. She held out her hand, beckoning him closer. Desperate, he approached her. She spoke softly, her voice like a cold breeze, "Only one may escape, Femi. Will you take another’s place, or stay here forever?"

    In his terror, Femi nodded, agreeing without a thought. She motioned for him to follow her, and together they moved through the mist and shadow until he felt the earth tremble beneath his feet. With a whisper, she said, "The way is open."

    As he stepped forward, the fog parted, revealing the twisted path back to the land of the living. He stumbled forward, his heart pounding, never daring to look back. Finally, he crossed the archway, the forest familiar again, but colder, darker. He felt relief flood over him, until he noticed something strange—the moon was in the same position as when he’d entered, and the world was eerily silent.

    Femi returned to the village, but no one recognized him. People looked through him, as if he were invisible. Terrified, he went back to his family’s house, but his mother sat in silence, staring at a portrait of him with a black ribbon tied around it. Beside her was the elderly woman from the Land of the Dead, nodding approvingly.

    It was then he realized the truth: he had escaped, but he was not truly free. He was a shadow, bound forever to the edge of the living, unseen, unheard—a wandering ghost forever cursed by his choice.
    The Land of the Dead Late one October night, a young man named Femi stumbled upon an old, tattered book in the dusty corner of his village’s ancient library. He was known as a fearless wanderer who loved exploring the hidden tales and forgotten paths of his homeland. But that night, as the moon hung low and eerie in the sky, Femi discovered something he would never forget: a tale of the "Land of the Dead." The legend went that there was a narrow, twisted path deep in the forest that could only be seen when the moon was full. It was said to lead to a cursed land beyond the reach of the living, a place where the souls of the dead lingered in eternal torment. Femi’s curiosity quickly overpowered his fear, and with a small lantern in hand, he set out to find this forbidden place. As he walked through the forest, strange noises echoed around him—whispers, cries, and chilling laughter seemed to follow him, though he saw nothing in the dark, twisted trees. His footsteps grew slower, yet he couldn’t stop. Soon, he found the path. It was narrow and overgrown with thorny vines, almost invisible, but as he stepped onto it, the ground seemed to shift under him, as if it were alive. Hours passed, or maybe it was only minutes—time seemed to blur. The air grew thick, stinging his lungs, and the shadows deepened into an unnatural darkness. Suddenly, he saw it: the entrance to the Land of the Dead, a gaping archway covered in the blood-red leaves of a vine that pulsed like a beating heart. Cold hands seemed to push him forward, forcing him to step through. On the other side, Femi found himself in a desolate wasteland. The sky was filled with ash, and the earth was littered with bones and fragments of ancient, crumbling structures. Strange, mournful figures wandered aimlessly, their skin gray and eyes hollow. He tried to call out to them, but his voice echoed strangely, as though swallowed by the air itself. Then, he saw something more terrifying than he could have imagined. The ground began to writhe, and the bones scattered around started to rise and piece themselves together, forming grotesque creatures that began to close in around him. Their hollow eyes fixed on him, filled with an insatiable hunger. He could hear their raspy breaths and the slow, terrible scraping of bones against stones. Panicked, Femi turned and ran, but every path seemed to lead him deeper into the cursed land. The creatures followed him, relentless, their hands clawing at him, cold as ice. His lantern flickered and died, plunging him into darkness. He stumbled into an ancient tombstone. Chiseled in old Yoruba script, it warned: “All who enter the Land of the Dead must pay with their soul.” Realization gripped him—he was trapped. He tried to scream, but his voice was gone. Then he saw a figure in the distance, an elderly woman cloaked in tattered robes, her face hidden in shadow. She held out her hand, beckoning him closer. Desperate, he approached her. She spoke softly, her voice like a cold breeze, "Only one may escape, Femi. Will you take another’s place, or stay here forever?" In his terror, Femi nodded, agreeing without a thought. She motioned for him to follow her, and together they moved through the mist and shadow until he felt the earth tremble beneath his feet. With a whisper, she said, "The way is open." As he stepped forward, the fog parted, revealing the twisted path back to the land of the living. He stumbled forward, his heart pounding, never daring to look back. Finally, he crossed the archway, the forest familiar again, but colder, darker. He felt relief flood over him, until he noticed something strange—the moon was in the same position as when he’d entered, and the world was eerily silent. Femi returned to the village, but no one recognized him. People looked through him, as if he were invisible. Terrified, he went back to his family’s house, but his mother sat in silence, staring at a portrait of him with a black ribbon tied around it. Beside her was the elderly woman from the Land of the Dead, nodding approvingly. It was then he realized the truth: he had escaped, but he was not truly free. He was a shadow, bound forever to the edge of the living, unseen, unheard—a wandering ghost forever cursed by his choice.
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  • If Yoruba names were to be Food, You'll hear funny names like Garilope, Ebafunmi, Fufulabi
    Add yours
    If Yoruba names were to be Food, You'll hear funny names like Garilope, Ebafunmi, Fufulabi 😂😂 Add yours
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  • https://amiloadednews.com/2024/10/fg-moves-to-teach-maths-in-yoruba.html
    https://amiloadednews.com/2024/10/fg-moves-to-teach-maths-in-yoruba.html
    AMILOADEDNEWS.COM
    FG Moves To Teach Maths In Yoruba - AmiLoaded News
    The National Institute for Educational Planning and Administration (NIEPA) has made moves to implement the teaching of mathematics in Yoruba. The institute said to achieve Read More
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