OjiUgo™️🍫👁️🗨️
@OjiUgo_nwa • 26,313 subscribers
God first|| Jeremiah 29:11-13|| Peter Obi Stan Account|| Igbo Princess || Obidient || Ada Aro Okeigbo, Nde o gara mba ka mba di ugwu 🌹
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Journalist: Sir what's your take On the issue of insecurity? Tinubu: That is the love, obedience of law. Nowhere in the holy teaching that you should engage in banditry, nowhere that you should kill another human being. The sacrifice we're talking about, if in the beginning of life where we take this from. A child was replaced with animal and that is what is value of life is all about. See who ronu crack heads call intelligent, always talking off point.
OjiUgo™️🍫👁️🗨️755,397 views • 1 month ago
A US soldier shared a testimony from her time overseas. She said her team used to laugh at her and call her "church girl" because she prayed before every mission. Some told her they did not want to hear her prayers. She prayed anyway. Later, she was pulled off the road as punishment. She said her team started getting hit by bombs every time she was not with them. Then her team leader came to her and asked her to come back. He told her, "We keep getting hit and we need your protection. Whatever you're praying, it's working." She said she went back out, and they were never hit again. Maya Johnson brought home 300 people, and nobody from her group died. This is a powerful reminder that prayer is not weak. This testimony shows that the one true God hears, protects, and still answers prayer.
OjiUgo™️🍫👁️🗨️461,082 views • 2 months ago
She wanted a new hair makeover and got blown away by the transformation. I'm blown 😍😘😍🔥🔥
OjiUgo™️🍫👁️🗨️261,268 views • 3 months ago
Will you vote for Peter Obi and Rabiu Musa Kwankwaso in 2027? ○ Yes ○ No
OjiUgo™️🍫👁️🗨️142,840 views • 2 months ago
There’s something eerie about the finality of death. Everything about the dead person stops, like getting off at a bus stop and disappearing into the woods. Memories begin to fade, people begin to move on. And yet, in the quiet that follows, one question lingers like fog between the trees: What shall we be remembered for? Not for the loudest achievements or the most polished stories we told about ourselves. Those, too, eventually thin out. The promotions, the possessions, the carefully curated highlights, they shrink into footnotes. What endures is quieter, more stubborn. It is the way you made someone feel seen on an ordinary Tuesday. The patience you offered when you were exhausted. The joke you cracked in the middle of grief that let someone breathe again. The boundary you held with love instead of anger. The small, consistent choices that said, without fanfare: This is what matters to me. We are remembered, if we are lucky, not as monuments but as echoes. A child who grows up carrying your gentleness like a hidden inheritance. A friend who, decades later, still chooses honesty because you once modeled it at great personal cost. Strangers who were changed by a decision you made long ago planting a tree, refusing to look away from injustice, forgiving when it wasn’t required. These ripples do not announce themselves. They simply keep moving through the woods after we’ve vanished at the stop. The eerie truth is that most of us will not be remembered by crowds or history books. Our names will dissolve. But the texture of our presence can outlast us. The question is not whether we will be forgotten, we almost certainly will, in full. The deeper question is what shape our absence leaves behind. Will it be a wound of regret in those who knew us, or a quiet strength they draw from without knowing why? Will the space we occupied feel like a door left open or a room forever locked? You lived a life of purpose, as if you knew someone will one day stand at the bus stop searching for your footprints in the undergrowth. You spoke words that are being repeated. Showed up in the ways you'd hope to be recalled. Chose the harder kindness, the slower honesty, the braver curiosity. Not for immortality, that is a child’s bargain with the woods, but for the small, fierce dignity of having mattered in the right ways while the bus was still moving. Because in the end, we are not remembered for how loudly we burned, but the warmth that lingered after the flame went out. Rest in Peace Alexx Ikenna Ekubo-Okwaraeke 🕊️💔
OjiUgo™️🍫👁️🗨️66,576 views • 1 month ago
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They’ve started looting goats too 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩, a whole trailer looted 🤦🏼♀️🤦🏼♀️🤦🏼♀️
OjiUgo™️🍫👁️🗨️382,808 views • 2 years ago
Rivers people ooo, wida una dey for this rubbish to happen 🤣😂🤣🤣
OjiUgo™️🍫👁️🗨️118,502 views • 10 months ago