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Oma’s page A Relationship expert with good sources and vibes
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12/08/2025

Why your wife will prefer to knack another man Legit.ng

I wonder why I get this question a lot Men ask me why most women kpekus smell very bad Oh my goodness😳Does it mean that ...
11/08/2025

I wonder why I get this question a lot

Men ask me why most women kpekus smell very bad

Oh my goodness😳
Does it mean that most women has this as a problem

What is your take on this?

11/08/2025

If you don’t do this when his gbola is standing up early in the morning

Legit.ng

08/08/2025

Strong Woman, Small Rest” – Part 1

(Real talk about burnout and pretending to be okay)

That day, I woke up tired.

Not because I didn’t sleep well.
But because I was just tired of everything.

Tired of trying.
Tired of showing up.
Tired of being the one that “always has it together.”

I looked at my phone.
So many messages.
So many tasks.
So many people needing something from me.

And me? I had nothing left to give.

But I still got up.
Still replied messages.
Still posted something online.
Still smiled.
Because… that’s what I do, right?

I didn’t want anyone to ask if I was okay.
Because if I opened my mouth, I might cry.

I felt alone.
Even with people around me, I felt like I was carrying everything by myself.

Then Ugo called.
I almost ignored it. But I picked.

She didn’t ask, “How are you?”
She just said,

“Babe… please don’t break while trying to be strong.”

That was all.

And it broke me.

I just sat there, phone to my ear, shaking my head, tears falling.
I told her, “I’m tired.”
That’s all I could say.
And she said, “It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything right now. Just rest.”

That night, I didn’t work.
Didn’t post.
Didn’t force myself to be okay.

I just ate.
Laid down.
And allowed myself to breathe.

That was the beginning of healing for me.
Not with big changes… but small ones.

Because even strong women need rest.
Even strong women cry.

And this Lagos?
This Lagos will not kill me.

— Story by Oma. To be continued.

08/08/2025

The only thing a man needs from a woman is, pls watch the end Legit.ng

07/08/2025

Every man has 3 gbola, stop using only one

06/08/2025

“How I Met Charles (Inside a Lift in Lagos)” – Part 5: The Struggle Before the Release

Letting go didn’t happen in one big moment.
No grand epiphany. No dramatic closure.
It was quiet. Messy. Confusing.

Some days, I’d decide I was done.
I’d block him in my head, delete his number — even delete our chat, just to prove to myself I was serious.

Then one dry Wednesday, I’d hear a song we once talked about, or scroll past a meme I knew he’d laugh at… and I’d crumble.
“Let me just check his story real quick.”
“Maybe he’s just going through something.”
“Maybe I gave up too soon.”

That was the worst part: the maybes.
They became a loop in my mind.
They kept me stuck — not because he was so special, but because I didn’t trust myself to walk away without answers.

I started comparing myself to “her” — the soft-launched girl with the red nails.
Was she more chill? Less intense?
Did she ask fewer questions?
Was that the “peace” he was chasing?

It made me angry. But not at him — at me.
For being soft. For hoping.
For believing that consistency meant something in a world full of half-effort connections.

Some nights, I’d cry — not loudly. Just that silent kind of ache where you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, asking yourself:
“How did I end up here?”
“Why wasn’t I enough?”

But deep down, I knew I was enough.
I just wasn’t enough for someone who never intended to stay.

And that’s the battle.
The version of me that wanted to wait it out — hoping he’d come around.
And the version of me that already knew the truth… but didn’t want to face it.

I kept replaying our conversations, looking for hidden meanings.
I even drafted a message once:
“I don’t know what we’re doing, but this is hurting me.”
I never sent it.

Because what if he replied with silence?

Eventually, the struggle wasn’t even about Charles anymore.
It was about me.
Choosing myself.
Choosing peace over confusion.
Choosing truth over potential.

But I wasn’t there yet.

Not then.

— Story by Oma. To be continued.

06/08/2025

If you don’t last up to 3 hours during knacking


Legit.ng

05/08/2025

How I Met Charles (Inside a Lift in Lagos)” – Part 4: What It Did to Me

I started doubting myself.

It wasn’t dramatic — there was no loud heartbreak, no slammed doors, no crying under the rain. Just… little pieces of me slowly chipping away.

I’d stare at my phone longer than I wanted to.
Waited for his name to pop up — even though I told myself I wasn’t that girl.
I started crafting messages in my head:
“Should I say hi?”
“Will this make me look needy?”
“Maybe I should just wait till he reaches out…”

And on days he didn’t text at all, I told myself it was fine. I wasn’t his girlfriend.
I had no rights.
But somehow, it still stung.

My friends noticed. One of them asked:
“Oma, why do you light up when he texts but dim down when he doesn’t?”
And that question?
It hit me like a slap I didn’t see coming.

I wasn’t even in a relationship, but I was feeling abandoned.
It was the worst kind of loneliness — the kind that sits beside hope and messes with your mind.
I started questioning my worth.
“Was I not interesting enough?”
“Was I too available?”
“Did I say something wrong?”

Charles wasn’t a villain.
He didn’t lie. He didn’t manipulate me.
But he gave just enough attention to keep me guessing — and in that guessing, I started shrinking.

I stopped texting first. Not out of pride, but protection.
I stopped waiting for his calls.
And every time I stepped into that elevator — the one where we first met — I stood a little straighter.
Pretending. Performing. Healing… slowly.

Because sometimes, it’s not the heartbreak that hurts.
It’s the waiting.
The not-knowing.
The part where you forget how much you were worth before they made you feel optional.

— Story by Oma. To be continued.

05/08/2025

Stop doing this while sucking a woman’s Orange 🍊 we don’t like it

04/08/2025

“How I Met Charles (Inside a Lift in Lagos)” – Part 3: The Talking Stage

We didn’t text every day, but when we did — it was sweet.
He’d say things like “I like how your mind works,” or “You’re actually very different.” And those words? They stuck.
In a city where everyone’s rushing, where people barely look up from their phones, it felt good to be seen.

He wasn’t doing too much, but he was doing enough.

One evening, I had a bad day at work. I texted him:
“Lagos tried to finish me today. I’m tired abeg.”
He replied almost instantly:
“Omo. Sorry love. Wish I could bring you cold Fanta and peppered chicken.”
Just words. No action. But tell me why I smiled like a fool reading that?

Another night, we were talking about relationships — somehow we got there.
I asked, “So, are you seeing anyone?”
He paused. Then typed:
“Not really. I’m just focusing on work and peace of mind these days.”
I read that line over and over. Not really.
Why not a straight no? But I let it slide.

That’s the thing about the talking stage.
You’re in just enough to hope, but not deep enough to ask real questions.
You learn to read between lines that don’t exist.
You screenshot convos and send them to your friend with the caption:
“So what do you think this means?”

He never called me “babe.” But he’d say things like:
“I like talking to you. You get me.”
And Lagos can make you starved for softness — so even small affection feels like a feast.

But the cracks were there.

He never made concrete plans. Always “Let’s see how the week goes.”
I’d suggest a place to hang out. He’d say “Sounds dope” — and disappear.
I started second-guessing myself.
Maybe I was asking for too much?
Maybe I should just “go with the flow”?

But deep down… I knew.

The talking stage with Charles was like a Lagos breeze — soft, surprising, and gone before you can hold onto it.

And somehow, the silence felt louder than any breakup ever could.

— Story by Oma. To be continued.
8pm everyday

04/08/2025

Happy lovely Monday morning guys
I called it lovely cos it has been raining since 12am till now
Knacking continues
I hope you are fine over there?

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