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Nelly digitals, Awolowo Street, Barriga, Lagos (2025)

12/12/2025

The AI Mistake Almost Everyone Is Making

The Mistake I Didn’t Know I Was Making”

Blessing thought she was using AI…
but she didn’t realize AI was also quietly defeating her.

Every morning before work, she opened her app, typed a few basic commands, grabbed whatever answer popped up, and rushed through her day. She used AI like Google — fast questions, fast replies, no thinking.

She didn’t experiment.
She didn’t ask follow-up questions.
She didn’t personalize anything.

“AI is simple,” she always said. “You just type something and it gives you something.”

Her co-workers believed the same.
Everyone around her used AI like a vending machine.

Until one Tuesday afternoon.

Her workplace, a small printing shop, had just received a large order: 300 branded notebooks for a local school. The customer wanted a short welcome message printed inside each notebook.

Blessing’s boss handed her the task.

“Write something warm, respectful, and simple. Don’t overdo it.”

She smiled confidently.

“No problem, sir.”

She opened her AI app and typed the most basic thing ever:

“Write a welcome message for school children.”

It gave her a paragraph.
She didn’t read it properly.
She didn’t ask for edits.
She didn’t check the tone.

She copied it and sent it straight to the printing machine.

By the time she saw the final print, her heart dropped.

The message sounded like a politician campaigning for office.
Long, dramatic sentences.
Too serious.
Not child-friendly at all.

Her boss read it slowly, then looked at her with disappointment.

“Blessing… this is not what I wanted.”

Her cheeks burned.
Her stomach twisted.

She rushed back to the AI app, frustrated, embarrassed, and confused.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” she muttered. “Why can’t it ever just give me the right thing?”

But then she stopped.

She remembered a recent post she’d seen online:

“The biggest mistake people make with AI is using it like a search engine instead of a conversation partner.”

A conversation.
Not a command.

She took a deep breath and tried again.

This time she typed:

“Rewrite this message for children aged 5–10.
Use simple English.
Make it warm, short, and friendly.
Make it sound like a big sister talking to them.
Avoid big vocabulary.
Keep it playful but respectful.”

The difference was shocking.

She read the new version and almost cried from relief.
It was perfect — simple, sweet, and exactly what the school needed.

For the first time ever, she realized the truth:

AI wasn’t the problem.
Her instructions were.

That day changed everything.

She began asking AI follow-up questions.
She gave it examples.
She explained the tone she wanted.
She asked it to improve, adjust, shorten, rewrite, and refine.

Every answer got better.
Every task became easier.
Her confidence skyrocketed.

A week later, her boss noticed the improvement.

“You’re getting really good at this AI thing,” he said.

Blessing smiled quietly.

She didn’t tell him the real secret:
She had simply stopped treating AI like a microwave — push one button, walk away — and started treating it like a conversation with a smart assistant.

The mistake everyone makes is expecting AI to read their mind.

But the people who get the best results?

They give AI context…
clarity…
details…
and a chance to improve the answer.

Blessing finally unders
tood:

AI is not magic.
It’s collaboration.
And the difference between frustration and brilliance is simply how you ask.

12/12/2025

A Nigerian Air Force C-130 was forced to land today, December 8, 2025, in Bobo-Dioulasso, Burkina Faso, after what officials described as an in-flight emergency.

Here’s what we know so far:

✈️ Who Was On Board?

The aircraft carried:

2 crew members

9 Nigerian military personnel

🔍 What Triggered the Detention?

Burkinabe authorities launched an investigation immediately after landing.
Their findings: the aircraft did not have authorization to fly over Burkinabe airspace.

📢 Official Reaction

The Confederation of Sahel States (AES) publicly:

Condemned the unauthorized flight

Called it a violation of sovereignty

Announced measures to reinforce airspace security

⚠️ Heightened Security Measures

Under directives from the Heads of State:

Air and anti-air defense systems are now on maximum alert

AES forces have been authorized to neutralize any aircraft entering confederation airspace without clearance

This incident marks a significant escalation in regional airspace enforcement.

What develops next will be critical.

What’s your take on how this situation could impact regional security? Share your thoughts below.

11/12/2025

When Mama Left Without Saying Goodbye**

I still remember that Tuesday like it just happened. The sky wasn’t crying, but my heart was. Mama had been sick, yes, but somehow, we all believed she’d get better. You know how it is — “Na person wey dey alive dey sick.” We thought it was just another phase. We even joked about how she would soon start shouting again because the pepper soup wasn't spicy enough. But life, oh life, no dey always give warning.

That morning, she asked me to make her pap. Weak voice, but her eyes were still sharp. She said, “My pikin, take life easy. Everything wey you dey rush go, no dey run from where e dey hide.” I laughed and said, “Mama, you don start with your parables again.” If I had known that would be the last time I’d hear her voice, maybe I would have stayed longer. Maybe I would have dropped the phone and listened better. But regrets are like old debt — dem no dey go away unless you pay am somehow.

By evening, her breathing slowed. We rushed her to the hospital. The nurse just looked up, shook her head, and said, “She tried.” That was all. No announcement. No final words. Just silence. And you know that kind of silence that’s louder than any shout? That was it. 😔

I broke down. I’m not even ashamed to say it. Grief no dey respect who be man. I cried like the small boy I once was, running behind her wrapper in the village compound. The woman who taught me how to greet elders, who slapped sense into me when I thought I was too wise, who prayed for me in whispers every night — she just disappeared. No warning, no goodbye. Just like that.

For weeks, I couldn’t function. People kept saying, “Be strong.” But what does that even mean? Strength is not the absence of tears. Sometimes, being strong is getting up to brush your teeth even when you don’t feel like breathing.

One day, I sat on her bed and found her old wrapper, the blue one she always wore on Sunday mornings. As I held it, I remembered her favorite saying: “Person wey no get home no fit know when rain start.” 🌧 It hit me — I was too caught up in Lagos life, too busy chasing money and status, forgetting that life is not in the destination but the moments in between. Mama *was* my home, and now she was gone.

Since then, I’ve changed. I call my siblings more. I check up on people, even if it’s just a “hope you’re good.” I stop to listen. I slow down. Because this life, my brother, my sister — e no balance. One minute you dey laugh, next minute, silence.

If you’re reading this, call your parents. Hug your children tighter. Apologize if you have to. Say the things you keep postponing. Because time no dey take permission before e waka comot. ⏳

Mama may be gone, but her words remain. Life is not always fair, but wisdom is knowing that every loss carries a lesson. The people we love become stories, and how we tell those stories is how we keep them alive. As Mama would say, “Light wey shine for one person fit show road for others.” 🕯 I just hope my story lights up something in you.

11/12/2025

The Phone Call I Ignored**

I was in the middle of a Zoom call when my phone lit up: *"Mummy Calling."* I saw it, glanced at my boss on the screen, and swiped it away. I’d call her back later, I told myself. She called again. I declined. I figured she was probably just asking if I’d eaten 🍲 or maybe telling me someone from the village died. You know how Nigerian mums are — always calling at the wrong time but for the right reasons.

That was the last time her name ever showed on my screen 📱.

Later that night, as I was about to finally return her call, my sister's number came through. I picked, casually saying, “Hello? I was just about to call Mummy—” but the other end was silent except for deep breathing. Then she spoke, “Mummy collapsed this evening. They rushed her to the hospital. It’s bad.” The words didn’t land at first. My heart froze 🥶. My ears rang. I kept repeating, “Are you serious?” as if that would undo the truth.

By the time I got to the hospital, the light in my mother’s eyes was gone 💔. Machines were doing the breathing. The woman who always knew when something was wrong with me didn’t even know I was standing next to her.

It broke me. I couldn’t cry. Not yet. I just stared at her hand and remembered how she used to call me “My king.” She didn’t have much education, but she was wise. She once told me, “Any time you hear my voice, remember say I fit no dey forever.” I had laughed and brushed it off.

That night, I cried like a child 😭. Not because she died, but because I ignored her when she was still alive. I had the chance to hear her voice again — twice. But I let “work” take priority. I let “I’ll call back” become a lifetime of silence 🔕.

Grief isn’t just the pain of losing someone. Sometimes, it’s the guilt of how you lost them. It’s the echo of what you didn’t say, the call you didn’t return, the visit you kept postponing. Since that day, I don’t ignore calls from my family 📞. I don’t wait for the “right moment” to show love. Because I’ve learned that time doesn’t knock before it walks away 🕰️.

If you’re reading this and you’ve been ignoring someone’s call, especially your parents — stop. Pick up. Say hello. Ask how they’re doing. It could be the last time you get that chance. Life has no pause button. And sometimes, the things we postpone become the things we regret.

Today, I keep my mum’s number saved. I can’t bring myself to delete it. Sometimes I dial it just to hear, “The number you have dialed is not available.” It hurts, but it reminds me. Don’t take love for granted. Don’t postpone presence. Because when people are gone, all we have left are missed calls and memories 🌙.

📞 Pick up. Before it's too late.

11/12/2025

If a stranger commits a crime with a SIM card… YOU could be the one the police come for.
Most people don’t realize this until it’s too late.

Last week, someone shared a scary experience with me:
They were contacted because a SIM card—registered with their NIN—was linked to a fraudulent transaction.
The shocking part?
They had never owned that number.

This is happening more often because some SIM registration agents reuse customers’ details to activate new SIMs for other people.
And when one of those numbers is used for something illegal…
👉 it traces back to YOU.

WHAT YOU MUST DO NOW:
Take 2 minutes today to check every phone number connected to your NIN.
If you see any number you don’t recognize, take it seriously and report it immediately.
Protect yourself before a problem you didn’t create becomes yours.

👉 If you don’t know how to check it, I’ve dropped simple step-by-step instructions in the comments

11/12/2025

📌 **She Died Without Seeing It**

After six years abroad, I was finally coming home 🇳🇬. I imagined Mama waiting at the airport, wrapper tied firmly around her waist, eyes shining, arms open. I pictured her shouting, “My pikin don come back o!” The thought gave me strength through all those lonely years.

I bought her a gold necklace — nothing too flashy, just something special. She used to love small, elegant things. “No be gold make woman fine, na the memory wey come with am,” she always said.

The night before my flight, I couldn’t sleep. I kept imagining her reaction, the food she’d cook, how she’d touch my face and say, “You don add weight o!” I rehearsed the surprise, practiced how I’d sneak into the compound and call her name. Everything was set.

Then my cousin called. “Bro… she no make am.” Just like that.

My ears went deaf. “Which kind joke be this?” I asked, pacing. He said nothing. Only silence and shallow breathing.

Mama had a stroke that morning. Died before they could even get her to the hospital. I was 24 hours late. One day.

I didn’t cancel the flight. I came home anyway. But instead of surprising her with a necklace, I was handed a black wrapper and told to kneel beside her casket 🕊️. My plans dissolved in sorrow.

They said she’d been praying for me that same morning. She even told a neighbor, “My son dey come soon. I go dance tire.” She never got to dance 💔.

At her burial, I slipped the necklace into her coffin. She didn’t see it. But maybe, just maybe, she felt it. Maybe she knew I came.

I realized that day that life is painfully unpredictable. You can plan for joy and still meet grief at the door. I kept thinking, *If only I had come last week… if only she held on a bit longer.*

But life doesn’t deal in “if onlys.” It moves. And sometimes, it moves without you.

Now, I call home more often. I visit when I can. I don’t wait for the perfect time to show love. Because sometimes, love arrives too late — dressed in black and holding regrets.

So if your mum is still alive, surprise her today 🌺. Don’t wait till everything is perfect. Sometimes, they just want to know you’re trying.

She never saw the necklace. But she gave me something more valuable — a lesson I’ll never forget: *Love loud, love now, love while they’re still here.*

11/12/2025

Need fresh ideas, better content, or faster workflows?
I just shared 20 free AI prompts that make everything easier.
Simple, practical, and beginner-friendly.
👇 Check the comment section to get them. 👇

10/12/2025

If you’ve been staring at a blank screen wondering what to post, what to write, or how to get your ideas out…
👉 These 7 prompts will change everything.

They’re clean.
They’re practical.
They’re copy-and-paste ready.
And they’ll make AI feel like your personal assistant.

I put them all together for you — and they’re waiting in the comments.
👇👇👇

➡️ Go check the first comment to get the full “AI Prompt Power Pack.”

Let me know which one is your favorite! 🔥

ChatGPT can make mistakes. Check important info.

10/12/2025

Most people struggle with AI because they don’t know what to ask.
So I created a 20-prompt starter pack you can copy/paste and use immediately.
Perfect for productivity, content, planning, and everyday life.
👇 Grab it in the comments

10/12/2025

*The Night My Father Cried*** 🧓🏽

African fathers rarely cry. Mine never did—until that night. We had just been thrown out of our one-room apartment because of unpaid rent. I was 14. My siblings were crying, confused. My mother held her wrapper tighter, trying to calm everyone down. But my father? He sat outside on a broken wooden bench, his face buried in his hands. That was the first time I saw his shoulders shake. No words. Just tears. And that changed something in me.

You see, growing up, he was our shield. A man of few words, but a mountain of strength. He never showed fear, not even when we had nothing. So when he cried, I knew it was serious. I asked him, “Daddy, are we going to sleep outside?” He nodded slightly, then said, “I’m sorry.” That broke me more than the homelessness. That night, we slept on our neighbor’s corridor. We used sacks of rice as pillows, and my little brother held onto me all night, whispering, “I’m scared.” My dad didn’t sleep. He sat, staring into the darkness like he was arguing with God. 🌑

The next morning, he left early. By evening, he returned with a promise: “Give me time.” That time became fuel for me. I saw the giant in my father reduced to a beggar of hope, and I swore I’d never let it happen again. I started shining shoes after school. Every ₦50 mattered. I studied like my life depended on it. I didn’t have big dreams—just survival. But pain has a way of sharpening purpose. 🙇🏽‍♂️

Years passed. I got a scholarship. First in the family to go to university. I studied Engineering, and every exam I passed felt like I was building a home, brick by brick. After NYSC, I worked as an intern, then saved for two years. The day I signed the rent for our 3-bedroom flat in Ikorodu, I didn’t tell anyone. I handed my father the keys and watched his face turn blank, then break into the softest smile I’ve ever seen. “For us?” he asked. “For you,” I said. He sat on the floor and cried again. This time, tears of joy. 🏠

That moment reminded me: Even the strongest men have breaking points. Poverty doesn’t ask if you’re proud—it strips you until all you have left is dignity, and even that’s tested. But pain can also become power if you let it shape you instead of destroy you.

To every young person reading this: If your father ever cried in silence, build something loud in his name. Let your success shout what his pride couldn’t say. And if your father is no longer here, live in a way that makes his name ring with honor, not pity. 💔➡️❤️

10/12/2025

The Sound of Mama’s Bucket*** 🪣💧

I was ten the first time I understood what sacrifice looked like. Not from a textbook, or some motivational speech, but from the sound of my mother’s aluminium bucket hitting the ground at 4:30am. That sound became our morning alarm.

We lived in a small face-me-I-face-you compound in Mushin, where space was tight, tempers tighter, and water even tighter. Mama used to wake before everyone else, wrap her faded Ankara around her waist, and begin the daily battle for water. If you came late, no water for you.

I once asked her, “Why can’t we just buy a pumping machine like those people in Lekki?” She laughed, that tired laugh she always gave when she was holding back tears. “My pikin, na who dey chop chicken dey talk chicken talk. For now, we dey chop fish head.” 🐟

She never complained. Even when her hands cracked from too much soap and cold water, even when she missed church because the woman that sells ogi at the junction paid her to help wash clothes. She never said “I’m tired.” But we saw it in her eyes. I used to think she was just strong. Now I know, she was simply desperate for us to have a life better than hers. 💪🏽

One day, rain fell heavily. Mama still went out. I asked her why she wouldn’t rest. Her reply stayed with me: “The day wey poor man rest, na hunger go take over.” That day, she came back soaked, shivering, but smiling. She had managed to wash uniforms for three families. That meant beans and bread for dinner instead of just garri. 🍞

Fast forward to now, I’m sitting in a fully air-conditioned office in Victoria Island, sipping coffee that cost more than Mama’s daily profit from akara. My colleagues argue about crypto and vacation spots in Zanzibar. Me? I think about that bucket. That sound. That woman. 🏢

I recently called Mama and told her I was flying her to Dubai. Silence. Then laughter. “So I go enter plane like film people?” she said. I could hear the disbelief in her voice. But when I got home that weekend and handed her the ticket, she held it like it was the Bible. Then she hugged me and said something I’ll never forget: “You don dey reap the tears wey I plant.” ✈️

You see, not all heroes wear capes. Some wear torn wrappers and carry buckets. Some skip meals so you won’t sleep hungry. Some bend so you can stand. If your parents are still alive, honour them. If they’re late, live in a way that their name brings pride, not pity. 🧕🏽❤️

There’s a Yoruba proverb that says, *“Ti a bá mọ iye ti iya fi ṣe iya, a máa bọ lẹsẹ̀ rẹ̀ lojoojúmọ́”* — If we understood the price our mothers paid to be mothers, we would bow at their feet daily.

This story isn’t to boast. It’s a reminder. That behind every quiet mother, there’s a thunderous story of survival. That your small wins may be the harvest of their silent tears. And that sometimes, success is not found in titles or trending hashtags, but in the soft joy of telling the one who raised you: “We made it.” 🕊️

10/12/2025

*When Bread Was Luxury*** 🍞

In 2007, I remember staring at a loaf of bread like it was gold. Mama had just returned from her fifth cleaning job that week. Her wrapper was soaked in sweat, her hands smelled of detergent and hard work, and all she could afford was one small loaf. Four kids, one loaf. No butter, no tea. Just bread and our imagination.

We called it "feast" because anything other than garri was a miracle. That day, she sliced it into the thinnest pieces, each barely more than a shadow. But her smile was full, as if we were eating at a hotel buffet. I once asked her why she smiled so much when things were hard. She replied, “If I frown, you go chop sadness join the hunger?” That was Mama—always wrapping pain in laughter.

I told her once, “One day I’ll build you a bakery, so you’ll never have to buy bread again.” She looked at me with those tired, faith-filled eyes and said, “Dream first. Hunger no dey kill dream if your head strong.” I didn’t forget that. 🙏🏽

We lived in a compound where success felt like fiction. Neighbours gossiped, uncles disappeared when school fees came up, and shame sat with us like an invisible roommate. But Mama never let our environment define our mindset. “This poverty na cloth, e no be skin. One day you go pull am off,” she’d say.

I started selling sachet water at age 12. After school, I’d hustle under the sun with a bucket on my head and fire in my heart. I used to hide from my classmates—embarrassed, angry, even ashamed. But Mama would hug me at night and say, “Na small shame dey follow big blessing.” 🌞

Years passed. I hawked, tutored kids, did odd jobs, and studied hard. I failed my first JAMB. Mama cooked jollof that night. I was confused. She said, “Na you fail, no be your destiny.” That gave me fuel. I tried again. I got into school. I studied accounting, walked long distances to save transport fare, and sold recharge cards to survive.

Fast forward to today: I manage my own mini supermarket. Bread arrives in bulk. I don’t just buy it—I supply it. Mama doesn’t pay for bread anymore. She gets the freshest loaves, every morning. Sometimes, I watch her tear off a piece and eat slowly, like it’s still a treasure. Maybe it always will be. 🛒

Just last month, I surprised her with a trip to Abeokuta. Her first real vacation. She asked if she could bring bread along. I laughed. She wasn’t joking. “Bread still taste better when person no suffer to get am,” she said. True talk.

This story isn’t just about bread. It’s about every child who knew what it meant to eat silently because there wasn’t enough. Every parent who pretended they weren’t hungry so their child could eat. Every family that measured joy by crumbs, not plenty.

We didn’t have much, but we had hope. We had love. And sometimes, that’s enough to turn a single loaf into a lifetime of lessons. 🍽️

Never forget where you started. Even when the table is full, remember the days you ate hope for dinner. That’s what keeps you human.

📌 **The Seat Beside Me**

Every Sunday morning, she’d race me to the car. My daughter. Seven years old, all teeth and questions. “Daddy, why is the sky blue?” “Why do leaves fall?” I’d smile and answer them all 🌤️.

She always sat by the window — her favorite seat. She liked watching people from there. It became her throne.

Then came the fever. Malaria, they said. We caught it early. Gave her drugs. She smiled less, but she said, “Daddy, I’m fine.” I believed her.

Three days later, she slept and didn’t wake up.

We buried her under a tree behind Grandma’s house. Her teddy bear went in with her.

The next Sunday, I drove to church alone. Out of habit, I looked to the window seat. Empty. That’s when the tears came. Not in buckets. Quietly. Like drizzle.

Grief is not always loud. Sometimes it just sits beside you — like an empty seat in a car 🚗.

Now, I answer every question my nieces ask. I hug tighter. I pray louder. I cherish slower. Because that little voice? I miss it every day.

If you’re a parent, slow down. Hold them longer. Listen deeper. No moment is too small. Every “why” is a gift.

rief

Nelly digitals

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