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Community Reporters, Port Harcourt (2026)

17/03/2026

AFCON Final Controversy: A Defining Moment for African Football

By Kingdom Chieche Nwafor

The decision by the Confederation of African Football to overturn the Africa Cup of Nations final result between Senegal and Morocco has sent shockwaves across the continent. What should have remained a celebration of football has suddenly turned into a debate about authority, fairness, and the very soul of the game in Africa. By stripping Senegal of their victory and awarding Morocco a three-nil win on disciplinary grounds, CAF has not only rewritten the outcome of a match but has also triggered a wider conversation that goes far beyond ninety minutes of football.

From a sporting standpoint, the ruling is rooted in law and regulation. Football, like any organized competition, depends on rules to maintain order, and the act of walking off the pitch is considered a serious violation. CAF’s position suggests that no matter how intense the moment becomes, teams are expected to uphold discipline until the final whistle. However, the difficulty lies in reconciling the rigidity of rules with the unpredictable emotional reality of football. The Senegalese players did not simply abandon the game in a vacuum. Their actions were reportedly driven by protest, by a sense of injustice in a high-stakes moment where emotions were running at their peak. When such a situation is judged purely on technical grounds, it creates the impression that the human element of the sport has been ignored. The match was played, the result was initially decided on the pitch, and yet history has now been altered in an office. This raises an uncomfortable question about whether football outcomes in Africa can truly be said to belong to the players and not the administrators.

Emotionally, the impact of this decision may prove even more damaging than its sporting consequences. Football in Africa is deeply tied to national pride and collective identity. For Senegalese supporters, the reversal of their team’s victory is not just a loss of a trophy but a painful erasure of a moment that had already been celebrated and internalized. The sense of injustice is likely to linger, feeding narratives of betrayal and mistrust toward governing institutions. On the other side, Moroccan fans find themselves in a complicated position. While they have been officially declared champions, the manner of the victory may feel incomplete, as it lacks the finality and satisfaction that comes from triumphing unequivocally on the field of play. What emerges from this situation is not a clear winner and loser, but a shared sense of unease that cuts across both camps. When fans begin to question whether results are secure or subject to reversal, the emotional contract between the sport and its followers begins to weaken.

The political undertones of this decision cannot be ignored, especially within the African context where football administration often intersects with broader questions of power and perception. CAF is not just a regulatory body; it is an institution whose legitimacy depends heavily on how its decisions are received by the public. In situations like this, even a technically correct ruling can be politically costly if it is perceived as lacking transparency or fairness. Across the continent, there will be debates about whether the decision reflects consistent application of the rules or whether it exposes deeper structural issues within African football governance. The absence of absolute trust in institutions often leads people to interpret decisions through regional or political lenses, and this case is unlikely to be different. If CAF is seen as distant or unaccountable, the fallout may extend beyond this single tournament and affect its authority in future competitions.

Looking ahead, this moment may become a turning point for African football. It presents an opportunity for serious introspection about how the game is managed at the highest level. There is an urgent need to strengthen officiating standards so that controversial moments are minimized before they escalate into full-blown crises. At the same time, governing bodies must find a way to balance discipline with empathy, ensuring that rules are enforced without completely disregarding the context in which incidents occur. Players and teams will also have to adjust, knowing that acts of protest, no matter how justified they may seem in the moment, can carry consequences that extend far beyond the pitch. This could lead to a more controlled and cautious environment, but it also risks suppressing the emotional authenticity that makes African football unique and captivating.

Ultimately, the credibility of African football on the global stage is at stake. The continent has long battled stereotypes about organization and governance, and incidents of this magnitude have the potential to reinforce those perceptions if not handled with clarity and transparency. Sponsors, international partners, and global audiences are all watching closely, and their confidence in African competitions depends on the belief that the game is fair, consistent, and professionally managed.

In the end, the controversy surrounding this AFCON final is not just about who holds the trophy. It is about the delicate balance between law and emotion, authority and trust, structure and spirit. CAF has made a decision that will stand in the records, but the deeper question is whether that decision will strengthen or weaken the bond between African football and its millions of passionate supporters. What happens next will determine whether this moment is remembered as a necessary assertion of order or as a turning point that exposed the fragile foundations of the game on the continent.

Kingdom Chieche Nwafor is a public affairs commentator based in Abuja.

13/02/2026

The Richest Place on Earth Isn’t a Bank, It’s the Grave

By Thomas Danjuma Abu

For over two years, I have been observing something profound—something the world needs to hear: no human being is exactly like another. Not in thought. Not in ability. Not in purpose.

Look around you—the watch on your wrist, the shoes you wear, the books you read, the houses you live in. None of these exist by accident. Each is a message delivered by a human being who saw a need, acted, and left a legacy.

“You Are a Message the World Can’t Afford to Miss.”

Life is too big to reduce it to merely eating, sleeping, entertaining ourselves, and dying. Every human being arrives carrying a message for their generation.

If there are over 8 billion people on the planet today, then by conviction, there are 8 billion ideas—unique, unrepeated, and capable of changing the world.

“8 Billion People, 8 Billion Ideas—Are You Using Yours?”

“The Solution You’re Searching For Could Be You.”

Consider the wisdom of Helen Keller, who said:

“The only thing worse than being blind is having sight without vision.”

I first heard this from my course mate, Theophilus Ego, Special Assistant to Ahmed Wadada. Millions live with eyes that see but lack direction—alive, yet not aligned; existing, yet not expressing.

History reminds us through Moses that the tools for our destiny are often already in our hands. The rod Moses used to part the Red Sea had been with him for years. Ordinary. Overlooked. Until its purpose was revealed.

“What’s in Your Hand Might Just Change the World.”

Too many delay purpose waiting for “perfect” conditions—money, recognition, or permission. Destiny often begins with what you already carry.

“You Were Sent Here for a Reason—Stop Waiting.”

“Your Purpose Isn’t Optional. It’s Urgent.”

“Don’t Die Without Delivering Your Message.”

“Full Lives, Silent Souls: Don’t Let This Be You.”

Some of the problems we complain about, we are not just witnesses of—we are the custodians of their solutions. God does not send answers without sending people.

You were not sent empty-handed. You were not created by accident. You are a message.

The world is waiting.

25/12/2025

Governor Fubara and Membership of APC Reconciliation Committee: Who will reconcile the reconciler?

By Kingdom Chieche Nwafor

The recent inauguration of the All Progressives Congress (APC) Committee on Strategy, Conflict Resolution and Mobilisation by President Bola Ahmed Tinubu is, on the surface, a commendable attempt to impose internal discipline and unity ahead of the 2027 general elections. However, buried within the long list of eminent party leaders and governors is a politically ironic inclusion that raises more questions than answers: the membership of Rivers State Governor, Siminalayi Fubara.

The irony is stark. Governor Fubara, who is himself embroiled in one of the most publicised and destabilising political crises in Rivers State, has now been appointed to reconcile others within the APC. This development compels a fundamental question: who will reconcile Governor Fubara with the political stakeholders in his own state?

A Reconciler in Need of Reconciliation

Conflict resolution is not merely about occupying a seat on a committee; it is about moral authority, political balance, and demonstrated capacity to build consensus. In Rivers State today, governance is deeply entangled with factional battles, broken alliances, legislative paralysis, and a cold war between former allies. The state has become a theatre of political estrangement rather than inclusion.

Against this backdrop, Governor Fubara’s appointment to a national reconciliation committee appears premature at best and contradictory at worst. One would expect that a leader tasked with reconciling others should first demonstrate reconciliation at home. Rivers State remains divided, and the political wounds are still fresh and bleeding.

APC’s Strategic Gamble or Political Optics?

President Tinubu’s broader message at the APC NEC meeting—calling for tolerance, accommodation, and resilience—was statesmanlike and timely. The APC indeed needs cohesion to survive the internal fractures threatening its electoral future. However, reconciliation efforts must be seen to be credible.

By appointing a governor currently struggling with internal party harmony and state-level political cohesion, the APC risks turning a serious reconciliation initiative into a symbolic gesture rather than a functional mechanism. It raises the suspicion that political optics, balance of power, and elite appeasement may have outweighed practical conflict-resolution considerations.

Rivers State as the Unresolved Test Case

Rivers State should ideally be a pilot case for reconciliation within the APC framework. If reconciliation cannot be achieved in a state governed by a member of the very committee designed to resolve conflicts, then the committee’s effectiveness nationwide becomes questionable.

The pressing concern is not whether Governor Fubara deserves a seat at the national table—he does—but whether the APC is willing to confront the contradictions that his inclusion exposes. Political leadership demands introspection. One cannot pour from an empty cup.

The Way Forward

For the APC reconciliation committee to succeed, it must avoid selective blindness. Reconciliation must begin at home, not end at Abuja or Lagos. Governor Fubara’s role on the committee should come with an unspoken but urgent responsibility: to initiate genuine dialogue, de-escalation, and political healing in Rivers State.

Only then can his voice carry the weight required to reconcile others.

Until Rivers State finds peace within itself, the question will linger—uncomfortably but legitimately:

Who will reconcile the reconciler?

18/12/2025

Senator Kingibe’s Senate Drama and the Road to Political Exit

By Kingdom Chieche Nwafor

The drama that unfolded on the Senate floor was never really about waste management, land revocation, or legislative urgency. It was about 2027. Senator Ireti Kingibe knows one hard political truth: Nyesom Wike will not support her re-election, and she is painfully aware of the weight that reality carries in Abuja politics. Everything else has merely been camouflage.

From the moment it became clear that Wike would not align with her political future, Kingibe has pursued a singular strategy — discredit him before Abuja residents by every means possible. Each Senate motion, each media appearance, each public outburst has been carefully framed to cast the FCT minister as incompetent, authoritarian, or insensitive. But politics is not a game of noise; it is a contest of structure, timing, and influence. And in every step, she has failed.

Wike understands her antics. More importantly, he is always ahead of her. He anticipates the attacks, absorbs them, and moves on with the confidence of a man who knows the terrain and controls the levers of power. While Kingibe shouts, Wike consolidates. While she dramatises, he executes. Abuja residents can see the difference.

This is why her latest confrontation with Senate President Godswill Akpabio was so revealing. By forcing her personal vendetta into a poorly constructed motion under “urgent national importance,” Kingibe crossed a dangerous line — mixing irreconcilable personal differences with her constitutional legislative duties. That is not courage. That is desperation.

The Senate did not stop her because it was shielding Wike. It stopped her because the motion was procedurally defective and politically transparent. Bundling waste management, demolitions, unpaid salaries, contractor mobilisation, land reallocations, and university land issues into one hurried motion was not legislative oversight; it was legislative abuse.

Her defiant declaration — “I will not withdraw it” — was not a stand for principle. It was theatre. The kind of theatre politicians resort to when substance has failed and relevance is slipping away. The Senate offered her a lawful, dignified path: return with a substantive motion, properly focused and properly noticed. She complied, but only after extracting maximum drama for the cameras.

This pattern has defined her tenure. Since 2023, Kingibe has turned her feud with Wike into a permanent political project. Insecurity in Abuja? Wike. Poor lighting? Wike. Administrative decisions she dislikes? Wike. Governance has become secondary to grievance. Oversight has been replaced with obsession.

Her nostalgia-driven comparisons with former FCT minister Nasir El-Rufai lack context and data, serving only to romanticise the past while failing to engage the present. Worse still was her public admission that she once reported Wike to the Senate President over a cut phone call. That single revelation stripped her posture of seriousness. Oversight does not operate on wounded pride.

Wike’s response — accusing her of owing and mistreating legislative aides — further exposed the hollowness of this rivalry. At that point, it ceased to be about policy and became a character war. And character wars are usually fought by politicians who know the numbers are no longer on their side.

The truth is uncomfortable but unavoidable: Senator Kingibe is fighting a battle she cannot win. Abuja politics is not sentimental, and voters are not blind. They can separate personal bitterness from performance. They can see who is working and who is posturing.

Mixing personal vendetta with legislative duty is not only irresponsible; it is often the final signal of political exhaustion. This latest Senate episode was not bravery. It was the last kick of a dying horse.

Perhaps it is time for Senator Kingibe to start packing her bags. Come 2027, the Senate chamber may no longer be her stage. Nigerian politics has little patience for politicians who mistake noise for influence and drama for delivery.

History is ruthless in its judgments. And it rarely offers second chances to those who confuse personal survival with public service.

18/12/2025

Malami’s Sudden Discovery of the Rule of Law: When Power Changes Hands, Conscience Awakens

By Kingdom Chieche Nwafor

Abubakar Malami, SAN’s latest press release reads like a tragic irony dressed in legal jargon. A man who presided over one of the most aggressive eras of executive impunity in Nigeria now seeks refuge in constitutionalism, human rights, and the doctrine of recusal. This is not justice speaking; it is power lamenting its loss.

For eight solid years as Attorney-General of the Federation, Malami was not a bystander to injustice—he was its chief legal architect and enabler. Court orders were routinely disobeyed, citizens were detained endlessly without trial, selective prosecutions flourished, and “trial by media” became state policy. Voices that cried for constitutional protections were either ignored or crushed under the weight of executive arrogance. Today, the same Malami suddenly remembers Sections 35 and 36 of the Constitution he helped hollow out.

His appeal to Chapter 9 of the Salami Report is particularly revealing. Malami argues that a “reasonable apprehension of bias” exists because the EFCC Chairman once served as Secretary to a commission established under his supervision. But Malami forgets—or pretends to forget—that under his watch, Nigeria prosecuted, detained, and vilified political opponents without regard for perceived bias, conflict of interest, or due process. The standard he now invokes was never applied when he wielded power.

This is why the public finds it difficult to sympathise.

The claim of a “personal vendetta masquerading as law enforcement” might deserve legal examination in a neutral vacuum. But Nigeria does not exist in a vacuum; it exists in memory. Nigerians remember how state power was weaponised during Malami’s tenure—how lawful policy decisions were criminalised selectively, how lawful court orders were ignored conveniently, and how human rights were treated as inconveniences rather than guarantees.

To now posture as a victim of the same system he supervised is not moral awakening—it is poetic justice.

This moment is not about whether Malami deserves rights. He does. Rights are universal, not conditional. But what Nigerians are witnessing is something deeper: the law of karma in a system where power rotates but consequences eventually arrive. Nigeria’s “breakfast” is indeed turn by turn.

Malami is not crying because the system is unjust; he is crying because the system he once controlled no longer favours him.

If there is any lesson here, it is this: institutions weakened to persecute enemies will eventually consume their architects. The rule of law is not a fire extinguisher to be deployed only when one’s own house is burning. It is a covenant that must be respected consistently—or it will return, mercilessly, to demand its due.

Nigeria is watching. History is recording. And for once, the script has flipped.

18/12/2025

Yilwatda, Rivers State, and the Arrogance of Power: When History Is Ignored, Consequences Follow

By Kingdom Chieche Nwafor

The sudden and aggressive interest of the National Chairman of the All Progressives Congress (APC), Professor Nentawe Goshwe Yilwatda, in the politics of Rivers State is not only curious but deeply troubling. The speed at which Yilwatda has embraced Rivers State politics suggests urgency without understanding — a dangerous combination in a state where political miscalculations are rarely forgiven.

Rivers State is not a political orphan waiting to be adopted by Abuja power brokers. It is a politically sophisticated state with a long memory, entrenched structures, and kingmakers who decide electoral outcomes long before campaign posters hit the streets. Any national party chairman who ignores this reality does so at his own peril.

One fundamental mistake being made is the assumption that having a sitting governor automatically guarantees electoral victory. Rivers State history clearly disproves this illusion. The state has largely remained under PDP control over the years not because of party logos, but because power flows through deeply rooted local structures, alliances, and influence networks that cannot be dismantled by sudden defections or elite handshakes.

As it stands today, Governor Siminalayi Fubara cannot even confidently deliver himself in an election, let alone command the political machinery required to deliver votes for others. Political authority in Rivers State is not defined solely by occupying Government House. It is defined by control of structures, loyalty of political foot soldiers, and acceptance by power blocs that truly matter.

Rivers politics has many actors, but only a few decisive players determine where the pendulum swings in every election cycle. These players are neither impressed by national titles nor swayed by sudden political romance. They respond only to strategy, respect, and long-term engagement — not haste driven by ambition or misplaced confidence.

If the rumours filtering through political circles are anything to go by, then Professor Yilwatda may be walking a path that could unknowingly weaken, rather than strengthen, the APC in Rivers State. The party has suffered similar strategic blunders in the past — mistaking temporary alignments for genuine grassroots acceptance. Rivers State has consistently punished such errors.

One is left to wonder what assurances or incentives Governor Fubara might have offered that has made the APC National Chairman run faster than his own shadow. Whatever it may be, history teaches us one immutable lesson: Rivers State politics has never been determined by external influence or Abuja-driven enthusiasm. Every attempt to impose outcomes from outside has ended in political embarrassment.

Professor Yilwatda should be reminded that political history is unforgiving. Titles expire, alliances shift, and today’s applause can quickly turn into tomorrow’s silence. Rivers State has shown, time and again, that it does not reward political arrogance.

Mr. National Chairman, sir, slow down. Do not step on the same banana peel that sent others through the exit door before their time. History is not a respecter of office, position, or overconfidence. It only respects those who understand it — and those who ignore it are eventually taught painful lessons.

16/12/2025

Nigeria Football Federation and the Culture of Deception: Who Are We Really Fooling?

By Kingdom Chieche Nwafor

The recent Punch Newspaper report titled “Nigeria hope of going to World 2026 Cup Still Alive” is not just misleading—it is insulting to the intelligence of Nigerians. The story claims that Nigeria’s World Cup qualification hopes may be revived through a petition filed by the Nigeria Football Federation (NFF) against DR Congo over the alleged use of ineligible players in their one-legged qualifying match played in Morocco in November 2025.

According to the NFF, some DR Congo players did not renounce their former citizenship before switching allegiance, an act they claim violates the Congolese constitution, which frowns on dual citizenship. On this shaky foundation, the NFF is asking Nigerians to believe that qualification could come not from goals scored on the pitch, but from legal arguments off it. Who exactly are we trying to fool?

FIFA, the only body empowered to determine player eligibility, has already cleared these players based on the rules and documentation available to it. Football is governed by FIFA statutes, not by the internal constitutional arrangements of sovereign states. If FIFA approved these players, what business does Nigeria have attempting to override that decision using another country’s domestic laws?

More troubling is the hypocrisy. Nigeria, a country where constitutional breaches are routinely justified under so-called “doctrines of necessity,” suddenly wants to play the role of constitutional police. When it suits us, we excuse our own violations; when we fail on the field, we weaponize another country’s constitution. This is not sportsmanship—it is desperation dressed as legality.

Let us be honest: if DR Congo chose to interpret or even bend its own constitution in the interest of its national team, that decision is theirs to defend before their citizens, not Nigeria’s. International football does not operate on selective morality. You cannot lose on the pitch and then seek justice in technicalities you have never respected at home.

This petition reeks of what Nigerians have come to recognize too well—cover-up. The NFF is attempting to divert attention from its own atrocities: years of poor administration, lack of long-term planning, constant coaching instability, and blatant incompetence. Rather than accept responsibility for failing the Super Eagles, the same old men at the helm are selling false hope to an already frustrated nation.

This is where the cruelty lies. Over 200 million Nigerians, battered by economic hardship and political failure, still cling to sports as one of the last unifying forces. To toy with that hope—by promoting the illusion of World Cup qualification through petitions—is emotional blackmail of the highest order.

Nations qualify for the World Cup by merit, not manipulation. Great footballing countries build systems; failed administrators file petitions. Nigeria’s football problem has never been DR Congo, FIFA, or ineligible players—it has always been the Nigeria Football Federation itself.

Until Nigerian sports are cleansed of deception, excuse-making, and recycled leadership, every World Cup campaign will end the same way: failure on the pitch, followed by lies off it. The real question remains unanswered—who are we really fooling?

16/12/2025

Defending Power, Betraying Identity: Joe Igbokwe and the Cost of Political Loyalty

By Kingdom Chieche Nwafor

Joe Igbokwe’s public complaint that he worked tirelessly for the APC with hopes of becoming an ambassador, only to be ignored, is more than personal disappointment. It is a political irony years in the making. A man who consistently defended power against his own people has now tasted the same system he protected.

Based in Lagos, deep within Yoruba political space, Joe Igbokwe chose ambition over identity. In his quest for relevance and appointment, he positioned himself as one of the loudest defenders of the APC and the Tinubu-led federal government, often at the expense of Igbo interests in Lagos and beyond.

At critical moments when Igbo people faced political hostility, marginalization, or targeted rhetoric, Igbokwe was not neutral — he was confrontational. He attacked Igbo voices who spoke up. He dismissed concerns. He mocked dissent. His loyalty was not to justice, but to power.

Most striking was his defense of the continued detention and sentencing of Mazi Nnamdi Kanu, leader of the Indigenous People of Biafra. While many Igbo leaders demanded fairness and due process, Igbokwe chose to side fully with the federal government, echoing its justifications and silencing opposing voices.

Anyone who criticized the APC or questioned the Tinubu administration became his target. Activists, commentators, and concerned citizens were branded enemies. In his political calculation, defending power loudly was the price to pay for future reward.

That reward never came.

Now, faced with exclusion from ambassadorial nominations, the tone has changed. The same government once praised without restraint is now questioned. The system once described as just has suddenly become unfair — but only because it failed to deliver personal benefit.

This is the danger of transactional loyalty without principles. When politics is built on self-interest rather than conviction, disappointment is inevitable. Power does not reward noise; it rewards usefulness at the moment it needs you.

Igbokwe’s experience is not unique. It reflects a wider pattern where individuals sacrifice identity, conscience, and community for proximity to power — only to be discarded when they are no longer needed.

The tragedy is not that Joe Igbokwe was denied an appointment. The tragedy is that, in seeking it, he alienated his people, defended policies that hurt them, and weakened his own moral standing.

In the end, this is not a story of betrayal by government alone. It is a story of self-betrayal — and the heavy cost of choosing power over people.

Joe Igbokwe has been served breakfast. Not by his critics, but by the very system he defended.

16/12/2025

Who Plans Nigeria’s Tomorrow When Yesterday’s Men Hold Power?

By Kingdom Chieche Nwafor

A nation’s future cannot be sustainably planned by leaders who may never live to see that future. This is not an attack on age, nor a dismissal of experience. It is a sober question about capacity, accountability, and responsibility in a country whose tomorrow is already under severe strain.

Nigeria has, over the years, developed a troubling habit of entrusting its most critical public offices to elderly men battling visible health challenges. Too often, these tenures end not with transparent transitions or public accountability, but with prolonged illness, quiet exits, or death. When leadership exits power through hospital wards or graveyards, accountability usually disappears with it.

The late President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua remains a defining case study. His illness, hidden from the public for months, left the nation effectively leaderless and exposed the fragility of Nigeria’s institutions. Governance stalled, constitutional order was tested, and by the time reality could no longer be concealed, the nation had already paid a heavy price. Yar’Adua died in office, and with his death came the permanent closure of any meaningful accountability for his administration.

President Muhammadu Buhari’s era followed a familiar pattern, though with a different ending. Frequent medical trips abroad, extended absences, and limited public engagement raised persistent questions about who was truly in charge and who should answer for key decisions. While Buhari completed his tenure, the broader issue remained unresolved: prolonged ill health at the highest level of power weakens transparency and distances leadership from public scrutiny.

The recent developments surrounding the former Chief Justice of Nigeria, Tanko Muhammad—particularly reports at various points about his health and even death—again brought this national dilemma to the surface. Whether clarified or corrected later, such reports underscore a deeper concern: Nigeria repeatedly places vital institutions in the hands of individuals whose health and longevity are uncertain, then treats the resulting instability as unavoidable.

This pattern is especially dangerous in a system where corruption thrives behind institutional immunity. In Nigeria, public office holders are rarely held accountable while in power. Investigations are delayed, allegations are “awaiting exit,” and files are conveniently reopened only after retirement, resignation, or death. Too often, sickness or death becomes the final shield against justice.

What, then, does the future hold for a nation governed this way?

When leaders know that accountability is unlikely—because age, ill health, or death may intervene—governance loses its moral urgency. Long-term planning suffers. Institutions weaken. Policies are made without the burden of future consequences. Leadership becomes about managing the present elite rather than safeguarding the next generation.

Experience is valuable. Wisdom is necessary. But experience without physical capacity and accountability becomes a liability. A country of over 200 million people, predominantly young, cannot continuously mortgage its future to leaders who are frequently absent, medically unavailable, or structurally protected from justice.

Nigeria needs leaders who can be questioned today and held accountable tomorrow. Leaders who will live with the consequences of their decisions. Leaders with enough future ahead of them to care deeply about what they leave behind.

Until Nigeria confronts this uncomfortable reality, the question will remain unanswered: who truly plans Nigeria’s tomorrow when yesterday’s men continue to hold power?

Community Reporters

17/03/2026

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25/12/2025

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