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https://avalanches.com/zw/harare_hailey_cains_1909043_10_03_2022

Hailey cains

Hailey cains is a record and fashion label founded by Krizzy Henry cains (15 February 2015)

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'Its better to fail in reality than to suceed in immitation'

For those whose who dont want to work hard and put their efforts in dreams they end doing disgraceful things which sometimes eat its own child like the terror.

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Other News Zimbabwe

Matebeleland South On The Verge Of Another Drought

By Lone Wolf

Matebeleland South Province is on the brink of another devastating drought as grazing lands dwindle by the day. The scorching sun has virtually licked every single drop of water in most water sources. A drive through the province is characterised by dry tufts of overgrazed grass, large tracts of barren lands and hordes of leafless mopane trees.

Matebeleland South Province is renouned for cattle and goat rearing and with the approaching droughts, many herds are likely to face starvation. A single family has a heard of cattle running into hundreds against very little grazing space which result in the cattle migrating far to graze and drink water...

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Tear Stained Missive, The Harbinger Of My pain

Story By Stephen Mupoto.

A silky cloud lumbered somberly across the skies. I stood quietly in the shadows of my pain as the giant clock on the wall chimed. I craned my neck to face the wheezing sound of an exhausted kettle that sweated from the simmering water that had reached plus a hundred degrees Celsius. My grandmother lay with her back to the torn wooden sofa, the only valuable we had left after selling everything that we had inorder to settle court bills. I walked to the kitchen and switched off the gas knob before pouring the simmering liquid in a coffee mug. My granny loved coffee. She stifled as I handed her the coffee mug and she smiled in gratitude. The wrinkles on her skin flattened as she grinned. Her eyes were a blurry sandy brown coin with a few white grains that almost blocked her sight.

I sat beside her and looked as she slowly sipped the sweet coffee. She looked into the distant horizon and squinted her eyes. I could see she was drifting in thought to some distant place she alone could fathom. After what seemed an eternity, she cleared her throat and spat a mound of phlegm into her palms and rubbed them together.

"Tariro!" She started. I looked deeply into her eyes as they gyrated deep in their bony sockets. Her once rubicon skin had shrivelled like poorly tanned leather. She reached for a tiny black box and pressed a button before it yanked open.

"Yes gogo." I said as I drew closer to her. Her voice was beginning to occasionally trail off in the middle of a conversation. She has reached her twilight and had lived long enough to have seen everything life could offer. In our little crib, where we shared the final laps of our existence with an army of brute rodents that had destroyed most of our valuables, we sat and just watched as the day wore by.

"Take this piece of linen. It is the last of my treasures." She said and a flare appeared in her eyes. It was a spark that she dorned in her ageing eyes each time she retreated into her shell and coil herself in her thoughts. I looked at the piece of linen she called the last of her treasure and quietly frowned. This was the worst piece of linen I had ever seen. It was a multi coloured old garment which had dark seams and floral edges.

"Why do you keep this old relic gogo?" I asked, trying to figure out why she was so attached to the garment.

"That is the alimony your grandfather send to me when he disappeared into foreign lands a long time ago before you were born. He crossed some crocodile infested rivers and married another woman. I was scorned and betrayed and this is the token of our seperation. It is not just a relic but an emblem of my pain." She said and gulped the last contents in her mug. I could see a wave of melancholy creep into her eyes.

"Gogo, stop crying. I know it is painful. Is that why you gave me the name Tariro in the hope that grandfather would someday return?" I asked and wiped her tears with the back of my hands.

"Unfold it.' She instructed. I quickly unfolded the garment and a stained piece of paper fell onto my lap.

"What is this gogo?" She smiled and placed the mug on the rugged floor which reminded me of my mother. This was the very house her body lay in state before she was buried. In the periscope of my mind I could see her body lying on the rugged floor, her blood from the stab wound sinking into the cracks before forming a dirty clot. This was the very place she had mourned her daughter's untimely departure from the realm of the living.

"That is the missive that is a harbinger of my pain. You see the brown marks it adorns...yes those on the edges. Those are stains of my tears. I cried every day. Every cloudy morning or cold night heralded my pain. Nature consoled me at a time I had willed to die. That missive is written in your grandfather's handwriting and sealed with stains of my tears." She said as she bottled up her tears.

"Gogo, this is now water under the bridge. We have been happy throughout the seasons. We were like a pair of butterflies, always dancing in the rain. Life has taught us to be strong and remain united." I said.

"No my granddaughter. We have never been happy. We simply adjusted to our agonies and accepted the status quo. We lived a life of endurance and not happiness. Read through the letter and you will understand what I mean. My life is a candle flame that is blowing in the wind. When I finally transcend to the realm beyond, that linen will be your footing. It is a treasure you will always turn to in times of distress." She remonstrated.

"I do not understand gogo. What do you mean by that? Is this a magical relic?" I asked.

"Wait for the time. Time will tell." She said and blinked lazily. I quickly unfolded the missive and started reading. It was a novelty of grueling and heart wrenching words. At one point I stopped, tears casacading from my eyes. There was one part that captured my eyes more than any passage I had read previously and it read:

...the misfortunes of my family are a curse from your womb. The children you brought to thos world are a jinx that has eclipsed any prospects of happiness and progress. I do not bave much to say to you, but to tell you that this little box contains an alimony. It contains my shame and nakedness... The part read. I found myself shedding unbridled tears.

I neatly folded the letter and looked at my grandmother. She had fallen into a deep slumber as I read the harbinger of dark tidings.

"Gogo!" I said as I shook her. There was no response. I felt fear creep into me. She lay there silently. In her state of slumber, she was peacefully adorning grace, the mound of pain that used to overshadow her countenance had disappeared. I was a child, naive and innocent but I knew the pith of my happiness had crumbled. The very source of my light was blown by the winds of time and lumbered secretly into the realm of the spirits. I took one last perfunctory glance at her and closed her eyes.

"Rest in peace gogo." I said as a cloud of grief struck me with the ferocious weight of a sledgehammer. The phalanx of my soul broke into a thousand shards. I stood up and walked to the other side of the room and took a neatly folded blanket which I placed over her body. The symbiotic cord that had kept us close had been seized by the unforgiving death. The last I saw of her was a weak smile when she spoke of the linen. I looked at it one more time and pondered on what my grandmother had said. From nowhere and out of instinct I let out a shrieking wail. Pain had finally found a place in my heart and I could bottle it no more. I slumped to the floor and sobbed. There was no one to console me except the dark creepy walls around me. This was the very place where my mother died and my granny followed suit from the same setting of place. This was surely a jinx.

The giant clock on the wall kept shrieking as the second hand paced around to complete another minute. This was a new dawn. Her death marked a new beginning in my solo traverse through the wilderness of life. I had to carve my own niche to survive away from the beautiful comfort of my grandmother's embrace and the shadow of her love. I walked out of the cramped house to break the sad news to our neighbour, maSibanda, an ageing widow who had been my grandmother's friend.

It was after the burial of my grandmother that more bizarre incidents started presenting themselves in my path. I had to rrad again my grandfather's letter to granny and I realised that it was a key to some treasure I had never dreamt of. I was sure not even my grandmother understood the letter and the meaning of the linen she called her alimony. There was part in the letter that read:-

...after all I had done, and considered you jinx, the phalanx of my heart falters not. Th3 boxed linen is the key to your happiness. Never discard it because on the tag of its collar lies amswers to the mystery of my life and why I never returned...

I quickly took the linen and checked on the collar. There was a tag with an inscription Havana 43. I grappled to understand what it meant in respect of what I had read. This was another mystery that had been thrown my way. There was only one way to find out. MaSibanda had known this family for far too long and could be privy to some important family secrets. I had also gathered that she and her late husband had been close to my family for over five decades. I left my crib and walked to maSibanda's place and found her sitted under the apple shade. This was her favourite spot where she spend long hours brooding.

We exchanged banalities when I arrived at her place and made myself comfortable beside her. We talked a lot about the recent events and laughed until I asked her the questions that were burning inside my heart.

"Havana 43," she said and looked deep into the bright sky.

"Yes gogo." I said and stared deep into her face. I could see her drift down memory lane to uncover the nexus between my grandfather's letter and the linen.

"A long time ago," she started. "Your grandfather left in the wee hours of the night. My late husband was with him. When my husband returned after close to ninety days, he had sad tidings that your grandfather had vanished but had left a letter which he had to hand deliver to your grandmother. May her soul rest in peace. After a while, a mysterious linen was send to your grandmother as alimony and no one ever heard from your grandfather again. Havana 43 remains a mystery and I have never heard of it. I think you have to enquire about it on the internet I heard you can find anything there." She said with such finality associated with closed doors.

When I left, I resolved to uncover the Havana 43 mystery. I started my hunt for answers and what I found out was shocking Havana 43 was a crypt where 43 foreigners were slaughtered and buried. Of the 43 was Clayton Mupambawashe who was my grandfather and there was a Havana 43 museum adjacent to the crypt. I wasted no time and drove to the museum where I found Mrs Kate Gathry who took me through various documents relating to the 43 bodies interred in the crypt. This is when I encountered the shock of my life. My grandfather had led a group of 43 pioneers and established a large mining consortium and a transport conglomerate. The consortium was also called Havana situated at Number 43 Edmund Street. This explained what was in the letter. The missive that was the harbinger of my grandmother's pain had become a key to my happiness. I realised she knew about it but waited for time to teach me humanity in order to handle life and coexist with the less fortunate among us.


WOUNDS

Short story by Stephen Mupoto

I stood transfixed to the spot as I watched the horror unfolding before my eyes. The raging inferno angrily bellowed as it towered above the grass thatch. I could hear the screams of the occupants as the roof collapsed inside followed by subdued groans and then silence. I could hear the crackling sounds of thatch poles and the smell of burned flesh and blood that boiled under the smoldering heat. I could not believe that my mother and two sisters had been consumed in the fire. I was not sure what had happened in my absence. I had deep suspicions that someone was surely behind this act of arson but I could not fathom who.

I took one giant step of brevity and walked towards the razed down rondavel. What remained were dark charred walls and a hoar of smoke that still engulfed the collapsed structure. This had been my crib for twenty five years. The only place I had called home and had provided me with a sense of identity regardless of the fact that it was dilapidated and had developed cracks all around its sad walls. It was built on a small piece of land that my father retained after a heated tiff with the village usurer. He had lost substantial land due to debt. He was a dipsomaniac who went about creating debts knowing that the family survived on a shoestring budget. Out of the miserly pittance my mother got from her menial jobs, she always ensured that there was food on the table and that we had something warm over our heads. On the contrary, my father would take the little she would have worked for and squander it all on a drinking spree. At times he would not return home until he had quaffed the last keg at the pub.

When I was young, I would helplessly watch as he clobbered my mother.

“You bear children as if they are some kind of grain that you would stock. Can’t you use contraceptives like any other women?” He would thunder, his fist raised in the air like a sledge hammer poised to descend on some granite.

“Pregnancy is equally your responsibility my husband. There is vasectomy why don’t you try it too? I am not prepared to have complications with my womb or my cervix in the future.” She would remonstrate as she huddled herself in one corner of the room for fear of being assaulted.

“You dare defy my commands woman! I regret ever marrying you. It was all accidental and had it not been for my parents’ pressure after I defiled you by the road side, I would have been free.” He would retort as fists flew and turn into thudding missiles on my mother’s fragile body. I would hear her snap under the enormity of the assault and buckle in total submission.

Her tears became an eyesore. They were what I used to see each day they had a scuffle over the cash he would have taken from the house to imbibe another frothy keg. He was a misogamist who had accidentally enshackled himself in an unholy union which he was compelled to keep due to fear of reprisals. Over the years, I watched my mother shrink into her shell, withdrawing into herself as each day was born and died. She became a valetudinarian with each passing day. The day she received the news of my father’s death, I could sense relief in her eyes. She was relieved of the burden of being at the receiving end and working for an ingrate kind of a husband who never appreciated her sacrifices and accumulated a lot of debts. She felt devastated at the same time because she had to carry a double cross to keep the turbines of our lives turning.

It was evident that the debts he had left behind were automatically transferred to her. I was also helpless to help her because my father’s excesses had pushed me outside the precinct. I had to become a vagrant, fishing out of people’s pockets. Over the years I became a medal worthy pick pocket and with what I got from my escapades I managed to give my mother and sister a decent life. I also paid off my father’s debts. My fortunes were watered by the tears of other people as I perfected the art of thievery. I had no problems with that because each had a trade he was qualified to undertake and my magnetic fingers were my reliable tools. I was also an artful dodger that I could evade the police with great ease.

Watching helplessly as my family was consumed in the conflagration made me angry. I could not bear the sight of their remains as they were taken to the crypt. Our journey together had come to an end leaving indelible wounds engraved in my heart. It was my task to find out what had happened to my family. There was a plausible explanation to the mystery that I was determined to find out.

After the burial of the last remnant of my family, I retreated into myself and became a recluse. Hanging around friends as I used to do became a thing of the past. I felt every person around me was a potential enemy and to keep myself from the wiles of beguiling man I had to be on my own and launch a clandestine enquiry into the mystery.

A few days after the tragedy, I made a bold resolve to step out into the world and hunt for my family’s killers. I had no idea where to start. I felt something nagging me to start from anywhere. I was sure my mother was going to guide me from her place of interment.

One wintry morning I left my crib for the pub. I knew this was one place that was ripe with raw information. I got to the waterhole and found a blind spot to kill the time in. I had bought a few beers on my way in and decided to perch silently as a solo and wounded predator on the long cocktail stools. My eyes darted from one end of the bar to the other and there was nothing amusing, possibly because it was still morning. I decided to leave. On my way out I spotted a strikingly exquisite lady sitting behind the bar counter. She was the bartender. I walked towards the counter and leaned against it. She rose from where she set to attend to me as was the norm that customers should be attended to promptly. I looked at a tag that was on her breast pocket and it read FUNGAI GWARA.

"Hi!" I started the conversation by a terse banality.

"I am good. What would you have this morning? Chateau, Don John, Whisky or brand?" She asked.

"Just a chat with you will do." I said and forced a feeble smile.

"What about?" She asked and turned to serve another customer. I observed her carefully and knew I saw her somewhere the night our homestead was razed down by an inferno. Possibly this was my starting point.

"I think I know you from somewhere. I saw you the other night in a black Mercedes-Benz with two men. I am forgetting their names." I said and casted a deep glance at her.

"When was that and where? I think this is a case of mistaken identity. I am always at work on night shift and have no time to gallivant away from my workplace." She said.

"Probably you are right. You have a striking resemblance with the lady I saw the night in question." I said and pushed a crispy five dollar note on the counter. This was the only way I could have a prolonged conversation with her.

"Do you drink?" I continued. She was silent for a moment then nodded.

"Yes I do. Only cidars, and nothing strong." She said.

"Make them two then. How about lunch?" I offered.

"I am sorry I won't be available." She said as she handed me a cedar and my change.

"Keep the change and buy yourself airtime. I hope I will at least get your number in case you will be free sometime." I said and smiled mischievously.

"Thanks but I do not have a cellphone." She said. I observed she was very evasive.

"Very well then. I will give you mine. Please call me anytime when you are free. I am Steve by the way." I said as I rose from the stool to leave.

"It's good to meet you. I am Fungai. I will surely give you a call." She said and walked back to the small room behind the bar. I did not wait for her return. I left.

A lot started playing in my mind regarding my earlier conversation with Fungai Gwara. Her face was strikingly familiar and she denied having been off work on the day in question. I had to find out the veracity of her alibi and to do so I had to ask around. I was sure people around the place were conversant with her routine and could be able to tell me whether or not she was at work the night my family perished. I was sure she knew something because she was with two unknown men in a black Mercedes Benz and I believed they were the culprits. It was however difficult to fathom why they had killed my family. In as far as I was concerned, I had no tiff with anyone but my father could have had enemies who would want to annihilate his remnant. I also felt I was lucky to have survived and there was also a high possibility that whoever was behind the murder was likely to come after me.

My mind zeroed in to our close relatives who had scrambled to partition his estate amongst themselves. It was also possible that some of them could have a very strong motive for elimination to avoid any possible litigation. This sounded more plausible but unsubstantiated. It was mere conjecture at this point. The task ahead of me was insurmountable. I had to make sure that I left no stone unturned regardless of the hurdles in my way.

When I got home, my mind drifted again. I started seriously thinking about the lady I had seen and snap flashes kept rushing back like a blow back flood. The thought was a turbulent I could neither resist nor surf through. The conviction which I had, regardless of her alibi, was sufficient to urge me towards finding a conclusive answer to the mystery around the deaths of my family members. As days wore by, I managed to glean some interesting but shocking information. My father's half-brother was behind the deaths and the lady I suspected was hired to create a cover. My uncle received information from Fungai regarding hired marksman who had no feeling when it comes to execution and these were the men in the black Mercedes Benz. To think that someone I looked up to as a father would be this heartless was not easy to swallow. On further investigations I almost paralysed at what I found out. The night before my mother and sisters were burned inside the house, she and my sisters were gang raped and to conceal the rape, my uncle burnt them alive so that his wickedness would not be exposed. I felt wounds opening inside my heart and a bolt of anger rising like a tide inside me. I had to take the law into my hands because I had seen how skewed the criminal justice system had become. I feared he might be arrested and later released on bail and that would consequently expose me to his arsenal. I had to tread cautiously because once a lion tastes blood, it stops not until there is no more prey to stalk. I was still cheese dangling on lethal bait.


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https://avalanches.com/in/thiruvananthapuram_bazin_known_professionally_as_bazin_bs_is_an_indian_artist_youtu2827162_05_07_2022

BAZIN , known professionally as 'BAZIN BS' is an Indian, artist, YouTuber Personality & Influencer based in KERALA ,(India). Born on 16 - April - 2004 . He was introduced to the music industry launch his first soundtrack which titled as ‘bazin, Released by SoundCloud first. After some days He release his music on different music platforms like Spotify, GoogleMusic, Apple Music, Amazon Music, Hungama, Gaana, Wynk, jaxtsta, beatport, JioSaavn and many others international platforms like Deezer, TikTok, Instagram or Facebook library also .

family His Father Mr. Baiju mk is a Busniess man and his Mother Simi baiju is a household lady. After the completion of his higher education, ‘Bazin’ enrolled in “Ghss kulathoor Kerala ” He is also works as on an Amazon Influencers he uses to promote companies through Instagram ‘bazin’ is also well known ‘Influencer’ personality on Instagram and Facebook and many more Social Media platform ! ‘Bazin’ said if you can think then you can do it as well doesn’t matter whether you thinking about to fly without wings or want to be a rich as Mammooty are. Without thinking you can’t accomplish your goals just thing about your goals then think again that how it could be possible then think again that when you are going to start that thing which will the path of your success. So just think and go for it doesn’t stop repeating again don’t stop

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https://avalanches.com/ng/lagos_olabode_olajumoke_78_celebrating_extraordinary_years_of_positive_impa2739581_30_06_2022

Olabode Olajumoke @78 Celebrating Extraordinary Years of Positive Impacts ,Sterling National Standing


Raji Bomodeoku


In today's climate, leadership is examined from one of the tenets mostly denoted by the values that are appreciated within a culture as an influence that is capable of producing some valuable results that are considered from that cultural standpoint.

Indeed ,many have done far better as individuals and as members of their local and national communities. When the attendance of those who have made remarkable memories in our Nation is called. One name that will feature prominently is Olabode Olajumoke . Olajumoke's impact can be traced to his strides in the political, economic and humanitarian landscape of Nigeria.

Olajumoke has gone on to show that creating insight and taking action are winning combination for anyone coming from a humble background . Only a few people have done more impacts to others like they would to themselves. Olajumoke is a deeply good man from searchlight and one of the evidences that Nigeria was blessed with great Leaders.

Growing up as a young Man in the Precincts of Imeri in Ondo State . Olajumoke's mission from outset was how to serve his fatherland, inspiring many other similar thinkers to stimulate a national synergy for his people’s emancipation at the National front.


One of the inspiring accounts of Olajumoke’s groundbreaking success in community development was the founding of Imeri Unity Group, a socio political group with the intention of increasing the presence of his Yoruba speaking Imeri minority people at the frontline of National Politics . He was concerned that his people of Yoruba extraction should move from regional political theatre to national as the centre influences so many critical decisions in Nigeria. The focus of IUG therefore was to galvanise the Yoruba speaking people of the six Southwest states and the two states of Kogi and Kwara to play central politics.

This strategy was successful as the movement attracted followers of Governor Lateef Jakande and his deputy Rafiu Jafojo, Chief J.S Olawoyin of Offa, Chief Yomi Akintola and Chief Oluwole Awolowo both from the prominent families of late S.L.A. Akintola’s family of Ogbomoso and late Chief Obafemi Awolowo’s of Ikenne among other prominent Western flank leaders.

One of the most significant achievements of IUG was the unification of the two famous Yoruba families of Awolowo and Akintola. For almost 35 years - the rift that several Yoruba monarchs could not resolve at that time was settled. Indeed the only three instances that IUG monthly meetings were ever moved out of Imeri were when Chief Oluwole Awolowo hosted IUG meeting at Efunyela Hall, Ikenne and the following month in the Ogbomoso family home of late Chief SLA Akintola by his eldest son Chief Yomi Akintola. IUG also honoured late Chief J.S. Olawoyin by Senator Salawu of Offa hosting IUG in Offa after the Ogbomoso meeting.

Modern history will be kind with Olajumoke as his emergence to the elite group did not only open ways for a turnaround in public representation , he set some standard metrics for future seekers of public office, building a lasting legacy for his people of Ondo North and influencing a national landmark for people living with disabilities. Prior to being elected into the Nigerian Senate where he served as the Senate’s Committee Chairman on Navy. He is noted for sponsoring the disability bill which drew national consciousness to the need to make all public and private facilities accessible to people living with special needs as it is practiced in civilized world .

This remarkable bill had been tested and actualized some years earlier when Dr Bode Olajumoke was the Pro-Chancellor and Chairman of Council of Adekunle Ajasin University, Akungba-Akoko. As the Pro-Chancellor, he converted the institution from a glorified secondary school into a modern University such that within two years of his being Chairman of Council, the school was adjudged the best state university in Nigeria by the Nigerian Universities Commission. Massive road networks sprawled the university landscapes, modern lecture theatres were constructed. He insisted that all the emerging structures - roads, buildings, lecture theatres were all disabled compliant. He did not limit this campaign to Adekunle Ajasin University. As a prominent member of the national conference of Pro-Chancellors, he persuaded his colleagues to adopt the policy of making their campuses disabled friendly. Some Pro-Chancellors visited his University to duplicate the concept. Such was his passion for the disabled and less privileged that at the earliest opportunity he had as a Senator, his major bill on disability in the one term he was privileged to serve was passed by the Senate into law. The Nigerian Navy honored him with a Navy Secondary School in his home town Imeri as a recognition for effective Senate Leadership.

He had served pre-eminently as a Federal Civil Servant and played notable roles in the return of democracy in 1999. His civil service years was condoned after twenty five years of meritorious service. Professionally , Olajumoke was inspired to read Law after covering the famous treasonable felony case of the FGN vs Dr Tunji Otegbeye as an intern-reporter with the Daily times of Nigeria in 1965. He got the Soviet Union Scholarship in 1965 to study law at the famous Friendship University , Moscow where he bagged LL.M in flying colours. He Later proceeded to the University of Edinburgh in the UK where he bagged a Doctorate Degree in the International Law Department of the Prestigious University. Olajumoke has been an advocate of true federalism tackling several extra-constitutional tendencies in teaching and through court prayers as a liberal exponent with complete believe in the principles of liberty, freedom of people and Nations.

Born on the 1st of July ,1944 , in Imeri ,Olajumoke’s growing up set the foundation for his exemplary journey and disciplined life as a member of the Boys Scout where he mastered the most important leadership lessons in developing young people to become self fulfilled as individuals and play constructive roles in the society using the scout method . He has throughout his scouting journey developed special interest in people living with special needs . At the 100th year celebration of the founding of Scouting in 2007 World Scout Jamboree at Essex, London. Olajumoke sponsored several Scouts from Schools of deaf and impaired hearing to the World events raising hope for the children to dream again . He has served on the Board of The Scout Association of Nigeria as its Deputy Board Chairman. He has strong passion for charity and his many years work has created some of the notable charity organizations that are restoring hopes for people with extreme conditions. Among these is the mission to save the helpless MITOSATH. - the first Chairman was late Prof. Olikoye Ransome-Kuti and was succeeded by Dr. Bode Olajumoke. Rtd General T.Y. Danjuma is the Grandpatron.

Dr Bode Olajumoke has been a member, Board of Trustees of PDP since year 2000. He is not a shifty politician and so has been very constant in his vision when he ran for the Nation’s Presidency under APP in 1999.

Long before Dr. Bode Olajumoke contested the Senate seat, he had sponsored many budding politicians for elective and executive offices. In year 2007, he eventually ran for the Senatorial seat of his Ondo North and won one of the largest votes nationwide.

He is a Member of the Board, University of Ibadan Advancement Centre since over a decade.

At 78 , Olajumoke’s example serving leadership is still rubbing positively in the heart of Nigeria and everywhere else that he has made footprints throughout his proud history .

Our thoughts and prayers are with the Statesman on the auspicious occasion of his 78th birthday.

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