Me (30)

pix201104092465251.jpgScriptwriter and actress, Nuella Njubigbo, is gradually becoming a household name but her success is not without a scent of scandals, with one of them being her alleged romance with top movie director cum producer, Iyke Odife. In this interview with ADA ONYEMA, she talks about her career and her relationship with Odife What’s new about Nuella Njubigbo?

I’m writing a script that will be shot in Spain. It will be an Afro-Spanish film. We’re going to use two Spanish actors – a female and a male – and Nigerian actors will also be there.

Why Spanish?

It is going to be a mixed script fusing the two parties together. Although they don’t speak English Language, we have sent the script to them and they are translating it. They are working on it and I’m still trying to inject the particular theme that I want into it. For now, we’re having conferences and correcting ourselves. They already have the idea of what we want and everything is being done to achieve it.

What is the story line?

The story is about a girl that was taken out of this country at a very early age, simply because she lost her parents at a very tender age. It paints the picture of all her struggle in Europe, how she went through negative experiences. It is about child trafficking and the movie is for the cinema; it is not the regular kind of movie that I used to do. We’re not limiting it to Nigeria; it will go to about five to 10 countries of the world.

Are you producing the movie?

No. I’m just writing the script and I will also act in it.

How come you have not done any movie that went to the cinema before now?

Actually, I have done one and the film was entitled, Room Service, and I acted alongside Mercy Johnson. The truth is that I have stopped doing anything that comes my way, but I still have other blockbuster movies in the market now. I’m very choosy when it comes to taking scripts, because I’m a writer and should be able to determine a good script. I’m having more demands from people who want me to write scripts for them, but I can’t do that because I have to get myself involved with acting too. I’m choosy and can’t do anything I see.

You once told us that you have slowed down in writing. When did you pick it up again?

I slowed down in writing because I wanted to start working on special scripts. I want to write a script that can be of Hollywood standard. I want to do something that people out there will reckon with. I don’t write like before again; anything that I’m coming out with now will be a blockbuster. I can’t stop writing, it is in me and sometimes I miss it.

Where does your passion really lie? Is it in acting or writing?

I can’t really say because I love the two creative professions. I can’t point my finger and say that I love this one more than the other; it is just that acting for me is more demanding than writing. I have passion for the two.

Are you in any relationship now?

Yes, I’m and I don’t want to talk about the person now. You will know at the right time.

Many people still believe that Iyke Odife is the man in your life. Can you clear the air on this?

I have made this statement a number of times: I’m not dating Iyke Odife, simple. Iyke Odife brought me into the industry and he is my very good friend. He will remain my very good friend.

We learnt you dumped him for another rich guy.

I have never had any romantic relationship with Iyke, so how can I dump him? I’m in a relationship, but it is not with (Iyke) Odife. I’m in relationship with a young man and I don’t want to talk about it. 

Is he an industry practitioner?

No, he is not an industry person. (Laughs) Just leave it; I don’t want to talk about him now.

Many people believe that Nuella is now glamorous. What is the secret?

It’s true, the industry has changed my life so much and a lot of good things are beginning to happen to me now. Although acting has its low moments as a result of the controversial side of it, there are things you can’t do freely anymore because you will not want people to see you in a wrong direction, but the industry has helped me. It has helped me financially, socially, and in every sense of it. I will say that it has really helped me in life. I have got a lot of things since I became an actress, and I can go to places now. Before, I was into the supply business and it wasn’t easy at all, but now it is easier for me. Acting opens doors for you anywhere and anytime. Things that would have been hard for you to get are made easier. Things come your way easily because people will always want to help or do things for you.

Apart from this business and acting, what other things are you into?

I’m an actress, movie scriptwriter and a business woman. I don’t do anything else, but what I do has been satisfying me financially.

Were you removed from President Jonathan’s campaign list? Your name was there but we didn’t hear your jingles or see you on the screen.

I didn’t drop out along the way. I was giving my own support in my own way. We need support in what we do, and anybody who supports what I do; I will definitely support that person because it is my career. If anybody wants to help me grow, I will help the person to grow also.

So, what really happened, how are you giving your own support to him?

I don’t what to talk about it.

You are now wearing tattoos, why?

I have had this tattoo for two years now. I got it in 2009; maybe it’s very small that is why you have not noticed it. It is just a normal tattoo and it is a butterfly and I love butterflies because they signify tenderness. Butterflies are very colourful and most of them are very beautiful. They symbolise beauty and tenderness. 

But it looks very new; how much did it cost?

(Laughs) Forget it, I won’t tell you that.

Do you have other ones in other parts of your body?

(Laughs) Please next question. Anyway, I don’t have another tattoo on my body. 

What is fashion for you?

Fashion is anybody’s personal style; I don’t believe that there is anything called fashion with the meaning that something must go in a particular way. You might dress in one style and I will decide to dress in another style. It is all about what suits everybody. For me, fashion is my style and my fashion is my style.

What are the labels that you wear now?

I still wear Nigerian labels and they look good on me. I wear a lot of foreign brands, but I still wear Nigerian labels. In perfumes, I like Marc Jacobs and Tom Ford. I don’t think that I can wear any other kind of perfume now.

How was growing up like for you?

Growing up was very normal and I was a happy child. It was a small family of my parents and two younger brothers. I was taken care of but not pampered; I had sweet parents who taught me the right things at the proper time.

What are those things that acting has deprived you from doing?

There are just a few things because I’m still myself, but I’m very careful of where I enter and what I do. Before I enter any crowd, I have to make sure of what is happening and the people inside. I have stopped attending events and parties anyhow. I have to be careful now and I must be officially invited before stepping into any gathering.

Don’t your parents feel that you are tarnishing their image and name with scandals?

They have always supported me even when I am at the low moment. They have always lifted me up when I am down. If I complain too much about scandals, they will tell me that I should have known that such things will come up before going into acting. Anytime there is a scandal, the first thing that comes to my mind is my family and I will ask myself, who knows how they will feel if they see this? Surprisingly, they have supported me in these periods because they know what I can do and what I can’t do.

How come you are not close to other actresses?

I’m very friendly with all of them, but I’m just being myself. I have people who I hang out with, but naturally, I’m just myself. I am neither here or there, just like a jelly fish and you can’t hold me down. I keep friends who are real and can open up to me. I don’t like fake friends who cannot be loyal to me.
Read more…
12166207275?profile=originalBut Goodluck was openly blessed by Adeboye in the kneeling down saga at the campground ! 12166295069?profile=original

Vows to 'open up on Ribadu soon'

FIERY Lagos State-based cleric and Vice- Presidential candidate of the Congress for Progressive Change (CPC), Pastor Babatunde “Sindiku” Bakare yesterday disclosed that he secured the approval of one of his spiritual fathers, the respected Pastor Enoch Adejare Adeboye, before throwing his hat into the political ring.

Pastor Bakare also gave indications that he was not convinced of the anti-corruption credentials of one of his former allies, Mallam Nuhu Ribadu, who is the presidential candidate of the Action Congress of Nigeria (CAN).

Bakare, the Serving Overseer of the Latter Rain Assembly (LRA), told a group of journalists that he would “open up” on Ribadu sometime soon.

Recently, incumbent President Goodluck Jonathan, who is the candidate of the ruling People’s Democratic Party (PDP), visited Pastor Adeboye’s camp on the Lagos-Ibadan expressway and received the blessings of the General Overseer of the fast-growing Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG), in a much-publicised photograph showing the president kneeling for prayers before the Man of God.

But Bakare, who at various times was a prominent cleric of Pastor William Kumuyi’s Deeper Christian Life Assembly and the RCCG, before founding the LRA, disclosed that Adeboye encouraged him to run with Gen. Muhammadu Buhari.

The fiery cleric, who said that he was reluctant to run for political office, explained that he was ambushed by prominent people, including Pastor Adeboye, after Gen. Buhari had made overtures to him to be running mate.

He spoke in Lagos yesterday while explaining his vision and mission for Nigerians to a group of journalists.

The CPC Vice Presidential candidate said that when he first told Pastor Adeboye of Buhari’s offer during a telephone call, the reaction he got was favourable.

His words “Pastor Adeboye surprised me. I thought he would say ‘no way!’ He asked who among the lot I thought could rescue Nigeria and I told him Gen.Muhammadu Buhari. I noted that Buhari he has no money and no network to come to the South, coupled with other things they had hung on his neck. Pastor Adeboye said, ‘if you are ever considering Gen. Buhari, then you need a strong Christian to be his running mate.’ But when I called Pastor Adeboye back, he said since you did not lobby for this thing, it is an opportunity for you to express the burden you carry for this nation, go forward. And I asked: ‘Sir, will you support me?’ And he said, ‘with everything I got in my own way. Just go for it, I will be praying.”

Bakare said that he had earlier suggested the names of former Minister of the Federal Capital Territory , (FCT), Mallam Nazir el Rufai and former governor of Cross River State, Mr. Donald Duke, to run as president and vice- presidential candidates respectively. But he said Duke declined the offer immediately for some personal reasons.”

He continued: “We were now left with el Rufai who advised that we pick Nuhu Ribadu. I told him immediately that we rejected Nuhu Ribadu for reasons that were known to us at that point in time. You will be doing so many things and come to explain so many things. We decided to pair el-Rufai with Oby Ezekwesili. There are some things I know, that when the time permits, I will expose them.”

Bakare said that el-Rufai, however, declined to run because he would be seen as engaged in a contest with Ribadu.

The cleric said that he queried the presidential aspiration of Ribadu from the very beginning. Recalling a forum of the Save Nigeria Group (SNG) in the United Kingdom where Ribadu announced interest in the president’s seat, Bakare said his reaction was one of bewilderment.

His words: ‘You want to rule Nigeria? Who will be your subjects?’ I asked him. And he drove me to my hotel room that day and we spent two hours in his car. I began to lay the things before him that were wrong.”

Apparently questioning Ribadu’s anti-graft credential, Bakare said: “And all this anti-corruption ‘Czar’?
 We have stories that we can tell, but we will keep quiet now until the appropriate time.”

He continued: “I had thought that my job was to raise the standard of God’s consciousness in our nation and to ensure that righteousness exalts this nation by way of preaching it, leaving the fear of God in the minds of people and much more modeling it. I have been harassed myself by military dictators and their civilian counterparts in mufti. But I never thought that I would do this. The last time I marched on the streets was in 1978, until January 2010 and that was in the days of ‘Ali Must Go’. And all that happened then was over the increase in meal ticket from N30 to N90. That was killing those days, not now that the naira can hardly buy anything. When I left school, I thought marching on the streets had ended until the crisis that almost took Nigeria to precipice.

Disclosing why he decided to join politics, Bakare said: “On 3rd of May, 2010 during one of our meetings, one of my friends raised a pertinent question, that; ‘are we raising responsible people to vote for irresponsible people?’ That word struck me like thunderbolt. That was the turning point for me”.

He continued: We engaged the political leaders on what should be the minimum requirement for our political office holders. I met with former Vice President Atiku Abubakar twice and we also met with President Jonathan Ebele Goodluck Azikiwe who I call JEGA 2. We gave him some documents and some of these documents were passed on to some religious leaders like Pastor Adeboye. (The documents detail) why we would not support Jonathan. We listed three or four things; that the culture of impunity that we fought for had returned”.

Bakare contended that those who hold the view that he lacked political weight should note others did not build their political structures in one day either.

The fiery preacher noted that for much of his adult life, he had been shouting on the rooftop on the need for an improvement in the lot of Nigerians, adding that the failure to heed his call that led him into politics.

His words: “During the last one man, one vote rally at Onikan, I was there with all my children. One man said that I was taking a great risk, and I asked if those people they were mobilising to come out during protests were not born by someone. The zeal for good governance and egalitarian society has consumed me, I am ready to swim or sink with the Nigerian project.”
Read more…
By AbdulSalam Muhammad
KANO - Police authority in Kano yesterday paraded a 20 years old suspected rapist believed to be contracted by a landlord to rape his tenant following the expiration of a tenancy agreement.

The rapist who was identified as Shamsudeen Musa in conspiracy with 4 others at large, allegedly broke into the residence and engaged the two female occupants in marathon sex.
Briefing reporters on the incident, Tambari Muhammad Yabo, Kano Police Commissioner, said the suspected rapists who were armed with dangerous weapons, also carted away cash and other valuables from their victims..
He said: “they went to the house at around 0100hrs with cutlasses and knives, forced their way into the resident and raped them serially. After the act they stole the sum of N15,000, a mattress, two handsets, a China Nokia and Visaphone from the victims, and fled before the long arm of the law cut up with them.”
The CP stated that while effort had been intensified to arrest the fleeing rapists, the only suspect on the net would be charged to court alongside the landlord for 'criminal conspiracy and armed robbery'.
In a chat with Vanguard Shamsudeen Musa confirmed he was involved in the indecent act with the female occupants, adding that “we were contracted by the landlord to force them out of the residence.
“We sealed a deal with the landlord, and at the time we forced our way in we certainly cannot resist the temptation of doing what we did to achieve the goal of sending them packing.”
The landlord, Sale Yunusa, in a separate chat denied ever entering into any deal with the hoodlums to violate his tenants, pointing out that the hoodlums cashed in on the crisis of confidence between him and the female occupants to execute their dastardly act.
Sale Yunusa said: “I employed legitimate means to eject them following the expirations of their tenancy and I see no reason why I should get out of my way when the verdict by rent tribunal favoured me.”
Read more…

About Me

My name is Abosede Omoakholo. Everyone calls me Bose. I’m a reluctant illegal immigrant. I never planned to leave Nigeria. Lagos was good to me. I had a good job as the deputy branch manager of one of the biggest banks in Nigeria. But, love brought me to America. My fiancé, Tunde, was in Baltimore. Now, love has shredded my heart to pieces. My only refuge is my diary. I started writing it on the plane three and half months ago. It’s taken me until now to have the courage to share it.

I will share a NEW ENTRY EVERY MONDAY.

Read my story 

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Coming to America
I woke up for the third time in five hours. I’m flying across the Atlantic Ocean. I’m going to America to meet the 
love of my life, the father of my unborn children.
I woke up because the flight attendant was offering me another meal. They feed you a lot on these international 
flights. Anytime I flew within Nigeria, all I got was a bun that could shatter the plane’s window if you fling it 
at it.
But on this flight, it was food every two hours. Good food too. I couldn’t even pronounce some of the meals on the 
menu.
Now I know why all those rich and powerful Nigerians travel abroad and return with puffy cheeks and potbellies. 
It’s the airline food.
I took the warm meal from the hostess and shoved it in my mouth. Unlike the other meals, this one was tough on the 
teeth.
“It’s a hot towel, ma’am,” the hostess said as she tried hard not to laugh.  “You use it for the face.”
I almost died out of shame.
Back home, I was what you’ll call a city girl. I grew up in Lagos, the city that is really a metropolis but we call 
a city because that was what the British colonialists called it and someone has not thought it was time to call it 
a metropolis. I went to the University of Lagos, one of the most urbane universities on the continent. And, I was 
an assistant branch manager in a bank on Broad Street, a place some call the financial capital of Africa.
In Lagos, I was an “it girl”. But, on this plane, I had just acted like the ultimate bush girl.
I smiled sheepishly at the hostess as she moved on to the next passenger. I looked around; saw everyone wiping 
their faces with their towels. I did the same.
“Don’t worry about it,” says the middle-aged white woman next to me, “I used to do that all the time too”.
I knew she was trying to make me feel better. No one chews a hot towel twice. But, it still felt nice to hear it. I 
nodded my thanks.
“Where are you flying from?” she asked.
Well, there goes my attempt to blend in. I was hoping people would think I was from England because I boarded the 
plane in London.
“Lagos,” I answered.
“Where is that?” she asked.
“Nigeria,” I replied.
“Oh, the place where they send those fraudulent e-mails and faxes,” she added.
“Pardon, me?” I shot back with a frown.
“I get the e-mails all the time,” she continued like a doctor passing the death sentence on a patient.
All of a sudden, I’m angry with his woman. I have watched a lot of MTV, BET and CNN to know enough of the American 
culture. I know a lot of Americans are good people. But, I also know some of them like to pass judgment on things 
they know little about as if they were Jesus Christ on the throne. I wasn’t going to let this woman off the hook.
“So, where are you from?” I asked.
“Roanoke, Virginia” she answered proudly.
“Ah, the American South!”
“Yeah”
“Your great-grandfathers came to my country with the Bible and stole millions of my people. Turned them into 
slaves.”
I had never seen a white woman turn morbid pale that fast.
“That is not a nice thing to say,” she fumed.
“You think what you said was a nice thing?” I asked..
“You think everybody from the South was a slave trader?” she shot back.
“You think every Nigerian is a criminal?”  I asked. This was funny; we were answering questions with question. 
Maybe she’s a Nigerian in disguise because that is what we do in Nigeria, we answer questions with questions.
“It’s not the same thing,” she said.
“Oh yes, it is,” I responded.
She pouted, turned away and looked out the window at the bluish skies. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift back 
to how I came to be in a plane headed for Baltimore Washington International Airport.
I had dreamt of this trip for four years. But, it was coming two years sooner than I had planned. Or, we had 
planned.

 

The Day Before America
I have come to America for my Tunde. He is the love of my life, the ordained father of my children, the man I would 
spend the rest of my life with.
I met Tunde Oluyomi six years ago. I was 21 and he was 27. I was an advertising executive. He was a journalist. I 
was from the Ishan tribe. He was from the Yoruba tribe. I lived in Oshodi on the Lagos mainland. He lived in Sango 
Ota, on the outskirts of Lagos.
We had very little in common.
“Why you dey always show me your break light?” he asked me one day in Pidgin English after I’d dropped off an 
advert copy for his newspaper.
“What do you mean,” I replied in my polished English. I’d just graduated from the University of Lagos with a Second 
class upper degree in Economics and I wasn’t going to waste my tongue speaking Pidgin English. That language was 
for illiterates.
“Every time I say hello, you just whisper hello back and scram,” he complained.
“Okay, hello, “ I answered and proceeded to theatrically count from one to three.
“See, I’m not running away. I just have to go,” I told him after I counted to three.
He laughed, showing a perfect set of white teeth that contrasted beautifully with his chocolate skin.
“Can I take you to lunch some time? I really want to know you,” he asked boldly, as if he was rolling the dice.
“I’m a busy girl. I don’t do lunch,” I answered.
We both knew it was a lie. But, we both knew he wouldn’t call me out on it. That would be the ultimate romance deal 
breaker.
“Breakfast, lunch, dinner, weekday, weekend – name it. I’m there,” Tunde offered.
“I’ll see you around, Bros,” I replied as I walked away.
“Bros” was a romantic death sentence. It means “big brother”. It’s worse than the friend zone. It’s the “never 
ever” zone. Tunde knew it as soon as I said it. But, he never relented.
He sent me a romantic e-card every day. He sent me bouquet after bouquet of flowers. He bought me chocolates and 
sweets. And, he never showed his face to pressurize it. He always sent a driver from his office.
Most boys in Lagos don’t pamper girls. The older men do. But, that’s why they’re called sugar daddies. The girls 
are toys – mistresses who balance the drudgery of married life. The sugar daddies buy their mistresses cars, rent 
them posh flats and fatten their bank accounts. But, it’s never a permanent thing. One day, a younger girl always 
takes the place of the mistress.
Lagos boys are not romantic. They are bottom line guys. Dinner, movie, club then your back on the mattress. Tunde 
was different. He romanced me as if he was consulting a romance magazine. I am a good Catholic girl who had 
promised God and my mother that I would keep my legs closed until my wedding night.
But, Tunde grew on me. Two days before Valentine’s Day, I called him.
“Will you be my Valentine?” I asked boldly.
I was breaking another little dating rule for girls in Lagos. Never ask a guy out. It diminishes you. But, I felt 
really good about Tunde. I didn’t think about it. I just dialed the phone and said the first thing that came to my 
mind.
I will always remember Tunde’s joyous laughter on the phone. It was a delight. I wish I had saved it on my 
voicemail. It would have been the perfect ring tone.
My parents didn’t approve of him. He was a “Yanmiri”, a Yoruba boy that should not be trusted. I don’t even know 
what the word means. But, I know it’s a bad word.
His parents didn’t approve of me for the same reason. I was an “ajeokuta ma mumi” which meant “he who eats stone 
without drinking water”. It was originally meant to describe people of the Ibo tribe. I wasn’t Ibo. But, to a 
Yoruba in the Nigerian tribal politics, if you’re neither Hausa or Yoruba, you were Ibo. It came from suspicion 
built during the civil war.
The funny thing is, although I am Ishan, I was born in Lagos and I have lived there all my life. I have only made 
two trips to the village. The first time was for an ill-fated Christmas vacation that was cut short because my 
grandmother claimed one of my grandfather’s other wives was a witch and had promised my head at a big witches’ 
meeting. The other trip was for my grandmother’s funeral. But, in Nigeria, you’re from where your forefathers were 
from.
Tunde’s mother told him I am an “Ogbanje” because I was fair-skinned. An “Ogbanje” is a child that made a pact with 
the spirit world to die young. They come to this world to torture their parents. They always die at very important 
periods in their life cycle. Since I already had a university degree, Tunde’s mother was convinced that I had made 
a pact with the spirit world to die on my wedding day.
“You’re just postponing sadness, Tunde. You will remember what I’m telling you on your wedding night when she drops 
dead,” she counseled Tunde.
But, nothing could come between Tunde and I. We had two great years together in Lagos. We were inseparable. He was 
one of the rising stars in political correspondence in Nigeria. Politicians called him every hour of the day.
With Tunde’s encouragement and active support, I went back to school part-time, got a masters degree in Banking and 
Finance and got a job in one of the new banks in Nigeria.
Tunde was very ambitious. He set goals he had to meet at certain ages. He wanted to be an editor by 30. He wanted 
us to be married when he was 31. We would have our first child when he was 32. All I had to do was say Amen. I 
loved my man and I thanked God everyday for him.
Then, Tunde decided to write a weekly column about the plight of the people in the oil-rich but devastated Niger 
Delta. In Nigeria at that time, it was the easiest way to die. During the brutal Abacha regime, journalists were 
jailed. In the new political dispensation, journalists simply disappeared.
Tunde was offered bribes and political appointments if he’d simply report the speeches and press releases of the 
politicians and let the Niger Deltans continue their decades of suffering. But, my man had a conscience as big as 
the ocean. He stayed on the side of the people.
After a couple of attempts on his life, Tunde and I decided it was time he fled the country. He would go abroad, 
study for a master’s degree and return when the situation was better. We even had dreams of owning our own 
newspaper. He would run the publishing side and I would run the business side.
While he was gone, I also embraced my new life as an emergency nun. Men offered me the world if I would go out with 
them. I always said no. I was going to wait for my Tunde.
“The way you’re going, this useless boy you’re waiting for will need a drill to get inside that vagina when he gets 
back,” one exasperated colleague told me after six months of trying to get me to go out on a date with him.
My father also had plans of his own. He wanted a man that would take care of me, not a boy who ran away from his 
country. He promised me to a politician from my state who was a few years older than my father, had three wives and 
had a breath that stank like rotten cheese.
“If it’s abroad you want to go to, I can re-locate you to New York after we marry. I have a house there. You’ll be 
my American wife,” the politician told me the first time I met him at my father’s house.
It all came to a head one, weird day two months ago. My father had called me that morning and said I should make 
sure I come over to his house after work. I was worried all day. I thought something was wrong. I thought for the 
briefest of moments that someone in our family had died or had a terminal illness.
When I got to my father’s house, the politician was waiting. There was a used car outside the house too. It was a 
gift for my father. My father was over the moon. He had worked for the government for thirty years and he couldn’t 
afford a bicycle. Now the politician had given him a car. My fate was sealed. I would marry the old man. I had no 
say in this matter. My father’s word was law.
“He can’t do that. My family brought him wine before I left. We are traditionally married,“ Tunde cried on the 
phone when I told him later that night.
“I think the politician’s money has made him crazy. He now has selective amnesia. You have to save me, Tunde,” I 
cried back.
“What are we going to do?” he wailed on the phone.
“I don’t know! I don’t know! If I can get a visa, I would come over there,” I replied between sobs.
“Don’t even try those embassy people. It’s just another heartache,” he advised.
“You have to come up with a plan, Tunde. My father man is planning to marry me off before Christmas,” I pleaded.
“I’ll work something out. I promise. No one can take you away from me,” Tunde professed.
But, Tunde could not come up with a good plan. For our sake and our future, I had to take matters into my own 
hands.
One morning in September, I rounded up my brother and two sisters. We went to the American embassy and applied for 
a visa.
We had to go to the embassy before September runs out because the politician decided he wanted to do the 
traditional wedding during Independence Day in October. He was running for office and he wanted to use the wedding 
as a rally for his supporters.
The embassy rejected my application. But, they gave my youngest sister a visa. There was no logical reason why she, 
a jobless graduate, got a visa while I, a gainfully employed banker, did not.
But, it all worked according to my grand plan. The reason we all applied for a visa was a shot in the dark that one 
of us would be lucky to get a visa. My siblings and I look alike. If my brother had gotten the visa, all I had to 
do was cut my hair.
Three days before my traditional wedding to the chief, I jumped on a British Airways flight bound for America.
During the stopover in London, I made two calls.
The first was to my father. I thought he would blow a lung or rupture his kidney in anger. But, all he did was 
curse me. I didn’t mind the curse. In Nigeria, we all know curses are local – they don’t travel across the ocean.
Then, I called Tunde. He was so stunned I was on my way to him that he couldn’t quite express his happiness.
I was happy. I was free. I was going to meet my man. In America.In America
“The World Bank, huh? Is that like Bank of America or Citibank?” asked the Immigrations Officer as she looked at my 
passport.
She looked black. But, she could also have been Latina. Or, bi-racial. You can never tell with these Americans.
But, my bigger problem was that I couldn’t really make out what the woman was saying. No matter how much CNN, BET 
and MTV you watch, nothing prepares you for an American accent when you hear it face to face.
“Pardon me,” I said.
“You’ve not done anything wrong, no need to ask for a pardon,” she replied.
“I meant can you repeat the question,” I said.
“Is the World Bank like Bank of America or Citibank?” she asked.
“It’s like the Bank of America, only this time for the whole world,” I said because I had no clue how to answer the 
question. There are no two World Banks.
But, this woman was no ordinary cookie. She takes her job seriously. She cannot be fooled easily.
“You traveled all the way from Africa for a two day meeting?” she queried.
“They won’t let me stay away longer in my office,” I lied.
Her smile faded by a slight shade. Trouble. I dug in.
“Plus, my sister is due any day now. She’s married to a no-good guy who is in prison. I’m on standby on three 
flights every day. If she goes into labor right now, I’m turning back,” I lied.
It’s crazy the things you do for love. I am a church going girl who gives ten percent of her salary as tithe to the 
church. And, I’m Catholic – they don’t enforce those Old Testament rules in the 21st century. I always frown at 
lying and deception. Now, I was Ms. Deception. All because of my Tunde. All because of love.
The immigrations lady shot me an affectionate look. I could swear I saw tears floating in her eyes.
“I so know what you’re saying. My sister is pregnant too and her man is in jail. I don’t know what she’s going to 
do,” she blurted out.
She stamped my passport and passed it to me without another question.
My heart raced with delight. My palms were sweating. Even though the hall was fully air conditioned, I could feel a 
line of sweat dribbling down the back of my neck.
I am officially in America!
“Thank you,” I said.
“I love your accent by the way,” the immigrations lady said.
“Thank you,” I replied and hurried away before she realized I was an impostor.
I wanted to jump up in joy. But, I had to be composed for a few more minutes.
Just to show me how lucky I would be in this America, God arranged it that as I got to the baggage carousel, my bag 
was rolling down the chute. America is going to be good to me.
I got my luggage and strolled towards the arrival hall. I could see people in the arrival lounge waiting to receive 
their guests.
Then I saw him. My Tunde. He was holding a bouquet of flowers and several balloons. He had the biggest smile on his 
face. I was so happy I wanted to cry. I would have run to him if my luggage wasn’t slowing me down.
I was a few steps away from the arrival lounge when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and saw the 
glowering face of a customs officer looking at me. His dog bared his fangs at me.
“Please come with me,” the custom officer said.
It was an order. Not a request. He turned sharply, took his place beside me and marched me to a room at the far 
corner of the hall. As I walked beside him, I could feel my heart slipping into my stomach.
The door opened and I stepped into a room with poor, shadowy lights. Two large, intimidating men stood at either 
end of a table. They stretched their rubber gloves for effect, as if choreographed. I saw a sinister smile curl up 
on the face of one of the men.
I swallowed hard. I’ve seen this before. In the movies. Anal probe. It all adds up. I’m from big, bad Nigeria. I 
must surely be here with some drugs hidden in my bowels.
I set down my luggage, took off my jacket and started undoing the zipper of my trouser.
“What are you doing?” the man who had not been smiling barked at me.
“Getting ready,” I answered tamely.
“Getting ready for what?” the smiling agent who was no longer smiling shouted.
“You want to do a search, right?”
“You hiding something?”
“No”.
I zipped my zipper back up. Perhaps the Americans have a new, more sophisticated way of searching for drugs that 
didn’t include anal probe.
The officer who had led me in took my luggage and dumped them on the table. For the first time, I noticed the 
yellow tag on my bags. It wasn’t there when I left Lagos. My mind was racing with a hundred thoughts. What did I do 
wrong? After all I’d gone through to run away from Lagos, I couldn’t go back. Besides, my father’s curse was 
waiting for me too.
“Do you have any banned food, agricultural produce or dairy in your bag”, one of the officers asked.
“No,” I replied.
One of the officers unzipped one of my bags. He flipped through the neat rows of clothes, magazines and books until 
he discovered the five bounded herbal roots in a plastic bag at the bottom of the bag. The second agent grabbed 
what looked like an x-ray of my bag from the top of a file cabinet. They compared the plastic bag and the x-ray 
image and nodded in agreement. Then, they turned to me with that snarling smile of a boxer who has just shoved his 
helpless, hapless challenger into a corner and is winding up for the kill.
“What is this?” the agent with the sinister smile asked.
“Herb,” I replied.
“Like weed?”
“No, it’s a drug”.
“A drug!” they chorused.
“Yes. A traditional drug,” I replied.
“You know penalty for trafficking drugs in the United States?”
“I am not trafficking. It’s for my private use”.
“Finally, a honest criminal!” the agent with the sinister smile declared.
I didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that my medicinal drug, albeit of the traditional variety, was being 
confused for a hard drug. At that moment I didn’t know that in America, a herb can be a weed and a weed can be a 
herb. I also didn’t know that in America, a drug was called a medication.
Panicked, I told my first truth in America.
“I brought it as a precaution, in case I have malaria,” I said.
“You take drugs for malaria?” the non-smiling agent asked.
“Yes. It’s an African treatment. It’s faster than normal drugs,” I replied.
“You’re calling a medication a drug?” the agent who brought me in asked.
“Yes. We call a drug a drug or a medicine. But, medicine is too long,” I told him.
The agents shared a curious look. I could tell they were confused. Working at an airport like this, I’m sure they’
ve heard a lot of things. But, I guess they’ve never heard this.
“I tell you what, you prove that thing is what you say it is and we’ll let you go. If not, your ass is off to 
jail,” the agent with a sinister smile declared.
“Can I have two bottles of sprite or 7Up please?” I pleaded as two lines of sweat dribbled from my scalp and down 
my neck.
“What for?,” the smiling agent asked.
“To prove myself,” I replied.
“You sure you don’t want a coca-cola? You know, ‘coke is it,” the agent with the sinister smile said with a sneer.
“I’m sure, sir,” I muttered.
“How long is it gonna take?” he asked
“At least four hours,” I responded.
My mind was in a riot. I was not going to bring the herb. But, my mother had insisted. She said she read once that 
when people had malaria overseas, they sent them to Liverpool. Thanks to the game Americans call soccer, my mother 
knew Liverpool was not in America because the city had a big football club in England.
She said the Americans would put me in a cage with dogs and send me to Liverpool where I would arrive with rabies 
and other diseases the English can’t treat. In the end, a very short end, she emphasized, they would dig me a hole 
and wait for me to die.
But, with these five bounded herbs, I can be my own doctor. Once I felt the chills of malaria, I can soak them up 
in a bottle of gin or sprite and wait a few hours until the medicine seep into the sprite. Then, I can let the 
herb-juiced sprite or gin loose on the malaria. It was better with gin but I know these agents will laugh me to 
prison if I asked for a bottle of gin.
The officer who had marched me in returned with two bottles of Sprite.
“You want anything else?” he asked
“Yes, can I have my Bible? It’s in my briefcase,” I replied tamely.
“Sure”.
He opened my briefcase, removed my Bible and handed it over to me.
I soaked two sticks of herb in a bottle of Sprite, closed the lid and opened my Bible to the book of psalms. I may 
be in the land of Christopher Columbus. But, even Columbus bowed to one God. I was going to pray to that God. I 
opened my Bible to the book of Psalms.
“Psalm 23 ain’t gonna help you,” the officer chuckled as he and his colleagues left the room and shut the steel 
door.
I was on Psalm 122 when the door opened again. The agent with a sinister smile and the unsmiling agent entered.
“What you got?” asked the agent with a sinister smile.
I opened the bottle of sprite with the herbs. The color had changed. I grinned. I can now prove my case to them. 
Then, I tasted it and cringed. There was still too much sprite and too little herb.
“It’s not fully ready but a pharmacist can confirm the medicinal content,” I told them, spewing what I later learn 
was called bull shitting in America.
“In this place, we’re the doctors, lawyers, nurses and pharmacists. As a matter of fact, we’re the judge and jury 
too,” the unsmiling agent said.
The unsmiling agent grabbed the bottle, smelt it and frowned.
“It don’t smell like sprite no more,” he declared.
“Well, if you put shit in water, it’s gonna smell different,” the agent with a sinister smile answered as he fished 
a handcuff out of his pocket.
The unsmiling agent tasted the herb-juiced sprite and flexed his jaw.
“It kindda have a kick,” he declared.
Curious, the agent with a sinister smile took the bottle and examined it for several seconds.
“Fuck it, I have insurance. Might as well use it if I have to,” he declared.
He takes a sip. Then a little more. He sets the bottle down, shoots me a confused look for a few moments then turns 
to his colleague.
“It sure tastes like a goddamn syrup,” he said.
The agents looked at themselves for a few seconds. It felt like a lifetime. Finally, the unsmiling agent shut my 
bag, put the handcuffs back in his pocket and smiled.
“Welcome to America”.America at Last
Five hours and forty-three minutes after the plane landed, I was finally free. I was in America. Tunde was waiting 
and worried.
“What happened?” he asked as soon as I walked out of Customs.
When I told him, he laughed so hard tears were streaming down his eyes. Then, he grabbed me in those firm, muscular 
arms of his and lifted me up right outside the arrival hall.
“Welcome to America, my darling,” he said in a soft, happy voice.
I looked at America in the fading light and shrugged in surprise. I had imagined a sunny city with people so happy 
it’s infectious. I had even glimpsed the sun and seen the people from the customs area.
Now, it was dark and gloomy and a little bit chilly. It was late September. I’m told this is the fall season – the 
prelude to winter. People were wearing knickers and shorts. But, I was freezing.
If it ever gets this cold at any time of the year in my country, they may well declare a national emergency. Not 
that it would help much though because the last time a president declared a national emergency, it was about the 
infrequent power supply. At that time, we had power six hours every day. After he declared it a national emergency, 
we were lucky to have power six hours every week.
But, why worry about the cold, I told myself. I was with the love of my life.
“I told you, didn’t I? Our children will be Americans,” Tunde said, reminding me of a promise he made to me on the 
phone during one of his thousands of calls.
“And I told you, there is no place like home. We will stay here for a few years and go back home,” I responded.
“You call that place a country! With all those illiterates in power,” he hissed.
At that moment, Nigeria was the farthest thing from my mind. I was in God’s own country. Why worry about the 
devil’s backyard? I pulled Tunde closer and kissed him. His lips were cold and chapped. But, it was the best kiss 
I’ve had in four years. Heck, it was my first kiss in four years.
“I’ve made the best plan for your start in America,” Tunde announced. “Tonight, we sleep at the Hilton. Tomorrow, 
we’re going to Atlantic City for the weekend. It’s going to be a blast”.
I wanted him to keep talking. I loved that he was still a romantic. I loved the sound of his voice. I even loved 
the faint lisp that creeps into his speech sometimes. He was cute. He could be sitting on a toilet right now and 
I’ll think he’s the cutest thing on God’s earth.
I didn’t want to go to a hotel or to Atlantic City. I wanted to go home and cook him a true Nigerian dinner. I 
wanted to get in bed with him. I wanted to start working on a baby as soon as possible. I wasn’t getting any 
younger. I was 27. And, I know a grandchild would heal the rift between my father and I.
“Just have a child as soon as you can, your father will forgive you. A new child solves every problem,” my mother 
advised me on my last night in Lagos.
But, Tunde has a plan and we have to stick to it. That’s what a good wife does.
Just so we’re clear, dear diary – Tunde and I are legally and traditionally married. He paid my dowry before he 
left Lagos. His family brought yams, wine and bags of rice to my family. Unknown to everyone but my two sisters, 
brother and Tunde’s best friend, we were also legally married.
On the morning before he left for America, we drove to the registry in Lagos Island and took out a marriage 
license. The reason we kept it a secret was because we are Nigerians and we like big wedding parties.
We had to get married before a priest then throw the mother of all parties – a party that was sure to disrupt 
vehicular traffic in our neighborhood. It’s the only way we know how to do weddings in Nigeria. It doesn’t matter 
if the next day, we’re as poor as church rats again. All that matters is that for one day, we were the talk of the 
neighborhood.
As soon as we got into the hotel room, I pounced on Tunde and drained every fluid in his groin. I woke up three 
times during the night just to catch up with my sex quota. Four years is a long time for a girl to go without. 
Tunde was so sore he screamed when water poured on his penis in the shower in the morning.
The next morning, we got in his car and headed for Atlantic City. My America journey was about to begin.

Heartbreak
Something is bothering Tunde. He’s not saying what it is. But, a girl can tell.  It’s the way his gaze drifts into 
the distance when he should be ecstatic. It’s the slow, deliberate way he chews his food. It’s in the way he looks 
at me when he thinks I’m not looking.
“Is everything okay?” I asked on our second night in Atlantic City.
“Yes, why?” he replied.
“I don’t know. I just feel something is on your mind,” I said.
“You worry too much, my darling,” he re-assured me. “Come on, get dressed, there’s a nice club I want to take you 
to.
“We can sleep in tonight. I have jetlag, “I protested.
“If we stay in, you know we won’t sleep,” he replied with a knowing wink.
“Well, I’m not getting any younger. My goal is to have our first child within a year,” I confessed.
“You’re not God. You can’t force these things,” he said.
“Heaven helps those who help themselves. It’s in the Bible,” I responded.
“We have plenty of time. I want to show you some of my latest moves,” he pleaded.
I gave in reluctantly. I don’t want this man wasting his energy on the dance floor when we can be using that energy 
to make babies. But, a girl needs to keep her man happy.
Tunde has indeed learnt a lot of dance moves. Back in Lagos, he was like a programmed robot on the dance floor. 
But, now on the dance floor, he’s moving like a leaf in the wind. He could move in so many ways you’ll think he was 
a ballerina in a previous life. We were a hit on the dance floor, well, Tunde was. Half the night, I was stealing 
glances at the many girls who wished he was dancing with them.
I woke up very early this morning. It was time to return to Baltimore, Tunde’s base.
I had dreamt of Baltimore for four years. Tunde has told me a lot about it. I could picture people eating seafood 
at restaurants. I could picture Tunde at work in his small newspaper office. I could picture the town home he 
bought a little over a year ago in anticipation of my coming over.
I was eager to start my new life.
Tunde slept longer than usual. Sometimes, I felt he was looking at me but when I turned around, his eyes were 
firmly closed. Maybe I was too eager to leave this crazy city with the gamblers, drunks and casinos, and go home 
with my husband.
Finally, he woke up and looked at me with such sad eyes I thought someone had died.
“What’s wrong, darling?” I asked.
“There is something I have to tell you,” he started mournfully.
Whatever it was, I knew it was bad. But, this is why we’re partners, I told myself. We can face anything together.
“What is it?” I asked.
“When I told you I had my papers, I wasn’t telling the truth,” he continued.
“You’re still illegal?” I asked.
“No, I’m legal now,” he replied.
“Well, it’s all a matter of details. You don’t have to tell me anything if it makes you feel bad,” I assured him.
“It’s the way I got it,” he said.
“Tunde, don’t worry. You got it. I’m here. We have each other. That’s what matters to me,” I told him.
“I had to marry a girl to get my papers,” he muttered sadly.
I burst into laughter. I have heard about this and know people pay women to pretend they are their wives so they 
can get a green card. I was laughing out of relief. I was relieved that my Tunde was still the same. He never lies 
to me.
“It’s okay, darling – I hear everyone does it,” I reassured him.
“You’re sure?” he answered with a frown.
“Oh, yeah – you did what you had to do,” I told him.
“Oh, thank God. I was worried,” he exhaled.
I pushed him on the bed and started kissing him.
“You are all that I care about,” I told him.
“You don’t know how relieved I am. We’re gonna have to make some adjustment for the next year or so?” he said.
“You’re still paying her?” I asked.
“Technically,” he replied.
That was a red flag. When Tunde dribbles himself into a tight corner, he always throws out the word, “technically”.
“How technical?” I asked.
“Well, um, we kind of live together,” he muttered.
“What?” I screamed.
“I had to do it for real or she won’t buy it. But, don’t worry, I have about ten months left before my permanent 
green card comes,” he said, rushing the words, maybe in the hope that I wouldn’t hear every thing. But, my ears 
have never been more alert.
“You are married!” I yelled.
He had no answer. He couldn’t say a word.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I screamed.
“I tried,” he replied.
“Holy Mary mother of God!” I exclaimed.
“Listen, honey – just bear with me. You’re the most important person to me,” he pleaded.
He kept going on and on. He pleaded, cried and pleaded some more. I think this is what they call a shock because my 
mind went blank. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t cry.
In my haze, I heard him say he already told “Sandra”, that was the name of his wife, that his younger sister was 
coming from Nigeria and was going to stay with them until she sorts herself out.
I left Nigeria to be with the man of my dreams. In America, I was his sister.

My Husband’s Wife
Sandra is a plump, colorless, pasty white woman with a voice that sounds like metal grinding on metal. She is 
twenty years older than Tunde. She is the kind of woman I knew Tunde would not give a second look. Tunde is her 
third husband and she looks at him like you would look at a favorite puppy.
I guess the green card makes a man do strange things.
What Sandra lacked in looks and figure, she more than made up for with personality. She was kind, caring and had 
everything you look for in a big aunty. But, she was my husband’s wife. That made her the devil.
“Hey, Ralph, you brought my new sister home!” she screeched as she ran over to the car to welcome us.
It took me a few moments to realize he was talking about Tunde. I didn’t know he had become Ralph. His parents 
didn’t name him Ralph. He’s a Moslem. His first name is Ramoni.
I nodded subconsciously at Sandra. I couldn’t look at her. I feared I would jump at her and tear her into pieces. 
So, I looked at the floor. She thought it was the way Nigerians showed respect.
“You see the resemblance, sweetheart?” Tunde asked as he kissed Sandra.
“Oh, yes – honey. Almost spitting image,” Sandra declared.
I felt like throwing up. I felt like running away. I felt like screaming. But, all I did was shake my head and 
force a grin.
“I’m just trying to make my baby happy, sweetheart. You don’t look like him. You’re a very beautiful woman,” she 
whispered as she hugged me.
I was limp in her arms. I guess my body was cold too because she pulled away and gave me a really strange look.
“Are you okay, darling?” she asked.
“She has a cold. It’s never this cold in my country,” Tunde offered before I could say anything.
“Oh, poor baby. We need to wrap you up and get you some tea and soup,” Sandra said as she hustled me into the 
house.
A chill ran up my spine as I sat in the cramped living room. I couldn’t look up because the sight of their wedding 
picture was giving me a massive headache. Her hand touching me made me squirm. Sandra thought I was shivering with 
cold.
“Poor you. We’re having an unusually early cold draft this year,” she said as she handed me a cup of tea.
“Thank you,” I muttered as I sipped the tea. It tasted like poison. I loved it. I wanted to die.
Tunde pranced around like a kid in a toy store. He was making an African soup in the kitchen and acting like all 
was well.
Half an hour after we got into the house, Tunde brought me a tray with a bowl of egusi and pounded yam on it.
“Your favorite food, huh?” he beamed.
I wish I’d taken an acting lesson in Lagos. A lot of people were. Everyone wanted to be part of Nollywood. Except 
poor, stupid me. Now, I regretted it. If I had been part of a movie in Lagos, this would be a piece of cake.
Sandra was watching me keenly. I felt like I was in front of a shrink. I hate shrinks. I hate to be analyzed. In my 
country, if your health required the attention of a shrink, you were unofficially categorized as “crazy” and cast 
off. I was determined not to allow Sandra analyze me.
I swiped a mound of pounded yam, swished it around the bowl of egusi and slotted it in my mouth. It felt like a 
thorn as it slipped into my stomach. I was beyond caring. I stuffed myself. Tunde was happy. Sandra was amazed a 
smallish woman like me could eat that much. She didn’t know I was trying to gorge myself to death.
Then, I gagged and threw up. All over the white rug.
I expected Sandra to blow a lung. But, all she said was, “poor baby, we have to get you to bed”.
The best lie Tunde told on my behalf was my cold. Sandra took me into the guest bedroom and tucked me under layers 
of blanket.
“Get some rest. When you wake up, you can have some soup. I never liked any of that white flour thing Ralph eats 
anyway,” Sandra said as she left the room.
Later I found out that Tunde had told Sandra that he was working back-to-back double shifts at his nursing job then 
driving to New York to pick me up. Then, he called from New York that I missed my flight so he was staying an extra 
day in New York. That was how he finagled the Atlantic City trip.
I didn’t even know Tunde was a nurse now. When he called me in Lagos, he told me he worked in a local newspaper. He 
told me he has a Masters degree in journalism from Columbia. He told me he missed me and was scared he won’t know 
what to do with me when we meet again because he hasn’t been with a woman in four years.
He fed me lies. And, I ate it all up. I hate the word love right now. Love sucks.
I couldn’t sleep that night. How could I? My husband was making love to his wife in the next room. Americans don’t 
build walls with bricks. They use wood. Sandra wasn’t a quiet woman in the sack. She ran a play-by-play account of 
their lovemaking.
I also couldn’t help but realize that today was the first day of October, the day the old politician was going to 
marry me. I could be laying beside him right now and planning a move to New York as his American-based wife. I 
could have moved to New York, got myself a lover or two on the side and when he comes to town every other month, 
I’d pretend he was the center of my universe.
I had little to lose. Life expectancy in Nigeria was below fifty. The man was in his sixties. He was already on 
overtime. With a little luck, he’ll be dead in a couple of years.
But, I ran away from it. I ran to doom instead.
I drifted to sleep hoping I would die before dawn.My Life Sucks!
I did not die.
I woke up to an empty house. I think I half-expected Tunde to take the day off on my first day in his house. In 
Nigeria, you can call off from work at the last minute and everything would be fine. But, as I would find out 
later, in America, you don’t do that. Every hour counts. You have to pay the bills.
I wasn’t in the mood to see anyone anyway. When I woke up, I listened hard to make sure there was no one in the 
house. Then, I got up and found the note under the door.
“Aya mi, hope you had a good night. I’m off to work. There is food in the fridge. I’ll see you later, oko re to to, 
Tunde” the note read.
For the first time in my life, I felt like killing someone. If Tunde was in the house at that moment, I would have 
taken a kitchen knife, carved out his heart and hung it on the front door as an example for every dishonest men.
His note basically said, “My wife – hope you had a good night. I’m off to work. There is food in the refrigerator, 
I’ll see you soon, Tunde, your true husband”.
This man is not only a lying, cheating scumbag. He’s also heartless.
I walked around the house in a daze. I didn’t eat the food in the refrigerator. I wasn’t hungry. My stomach was 
filled with grief. My heart was aching. I hated myself.
How did my life get to be like this? Why didn’t I take the hint in Tunde’s voice when we talked on the phone before 
I left Lagos? Now, I can see why he didn’t suggest I run to America when I told him my father was trying to marry 
me off.
I didn’t feel bad for myself. I despised myself.
I was due for a promotion to branch manager in two years in my bank in Lagos. It was a position that came with a 
car, a house, a cook, a steward and a big expense account. Before I left Lagos, I had a flat, a used car and a 
maid.
I left all that for love. I bought a ticket to hell.
Tunde came home first. He had that stupid grin he always wore on his face when he was excited. Stupid me, I used to 
think that grin was cute. Now, I can see it for what it really is – a silly look on a grown man’s face.
“I left work early. I did some shopping for you,” Tunde enthused as he handed me a bag of clothes and shoes.
The bag slipped off my hands and fell to the floor. Tunde grabbed it and shot me a confused look.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Somehow, that question snapped something in me. I grabbed the bag from him and flung it at the television. Tunde 
ran to the 42-inch television, catching it before it crashed to the floor. He steadied it back on the wall and 
turned to me.
“You think this is easy for me?” he asked.
“Stop patronizing me. I am not a fool. I’m not going to play your silly games!” I screamed at him.
“What games? This is for us, our future. I need the papers for us,” he pleaded.
“There is no us. There is you and there is me,” I yelled.
“I know you’re angry. But, just reason with me right now,” he said, holding my hand.
“Don’t you ever touch me,” I said as I yanked my hand away.
“You can’t do this. If Sandra knows what’s up, we’re both fucked. We’ll both be in Lagos before the weekend,” he 
pleaded.
“That’s your bag of wahala”, I replied as I stomped up the stairs to the guest bedroom and slammed the door shut.
I didn’t open the door for the rest of the day. I don’t know what lie Tunde told Sandra. But, she didn’t bother me 
that night.

Read more…

12166298090?profile=originalwhat if my girl was called aharit instead of arit



My girl has always been my closest friend but not one day has she ever told me her

real name . She said her name is arit and many times i go Aight ? and she says Right

. Not one day has she dared to put it all together and say AHARIT !

I wondered why she would never tell me her real name . I wondered not for long as I

asked her to marry me . to which she immediately agreed . She had been waiting for

this for ages .


Now we are about to get married it is just a few days or even weeks away .



And I asked her for the last time What is your name Arit

And she said AHARIT and I looked at her and understood . AHA RIGHT !


He sold his birthright for a meal of porridge He ignored the 'Aharit' . That which

comes After . Show me Temptations and I will ask for the AHARIT .

Now we shall soon be together for ever even after the AHARIT !

 

Happy Valentine

 

Ephesians 4:2


Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.
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Francis Agoda, the comedian fondly called I Go Dye is understandably peeved at the moment. After being assaulted by military men at a political rally organised by the Delta State Governor, Dr. Emmanuel Uduaghan, at the Warri township stadium on January 4, the comedian had demanded a public apology from his assailants, the state government and the campaign team of Uduaghan which contracted him to perform but allegedly failed to provide security for he and his colleagues.I Go DyeadvertisementSpeaking to E-Punch after his ordeal, I Go Dye confessed that but for the fact that he is a peace ambassador in the Niger Delta, it would have taken him absolutely nothing to instigate the teeming youths at the stadium against his assailants. "But I chose to toe the path of peace. I am a peace ambassador and should not be found to be inciting violence whatever the case maybe," he said.Early this week, rumour made the rounds that the multiple awards winning comedian had been compensated to the tune of N50m by a political stalwart in the state. Repulsed and shocked at the groundswell of the news, I Go Dye, in a chat with E-Punch says, "I don't know where this came from. Nobody gave me N50m. I am not in need of money from anybody, all I demand is public apology from the authorities, including the Nigerian Army, the Delta State Governor, Dr Emmanuel Uduaghan and his campaign team who failed to protect me after inviting me to the occasion. I am giving them two weeks after which I would instruct my lawyers to take legal action."He disclosed that he is being forced to take a legal action at this juncture because in recent time, the military has been carrying on as if they were at war with harmless Niger Delta indigenes in the name of searching for militants. He says, "The Nigeria Army has been attacking innocent villages in the Niger Delta. For instance, Gbaramatu and Ayakoroma communities have been attacked lately, but I am amazed they could come out in the open to attack me for no just cause."..
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A humid night two years ago, sitting beside a male friend in his car, and I roll down my window to tip a young man, one of the thousands of unemployed young men in Lagos who hang around, humorous and resourceful, and help you park your car with the expectation of a tip. I brought the money from my bag. He took it with a grateful smile. Then he looked at my friend and said, “Thank you, sir!”

This is what it is to be youngish (early thirties) and female in urban Nigeria. You are driving and a policeman stops you and either he is leering and saying “fine aunty, I will marry you,” or he is sneering, with a taunt in his demeanour and the question so heavy in the air that it need not be asked: “which man bought this car for you and what did you have to do to get him to?” You are reduced to two options; to play angry and tough and to thereby offend his masculinity and have him keep you parked by the roadside, demanding document after document. Or to play the Young Simpering Female and massage his masculinity, a masculinity already fragile from poor pay and various other indignities of the Nigerian state. I am infuriated by these options. I am infuriated by the assumption that to be youngish and female means you are unable to earn your own living without a man. And yet. Sometimes I have taken on the simpering and smiling, because I am late or I am hot or I am simply not dedicated enough to my feminist principle.


I have a friend who is, on the surface, a cliché. An aspirational cliché. She has a beautiful face, two degrees from an American Ivy League college, a handsome husband with a similar educational pedigree and two children who started to read at the age of two; she is always at the top of Nigerian women achievers lists in magazines; has worked, in the past 10 years, in consulting, hedge funds and non-governmental organisations; mentors young girls on how to succeed in a male-dominated world; recites statistics about anything from trade deficits to export revenue. And yet.

One day she told me she had stopped giving interviews because her husband did not like her photo in the newspaper, and she had also decided to take her husband’s surname because it upset him that she continued to use hers professionally. Expressions such as “honour him” and “for peace in my marriage” tumbled out of her mouth, forming what I thought of as a smouldering log of self-conquest.

Another friend is very attractive, very educated, sits on boards of companies and does the sort of management work that is Greek to me. She is single. She is a few years older than I am but looks much younger. The first board meeting she attended, a man asked her, after being introduced, “So whose wife or daughter are you?” Because to him, it was the only way she would be on that board. She was, it turned out, a chief executive. And yet. She lives in a city where her friends dream not of becoming the CEO but of marrying the CEO, a city where her singleness is seen as an affront, where marriage carries more social and political cachet than it should.

Another friend is a talented writer, a forthright woman who makes people nervous when she speaks bluntly about sex, a woman who describes herself as a feminist, and who talks a lot about gender equality and changing the system. And yet. She earns more than her husband does but once told me that he had to pay the rent, always, because it was the man’s duty to do so. “Even if he is broke and I have money, he will have to go and borrow and pay the rent.” She paused, rolling this contradiction around her tongue, and then she added, “Maybe it is because of our culture. It is what they taught us.”

There is, of course, always that “they”. Two years ago, we were slumped on sofas in his Lagos living room, my brother-in-law and I, talking about politics as we usually did.

“I think I’ll run for governor in a few years,” I said in the musing manner of a person who only half-means what they say.

“You would never be governor,” he said promptly. “You could be a senator but not governor. They won’t let a woman be governor.”

What he meant was that a governor had too much power, and was in control of too much money, none of which could be left to a woman by that invisible “they”. And yet. I realise that 15 years ago he would not have said, “you could be a senator.” Civilian rule brought greater participation of women in politics and the most popular and most effective ministers in the past 10 years have been women. In the next decade, my brother-in-law could be proved wrong. In the next three decades, he will certainly be proved wrong. But she would have to be married, the woman who would be governor.

My first novel is on the West African secondary school curriculum. My second novel is taught in universities. One question I am almost always certain of getting during media interviews is a variation of this: we appreciate the work you are doing and your novels are important but when are you getting married? I refuse to accept that the institution of marriage is what gives me my true value, and I refuse to come across as silly or coy or both. The balance is a precarious one.

“Would you ask that question to a male writer my age?” I once asked a journalist in Lagos.

“No,” he said, looking at me as though I were foolish. “But you are not a man.”

title created by me as article has no titltle culled from

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On the wings of the 2010 Felabration that just ended in Lagos, one of Fela Anikulapo-Kuti's wives, Kevwe, speaks with CHUX OHAI and ADA ONYEMA about her life with the late Afrobeat musician. How did you meet Fela? I used to take food to an uncle of mine known as Gabriel Okpaku. He had a studio. I would take the food to him there. One day, when I got to the studio, he locked me in the dark room and walked away, leaving me in company with Fela, who was visiting him at the time. I had sex with Fela that day. Later, Fela said he wouldn't like me to live in the same house as his boys in the Mosalasi area. He took me to his first wife, Remi, who was Femi's mother. The first day I saw her, I was shocked because she was very light and her hair was as long as that of a white woman. Fela left me in her care and asked her to take care of me. I told her everything about myself and she said that if I should take her word and be like a daughter to her, there would not be any problem....

Which year was this?

That was in 1972. He had just recorded the popular album, Shakara.

Did you eventually marry Fela officially?

Yes, I did. I was one of the 27 women Fela married in one day. His friend took us to his house first before we were taken to a high court for the wedding. The people at the court said we were underage and that Fela should be arrested for even thinking of luring us into marriage. Eventually, they threw us out and we went to his friend's office and from there to the late Dr. Beko Ransome-Kuti's residence. By that time, Fela's house had been burned down. So he rented a hotel where 12 herbalists were invited to conduct the wedding ceremony.

Which one of Fela's house was burnt? Was it the one in Mosalasi?

Yes.

Were you living with Fela then?

Yes.

Can you describe what happened?

I was an eyewitness. What happened was this: Femi was learning to drive a car. On his way back, the police arrested him for one reason or the other. The policemen who made the arrest argued with Fela's boys, who appeared to be drunk at the time. A fight ensued and one of the policemen fell to the ground. The others ran to nearby Abalti Army Barracks and reported the matter to some soldiers. Before the soldiers arrived, the boys had already gone into hiding inside Fela's compound. The police came in and told Fela that they wanted to arrest his boys. But Fela said he was not going to allow that and they threatened to bring in the army. By this time, Fela had fortified his residence, which was walled, with a live electric wire and anybody that touched the wire would be electrocuted to death. When this was going on, he told his mother that he wanted to activate the wire; but she said he should let the police go into the compound as long as they had a search warrant. Also, she said if they didn't come with one, he should be ready to wage a total war with them. Of course, it turned out that the policemen did not come with a search warrant and they came in company with many soldiers. All of them surrounded Fela's compound at once. He had no choice other than to turn on the electricity, thereby activating the wire on the fence. In the process, some soldiers were electrocuted. That was why their colleagues came back forcefully and threw fire into the generator that supplied the electricity and the generator burned out. Having destroyed the power generator, the soldiers were able to gain entry into Fela's home. When they got in, they shot five girls to death instantly. I still remember their names. They were Patience, Kemi, Kehinde and Taiwo, alongside two white men, who were standing at the front gate of the compound. I didn't remember anything else until I woke up to see myself in Abalti barracks.

Was it on the same day that Fela's mother was killed?

Yes, the soldiers killed his mother on that day. They came in with arms and were prepared to kill everybody in sight. Immediately they started shooting, I went to hide in the toilet. But they found me and beat the hell out of me. I saw them go upstairs to Fela's mother and carry her. At that point, I was in pains and half-conscious. But I knew they threw her downstairs. They were really determined to kill.

After you got married to Fela, what happened?

After the marriage ceremony, we went to Ghana for the honeymoon.

All the 27 wives?

Yes, all the 27 wives with Alex Conde, the one that married the late Chief Okotie Eboh's daughter. He took us to Ghana for the honeymoon and from there Fela brought other girls. The other wives were always jealous because Fela paid a lot of attention to me. Fela used to tell us to smoke marijuana or he would not accept us as his own people..

Were you smoking marijuana before you married him?

No. He introduced me to smoking. Whenever I refused to smoke, he would get angry and disgrace me in public.

What made you think that the other women were jealous?

Who is Mama Mosun?

She is the one they call Najite or Damiregba Anikulapo-Kuti. She has made herself Fela's only surviving wife in the house, whereas she is not.

How old is your son?

He is 28 years old now.

Where is he now?

He is in Lagos. He used to attend Babcock University.

Who has been funding his education?

My godmother, Mrs. Aduke Bademosi.

Why did it take you so long to make this revelation?

Because I swore on oath to late the Remi Anikulapo-Kuti that I would not spoil anything for her, as long as she was alive. We had an agreement that I could go ahead and spill it after her death. She was a great woman and I respect her a lot.

Aren't you going against your promise to her now?

No. It was her dream to see the relative of Fela and I settle down as man and wife.

She wanted you to marry Fela's relative?

Yes, she wanted me to marry Fela's relative. She used to tell me that Fela's relative was very fond of me. She was even the one that took me to the hospital to save my pregnancy. She was always there for me.

You abandoned your son, didn't you?

I did not abandon him.

So what happened?

After Fela named my child, one of the wives poisoned my baby's food. Unknown to her, I had seen her do it and decided to drop the feeder. Unfortunately, another house mate mistakenly took the feeder and fed her own baby the poison and the baby died. That was how I left Fela's house.

When did you leave Fela's house?

Between 1982 and now, where have you been and what have you been doing?

Well, I have been in England.

Are you back to Nigeria?

I will say fully because I don't want to reveal more secret.

Did you come home when Fela died?

Yes, I was here for his burial. That day was very dark.

It's been more than a decade since Fela died, how do you keep body and soul together?

It's by God's grace.

Do have any plan to remarry?

I will remarry if I see somebody that will love me the way Fela did.

You haven't told us your age

I'm 50 years old.

At the time Fela died, there was this rumour that he died of complications arising from HIV/AIDS infection. What was your reaction when you heard it?

It was a lie.

When you heard it, were you not afraid?

I wasn't afraid because I had faith in what I believe in. If he died of AIDS, how come it did not affect me? Fela had slept with me more than anyone else in that house. I should be the first person to be infected with HIV/AIDS.

Really?

Yes.

Have you gone for HIV/AIDS test?

I did all the tests in England. There is nothing wrong with me. I'm healthy. I'm a nurse.








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Henry Okah, the detained leader of the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND) yesterday accused aides of President Goodluck Jonathan of trying to falsely persuade him to blame the Independence Day bombing in Abuja on northern politicians.

The MEND leader made this allegation Tuesday in an interview with Al Jazeera, the United Arab Emirates-based television station, conducted by telephone from the South African prison where he is being held on terrorism charges. He said that a “close aide” of the president had prevailed on him to urge the militant group to withdraw its claim that it was responsible for the bombings in which 16 people were killed and several others injured. “On Saturday morning, just a day after the attack, a very close associate of President Jonathan called me and explained to me that there had been a bombing in Nigeria and that President Jonathan wanted me to reach out to the group, MEND, and get them to retract the earlier statement they had issued claiming the attacks.”

According to him, “They wanted to blame the attacks on northerners who are trying to fight against him [Jonathan] to come back as president and if this was done, I was not going to have any problems with the South African government.”

Mr. Okah alleged that despite the promised reprieve, “I declined to do this and a few hours later I was arrested. It was based on their belief that I was going to do that that Jonathan issued a statement saying that MEND did not carry out the attack.”

The presidency moved quickly to deny the politically damaging and potentially incriminating allegation, saying it was all made up by the militant leader. “This of course is an outright lie, and we challenge Okah to name the President’s aide that spoke to him on the subject. There is an ongoing investigation on Okah’s alleged involvement in the bombings in Nigeria. In South Africa, he has already been charged to court. He should face the charges, and stop making frivolous claims,” presidential spokesman Ima Niboro said in a statement.

He asked Mr. Okah to name the aide who spoke to him. “There is no question that Okah is a drowning man determined to pull others down with him, and there is hardly any purpose to be served by joining issues with an accused mass murderer. Okah is a man who has been known to say one thing and do another, and we are not at all surprised by his diversionary rhetoric.”

The allegation, which is certain to generate controversy, is lent some credence by Mr. Jonathan’s statement shortly after the blasts that MEND was not responsible for the dastardly act. He had said the bomb blasts were the work of a terrorist group hiding under the umbrella of the movement.

Mr. Jonathan had said, “We have contacted other members of MEND and they say they know nothing about it. Anybody that hides under the umbrella of MEND to carry out those acts will be exposed.” It is however unclear how the president came to this conclusion because at the time he cleared the group of responsibility investigations by security agencies were still ongoing..

The president’s statement also ran contrary to that of the group which claimed it was responsible and blamed the loss of lives on security agents. It said, ‘‘The irresponsible attitude of the government security forces is to blame for the loss of lives. They were given five days prior notice which led to the harassment of Henry Okah on Thursday (September 30) in South Africa.’’

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IBB "bribes" Journalists

Five months ago, a friend of mine, who edits a national daily, sent me a text message agreeing substantially with my column, ‘The Punch and the rest of us’, except the generalised conclusion that “all (journalists) have sinned and fallen short of the glory of the profession”. There are still some journalists, he submits, who toe the narrow path of integrity. Of course I knew where he was coming from, but I also knew the context in which I had made that statement.

I revisit that statement in light of the stories spewing out of the political beat, specifically on the race for the 2011 presidential elections and how it affects the integrity of news.

As part of the effort to sell his candidature for the presidency, former military president, Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida (IBB) invited as many as 40 journalists to his Minna home on August 14 for an interview. I have heard questions asked about why he should invite journalists to his home instead of a public place if he didn’t have an ulterior motive, and why he should offer monetary gifts to the journalists in the name of paying for their transportation.

One news medium, which has championed this opposition in the open, is the online agency, Sahara Reporters. According to SR each of the journalists received N10 million for heeding Babangida’s call on his presidential ambition. That is N400 million just for one night’s interview from an aspirant yet to win his party’s nomination if it were true. But it was not. When some of the journalists complained about the fictional sum, SR changed the story on August 19, saying it was just “a paltry N250, 000 each”. Rather than admit its initial error SR simply said, “our accountants have told us that going by the number of 40 journalists in attendance, we are still around the same ballpark of N10 million”. So much for credible reporting!

Three days later, SR followed up with ‘IBB and his Rogue Journalists’, accusing the journalists of roguery and professional misconduct; roguery, because they collected money from two sources—their employers who presumably authorised and funded the trip and their news source, IBB; misconduct because it is unethical for them to demand/receive gratification from news sources for their services.

And on August 23 in ‘IBB Nocturnal Press Parley: Punch fires Editorial board Chairman’, SR stayed on top of the story by reporting that Adebolu Arowolo, editorial board chairman of the Punch, had lost his job for going on that trip without his management’s approval..

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•Suspects arrested •governor Alao-Akala wants to kill me, Alaafin alleges
From Ibrahim Shuaibu in Kano and Zachaeus Somorin in Lagos, 07.12.2010
Photos Emir of kano,Alaafin of Oyo & Governor Alao aKala

But for providence, the Emir of Kano, Alhaji Ado Bayero, would have been killed over the weekend.

The traditional ruler escaped assassination last Friday by a lone gunman who attempted to kill him during the Muslim Juma’at prayer in Kano.

The suspect, 19 year-old Usman Abubakar, who lives in the Doraji Quarters in Kano Metropolis, was however, apprehended by the Police before carrying out the act.

Also arrested is one Alhaji Abubakar Batakaye who allegedly asked Abubakar to carry out the act.
Abubakar told THISDAY at the Kano Police Command headquarters yesterday that he was sent by a Mallam (marabout) with a specific instruction to kill the emir.

“I arrived the mosque as early as 9 am that day. I was sent to the place of worship by a 65 year-old Mallam Abubakar Batakaye, a marabout with a specific instruction to kill the emir,” he told the newspaper.
He said Batakaye allegedly asked him to recite one of the verses in the Holy Quran, Qurisiyu, 12,000 times before the congregational prayers to ensure the success of the deadly assignment.

Abubakar also stated that the marabout gave him a small amulet to conceal inside his mouth in order for him to garner courage in executing the task and to mysteriously disappear after.
He said: “I regret this attempt to kill the emir; I seek for his forgiveness and pardon. I am under the influence of the mallam who directed me to commit this ugly act.

“I was influenced by the mallam who told me to commit the act. For over ten years, I have been an ally of the mallam and his order or directive for me is like a blessing.”
Spokesman of Kano Police Command, SP Baba Mohammed Azare, confirmed the story and the arrest of the duo, saying “the state commissioner of police has ordered immediate investigation of the matter and the investigating team will be led by the Deputy Commissioner of Police, Mr. Lawal Tanko.

Also speaking with THISDAY, Batakaye denied ordering Abubakar to engage in the Emir’s murder.
“I have been attending that particular mosque for more 20 years without failing; I have a place reserved for me inside the mosque. I cannot think of attacking a monarch because our religion teaches us to regard them as the father of all,” he said.
Meanwhile, the Alaafin of Oyo, Oba Lamidi Adeyemi 111, has alleged that Oyo State Governor Adebayo Alao-Akala is planning to kill him.

The paramount ruler in a petition to President Goodluck Jonathan and the Inspector-General of Police alleged that the governor in collaboration with a prominent businessman in the ancient city of Oyo and a commander of the Special Anti-Robbery Squad (SARS) in the state hatched the plot to kill him in his palace.

He, however, said the plot failed because the collaborating senior police officer buckled at the last minute and reported the plot to him.

But reacting to the development, the governor denied the allegation, saying it should be discountenanced.
The governor’s Special Adviser, Media and Publicity Dotun Oyelade said: “Governor Akala discountenanced the so-called allegation as not only unfounded but a cooked up story much in line with the serial misinformation that the opposition has always engaged in
where there is no motive or serious disagreement, it is spurious to concoct this kind of story.

Alaafin remains the father of the governor from whom he draws profound wisdom.”
Police sources confirmed Alaafin’s petition to THISDAY, saying the Inspector-General of Police Ogbonna Onovo has ordered a high-level investigation into the alleged murder plot.

According to THISDAY checks, the directive to investigate the plot was complied with at the weekend as a team of investigators drawn from the cream of the intelligence community swung into action, visiting the SARS in Oyo and interrogating officers implicated by the petition.

In his petition, the monarch gave details of the alleged plot, claiming the governor and a businessman conspired with the senior police officer based in the town to invade his palace under the guise of seeking the arrest of suspects in the murder of the late Chairman of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) in Oyo, Alhaji Azeez Adegbile, on April 4 this year.
He further alleged that the plan was to have him and other palace residents shot in the melee that was to ensue during the invasion.

Alaafin alleged that the senior SARS officer was recruited into the plot by the businessman, who provided him with logistics for the operation, including a brand new Toyota Hilux Jeep and N2million cash reward.
The officer, the monarch alleged, initially declined to participate in the plot but agreed to play along when the governor came into the picture and offered to raise the cash reward to N10million.

Oba Adeyemi stated that rather than carry out the plot, the police officer reported the murder plot to him, and that after his (the monarch’s) personal investigation showed that the plot was real, he decided to write the petition to the President.
The monarch further stated that when the plotters found that their plan had leaked to him and eventually failed, they enlisted the intervention of some prominent South-west traditional rulers and leaders of thought to pacify him.

The paramount ruler said that much as he respected his colleagues that sought to intervene, he could not accede to their overture because of the grave implication of the plot.
Oba Adeyemi, therefore, called on the President to investigate the murder plot and ensure that the plotters are brought to book.
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Weekend Trivia:KAITA(Noun/Verb): A man who single handedly hinder the hope of his country for reason best known to him. "Kaita" can be use in place of words like Jeopardy, Hinder, Sabotage, Disrupt, Antagonist, fool etc.
Example

Noun: IBB is a kaita, so is Ota boy. Verb: Don't kaita what we have been building for 11 yrs in one day." I like that girl, please don't be a Kaita" Or In a Foolish Person's Thought: We are winning 1 - 0, let me kaita this game, so that I can get a red card and my opponent can win.



BODO, Nigeria — Big oil spills are no longer news in this vast, tropical land. The Niger Delta, where the wealth underground is out of all proportion with the poverty on the surface, has endured the equivalent of the Exxon Valdez spill every year for 50 years by some estimates. The oil pours out nearly every week, and some swamps are long since lifeless.


Perhaps no place on earth has been as battered by oil, experts say, leaving residents here astonished at the nonstop attention paid to the gusher half a world away in the Gulf of Mexico. It was only a few weeks ago, they say, that a burst pipe belonging to Royal Dutch Shell in the mangroves was finally shut after flowing for two months: now nothing living moves in a black-and-brown world once teeming with shrimp and crab.

Not far away, there is still black crude on Gio Creek from an April spill, and just across the state line in Akwa Ibom the fishermen curse their oil-blackened nets, doubly useless in a barren sea buffeted by a spill from an offshore Exxon Mobil pipe in May that lasted for weeks.

The oil spews from rusted and aging pipes, unchecked by what analysts say is ineffectual or collusive regulation, and abetted by deficient maintenance and sabotage. In the face of this black tide is an infrequent protest — soldiers guarding an Exxon Mobil site beat women who were demonstrating last month, according to witnesses — but mostly resentful resignation.

Small children swim in the polluted estuary here, fishermen take their skiffs out ever farther — “There’s nothing we can catch here,” said Pius Doron, perched anxiously over his boat — and market women trudge through oily streams. “There is Shell oil on my body,” said Hannah Baage, emerging from Gio Creek with a machete to cut the cassava stalks balanced on her head.

That the Gulf of Mexico disaster has transfixed a country and president they so admire is a matter of wonder for people here, living among the palm-fringed estuaries in conditions as abject as any in Nigeria, according to the United Nations. Though their region contributes nearly 80 percent of the government’s revenue, they have hardly benefited from it; life expectancy is the lowest in Nigeria.

“President Obama is worried about that one,” Claytus Kanyie, a local official, said of the gulf spill, standing among dead mangroves in the soft oily muck outside Bodo. “Nobody is worried about this one. The aquatic life of our people is dying off. There used be shrimp. There are no longer any shrimp.”

In the distance, smoke rose from what Mr. Kanyie and environmental activists said was an illegal refining business run by local oil thieves and protected, they said, by Nigerian security forces. The swamp was deserted and quiet, without even bird song; before the spills, Mr. Kanyie said, women from Bodo earned a living gathering mollusks and shellfish among the mangroves.

With new estimates that as many as 2.5 million gallons of oil could be spilling into the Gulf of Mexico each day, the Niger Delta has suddenly become a cautionary tale for the United States.

As many as 546 million gallons of oil spilled into the Niger Delta over the last five decades, or nearly 11 million gallons a year, a team of experts for the Nigerian government and international and local environmental groups concluded in a 2006 report. By comparison, the Exxon Valdez spill in 1989 dumped an estimated 10.8 million gallons of oil into the waters off Alaska.

So the people here cast a jaundiced, if sympathetic, eye at the spill in the gulf. “We’re sorry for them, but it’s what’s been happening to us for 50 years,” said Emman Mbong, an official in Eket.

The spills here are all the more devastating because this ecologically sensitive wetlands region, the source of 10 percent of American oil imports, has most of Africa’s mangroves and, like the Louisiana coast, has fed the interior for generations with its abundance of fish, shellfish, wildlife and crops.

Local environmentalists have been denouncing the spoliation for years, with little effect. “It’s a dead environment,” said Patrick Naagbanton of the Center for Environment, Human Rights and Development in Port Harcourt, the leading city of the oil region.

Though much here has been destroyed, much remains, with large expanses of vibrant green. Environmentalists say that with intensive restoration, the Niger Delta could again be what it once was.

Nigeria produced more than two million barrels of oil a day last year, and in over 50 years thousands of miles of pipes have been laid through the swamps. Shell, the major player, has operations on thousands of square miles of territory, according to Amnesty International. Aging columns of oil-well valves, known as Christmas trees, pop up improbably in clearings among the palm trees. Oil sometimes shoots out of them, even if the wells are defunct.

“The oil was just shooting up in the air, and it goes up in the sky,” said Amstel M. Gbarakpor, youth president in Kegbara Dere, recalling the spill in April at Gio Creek. “It took them three weeks to secure this well.”

How much of the spillage is due to oil thieves or to sabotage linked to the militant movement active in the Niger Delta, and how much stems from poorly maintained and aging pipes, is a matter of fierce dispute among communities, environmentalists and the oil companies.

Caroline Wittgen, a spokeswoman for Shell in Lagos, said, “We don’t discuss individual spills,” but argued that the “vast majority” were caused by sabotage or theft, with only 2 percent due to equipment failure or human error.

“We do not believe that we behave irresponsibly, but we do operate in a unique environment where security and lawlessness are major problems,” Ms. Wittgen said.

Oil companies also contend that they clean up much of what is lost. A spokesman for Exxon Mobil in Lagos, Nigel A. Cookey-Gam, said that the company’s recent offshore spill leaked only about 8,400 gallons and that “this was effectively cleaned up.”

But many experts and local officials say the companies attribute too much to sabotage, to lessen their culpability. Richard Steiner, a consultant on oil spills, concluded in a 2008 report that historically “the pipeline failure rate in Nigeria is many times that found elsewhere in the world,” and he noted that even Shell acknowledged “almost every year” a spill due to a corroded pipeline.

On the beach at Ibeno, the few fishermen were glum. Far out to sea oil had spilled for weeks from the Exxon Mobil pipe. “We can’t see where to fish; oil is in the sea,” Patrick Okoni said.

“We don’t have an international media to cover us, so nobody cares about it,” said Mr. Mbong, in nearby Eket. “Whatever cry we cry is not heard outside of here.”
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April 28, 2010. We here at 9jabook.com are 100% supporters of President Obama. At first we thought about SUPPRESSING this new report . . . but we figure that it would be better to know about what Republicans are trying to do to the prez.. Photo Alleged Obama Lover

According to a new report, Republican operatives are looking to pay as much as $1 million to anyone willing to discuss the president's relationship with a 35 year old woman named Vera Baker..

And according to one weekly tabloid, Vera's limo driver is SNITCHING!!! Here's what Vera's limo driver is saying:
"I took [President Obama] to various locations while he was looking for campaign funds. Vera accompanied him to each meeting.

"About 10:30 pm, I drove them to the hotel and they went in together. She didn't ask me to wait or to be taken back to her friend's home - or to her home"

Well .. . . we ain't gonna believe NOTHING about the prez unless we have more solid evidence.
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Daddy Showkey betrayed me after preventing monkeys from raping me in the jungle -Princess.pix201004103163668[1].jpg
Did you expect to be evicted from Gulder Ultimate Search, Celebrity Showdown so soon?


Princess

I didn't expect it. We didn't even know what the task was going to be like. When they said we should start breaking our pots, I was scared, because I don't know how to throw an object at something else.

Didn't you take it out on Daddy Showkey for breaking your own pots?

Yes, I did. Normally when I cooked, I always gave him extra meat. Before we left for the task that morning, I had even helped him wash his clothes. When we got there and the task required us to break pots, Weird MC said she was not going to participate. They said it was a game and we had to play it. I knew that Daddy Showkey knew how to throw things, so I begged him not to break my pot. But that was in vain. He broke all the three pots! I was so upset. I didn't really take it personal, but I was upset. I don't tell lies. I don't pretend to be friendly with somebody when I am not. I was very friendly with Daddy Showkey.

But he said he didn't do it on purpose

That was what he said. That was why I was upset with him.

Are you saying he actually targeted your pots?

He did. He even said he made a mistake by breaking Obesere's pot. He said he was targeting my pot. But he came to me and claimed it was a mistake, but I told him not to patronise me. I might be younger than him, but I am not a fool. Obesere's pots were broken by different people, but just one person broke my own pots. This was the same person that was laughing and playing with me before the task. I didn't expect him to do what he did. He should have been diplomatic. Even if he wanted to evict me, he should have allowed at least one other person to break one of my pots. He aimed at my pots and he broke all of them.

Were you friendly in the camp?

Oh yes. He used to call me Her Excellency while I called him my personal bodyguard. Monkeys would have raped me in camp. He was the one that chased them away. I was not happy with what he did.

Wasn't it just a game?

When we were going to the camp, we were not told that we were going to perform very physical exercise. When we noticed that it was going to be physical, we knew a woman was not going to win the game. They told us that it was going to be more of an intellectual game like puzzles, riddles and stuffs like that. But it didn't turn out that way. I told Daddy Showkey that he broke my pots because he knew that I would have given him a stiff competition if the game was mainly intellectual. He is very strong. He wanted to evict his intellectual opposition first, so that he would be left to deal with physical opposition. Of course, he is stronger than Dare and Emeka.

And who do you think will emerge the winner?

Weird MC is the only female left in the competition now. It has been very tedious. It wasn't what we expected. I hope she tries her best to win. It will be nice if she wins. If she doesn't win, I wish all the others luck.

Who was your close buddy in camp?

Everybody was my friend.

Including Muma Gee?

I knew Muma even before we went to camp. We had our differences. In camp, she said some unprintable things. We used to be very close, but later, due to some things, we fell apart.

Many people believed that all the ladies, except Weird MC, ganged up against Muma Gee.

That was not the case. She probably had issues with some people. Nobody went there as a group; we went there individually. Ganging up against her was not applicable at all. But there were some things she did that were not acceptable to everybody.

Like what?

There was a day she called everybody together and said she wanted to make an announcement. She said it was important and that we should leave everything we were doing. We all ran towards her and asked her what the problem was. Do you know what she said? She said somebody had used her disinfectant. Can you imagine? We were all upset. It was so rude. I thought she had something important to say to us. The fact that somebody used your disinfectant should not be enough reason to call a conference. She did funny things sometimes. I call them funny things because I had known her even before then. It might be difficult for those who didn't know her to understand her. She wears her make-up 24 hours, even at night. But because I knew her, I saw it as her nature. I know her well. She is the type that can wear six sets of clothes in one day. She says it brightens her up and gives her an aura.

Were you allowed to bring make-up into

the jungle?

No. We were told not to bring make-up because of bees. A bee stung me. It was just a simple instruction, but Muma was so used to her make-up. That is her personal style. If you are meeting her for the first time, you will not find it funny. For the sake of our collective safety, we were told not to do something, yet one person disobeyed the instruction. There is a probability that there would be friction all the time. The first task that we were given was to look for a place to settle. They asked us to sit in a boat. Some people were not used to water and boats. I was comfortable with it because I swim. But that didn't mean I should dive into the water. We were told to sit down till we found our clue. But Muma stood up in the middle of the sea and started dancing. She was rocking the boat. A lot of people got scared. Even the guy that was rowing the boat had to tell her to sit down. These were some of the instances. We all have our bad sides. But it is wrong for somebody to act as if she is holier than everyone else.

At one point, all of you were mad at her. What really happened?

She said something horrible. The things she said were edited. They only showed people's reaction and I don't think that was fair enough. What she said would have broken many homes. It would have broken someone's marriage. I don't want to talk about it. Chioma tried to correct her, but she said she didn't want that kind of correction from her. We argue. We are adults. But if I offend you, you tell me and I will apologise. God knows that what Muma Gee said that day was horrible. I was so angry. Chioma was even the one that came to me and said it was okay.

What is this thing she said?

I cannot say it. It is not printable. It is not good for kids and adults. It is a very vulgar and improper thing to say. I am sure she is sorry for what she said. She might have been trying to cast a joke, but it came out the wrong way.

Would you say Chioma was acting her quarrel with Muma?

Some of those things were mere acting. If Muma Gee said Chioma was not acting, then she is not being truthful. If we didn't go there to argue and quarrel, what would viewers be watching? Let us be factual. Viewers needed to watch us. We were in front of the camera all the time. We needed to do most of the things for the sake of the cameras, because we knew that people were watching us at home. If we were not acting, I am sure some people would have left the first day. The arguments kept the show going. It is just that some parts that led to some incidents were edited. We were friends in camp. We had quarrels and we settled them. If Muma and Chioma did not argue, they would have been pretending.

Is it true that Muma Gee said you ladies were envious of her?

That is a joke. I am not sure she said that. Why? Why should I be envious of Muma Gee? Is it because I am big, bold and beautiful? Anyway, I am sure she was not referring to me, if she actually said it. Since you asked this question, I have tried to call her and her phone is switched off. I am not sure Muma said that. No way! Of course, she couldn't have been referring to Funke who didn't even know who she was until we got to the camp. Maybe she was referring to the guys. Personally, I am not sure she was referring to me. I am sure she did not say that. She wouldn't dare. I am vouching for her.

I read in a recent publication that Muma called Chioma a demon. Do you also perceive Chioma as a demon?

I feel so sad about that article. Muma said Chioma acted like an animal towards her. That is uncalled for. It is not good. If we say we are good people, how can you call somebody a demon? When you are fighting someone, leave a space for reconciliation with that person. I learnt Muma said that even if she eventually bears children tomorrow, God will not let them be friends with Chioma's kids. That is very bad. Why do you have to turn it into a generational squabble? Has it turned to the kind of fight between Osama Bin Laden and America? No squabble should go on forever. I am not happy with Muma for calling Chioma a demon. Chioma is selfless. Muma is a very liberal person. I know that people are trying to capitalise on the squabble they had in camp. We should not call ourselves names so that when we make up, we can make up very well.

Let us leave Gulder Ultimate Search aside. Is it true that you caused a man to be deported from England because he had an issue with his wife?

If you read the article well, the writer said she hadn't spoken to me or the person involved. I think the writer said some people said something about the matter. That is just a personal issue. But it is a fact that I am in the United Kingdom most of the time. But I don't need to call the police for anything because I don't know their number. As an educated person, you cannot have an issue with your wife and a third person invites the police and they deport you. The guy in question came to Nigeria to promote his music album. I rendered some help to him. I learnt they said he left his pregnant wife. But the wife has been delivered of the baby since and I was even the first person he called to tell me that his wife had put to bed. It is very annoying. Gossip is gossip. Most of the things written in gossip columns are never true.
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“You can’t arrest me, I have a court injunction” avers Ibori.But the economic and financial crime commission insist that there is no injunction barring it from apprehending the former governor

Excerpt of a media advisory issued by the antigraft agency read: “The Commission wishes to state that following the reports in the media over the purported interim injunction, we have since made enquiries from the judge and the court to know whether such order was given. The response we got was that no such order was issued by either the judge or the court. Instead, the court only directed the applicants to put the Commission on notice while it refused to grant any interim injunction as sought”..

Certified copy of Hon. Justice I.N. Buba ruling obtained by Huhuonline.com reads:

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Devil evangelists: Robbers took my car & asked me to give my life to Christ —Sun reporter
From MOLLY KILETE, Abuja
richard-jideaka%5B1%5D.gif
Monday, April 12, 2010Friday, March, 19, 2010 will forever remain indelible in the mind of Richard Jideaka, the Sports Correspondent of The Sun Newspapers, Abuja office. It was a day the former Secretary General of the Sports Writers Association of Nigeria (SWAN), lost his car, a Toyota Sienna space bus to armed robbers.


After robbing him of the car, the robbers asked him to give his life to Christ if he survived the attack. Jideaka’s ordeal in the hands of the robbers, started shortly after he left the office on the fateful day at about 7.30 pm. After work, Jideaka headed for his home in Kubwa, a satellite town in Abuja.

The journey to Kubwa, was smooth as usual until a few metres to his house. His driver had barely stopped to buy him a recharge card when four young hefty looking robbers suddenly overtook his vehicle and ordered his driver out of the car at gun point. They forcefully moved the driver out of his seat and ordered him to take to the passenger’s seat behind...

Obviously confused about the attitude of the strange men, a now distraught Jideaka, requested to know why they were manhandling his driver. The response was precise. “You will find out when we get to the police station.” Immediately, Jideaka was also forced to move to the back seat of the car at gun point. The robbers sped off with him and his driver. The incident soon attracted his neighbours and family members, who ran to a nearby police station where the case was reported.

Richard took up the story: “It was when they forced me into the back seat with my driver that it dawned on me that they were robbers and not policemen as they claimed to be. They took my phones and the money on me and within three minutes they drove off with us with their gun pointed at my head to an unknown destination.

“While in the car, the robbers called me a 419ner. That I should regard myself kidnapped and that they were sent by my colleague to kill me and steal my car. Next they said if I am not a 419ner, where did I get money to buy a big car. When they saw my laptop, they felt convinced that I was actually a 419ner or that I was into yahoo, yahoo deals. I told them I am a journalist but they refused to believe me until they saw my tape recorder.

“They took the rings on my finger and asked me which one of them was my juju. I told them that none of them was a charm. One of them then threw the rings into his pocket and asked me to bring my wristwatch and the money in my pockets. I quickly handed them over. They commended me for cooperating with them and promised not to kill or harm me because I am a good man.

“Along the line, they asked me to pray that they do not encounter police on the way. That if they do, they would shoot me first. I prayed that we do not meet police on the way and they said ‘Amen’. Thereafter, they urged me to give my life to God if I survived the attack and I told them that I had since given my life to Christ. They said I should do that again, and I said okay.

“At a point, they asked me where I work. Sensing that they were thinking of asking for ransom, I told them I work for a new newspaper based in Abuja. The next question was where my wife works and I told them my wife is a retiree who was still waiting to be paid her gratuity by the ministry she worked with in Abuja. One of the robbers then concluded that I had nothing and that holding on to me would be of no benefit and therefore, I should be dropped in the bush. All along, I and my driver were not to fix our gazes on any of them. They had their guns already pointed at our heads.

“When I stole to look at the speedometer, I discovered that they were almost running the full speed of the car. I said silent prayers that we do not crash. I discovered that they were heading for the city centre instead of the Zuba they made us believe they were going. After about eight kilometres drive at break-neck speed, they branched off the expressway into the bush and asked us to come down and run for our lives. We obeyed immediately and dashed into the bush.

Together with their operation car [a Camry 1996 model] they drove off

“After spending sometime in the bush, we eventually trekked out and met some securitymen guarding some equipment and asked them where we were. They told us we were between New Tipper Garage and Katampe Hill. We then crossed to the other side of the road and boarded a bus back to Kubwa where my wife had already reported the incident to the police. “All my neighbours had gathered in front of my house and were offering prayers for my safety. As soon as they sighted us, the shout of praise the Lord rented the air even as they rushed to greet me.

“My wife and children who had locked themselves in the house, praying for my safety, rushed out of the house when they heard the shout of praise the Lord to find me in the hands of our jubilating neighbours who were too happy to see me return safely.”

As at press time, last weekend, Jideaka, was yet to recover his car.

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Augustine Amedu popularly known as Blackface of the Plantashun Boiz fame is back on the block. The Benue State-born musician has made it known to all and sundry that the launch of his new album, billed for next Saturday in Lagos, is going to be the bomb.
For sometime now, Ahmedu, who would now love to be referred to as Blackface Naija, has been a scarce commodity in the music scene, making tongues to wag that he has nothing more to offer and has thus gone underground.

But speaking exclusively to nigeriafilms.com, Blackface says his critics are wrong, adding that his latest effort will shut their mouths permanently.

He also revealed for the first time the reason he went underground, why his new album is the bomb, his life with marijuana and on many more issues. It’s da bomb. Enjoy:

Growing up
Since I’ve been a kid, I have always listened to music as one of the things I found when I was growing up. I just followed it from there. I listened to a lot of people, so many singers from Bonny M to Sledge Sisters and Whispers.

Then I decided to write my own music. Overtime, I started listening to hip hop, and people like Tupac, Nas, Methodman and Redman inspired me. Then I started listening to dancehall of Sizzler, Elephant man and also R&B. That is why when I bring out my music, it’s a whole lot of musical idioms.

Environment inspires me
I derive my inspiration from the environment generally. I have a new song on radio, Gen for my Head, as you are sitting down, you can hear the sound of generator. It is constant. We don’t need that noise to create. So, I keep asking myself, what is the reason for that generator on my head? Why? There must be something wrong and whatever is wrong, we have to put it right. But it is killing me. You never thought about it until I point it out to you.

So, a musician has to be creative in his environment. The generator gives me a new sound, reasoning and melody. So, the environment basically is what I use to sing my song. If I am writing a love song, I must be feeling love and am married to the best woman in the world, and my woman gives me so much love in so many ways. I can write about it in several ways. And some friends are backbiters, that would give me another inspiration and some ladies would want to come and get your pulse and get out, I write about that also and some haters don’t want to see you, I write that also. What I see, I write about.

Dancehall Business
Before now I had an album, Me, My Music and I that has tracks like Erima, Ghetto girls, The Way You Move, and If You Leave Me. After that, I went on tour of Europe. I went to Switzerland and Italy. In Italy, I played in Modina and Torino. I also went to Palma de Mayoka and Malaga in Spain. This was one of the times that I was able to reach out to my fans in some other parts of the world.

Right now, I’m back home and since December that I came back, I have gone back to the studio. I have finished the recording of my next album, Dancehall Business. I already have some singles out on the radio and people are feeling some of the sounds and I’m feeling some of them too. I know when the album comes up that’s when they are going to feel it more. I’m just like getting ready till I put the album out and the release date is March 27. From then, I’ll start showing the videos.

What to expect
Nigerians know what to expect because it’s got to be the next stage of Blackface Naija since they have been following me for sometime. When I came out with Ghetto Child, they were there for me, I dropped Evergreen and Jungle Fever, they were there for me. I went to Me, Music and I, my fans were still there for me. After that, I gave a two-year grace before I came out with the new album. So, you can imagine how long they can wait to get a hold of some lyrics from me. It was not deliberate but I was getting ready for them like they want to hear from me and I got caught up with the tour. The new album features some artistes like Spiderman, Rocksteady, Oti and Ruffman, among others.

I discovered Tuface
I am the CEO of Loudhouz Entertainment. I have discovered a lot of talents because it is not for me to tell you that I discovered this or that. And if I tell you that I discovered Tuface Idibia, you will say it’s a joke. Most of the songs that he rendered were songs that I created and most of the songs that he delivered are songs that I have decided that this was the way it got to go for this artiste.

So, it’s just about me being the CEO and to know who’s good and who’s not but in between I still got myself as Blackface Naija. However, Tuface is my friend and brother. Sometimes you are closer to your friend more than your brother. Sometimes you are closer to your neighbour than your brother because your brother is not there but your neighbour is there, and he’s always asking you how you are doing.

You can be close to your neighbour because he is talking to you more and you are both relating more. So being my friend, being my brother has got nothing to do with it. For me Tuface is a friend, he is my buddy and we’re just moving forward.

Re-uniting Platashun Boiz
The Platashun Boiz is a group that was formed by me. Tuface and I were the ones that said it’s cool to have somebody else in the group so as to bring out a different kind of opinion, a different kind of vibes. It’s possible to get together once more. I’ve been in the Plantashun business for a very long time. We’ve had times that we were supposed to be taking decisions together and we are not doing so because of distractions from different places. I remember all the works that I did for all the time we were together as Plantashun Boyz like building the group, writing the songs that the group sang, writing the songs that made the group famous.

We never had videos but we have the sounds and that is the issue but then the video is very important. Now it’s time to get the videos done and nobody is sitting on the table, so what’s going on? I’ve been worried about that for too long and I don’t want to put my mind to it any more. So, I feel its time to do my thing. It is not that I do not have love for my brothers like Tuface and Faze but they are doing their own thing. They are the ones that have the big videos but it’s time for me to do my own thing. It’s time for me to kick start my career once again.

Celebrating 10 years in music
I have been in music for about 10 years. I don’t have to celebrate it because a lot of people have been celebrating it already. People that have my albums in their homes have been celebrating the fact that I’m still there to give them more. When we get corporate bodies that are trying to work with us, then we can showcase one or two things about ourselves. But for now, we are just getting the fan base ready. A lot of people have been doing music, enough respect for them, but we know that when the masquerade comes out, the vibe is going to be different.

Music then and now
When we started, we didn’t use to do like copycats, trying to copy somebody’s lyrics and all that. We used to create something new that if someone that is creative hears it he would know that it’s something done out lots of thinking. Right now, everybody just creates from what has been created. I got to spend sometime to create music that is mine and with a landmark that this is my song but everybody is just jumping into other people’s song, they jump into me, they jump into foreign artistes. You have to take your time as a musician to create. Nobody says you cannot dribble like Ronaldo but dribble like Ronaldo with your own style. Everybody wants to be Kaka and Gerald. But it’s better to be yourself.

Me and marijuana
Weed, marijuana, ganja, can you ask yourself a question? The most prominent people in the society do they smoke weed? If somebody as great as Malcolm X could make a change in the world so why do you think he shouldn’t. Asking me about marijuana is like asking why a footballer uses boot, because it is to prevent him from getting a bad foot. Both of us are under a building which can collapse now. Let’s just live and give praise to the Most High and stop asking ourselves questions like why are we watching TV. You drive in a car, there is hazard, you send your children to school, there is hazard, you go to your office, there’s hazard. We all live with the hazards of life.

On my dreadlocks
My dreadlocks are gone. I came back from Europe and couldn’t stand the heat. I had to cover my head all the time. My kids never really saw me without my dreadlocks. So, I guess it’s time to see what daddy looks like. It still doesn’t mean I am not a Rasta man, I am still one, I still believe in Jah. I believe that the only way to achieving good life is through revolution. I still believe in the teachings and projections of Emperor Haile Selasie.

I’m a sports freak
Aside music, I love sports. I love playing football, basketball, table tennis, badminton, handball and volleyball. I’m also a ballet dancer. Sport is just another part of me but I can only let people feel the music part of me.

Regrets
I don’t have any regret. The only regret you can have is when you have not achieved anything. I have achieved a lot that I can beat my chest and say thank God for this. Before, nobody knows me. I couldn’t have a reporter ask for my opinion but now they do. I couldn’t have people say hello to me in the streets but now they do. I didn’t have people ask me what’s up, what is the problem? Now they do, which means God has taken me to another level because of the talent He has given me.
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THE call by former president, Chief Olusegun Obasanjo, on President Umaru Yar'Adua to resign as president if his health is failing him has widened the gap between the president and his predecessor, even as it has deepened the suspicion of Yar'Adua's loyalists and a section of the North about a Jonathan presidency. advertisement Impeccable sources told the Nigerian Tribune that many northern leaders who were clamouring for the handover of power to Vice-President Jonathan, owing to President Yar'Adua's continued stay outside the country on health grounds, had also changed their commitment to such a move. Sources close to President Yar'Adua said he was moved to tears when he was told of President Obasanjo's pronouncement. "The president was very bothered because former President Obasanjo was one of the few Nigerians who had been given the privilege of having access to the president on his sick bed," a source close to the president said. The Yar'Adua Chief Obasanjo saw on the sick bed, it was learnt, hardly recognised his predecessor and that the two could not engage in any meaningful discussion because of the state of Yar'Adua's health. The president's men were said to have opened up to President Obasanjo on his health challenges and why the doctors said he needed more time in Jeddah to recuperate before he returns to Nigeria. Sources said the access given to President Obasanjo had now proved counterproductive because the former president had used the information given to him against President Yar'Adua. "Why must he do this? Is it because of the urge for power always?," a source close to President Yar'Adua asked. The sources also claimed that the account of Yar'Adua's health status in the build-up to the 2007 elections as reported by Obasanjo is "grossly inaccurate" and "self-serving." A source who has always been close to President Yar'Adua before he became governor of Katsina State in 1999 said Obasanjo was only playing to the gallery on the issue. "Is he saying that as president and commander-in-chief of Nigeria, he relied entirely on what Mallam (Yar'Adua) told him? The truth is that in Mallam (Yar'Adua), Allah has shown that He is greater than any person and that those who think they can play God forget their limitations as human beings," the source said. Many sources in the presidency said Obasanjo's public advice to Yar'Adua to quit was seen as his unrelenting commitment to see Vice-President Jonathan sworn in as president, which the Yar'Adua men would not allow to happen. Those who opposed the idea of Dr Jonathan acting as president said they were afraid of what Obasanjo could do. Speaking on condition of anonymity, he said: "We all know that Obasanjo is Jonathan's godfather. He made him the governor and the vice-president. If Jonathan gets to power, it is Obasanjo who is back in power and he will come back with his legendary spirit of unforgiveness. Many of us feel this country should go back to a government that will unite rather than divide the country. Obasanjo will divide PDP and the country." But, source said the concern within Yar'Adua's group about Jonathan's return goes beyond the altruism of averting a return to Obasanjo's brand of politics. They said the people close to Yar'Adua were afraid that a Jonathan presidency would expose them to public scrutiny. Almost all the people reputed to be close to President Yar'Adua have been in one financial controversy or another. It is widely believed that they are still in government because they hold the lever of government and that the emergence of another power group will put them on trial. "It is the proverbial musical chairs. Yesterday, it was el-Rufai, Ribadu and Fani-Kayode. Today, it is Yar'Adua's boys. Under Jonathan, it is believed, Yar'Adua's boys will experience what Ribadu, el-Rufai and Fani-Kayode are experiencing today," said an insider in the politics unfolding in Abuja. Meanwhile, the First Lady, Hajia Turai Yar'Adua, is currently making last minute spirited efforts aimed at bringing President Yar'Adua to his feet, following reports that she had been in touch with established spiritualists in Mecca, Saudi Arabia. Her efforts in this regard, were, it was said, being complemented by marabouts in Nigeria said to have been contracted by top loyalists of the president in the Presidential Villa. A leading member of pro-Yar'Adua group who spoke with the First Lady told the Nigerian Tribune that she was in Mecca during the last week to offer special prayers with spiritualists in the holy land for the quick recovery of the ailing president. Turai, he said, was very hopeful that Yar'Adua would be fit to return to office within the next couple of days, disclosing that the First Lady had communicated same message to top members of the Yar'Adua cabinet and some state governors with whom she has been in touch, according to him. There have been speculations that President Yar'Adua was fast recuperating and may return to Nigeria any moment, although there has not been any visible sign to that effect. In anticipation of his return to Nigeria, pro-Yar'Adua groups have continued to mushroom in Abuja and are planning to hold a rally in his support Many of the pro-Yar'Adua groups had addressed the media last week, stating their preparedness to hold a prayer procession for the president at the Eagle Square, Abuja, after which they said members would march to the National Assembly to state their position on the president to members. Another pro-Yar'Adua group, which goes by the name Future Nigerian Leaders Group, led by Emeka Okoroji, addressed the media on Sunday and asked Vice-President Jonathan to speak up on his position on the clamour for transfer of power to him. Okoroji said the vice-president could help in defusing tension in Nigeria amid agitations for him to take over power from President Yar'Adua in acting capacity, and in line with the dictates of section 145 of the 1999 Constitution. The pro-Yar'Adua youth leader said members of his group were in support of the position of the court on the unfolding political scenarios in Nigeria, most especially their conclusions that there was no vacuum in governance, and that the transfer of power to the vice-president was needless for now.
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By Chioma Igbokwe

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Visualize a scenario where you are fast asleep beside your partner and at 2.00am, the ring tone of your phone disturbs your sleep. With your eyes heavy with sleep after a hectic day and retiring to bed just an hour earlier you pick the call only to hear the voice of a stranger you never met.

The voice is that of the opposite sex. You try to fix a face or incident to it but cannot. While you battle with ‘I can’t remember who you are’ interjection, he/she insists loudly that you gave him/her appointment to call you because you would be sleeping alone in your room.

He/she further puts you on the spot that you had always talked at such hours in the past and you are merely pretending not to know the caller. Your spouse at last takes the caller for real and counts you a liar who deliberately put up denial to save face. Problems arise from there and at last the relationship crashes.

To you, this is just a conjecture. But to many Nigerians, it is real life drama that changed the course of their lives and happiness. Despite the gains of free midnight calls offered subscribers by GSM operators, many Nigerians have such adverse stories to tell about free midnight calls that became a monster to them. To such persons who have suffered the negative impact, the free calls are not worth the trouble and the effects they inculcate.

“It has caused more harm than good to the society, the individual and families”, said a respondent who fumes at the hazards. Before the promo started any child who is awake till 1.00am must be a student who is seriously preparing for his or her forthcoming examinations. Then with the dilapidated state of the power sector, such a person would risk the effect of candle to the eyes and burn it for hours just to ensure that he/she graduates with a good grade.

But today the reverse is the case, at 12.am on the dot, children and adults, especially the singles embark on compulsory vigil just to tap into the gains of free calls that enable them talk sense and nonsense endlessly. A phone user who cannot spend three hours in a church or mosque for vigil will have his eyes wide open because of midnight call till morning. Some use the opportunity to engage on conference calls where families would seize the opportunity to chat.

Others use it as an avenue to engage in fraudulent act while most use the period to woo and toast ladies or men, even the married. Saturday Sun found that such clandestine raunchy calls are laden with romance and deep frolic that go beyond the ordinary level. And there is no need to emphasise that these midnight call have shattered and destroyed marriages and other relationships.

One of such victims of free romantic midnight calls is Jide Adesanya who lamented that it was midnight call that crashed his marriage, which he had been managing to stabilise. “I am a divorcee today because of midnight call. I was battling to save my marriage, which was on the brink of collapse because of a mistake I made in the past.

I had promised my wife that it would not repeat itself, till one night that I had convinced my wife to spend the night in my room. The grave mistake I made was not to switch off my phone. At 1.00am, with my wife in my arms my phone rang. Blood of Jesus, I pleaded hoping that my wife did not hear. I was about to switch off the phone when she asked me to answer the call, as it could be an emergency.

Could you believe that it was a voice of a woman who claimed to know me? I tried my best to pretend it was a mistake. Only for the idiot to call back insisting that I used to be her lover.

Even when I told her that I am a married man she insisted that we could always handle the affair the way we had always done. My wife got mad and that was it. Till date, I have not seen this woman who I have been begging to come help me clear the crisis that broke my marriage. Today, my marriage is over but what I do is to arrest anyone that dares call my number at night.”

Mr. Paully Onyeka blamed midnight free calls for his children’s poor attitude to reading at night and thereby performing poorly in school. “The advent of GSM has caused more harm than good especially among our children. The problem is not the midnight call but the fact that these phones are accessible. If you decide not to buy a phone for your child, one way or another, they will raise money and buy one.

I am not saying that it is not good that these products are cheap and affordable all I am hammering on is that it they have caused more bad than good to Nigerians. I was shocked one day when I woke up at 3.00am and heard voices. I quickly grabbed my cutlass and moved towards the direction of the noise only to discover that it was from my 13-year-old son. He was making a call at that unholy hour. This is a boy that has been performing badly in school, instead of reading he spends his time making irrelevant calls. How can this boy stay awake in class when lectures are on? No wonder the, performance of our children is dwindling by the day. I suggest that free midnight call should be abolished. If they want to subsidise, let them reflect it on our tariff.”

Nnenna, a journalist decided to find out who and how on earth a crippled man was able to get her number and wake her up at 2.00am. “At 2.00am, my phone rang, my husband who was by my side woke me up to pick the call. Scared that there might be an emergency, I picked the call.”

She was disappointed and relieved when he discovered that it was an unknown person.

How did you get my number? she queried and the caller, a man confessed that he asked God to ensure that whoever owns this number would turn out to be a friend. Nnenna explained that she is married and lying beside her husband. The caller who identified himself as Steve encouraged her that their relationship would be the perfect one since he was also married. He told her that the only way to control it was for her to learn to sleep in her own room.

With the consent of her husband, Nnenna decided to follow up the matter by conceding to the man’s request. They agreed that Steve should call her every Friday at 4.30am to help her wake up and receive the call. In the course of their discussion Nnenna sought to know why he chose to call an individual who he had not met. Steve’s excuse was that he has never been lucky with women. Ladies always abandon him because of his looks and the fact that he has no money. His wife, Steve lamented left him and followed another man. He decided to embark on such calls to try his luck if he would be able to get one who will agree to befriend him.’’

According to Chika Agina, a banker, midnight call is meant for irresponsible men and women who have no value for their health, thereby use the opportunity to shop for trouble. “I do not make midnight calls and would not take it lightly with anyone who calls me at such an ungodly hour. Irresponsible men or women use it as an avenue to toast the opposite sex. Any man who toasts a woman through free call is a beggar. Initially, when the promo started, I was one of those who stayed awake till 5am, just to chat with friends who wanted to. But gradually it started telling on my health.

As a banker, I had terrible errors in my job, I slept while counting money and I paid dearly for over paying people. It has no gain and I wish that it would be abolished so that people will value every call they make since they are paying for it.” Taiwo Oluwadare, student makes free night calls strictly to save cost and the night is a very peaceful time to discuss at length without fear of anyone eavesdropping.

I make night calls to save cost and also to be in relaxed mood to talk as tortuous moment in the day may not let me attend to some people especially my friends and relatives. No unknown person has called me in the night but it has cost me a dearest girlfriend. That night, I received the call and the person said I should guess who was calling, but unfortunately I mistook the person for an old girlfriend. That made my girl part ways with me bluffing my apology.

Although Chigoziem Ehirim, businessman, admits that the promo saves costs, he however warned that Nigeria is not strong enough to cope with the after effect on their health. “I make midnight calls because, its saves money. The disadvantage is that it takes your sleep away and the next day you become stressed up. Because of the effect on my health, I stopped the habit. Despite the economic benefit, I would want it to be banned. You receive all kinds of useless calls from people who are out to ruin your life. People abuse free things and this free midnight call is one of them. The habitual callers have ruined homes, the children no longer read their books or study because they spend their leisure time on phones.”

Tayo 14, is rather happy with free night calls. To people of his age bracket, it is the only source of communication since their parents would not afford to buy credit for them. “It is very good, since my parents will never buy credit for me, I wake up at night and call my friends. MTN is doing that promo for the sake of children who do not have the money to buy credit. We can talk for hours and when it is about 4.00am, you go to sleep so that you can function the next day.” A nurse, Chikezie Okezie, could not hide his face in shame as he voiced out that he makes midnight call frequently although it is not healthy.

“I make free night call but I have to sacrifice the next day with serious headache. It saves cost but has its own disadvantage. I suggest it should be banned as, it will curtail the abuse by children who will prefer to talk throughout the night and sleep during the day. I am preparing for JAMB and you can’t believe that if I decide to do midnight call I will not blink an eye, but once I pick up my book, I will doze off. It’s terrible but still saves cost.”
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Help He is Stalking me ! Obsessive relationships

i met this handsome guy like 2months ago,i was in a club and i saw him staring at me seriously but i did not think of it as odd, i mean its a free worldafter abt 2 hours of staring he came,sat beside me we got talking and we changed numbers cos he looked decent enough .Eventually we started dating , not knowing that was myundoing oever since then he calls me like 20 times a day,stalks me,as in this guy knows where i now stay, i dunno how he got my new address,all of a sudden mypicture is his phone wallpaper ,i told him like two days ago that i dont like his creepy attitude and this guy told me he is in lovewith me that he stares at my picture before he goes to bed and first thing in the morning . . . i thot twas all a joke until dis afternoon when he called and i toldhim i wasn'tcool with the friendship that he should stop calling me he dropped,before i could turn my head he was at my doorstep crying and begging me notto leave him {as if we were ever together} i told him to leave my house all for him to start threatening me that he's gon get me dead or alive,since then he'sbeen sending creepy and scary texts to my phone and he even sent a text to my parents,i got back home from school hours ago only for me to see a threatening note bymy doorstep saying its either him for me or no one else am kinda scared o wat do i do ??Please help me what do i doAlexa (name changed )
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