Why is it so hard for women to tell each other the truth? Deep down you know exactly what this is but you can’t get yourself to call it for what it truly is smh
Truth is, everyone has their targeted audience and it doesn't necessarily mean they're selling their body,
I know of a man who doesn't sell his food to anyone who's not a celebrity and he's making it..
It's all about packaging and being unique..
For those saying I should share here contact or our chat, I can't do that cause that's her business..
We don't go about sharing chats or contact except with the person's permission..
Dear football,
Today, I want to share with you that this season will be my last as a professional footballer. After so many years living my dream, I feel it’s time to start a new chapter in my life.
Being honest, even though I have been preparing myself for this moment, I found it hard to write this letter. After 20 seasons , many people have played an important role in my career.
When I first kicked a ball as a child in Pamplona with my schoolmates, I never imagined the amazing journey ahead. I’m grateful for every moment: the wins, the tough losses, the challenges, and most of all, the people I’ve met and the friendships I’ve made along the way.
To my teammates, coaches, and every staff member at all the clubs I’ve been lucky to be part of, thank you for helping me grow as a person and a player every day. Wearing the shirts of CA Osasuna, Olympique Marseille, Chelsea FC, Atlético de Madrid, Sevilla FC, and representing my country at the biggest stages has been a true privilege. Every moment has meant so much to me…
Speaking as a Chelsea fan, today should be marked as a “day of gratitude” to Man City for letting Cole Palmer join us. Just a reasonable 0-2 loss will do. 😂😂😂
I can write a whole thesis about this!
Take it from me: most ladies who come to Abuja for NYSC with high expectations and without a strong support system usually end up frustrated, some become 304, squatting in one Abuja village with their friend, and finally return to their states after 2-4 wasted years in Abuja.
I have seen this happen over and over and over, it’s no coincidence.
The highest job in Abuja for a young female graduate is in real estate, which is not sustainable. Abuja is very expensive.
You will meet rich guys, but the probability of them taking you seriously is 30%, because for some reasons most guys in Abuja don’t take women in Abuja seriously, especially if you are a corps member.
Some of these ladies come to Abuja for NYSC to find connections and big Alhaji and Politicians but most of they end up disappointed because Chief, you go see, you don’t even have access to them.. na SAs and Aides to politicians go fvck you tire with promise of connecting you to “Oga”.
When you advise these ladies who are desperate to do NYSC in Abuja that there are no job opportunities in Abuja, they don’t listen.
Lagos is better for NYSC if you are looking for Hob opportunities.
I have a whole lot to say but I will stop here.
Dear Readers,
For the first time in a long time… I walked away from work. Not completely, but enough. Eighty percent gone. Resting. Breathing. Choosing presence over pressure. Because how can I preach “you are not indispensable” and refuse to practice it myself?
So here I am , soaked in family time, soft laughter, slow mornings… and a little peace I didn’t know I was missing. 😉
But that’s not why I’m writing you today.
Today is about faith. About knowing who to hold when the ground shifts beneath you. About the kind of God that shows up quietly… and then suddenly.
Let’s rewind to January 2023.
I noticed something. A growth on my friend. Subtle, but new. I told him, “This wasn’t here before.” He brushed it off, but I insisted he check it. He went to a well-known hospital in Victoria Island. They examined him and said it was nothing.
Life moved on.
Almost a year later, just before Christmas, he called me.
“I have something to tell you.”
My heart dropped.
I begged him to tell me on the phone ,my flight wasn’t even the next day. But he refused. Said he would tell me when I landed. Imagine that. 😂 He knows I struggle with patience, so of course… he made me wait.
I landed in Lagos.
He picked me up from the airport.
And the silence in that car? Heavy. Unfamiliar. It wrapped around us like fog. We got to my house but he wouldn’t come upstairs. We stayed in the car.
Then he said it.
The hospital had confirmed cancer. They had already told him to begin treatment. Explained the drugs. The side effects. The expectations.
I froze.
And then somehow , I heard myself say, “You won’t take the drugs yet. Give me time.” 😂
Yes. Like those bold herbalists in Nigerian movies.
But I wasn’t joking.
I asked how financially ready he was. If he was open to a second even third opinion. He said yes. We found a hospital in the UK. Plans began to move.
But before any flight took off, I went somewhere first.
I went to God.
Not casually. Not politely.
I immersed myself. Scripture became air. Worship became language. I went to Shiloh and had conversations with God that didn’t end when the service did. I wasn’t just asking for a second opinion, I was asking for a different outcome.
January came with 21 days of fasting.
He had already left for the UK. So while I was fasting in Nigeria, he was undergoing tests abroad. And not light tests — rigorous ones. There was one that required drawing fluid from his spine. An epidural was needed just to get through it.
Every day of my fast felt like a countdown.
Then the results came back.
Clean.
No cancer found.
Confusion. Rechecks. “Maybe we need more time to be certain.” So they scheduled another round of tests for August.
He went back.
Clean again.
I don’t know about you… but I know what I saw.
God showed up.
Sometimes during worship now, tears just fall. Because “thank you” feels too small. Too ordinary for what happened. How do you summarize mercy like that in two words?
So I’m sharing this with you for one reason:
When it feels like all is lost, hold Him.
Not because it sounds nice. Not because it’s religious. But because I have seen Him step into a diagnosis and rewrite it.
If He was God yesterday, He is still God today.
Share with me when has God shown up for you in a way you knew it could only be Him? Let’s remind someone reading this that miracles are not old stories.
Hallelujah.
Till next weekend.
Toodles.
A hug request.
A peck request.
“I was just joking.”
No.
You were testing boundaries and retreating when they didn’t bend.
Then one evening, as he dropped me off , because I never let him inside (my house is an extension of my father’s house, whether he’s there or not) he placed his hand around my neck.
“Take it off.”
“Relaxy,” he said, in that dismissive tone that assumes a woman’s discomfort is dramatic decoration.
I looked at him the way my father would look at nonsense in public.
He removed it quickly.
“But this is not sexual harassment nau.”
Interesting thing to say when no one used the word.
Some men are rattled not by rejection — but by women who are not waiting for crumbs from their wallets.
He stopped calling.
He adjusted his gym time.
He disappeared.
And my gym remains my safe place.
No man will make me shrink in a space I pay for.
No attention is flattering when it ignores consent.
No “provider energy” impresses me without character.
The unsettling part?
He genuinely thought he was doing everything right.
Now tell me something…
Why does basic respect feel revolutionary when a woman refuses to be impressed?