My flatmate Chuka fell in love with a Scottish woman who thought jollof rice was a person. He met her at a house party in Leith where he had brought a pot of the rice as his contribution, the way he did at every gathering, because he believed food was the only reliable currency. Her name was Isla. She walked into the kitchen, looked at the pot, and asked who Jollof was and why everyone kept saying his name with such reverence.
Chuka stared at her for a full 5 seconds. Then he laughed so hard he had to brace himself against the counter. She did not laugh. She was genuinely confused and slightly embarrassed and the combination made him fall for her instantly. He explained that jollof was not a person but a dish, a legendary one, one that had ended friendships and started wars across West Africa. She asked if it was spicy. He said it was a feeling more than a flavour. She said that was the most ridiculous description of food she had ever heard.
She tried a spoonful. Her face went through 5 distinct stages of panic. She drank an entire glass of water. Then she asked for more.
They married 2 years later in a small ceremony at the historic vaults beneath the South Bridge. Isla's family wore tartan. Chuka's family wore agbada. The caterer served jollof and haggis as a combined course. Isla's grandmother, a tiny woman from the Highlands, asked Chuka what the orange rice was. Chuka said it was jollof. She squinted at it. Then she said to Isla, loud enough for the whole room, This is better than the potato scones at your cousin's wedding. Don't tell your aunt. Isla told her aunt anyway.
Chuka now cooks jollof every Sunday and Isla has learned to say more pepper in Igbo. Her accent is terrible. He corrects her every time. The argument is the ritual. The ritual is the marriage.
Love begins with a ridiculous question and a second helping.
@buildwithdudu It depends on what you want to achieve, I’ve managed to incorporate Claude and Kling into my workflow although it’s pretty experimental it still gets the job done.
He blocked me on WhatsApp during a fight…
Then texted “What do you want for dinner?”
It started as a stupid argument this morning.
One small misunderstanding..
And suddenly we’re both raising our voices over nothing.
By afternoon?
Radio silence.
I checked WhatsApp.. one tick… two ticks… then nothing.
Blocked.
I actually laughed out loud.
Only my man would be this dramatic… but still expect food to magically appear.
Then my phone buzzed.
An SMS from him..
“What do you want for dinner?”
I stared at it, shook my head, and walked into the kitchen.
There he was, pretending to be busy while clearly waiting for my answer.
“You blocked me,” I said.
He shrugged.
“I needed silence.”
“And dinner?”
I asked.
He finally looked at me, half-smiling.
“I needed clarity on what to cook.
”I couldn’t stay mad.
I burst out laughing.
He joined in.
The argument didn’t completely vanish, but it suddenly felt so small.
Because real love is stubborn like that, it blocks you from words, but still makes sure you eat.
Shaaa marry right oooo
Fellow Nigerians, good morning.
I woke up this morning after my church service with a deeply reflective heart, and despite every constraint, I felt compelled to share these thoughts with you.
Many people do not truly understand the silent pains some of us carry daily—the private struggles, emotional burdens, and quiet battles we face while trying to survive and serve sincerely in difficult circumstances.
We now live in an environment that has become increasingly toxic, where the very system that should protect and create opportunities for decent living often works against the people—a society where intimidation, insecurity, endless scrutiny, and discouragement have become normal.
More painful is when some of those you associate with, believing you would find understanding and solidarity among them, become part of the pressure you face. Some who publicly identify with you privately distance themselves or join in unfair criticism.
We live in a society where humility is mistaken for weakness, respect is seen as a lack of courage, and compassion is treated as foolishness—a system where treating people equally is questioned simply because you refuse to worship status, tribe, class, or power.
Personally, I have never looked down on anyone except to uplift them. I have never used privilege, position, or resources to oppress others, intimidate the weak, or make people feel small. To me, leadership has always been about service, sacrifice, and helping others rise.
Let me state clearly: my decision to leave the ADC is not because our highly respected Chairman, Senator David Mark, treated me badly, nor because my leader and elder brother, Alhaji Atiku Abubakar, or any other respected leaders did anything personally wrong to me. I will continue to respect them.
However, the same Nigerian state and its agents that created unnecessary crises and hostility within the Labour Party that forced me to leave now appear to be finding their way into the ADC, with endless court cases, internal battles, suspicion, and division, instead of focusing on deeper national problems and playing politics built more on control and exclusion than on service and nation-building.
Even within spaces where one labours sincerely, one is sometimes treated like an outsider in one’s own home. You and your team become easy targets for every failure, frustration, or misunderstanding, as though honest contribution has become a favour being tolerated rather than appreciated.
And when you choose to leave so that those you are leaving can have peace, and you step out into the cold, you are still maligned and your character is questioned. Despite all your efforts to continue working for a better Nigeria and engaging people with sincerity and goodwill, those who do not wish you well continue to attack your character and question your intentions.
There are moments I ask God in prayer: Why is doing the right thing often misconstrued as wrongdoing in our country? Why is integrity not valued? Why is the prudent management of resources, especially when invested in critical areas like education and healthcare, wrongly labelled as stinginess? Why are humility and obedience to the rule of law often taken to be weakness rather than discipline?
Let me assure all that I am not desperate to be President, Vice President, or Senate President. I am desperate to see a society that can console a mother whose child has been kidnapped or killed while going to school or work. I am desperate to see a Nigeria where people will not live in IDP camps but in their homes. I am desperate for a country where Nigerian citizens do not go to bed hungry, not knowing where their next meal will come from.
Yet, despite everything, I remain resolute. I firmly believe that Nigeria can still become a country with competent leadership based on justice, compassion, and equal opportunity for all.
A new Nigeria is POssible. -PO