how do you actually meet Muslim men that are adventurous funny and silly but emotionally intelligent and also on the same halal to haram ratio as you but also want to grow and learn together.
First I don’t believe this is within the remit of the police.
Local Authority EHO’s enforce this, and it’s not going to immediately get you fined. The police wouldn’t even install this, they would ask you to do it yourself.
HOW TO CUT (THE RIGHT WAY) 🧵
Most people don’t cut
They just starve themselves and hope it works. 😢
Here’s how to actually lose fat while keeping your muscle, energy and sanity intact.
👇🏾
"Until death, all defeat is psychological." - Marcus Aurelius
Refuse everything that would lead most people to give up.
Refuse it.
Rise from the dead 1000 times.
Commit to never stay down & never give up.
Everything you want is on the other side of struggle.
With breaks in between though
Glasgow to Edinburg to Aberdeen back to Edinburgh then to Preston.
London to Newcastle to Manchester.
Both trips were in a day each.
What’s the longest road trip you’ve ever done in the UK?
I’ll go first: “I drove 5 hours from my house to Cornwall and returned the same day 😅
Now I’m thinking about another trip to Edinburgh… that’s going to be around 6–7+ hours on the road.”
What’s the longest road trip you’ve ever done in the UK?
I’ll go first: “I drove 5 hours from my house to Cornwall and returned the same day 😅
Now I’m thinking about another trip to Edinburgh… that’s going to be around 6–7+ hours on the road.”
@myaccessbank
Hello Access bank,
I am looking to speak to an agent about issues with my access bank account, can I have someone contact me urgently please.
Thank you.
For a small gathering 😍
Jollof rice x 5 litres
Peppered Turkey x 12
Dodogizzard x 3 litres
Coleslaw x 2 litres
Small chops - PuffPuff x 25, spring rolls x 12, samosas x 12, mini peppered beef x 12
My father's best friend was a man called Uncle Bayo who disappeared from our lives without explanation. I was 12 the last time I saw him. He came to our flat in Gbagada, argued with my father in the bedroom for an hour, and walked out without saying goodbye to me. My father never spoke his name again. Neither did my mother. Uncle Bayo became a silence with a shape.
Twenty-six years passed. I was in Philadelphia for a conference. A networking dinner at a hotel downtown. Across the room, a man about my father's age caught my eye and held it too long. He approached me during dessert and said my surname like it was a question he already knew the answer to.
We sat in the hotel lobby until 2am. He told me the story my father never did. They had started a construction company together in the early 90s. It had failed because of a contract dispute with a senator. The senator had paid only half the money and refused the rest. The debt had crushed them. Uncle Bayo had blamed my father for trusting the senator. My father had blamed Uncle Bayo for not reading the fine print. The friendship had shattered. Two men who had been closer than brothers had become strangers over something neither of them could control.
Uncle Bayo had moved to America after the falling out. He had built a new life, a new business, a small contracting firm in West Philly. He had married a Ghanaian woman and had two daughters. He had never returned to Nigeria. He had never called my father. He had assumed the silence was mutual.
I asked why he approached me now. He said he recognised my face because I looked like my father at 30. He said he had been waiting for decades to see that face again, to explain something that was never about betrayal. He said the argument had been about shame, not money. Both men had felt they failed each other. Neither had known how to say it.
I called my father from the hotel room. It was 3am in Lagos. He answered on the second ring, voice thick with sleep and alarm. I told him who I was sitting with. The line went quiet. Then my father did something I had never heard him do. He cried. Not softly. The kind of crying that comes from a place words cannot reach.
Uncle Bayo flew to Lagos 3 months later. They met at the same flat in Gbagada. They sat in the same living room where the argument had happened. They didn't re-litigate the past. They just sat together, two old men with white hair and matching hypertension medication, and let the silence heal.
My father died last year. Uncle Bayo spoke at the funeral. He said the greatest thief in life is not money or failure. It is the belief that there is always more time.
Call them. The debt is not theirs. It is yours.
Hot oil coats the rice as moisture evaporates hence keeping the surface dry. It's harder for spoilage microorganisms to form their colonies.
If the ingredients are mixed without that final stir-fry, trapped moisture creates an environment that supports microbial growth.