FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 53 YEARS, THE KNICKS ARE NBA CHAMPIONS 🏆
New York defeats San Antonio 4-1 in the NBA Finals, capturing their third championship in franchise history!
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Tosin Eniolorunda, the founder of Moniepoint, talks about how the name "Moniepoint" came about.
It was initially called "Kudiowoego" until an employee came up with the name "Moniepoint" during a naming competition.
Public access opens August 20 across web, mobile, desktop, and Meta Ray-Ban smart glasses.
This is the beginning.
Read more about our innovation & models here - https://t.co/YC93TjYx91
Big update to @usemailbridge! 🚀
You can now import your entire knowledge base directly into Mailbridge. Stop building from scratch and start using what you already have.
Current integrations:
✅ Zendesk
✅ Notion
✅ Website URL / Sitemap
Coming:
🛠 Google Docs & Confluence
Google Workspace integration for @usemailbridge is a go. 🚀
Approval took only 2 days. Been dealing with some power + Internet issues (perils of building from the motherland) but it's great to come back to such awesome news. More on what that means later.
This is what happens when your QA environment does not reflect your user environment.
Testing only on high-end devices is not testing. It is a performance for internal stakeholders.
Real testing means deliberately throttling your connection to 3G. It means running your app on a 2GB RAM device for a full user journey. It means simulating payments on a network that drops mid-transaction.
Most teams skip all of this.
A Turkish proverb says, “If a father bathes his children, both will laugh, and if a son bathes his father, both will cry.” Such is the painful beauty of life, where love comes full circle with time.
I was explaining this recently to someone. So let me just say this for those earning 1M+ from a 9-5.
Your salary is too valuable to be funding your daily life. That’s the mistake. You need a separate engine for that.
Put aside 3–4 months of your salary and build a simple, boring business, car wash, barbing salon, shawarma spot, wholesale drinks.
The goal is not to “blow” or “scale” the business. It’s just to cover your living expenses so your salary stops carrying that burden.
Once your survival is handled by cashflow, your salary becomes a weapon.
Now you can deploy it into long-term plays. Investments, assets, high leverage bets. You stop thinking month to month and start thinking in years.
That’s how people quietly build real wealth.
My father never came to a single thing I invited him to.
Not my primary school graduation. Not my secondary school prize giving where I collected 3 awards and kept looking at the gate. Not my university matriculation. Not the ceremony when I got called to bar in 2012. I'd send him the date weeks in advance and he'd say I'll try and that was always the full sentence. I'll try. No follow up. No explanation after.
My mother would sit in his place and clap loud enough for 2 people.
I stopped inviting him after the bar call. Not from anger. Some people love you completely and still cannot show up and after a while you stop making them feel guilty about it.
He was not a bad man. I want to be clear about that.
He was a mechanic in Mushin for 35 years. Worked 6 days a week. Sent every one of us to school. Never raised his hand. Never left. The lights stayed on and the rent was paid and there was always food and he did all of it quietly without asking to be celebrated.
He just could not sit in a plastic chair and watch something.
I accepted that and moved on.
Last year I bought my first property. A flat in Ojodu. Took 9 years of saving and 2 years of paperwork and a lawyer who nearly finished me. When the keys finally came I sat in the empty flat on the floor for an hour just breathing.
I called my mother first. She screamed. My sister cried.
I didn't call my father.
3 days later he called me.
Said he heard about the flat from my mother. Said he wanted to come and see it.
I didn't know what to do with that so I just said okay. Gave him the address. Figured he'd say I'll try and we'd never speak of it again.
He showed up on Saturday at 9am.
Stood at the door in his good agbada. The one he only wears for serious things. Holding a small nylon bag.
I let him in and he walked through every room without speaking. Not quickly. Slowly. Like he was counting something. He checked the pipes under the kitchen sink. Knocked on the walls. Opened and closed the windows twice each. Looked at the ceiling in every room the way only a man who has fixed things his whole life looks at ceilings.
Then he came and stood in the sitting room and looked at me.
Said the pipework is good. Said the windows seal properly. Said whoever built this knew what they were doing.
I nodded.
Long silence.
Then he opened the nylon bag.
Inside was a small framed photo. Me at maybe 7 years old sitting on the bonnet of an old car in his workshop. Grinning. Both legs swinging. He's standing beside me with his hand on my shoulder looking at something outside the frame. I remember that day. I had gone to the workshop after school and he let me sit there while he worked and gave me a Fanta and put a Michael Jackson cassette on the small radio.
I didn't know anyone had taken a photo.
He said he kept it on his workshop table for 22 years. Said he wanted me to have something for the new place.
I held that frame and stood very still.
He said he knew he missed things. Said he was not good at the sitting and watching. That crowds made something in him go wrong in a way he never knew how to explain.
Then he said the flat was good and he was proud and he asked if there was anything in the kitchen because he hadn't eaten.
I laughed.
Made him eggs and bread while he sat at my kitchen table in his good agbada like he owned the place.
We ate and he told me about a car he was working on. I told him about a case that was giving me trouble. Normal conversation. The kind we should have been having for years.
He left at 1pm. At the door he gripped my shoulder the same way he did in that photo.
Didn't say anything.
Didn't need to.
The photo is on my sitting room wall now. First thing I hung in the whole flat.
Some fathers cannot sit in the plastic chair.
But mine drove to Ojodu in his good agbada on a Saturday morning with a 22 year old photograph in a nylon bag.
That was his standing ovation.
I just didn't know to look for it in that shape.