The blind auditions of the second season are over and we can tell what the judges really want. But do we? – Timi Dakolo, Yemi Alade, Patoranking and Waje have turned for voices, most different and not all as enchanting as they should be for a show about The Voice. So, what exactly do they want?
What is it about revenge that feels so good? What goes on in a woman’s mind when she’s rejected or mistreated by a man that she loves dearly? What kinds of things can a scorned woman do to the guy in question? When does love turn to hate?
Lagosians do not just greet, they’ve made an art out of greeting, which can seem strange to a foreigner. But is there more to the Lagos and Yoruba elaborate rituals of respect?
Nigerians have stock reactions and responses to people based on how they are perceived. “Oga dey give you money na” is one of such reactions to women when they are buying goods and services. This is about such comments and other repulsive ones Nigerian need to put an end to.
How to ask people to feel free to reach out to us, mean it when we say it, and not botch it when they do pick that phone and call us.
Today Terdoo and Sirkastiq share their take on how Akie Abe attained legendary trolling status at the dinner she was at with Trump, Diezani’s statements and their implications, R Kelly’s infamous cult, and Usher’s introduction into the Herpes Hall of Fame. Don’t forget to drop a comment when you’re done reading. They love those…
While ‘loving’ was the proof of being in love, the actions you took to show that you’re in love, the things you do out of love. But as I grew up, I realized that there was a difference.
Ask an average Nigerian, possibly in a year long relationship what he/she is doing with their partner and their default answer will probably be “Oh, we’re going out”. Going out? Where to? When? Why?
In this unique series, you the reader is given the power to decide how you want your story to end. The main dish is Pounded Yam and you have four options of soup to go with it - Egusi, Efo Riro, Bitter leaf and Banga.
I bend my fingers to get a better view, watch as the rock catches the light and I think, my mother would be so proud. A sigh forces itself out of my mouth into his, and as he grunts in response his doughy fingers dig deeper into my back. Ouch.
I was expected not to sweat over the steaming yam nor to wipe my sweat with anything I was wearing while at this pounding. My mum was that scrupulous. And now she was comparing love to my most annoying kitchen chore.