Linda Ikeji Caught Up In Mercy Aigbe's Marital Crisis As Actress Ajayi Slams Both Ladies With N500m Lawsuit For Deformation Of Character

Mercy Aigbe’s former friend Opemititi Ajayi has slammed the actress and Linda Ikeji and Mercy Aigbe with a N500Million lawsuit.

Ajayi is suing each for alleging she slept with Lanre Gentry and destroyed the actress’s marriage.

According to the letter prepared by her attorneys, the 500Million is to ‘repair’ the damages caused by the defamatory publications and statement.

 Afolabi Fashanu & Co  wrote Mercy Aigbe and Linda Ikeji over the alleged frivolous and malicious statements.

Recall that Opemititi aka ‘Queen Stunner’ was alleged by Linda Ikeji to be the lady having an affair with Mercy Aigbe’s hubby, Vanguard reported

Mercy Aigbe, said: ‘I am yet to be served any letter. When they send the letter to me, I’ll know exactly how to go about it’ she said.

Mercy Aigbe and Linda Ikeji have just seven days to satisfy this demand.

Opemititi Ajayi (center)

Meanwhile, the actress’ husband, Lanre Gentry, who was released after fulfilling his bail condition has accused the Nigerian government of neglecting those in prison and focusing on other things.

The Hotelier was remanded in Kirikiri prisons on Tuesday, May 9, after he was arrested for allegedly assaulting his Nollywood actress wife.

Gentry was arraigned at an Ogba Magistrate Court 1 sitting at Ogba, Ikeja, on three count charges under the State Criminal law 2011.

Gentry was subsequently slammed with a restraining order that keeps him no less than one mile of Mercy Aigbe’s location at all times.

The couple was married for seven years and share a son together.

Reasons Why African Women Wear Waist Beads

Waist Beads are common with females and they are an excellent tool for women to feel more feminine and beautiful. These beautiful gemstone waist beads are hand made and customized. The tradition of wearing beads is an age long one, from time immemorial; it has been worn for varying reasons by the royalty, for body adornment, deification and decoration.

The wearing of beads on the waist was made popular by the Yorubas in Nigeria. Overtime the culture of the use of beads has been associated with both spiritual and material reasons. In some parts of Africa, the beads are anointed in oils and the woman stands over a smoked pot and commences to ‘smoke her self’.

This practice aids in sensory pleasure for the man. Some beads are adorned with bells, which is a signal to let the man know that the woman wants to engage in se.xual intercourse. The Yorubas have a revered usage attached to the waist beads. It is also worn as a form of birth control, as a way of preventing obesity or also for their ‘healing’ and thera.peutic powers.

They refer to the waist bead as ILEKE or LAGIDIGBA is made of palm nut shells string together, while the ‘bebe’ which is also worn around the waist is made of glass.
The Yorubas have a belief that the waist beads possess some er*tic appeal and have the power to incite desire or deep emotional response on men. Waist Beads in Yoruba are also used for birth control, the beads are laced with charms and worn by the women to prevent conception and were also around the waist of baby girls to perfectly shape her buttocks.
Gone are the days when beads have been thought to be worn by

UNSOPHISTICATED’, forward or slutty women alone, also different stories abound on the usage of waist beads by ladies and some men who believe they are infused or laced with charms or Juju or Juju will never touch a woman wearing beads with a 10 foot pole for the fear of falling under the supposed spell of such women.

For a while, waist beads almost went into extinction but now the re emergence of beads has added a new dimension into the craze among Nigerian Ladies. While some men ablor it, some request their partners get them as it makes them more sensual and attractive.

Again!? Overheated Infinix Hot 4 Phone Explodes and Wound Lady Terribly (Photos)

A Facebook user, Mimi Hillz, has taken to the social media platform to narrate how her friend's phone 'Infinix Hot 4' exploded and burnt her friend's leg while she was sweeping.

Here's what she wrote;

Quote

"Infinix hot 4 exploded live in our compound this morning the phone was in her pocket while she was sweeping then exploded Thanks to God Almighty a live was saved today #INFINIXHOT4"

Story: Two Realms ( Romance Thriller)-Season 1

Episode 14
They eased out of the ice cream cabin. The cosy air added to the vanilla playing with the lines of her tongue and the calm ocean’s breath rained on her, making her wish she could grasp all of it into her tiny hands. Few people hovered around, and fewer stayed in water, swimming, riding, and cursing with the local pidgin, but most did nothing but stare at her as though she was the only white present. Two other white boys—resembling Americans—ate and chatted with a black boy under an open tent.
Vacant loungers lay on the wet sands, broken and upright ones. They eased to a double-seated and watched the ocean ripple and shine. A bunch of children seated at a corner dug up the sands with their hands and sticks. Jide watched them and sniggered.
“You did that when little,” he said.
She watched them again. Nah… she never did that. Never did she dig out sands from the beach.
All she did near a sea was swim and not destroy the poor beach sands. If he imagined someone, it shouldn’t be her. She unzipped her bag and brought out her swimsuit, hoping they still fitted her. She placed her bag on the lounger and made for one of the nearby tents. There was not much struggle in suiting up, disputing every claim she had grown wider.
Coming out, one of the white boys waved at her, the one with a flat-top hairstyle that made him look like those actors who acted the good guys in high school movies and secretly dated the girlfriends of the bad guys. She waved back at him and his two friends, exchanging smiles with them. He approached her and they did minor introductions which proved right that his friend and he were from U S of A. They came touristing.
“You can see some of your people here,” Jide said when she got to her lounger.
She fantasized Newfield having the number of whites present, even as few as they were. How heavenly it would be. “Won’t you enter the water?” she asked, for asking sake. His types were the anti-waters who would only enter the water if there was an office atop.
“No, you go enjoy yourself. It’s your matriculation ceremony. I’ve had mine.”
Except wearing the gown, she would bet a thousand dollars he did nothing on his day. “What about a Jet Ski? Everybody rides that.”
“I didn’t bring a vest.”
“I saw a man selling one behind the ice cream cabin.”
“Do what you have to do, Lau. Don’t bother about me entering the water.”
She grimaced at him and rose. There was no point exchanging words with a stiff mind, stiff face, stiff everything.
“You’re swimming?” he asked.
“No, I’m skiing.”
“You won’t find a ski to rent.”
“I’ve made few friends, and they somehow have one.” She looked to the three tented boys and the Jet Ski lying beside them.
“Can you handle the machine?” he asked with that face her dad carried when about telling her not to do something but didn’t want to say the words, or didn’t know how to say them.
“I can handle a ship.”
He had not finished nodding before she ran and dived into the water. Warmer than most Canadian pool she had tasted and clean enough to avoid the fear of much of it escaping into her mouth.
She flapped legs and kept hands pointed, going deep into the water and getting more of its warmth. When wet enough, she reversed and popped her head up. Jide was staring and shaking head. She dug back into the water and swam to the shore.
“I thought you said you weren’t swimming,” he said.
“Just wanted to have a taste of the water.”
“You’re a mermaid.”
Good compliment. “The water is calm and warm. How about you try? Go get a vest and dive in.”
“My word hasn’t changed. I’m not.”
“You’re afraid of the water or you don’t just want to?”
“The second.”
“Or… you just want to sit and watch me.”
“I go for that one.”
“Then you could use this. The sun might worsen anytime.” She brought out an eyeshade from her bag and offered him. “It’s a good tool.”
On an attempt to fix it on his face, it cracked and its hands broke off. “I should have known your head was too small. I’ll get you a new one on our way back.”
“How will you survive when the sun fully comes out?”
“So better don’t last till then.”
“No promises. Sit, watch, and learn, and don’t get scared.”
She strode to the boys, smiled and pointed at their Jet Ski. That was all she need do, and they even helped push the ski closer to the water.
Her gunning of the engine chased off the nearby children, giving her the freest path to zoom into the ocean and ride deep, deep, deep. She hunched to the steering wheel and gave herself to the splashes that rained on her.
The people watching could watch, providing their eyes were long enough to follow her. She rode further to where their eyes couldn’t reach, and savoured the aloneness. One less alone would have been better, but being alone also had its advantages—however her speed or length, no one would tap her shoulder for cautioning. She looked at her behind. Jide had become a ghost.
Almost everybody had turned into ghosts.
Anyone that’d want to watch now would need a pair of binoculars. When satisfied, she did a U-turn and chortled as the water beat her. She gunned the engine and sped for the shore.
A hand was waving. Jide’s. Some more speed and she saw his dark face, all puckered and crumpled. Nice for him to worry. She rode to the shore and stopped at the wet sands.
She returned to her lounger, expecting a shout, yell, or anything that could push her back into the water. Jide gave her just that, even before she could reach him.
“Are you berserk? What made you ride so deep?” He pointed his black piercing eyes at her.
The shout and scream of a group of boys riding with girlfriends made his voice not so loud, killing the attention, but she had to defend herself. “Did I go deep? I could see you from my maximum. That isn’t deep.” Her reflection rounded the black circle of his eyes.
“If you had drowned or something happened, you think rescue teams will come rescue?”
She hooted, even though he never meant to be funny. A laugh always loosened things up. “I don’t drown in water. Let alone, on a ski? Anyways, it’s good you cared.”
“You didn’t know if the machine was faulty before riding deep; that was a big risk. Next time, think. Something could happen. Always think before acting.” He touched his forehead with an index finger.
She wiped off some of her laughs. Good to know there would be a next time. “And I examined the machine.”
“You checked the externals.”
“All right. It won’t occur again.”
“Next time you happen to be on a ski, ride along where you can be seen. You can perambulate around, but just make sure you can be seen.”
She widened her bag and flung out a towel, cleaned her hair, face, legs and began for the tent. “I’ll be back in a tick.”
As she returned to the double-seated, her thin footprints dug into the sands, her ten toes carving out themselves. “You’re forgiven for missing the matriculation ceremony. But next time, never let a lady enter the water alone.” She picked up his unfinished ice cream and mouthed in a spoonful.
“Lesson learned,” he said, “’cause who knows, they could get drowned. We should start leaving.”
“Few more minutes. It’s my first time here.” She curled up and admired her legs. No string of hair clung to it, unlike some of the girls’ around. Few minutes passed and the sun worsened, making her mourn her broken shade.

Story: Two Realms ( Romance Thriller)-Season 1

Episode 13
Lauren finished with Jide over the phone and tossed the phone to the bed. He phoned to tell he would stop by. That wasn’t her request. Her request was to see a glimpse of him on March 13th, and the day passed without a shadow of him. He didn’t come, didn’t call, didn’t text, did nothing but sit in his office chair all day with rubbish papers.
The dying hum of a car engine at her front yard sounded like him. If him, good. If not, still good. It wouldn’t change anything. She sU-Cked in a long breath. It wouldn’t change anything.
The knock at the door was strong and hard. She sauntered and unbolted. It was he, posing as though he had done something good—hands in jean with a cocked head—waiting for her to let him in. She tried not to smile, or put on any unnecessary face, and prayed she was good at it. If there was any reason to be pleased at all, it should be because he was able to locate her apartment without much help, not because he was present. The time to be present had long gone.
“I stayed in the school’s dormitories. It wasn’t as fancy as this,” he said, with a fleck of pride in his voice that clearly stated staying in the school’s dormitories was something he should be awarded a medal for, and those that stayed in fancy apartments outside school weren’t real students. If he called her apartment fancy with only a home theatre and a study desk, what would he call it when she installed the air conditioner, the one her dad bought to help discourage the mosquitoes that would be prevalent at the heart of the raining season. He settled on the bed and picked the novel lain on the pillow, scrutinizing its front cover. “Romance or thriller?”
“Both.”
“Romantic thriller.”
She wondered if that was the right name.
“I was driving past the university and thought of stopping by. How was your matriculation ceremony?” He thumbed through the pages.
“Okay.” She sat on the bed and joined him in gazing at the brunette pictured on the novel’s front cover. After much gazing, he dropped the novel on the bed.
“It wasn’t okay,” she said. “My matriculation ceremony wasn’t okay.”
Now, he attached more seriousness, but still carried a widened face as though there was a hint of funny in her words.
“No. My dad was in the office, and so were you.
So…”
His lids still pointed out, eyes still shone brightly.
He wasn’t touched. Or he was but didn’t want to show the face. Her aunt told her black people didn’t show their emotions on their faces. They could be sad and still keep a smile and they could one day decide to keep a frown, whether sad or happy.
“The matriculation ceremony would have been better placed on a weekend,” he said.
That was no excuse. It lasted the whole day, dawn to twilight.
“I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it. That’s why I made no promises.”
“No issue there. It’s not really a big deal.”
“I don’t believe that’s the case to you. I would have tried coming, but was so occupied, and thought your dad would be around.”
Thank heavens he knew it was a big deal. “Dad couldn’t leave work, but visited at evening.”
“He did well. From work to here must have taken a lot. That’s why he’s your dad.”
“So you didn’t come because you’re not my dad.”
Instead of being sober and sorry for not coming, he chuckled. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Maybe you should make me understand.” She made sure every iota of cheer on her face, if any, was wiped off.
“I leave work by night. A break for a ride to a matriculation ceremony is rash.”
“So a minute break for a phone call is also rash.”
That worked, he lost words. Eyes no more shone brightly, but rested on his sandals. They left his sandals and went to the novel, to the brunette on its cover.
“Sorry for not calling.”
She never thought all she needed was a sorry, but it seemed as though his sorry removed all the grudges she had kept—forced herself to keep. “I guess you were too busy to hold a phone.”
“It merely didn’t occur to me. I never thought you’d need a call.” His lowered voice was more pleasing to her ears than the business-like ones every man in the country had.
“Anyways, it’s gone. It wasn’t that bad. I had fun with my dad.”
He heaved a sigh with a loud whoosh. “I thought of stopping by since I couldn’t on your day.” He pressed his palms together. “I was on my way to Tarkwa bay for a light recreation. You could come with me as a make-up for the matric.
You could meet many of your mates there and make few friends.”
She heard that right, and he didn’t seem joking.
No bit of smile stuck to his lips when the words came out. “Tarkwa bay?”
He shrugged. “It’s a good relaxation centre. I visit on occasion.”
“I think I’ve heard of it. I’d love to go to the bay, but you don’t really have to do anything. I mean, you were right. You made no promises. I shouldn’t put you in a tight nook.”
His shoulders hunched, he looked at her, and the look lasted until a chuckle came forth, a chuckle whose reason would forever be mystery. “Teens remain teens,” he said, and his smirk made it sound like “kids remain kids.” “Get dressed, and let’s drive to the bay. I’ll wait outside while you change.” He rose and walked to the door.
She stared at the big mirror and scrutinized herself. No bit of her seemed like a kid and she sure hadn’t talked like one, so whatever he said or meant was to make her pissed, and painful it was working. She grunted, and ended her grunt with a wink at her mirrored self.
She opened her closet, scanned, and picked a pair of beige trousers. Beige didn’t go too well.
She tried grey, which turned out okay, but not perfect. Nobody was looking for perfect. Just good. Good enough.
The grey trousers, she topped with a red, and another look at the mirror said her black loafers would add. After donning that, she turned to the closet for her swimsuit. Sure, they could swim.
She tucked it in her bag and slung the bag over her shoulder. After a last sigh, she walked to the door and opened. He was seated on a recess with hands on his jaw.
“You forgot someone was waiting,” he said.
That sure was him attempting a con. No time was wasted in the room. “I spent barely five minutes.”
“You call five minutes barely? If that’s how you delay in getting dressed, then I can imagine how many lectures you miss a day.”
“I don’t miss lectures.”
He gathered himself and rose from the recess. “What’s in your bag?”
“A swimsuit.”
His cheeks gathered. “Suit for what?”
“Aren’t we swimming?”
“I don’t swim.”
“I do. Maybe you’d learn.”
He studied his wristwatch and led the way to his Toyota. He opened the driver’s door and the remaining doors made a click. She opened the front door and he welcomed her with school talks. Develop the habit of dressing quickly to survive the early morning lectures, he said. Of all the discussions on planet earth, he came up with only that.
She dressed quickly and smartly compared to other girls. He surely didn’t know how much time most girls spent dressing at mornings, whether in Canada or in Nigeria, so there would be no battling words with him, and silence beat wasting words on a dreary talk.

Story: Two Realms ( Romance Thriller)-Season 1

Episode 12
The hospital did not put on the generator, and the outside light entering the room gradually dimmed. Ivie tried managing the shimmers from the windows, but the rainy weather and dim clouds did no favour. She needed the light to finish her gouache, and needed Richard to watch her work as she painted so his boredom could lessen. He had been pressing his phone buttons since the rains began and had not yet said his reason for visiting—to take her. The doctor had discussed it with her several times and had clearly stated she had no choice. It was the most crucial stage of her recovery, he had said. If not for nothing, do it for the man. It was worth a try.
It was worth a risk.
She snuck a look to Richard whose fingers were glued to his cell phone. He would probably wait for the rains to cease before he leaves—or before they leave. But be it a good thing or not, the rains should stop. She needed the subsequent light to help in her gouache painting and the blustering overworked her ears.
The bulb lightened and tripped off instantly.
That distracted Richard from his phone, and led his eyes to her work. “Can you see what you’re doing?”
“I can manage.” She stopped applying paint and cleaned her hand with a rag.
“How long do those take to dry?”
“Days.”
“Days?” He placed his phone on the chair.
“Yes.”
He walked to her and positioned at her side, fixed at the marshland painting. The paint’s odour did not allow her catch any scent of him. “You love landscapes and things of nature. Your paintings say so.”
“They are the easiest to paint while sitting on a bed.”
His fingers created thin marks on the painting’s edges as they circled it. “Does this really kill your urges?”
She knew that would be the next question and had not prepared an answer for it. It was one of those many questions without answers. He wanted the truth. It was very much written on him. But sometimes the truth wasn’t needed. “Yes it does,” she said. Sometimes one needed to feel like an achiever, and if the truth would not cause that, then it should be thrown off. What mattered was not if she had found what killed her urge or if the urge could even be killed. What mattered was him feeling like an achiever and know his time and money were worthwhile.
He caressed her work, grazing its edges with his thumb. She wondered what could be happening inside him. Art usually stirred up something inside someone; she wondered what is being stirred up inside him.
“Come spend some time in my house,” he said, as though it was what supposed to be done. “I know you have a place, a home, and something doing, but this is necessary. It wouldn’t go on for long. Possibly, after a month, you would go back to your normal schedule, but this is something you have to do for your recovery. I have abundant rooms.”
“The doctor and I discussed it,” she said.
“And what did you decide?”
He cared as though he was entitled to, and did not bother hiding it. It could be nothing but his philanthropic nature. Nothing but that. She shifted gaze back to him. He wanted to hear a yes, needed to hear a yes. “I’m still on treatment, so I do what the doctor says.”
“Good choice. In the next few months, your illness is sure to leave.” He looked at the windows, at the rains that made no promises to stop. Refocusing on the painting, he thumbed a portion of it, and some of the paint glued to his thumb. “The paint will take long to dry.”
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“Lander Close, GRA.”
She remained mute, trying to form her next words. “Thank you, Richard.” There was a reason to say that, even if she was without what kills the devil in her, even if it was not yet in her hands.
“Should we leave now? We’ll dodge the rains to my car.”
The choice of leaving with him or not yet divided her head and would have sure torn it apart had the doctor not decided for her. What would she have chosen if she were to? She carried the painting to a corner of the room and slanted it at the bottom.
“Aren’t you taking the painting along?”
“I’m leaving it here.” She made for the drawer, drew it open, and arranged the few things in her bag.
“You brought few clothes.”
“I stay indoors almost all day.”
She slung the bag over her shoulder and they left the room to the already darkened outside. Her feet could not manage the pavements enough to escape the drops and splashes.
More splashes met them as they ran into the downpour, heading for the parking lot, where she met a full dose of the rain, and even more as they rushed into the car.
It was hard to swallow, but there she was, next to him, on the road to his house, in wet clothes.
#
They rode without having to drag the car through floods. The few potholes did not hoard the waters, but allowed a fairly smooth flow into the drainages. The natives keened on duplexes, and maybe they had deliberately cut off the trees, but certainly the grasses.
“My house is few drives away. It’s an estate.
The government always makes sure it’s in good condition,” he said, after a prolonged quiet and bobbed head to a “13th avenue” signboard that had its arrow pointed to the right.
At the avenue, the rains made huge blusters as they poured from the high roofs to the cemented ground. Few bungalows hid between the fenced storey buildings. There were still no trees.
Fragments of velvety lawns were sprinkled on some front yards, especially the scarce bungalows’. He stopped at the front of a duplex, and a gateman opened the gate. Sunflowers lived in a mini garden at the heart of the compound, opening their yellow heads to the falling waters.
They stepped out of the car, and the rain’s blustering increased. A jeep and another car like the Honda sat on the tiled ground, but he drove only the Honda. Was he living with someone else?
They left the bags in the boot so the rain wouldn’t touch them and trailed the veranda until they got to the door. He pressed the doorbell and a voice came forth, a non-masculine voice.
The door squeaked and opened. A woman. He never mentioned he had a woman. The woman’s eyes brightened and reverted to normal. She welcomed Richard and turned to Ivie. “And who do we have here?” She asked with same tone used in welcoming Richard.
Ivie greeted with the best smile she could achieve.
“She’s the one I was telling you about,” Richard said.
“Welcome to the house.” She smiled and offered a hand, which Ivie received.
The scent that raided the hospital ward when Richard visited filled the large sitting room. Photographs dominated the walls. No paintings. A framed photograph of him was hung at the wall’s top, side to the woman’s. They were like couples—beautiful couples. He once said he did not have a wife. The wordings still rang clear in her head. Ivie twisted head for a short look of the woman. Her coffee skin glittered, the parts her embroidered caftan couldn’t cover. Her weave-on seemed to be the most fitting cover for her head, the way it flowed down her back like the ripples of a calm ocean.
The woman shifted a curtain and they walked out of the sitting room. “What’s the name?” Her smile showed a stretch of her upper teeth.
“Ivie Oboh.”
The spiral stairs wound like those of the psychiatric hospital. The woman did not lead up the stairs.
“I’m Ezinne,” she said. “Richard told me you’re suffering from a disorder. What’s its state?”
“There are some improvements.”
“Good to hear.” She pushed open a room door. “You can stay here.”
“Thanks. Nice place.”
“I should go give Rick something to eat. Call me when you need anything.” She walked away.
Scents of new leathers and electronic sets welcomed Ivie into the room, and the tiled floor absorbed the whole heat from the arches of her soles. The mattress, hard as one no skin had ever touched.
Closing eyes became easy. She closed eyes and gave her whole self to the bed.

Story: Two Realms ( Romance Thriller)-Season 1

Episode 12
The hospital did not put on the generator, and the outside light entering the room gradually dimmed. Ivie tried managing the shimmers from the windows, but the rainy weather and dim clouds did no favour. She needed the light to finish her gouache, and needed Richard to watch her work as she painted so his boredom could lessen. He had been pressing his phone buttons since the rains began and had not yet said his reason for visiting—to take her. The doctor had discussed it with her several times and had clearly stated she had no choice. It was the most crucial stage of her recovery, he had said. If not for nothing, do it for the man. It was worth a try.
It was worth a risk.
She snuck a look to Richard whose fingers were glued to his cell phone. He would probably wait for the rains to cease before he leaves—or before they leave. But be it a good thing or not, the rains should stop. She needed the subsequent light to help in her gouache painting and the blustering overworked her ears.
The bulb lightened and tripped off instantly.
That distracted Richard from his phone, and led his eyes to her work. “Can you see what you’re doing?”
“I can manage.” She stopped applying paint and cleaned her hand with a rag.
“How long do those take to dry?”
“Days.”
“Days?” He placed his phone on the chair.
“Yes.”
He walked to her and positioned at her side, fixed at the marshland painting. The paint’s odour did not allow her catch any scent of him. “You love landscapes and things of nature. Your paintings say so.”
“They are the easiest to paint while sitting on a bed.”
His fingers created thin marks on the painting’s edges as they circled it. “Does this really kill your urges?”
She knew that would be the next question and had not prepared an answer for it. It was one of those many questions without answers. He wanted the truth. It was very much written on him. But sometimes the truth wasn’t needed. “Yes it does,” she said. Sometimes one needed to feel like an achiever, and if the truth would not cause that, then it should be thrown off. What mattered was not if she had found what killed her urge or if the urge could even be killed. What mattered was him feeling like an achiever and know his time and money were worthwhile.
He caressed her work, grazing its edges with his thumb. She wondered what could be happening inside him. Art usually stirred up something inside someone; she wondered what is being stirred up inside him.
“Come spend some time in my house,” he said, as though it was what supposed to be done. “I know you have a place, a home, and something doing, but this is necessary. It wouldn’t go on for long. Possibly, after a month, you would go back to your normal schedule, but this is something you have to do for your recovery. I have abundant rooms.”
“The doctor and I discussed it,” she said.
“And what did you decide?”
He cared as though he was entitled to, and did not bother hiding it. It could be nothing but his philanthropic nature. Nothing but that. She shifted gaze back to him. He wanted to hear a yes, needed to hear a yes. “I’m still on treatment, so I do what the doctor says.”
“Good choice. In the next few months, your illness is sure to leave.” He looked at the windows, at the rains that made no promises to stop. Refocusing on the painting, he thumbed a portion of it, and some of the paint glued to his thumb. “The paint will take long to dry.”
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“Lander Close, GRA.”
She remained mute, trying to form her next words. “Thank you, Richard.” There was a reason to say that, even if she was without what kills the devil in her, even if it was not yet in her hands.
“Should we leave now? We’ll dodge the rains to my car.”
The choice of leaving with him or not yet divided her head and would have sure torn it apart had the doctor not decided for her. What would she have chosen if she were to? She carried the painting to a corner of the room and slanted it at the bottom.
“Aren’t you taking the painting along?”
“I’m leaving it here.” She made for the drawer, drew it open, and arranged the few things in her bag.
“You brought few clothes.”
“I stay indoors almost all day.”
She slung the bag over her shoulder and they left the room to the already darkened outside. Her feet could not manage the pavements enough to escape the drops and splashes.
More splashes met them as they ran into the downpour, heading for the parking lot, where she met a full dose of the rain, and even more as they rushed into the car.
It was hard to swallow, but there she was, next to him, on the road to his house, in wet clothes.
#
They rode without having to drag the car through floods. The few potholes did not hoard the waters, but allowed a fairly smooth flow into the drainages. The natives keened on duplexes, and maybe they had deliberately cut off the trees, but certainly the grasses.
“My house is few drives away. It’s an estate.
The government always makes sure it’s in good condition,” he said, after a prolonged quiet and bobbed head to a “13th avenue” signboard that had its arrow pointed to the right.
At the avenue, the rains made huge blusters as they poured from the high roofs to the cemented ground. Few bungalows hid between the fenced storey buildings. There were still no trees.
Fragments of velvety lawns were sprinkled on some front yards, especially the scarce bungalows’. He stopped at the front of a duplex, and a gateman opened the gate. Sunflowers lived in a mini garden at the heart of the compound, opening their yellow heads to the falling waters.
They stepped out of the car, and the rain’s blustering increased. A jeep and another car like the Honda sat on the tiled ground, but he drove only the Honda. Was he living with someone else?
They left the bags in the boot so the rain wouldn’t touch them and trailed the veranda until they got to the door. He pressed the doorbell and a voice came forth, a non-masculine voice.
The door squeaked and opened. A woman. He never mentioned he had a woman. The woman’s eyes brightened and reverted to normal. She welcomed Richard and turned to Ivie. “And who do we have here?” She asked with same tone used in welcoming Richard.
Ivie greeted with the best smile she could achieve.
“She’s the one I was telling you about,” Richard said.
“Welcome to the house.” She smiled and offered a hand, which Ivie received.
The scent that raided the hospital ward when Richard visited filled the large sitting room. Photographs dominated the walls. No paintings. A framed photograph of him was hung at the wall’s top, side to the woman’s. They were like couples—beautiful couples. He once said he did not have a wife. The wordings still rang clear in her head. Ivie twisted head for a short look of the woman. Her coffee skin glittered, the parts her embroidered caftan couldn’t cover. Her weave-on seemed to be the most fitting cover for her head, the way it flowed down her back like the ripples of a calm ocean.
The woman shifted a curtain and they walked out of the sitting room. “What’s the name?” Her smile showed a stretch of her upper teeth.
“Ivie Oboh.”
The spiral stairs wound like those of the psychiatric hospital. The woman did not lead up the stairs.
“I’m Ezinne,” she said. “Richard told me you’re suffering from a disorder. What’s its state?”
“There are some improvements.”
“Good to hear.” She pushed open a room door. “You can stay here.”
“Thanks. Nice place.”
“I should go give Rick something to eat. Call me when you need anything.” She walked away.
Scents of new leathers and electronic sets welcomed Ivie into the room, and the tiled floor absorbed the whole heat from the arches of her soles. The mattress, hard as one no skin had ever touched.
Closing eyes became easy. She closed eyes and gave her whole self to the bed.

Story: Two Realms ( Romance Thriller)-Season 1

Episode 11
Ivie did not rise from the bed to go open the door for the person knocking. The last thing she wanted was pep talks from the nurses. The door opened. It was not a nurse. It was Richard in a tailored, auburn suit that outlined his square shoulders. He headed for the chair by the door, same chair he sat on every visit. Never had he sat on the bed.
He sat on the chair and placed his briefcase on his laps, talked about the positive remarks of the doctor like how he said she was recovering. She wondered what could be the doctor’s definition of recovery. Her mum was told the same thing.
“You will soon be discharged,” he said.
The hospital was safe. The nurses ensured she remained in her room, and that was the only good they did. It kept her from falling prey to the devil. And in the hospital, there were no numerous stares from people. Now, she was about going back to those, about going back to the outside world of fear, guilt, and the stares…That was the doctor’s definition of recovering.
“The therapist said you paint in here.”
Does the doctor have to tell him all she did? That was not part of her treatment. “I paint sometimes.”
“Does it kill your urge?”
She surveyed his face for the answer he yearned. “Yes, it did.”
“Can I see some of them?”
She opened a drawer and brought out her sketchpad. He rose from the wooden chair and dallied to the bed. Seated beside her, he began opening the pad, browsing through the first pages with swift eyes, not spending a minute on a page. “They’re good.”
He ran fingers over the edges of a painting of flying eagles. “Natural. It’s beautiful.” He continued viewing the drawings and began spending time on each page. She watched him, enjoying the silence, but not his scent that raided the room, same scent she allowed crawl into her nostrils.
When finished with the last page, he closed the pad and la!d it on the bed. “They’re beautiful.
It’s good you’ve found what kills your urge.
Now you’ll agree with me the hospital is a good place.”
She wished she could agree. She wished the hospital could be a good place so that he would be right. “I have another book. You want to see it?”
“I’d want to.”
Why did she offer? It was her book of sketches, filled with rough drawings and paintings, not the type to show others. She opened a drawer and brought out the book.
“These are sketches.” He flipped through the book.
“I thought you wanted to see all of the works.”
He continued flipping through the pages, feigning a zealous face that he was bad at. “They’re okay.”
He looked through the window and glanced at his wristwatch, same thing he did on every visit. A selfish wristwatch and its selfish time.
“When will you come again?” she asked, before her mouth would stiffen itself.
“Before you get discharged.”
A definite answer would have helped.
A thud came from her door, and without it opening, a female voice said Ivie was needed in the doctor’s office.
“Do you see the therapist every day?” Richard asked.
“No. But regularly.”
“I should be leaving. Go see him.” He carried his briefcase and aimed for the door. His footsteps disappeared immediately he closed the door. She prepared to go meet the doctor and answer those questions without answers.
The doctor’s eyes left his demitasse and trailed her from the door to the seat. “Have you been taking your medications?” He gave her piercing eyes that might as well force her to say yes.
Those few times she had missed were not enough to say no. Yes, she had been taking her medications.
“Last time you were taken to the store, are you aware of how many items you picked?”
“No.”
“Nine.” The doctor sounded it so loud it echoed and rebounded in her ears. “It’s an improvement, though.”
That did not sound like an improvement.
The doctor had the most twisted face when voicing out the Nine. “Were you a bit conscious of them?” he asked.
“No.”
He stuck his glasses firmer to his eyes and changed topic to her nights. Was she having restless nights? Is she able to sleep all through the nights? Does she wake up in the middle of the nights and sleepwalk? Most persons didn’t know if they sleepwalk, so if that happened or not, she wouldn’t know.
“How do you still feel after a steal?”
The answer would not change. No matter the number of times he asked, the answer remained same. Fear. Guilt. And it pained to say, sometimes relief came in. Sometimes the three decided to show their heads.
“You still feel relief?” the doctor asked with a deepened voice, making it very clear there had been no improvement. “Does your painting help relieve you of the urge?”
“It does,” she said, glad at the slight change of subject, even though it would last for only a while.
“Do they distract you from the urge?”
The doctor’s face craved for a yes. It would be cruel to disappoint him. Yes, they did, if that would erase the folds forming on his forehead.
“When do you paint?”
“When I feel like doing so.”
“Is that every day?”
“Not every day. I sketch when doing nothing.”
“Does that also suppress the urge?”
“It does.”
The remaining folds on his face disappeared. Her reply was not wasted.
“You can go to your room,” he said.
“Any hope of a discharge soon?” She did not know if that would be good news, but it was right to ask.
“I’m on that.”

Horror as Woman Cuts Off a Man's P*nis in Her House...You Won't Believe Why She Did It

A man who tried to force himself on a woman in India, is currently regretting it.

The Indian woman cut off the man’s p*nis after he allegedly tried to r*pe her at her house in the southern state of Kerala, police said on Saturday.

According to a report by Agence France Presse, AFP, the 23-year-old law student was at her residence in the state capital Thiruvananthapuram late Friday when she says she was attacked by the 54-year-old man, who had claimed to her family to be a religious guru.

“She used a knife in her defense and cut off his penis,” district police chief G Sparjan Kumar told AFP by phone.

“The man, Hari Swami, was rushed to the nearby government hospital in a serious state,” he added.

The local media reported that Swami was in a stable condition after undergoing emergency medical procedures at the local hospital.

The woman claimed the man had been assaulting her for several years, according to Kumar, who said police had registered a case against Swami for sexual offences against a minor and r*pe.

Police said the girl’s parents, who live at the same house, were unaware of the assaults by Swami.

“The woman told us that her parents blindly trusted this Swami, and he used to get frequent invites to perform special ceremonies and stay over at their house, where he assaulted her,” Kumar said.

She is now under police protection and receiving trauma counselling.

Transfer news LIVE: Latest from Manchester United, Arsenal, Chelsea and Liverpool... plus more from the Premier League and the rest of Europe

JOHN DOWNES: Yaya Toure's agent Dimitri Seluk has admitted that his client would be open to a move to Italy if the 34-year-old midfielder doesn't agree a new deal at Manchester City.

The former Barcelona man is out of contract at the end of the season although the Ivorian star is expected to be offered a new deal by Pep Guardiola.

Toure - who joined City in 2010 for a fee of around £24 million - is keen for a quick resolution to his City future but the Sky Blues will not decide on new contracts until after Sunday's Premier League finale away at Watford, with Champions League football still not guaranteed.

“God made me pass through all these challenges to make me a better person” – Tee Billz

 

Over a year ago, artiste manager Tunji Balogun, popularly known as Tee Billz tried to take his life by jumping into the lagoon under the Lekki-Ikoyi bridge in Lagos. He was however rescued by passersby and friends and family who got wind of his intention.

He had insinuated that the reason for the move was as a result of a fallout between him and his wife.

Tee Billz, who went through rehabilitation for more than six months, returned to social media late 2016 as an advocate for mental health.

Speaking to PUNCH’s Saturday Beats recently, Tee Billz said everything that happened was for a reason, saying, “God made me pass through all these challenges to make me a better person.”

“The way I handle things now is completely different from how I acted in the past. I do better now because I know better. If I had gone through the experience before now, it probably wouldn’t make sense to me until I go through some challenging situations. But I thank God that I have been able to overcome all those through the guidance of my coach.

I only recently understand what it means to have a purpose in life. I have saved many people from committing suicide even though I don’t come out to say it. I was suicidal myself but God preserved me so I could also save others. I just realised that He kept me to touch the lives of others. People surely have their opinion about me and the entire issue, but God sees my heart and knows how much of a new man I am.

I am like Job in the Bible, God made me pass through all these challenges to make me a better person. I am only human, just like everyone else, so I am not immune to committing mistakes. My experience can be likened to a battle between evil and good. I am happy God redeemed me and pushed me on the side of good.

I am not being religious, I am just grateful to Him for giving me a renewed mindset. This is one of the biggest things coaching has done to me,” he said.

On whether his friends supported him during his ordeal, he said: “God is the only friend I have.”

When he was asked if him and his wife have settled their differences, he responded: “God is the only friend I have. He knows and has the best for me in His vineyard.”

Tee Billz thanked his coach Lanre Olusola for his support, adding that he is currently helping his colleagues in the industry who are going through similar challenges.

“I am already helping a couple of colleagues in the industry that require the type of coaching I have been through. I am open to working with others needing some sort of motivation and inspiration. Celebrities are humans too, our lives are out there for people to see but that does not mean we cannot make mistakes. The most important thing, however, is for one to surmount the challenge and triumph. I am happy with my life now,” he said. 

Forget Your Age, You Will Fail This Simple Question!! Checkout This Pry 4 Riddle & Tell Us What Is Missing

Yes! This Riddle looks very simple but believe me 80% of our So Called Graduates will fail this without stress.

This same Riddle took me 15 minutes to Unravel but I finally did 😜😜

See the Question below:-

Tell us, What is Missing??

Drop your comments.

Wizkid Appears To Be Unaware of Davido’s Sony/RCA Deal

In Wizkid‘s recent interview on DJ Abrantee‘s Afrobeats Show on Capital Xtra, he talks about a lot of things, including Drake not being on the Come Closer video, his next official single, and more.

What sticks out in this exclusive interview is the part where Wizkid appears to be unaware of Davido signing with Sony/RCA. Is this shade? Or is Wiz genuinely unaware? Watch the clip and decide for yourself.

Moji Olaiya’s househelp finally reveals the truth, about the sudden death of her boss

Days after the death of Veteran Yoruba movie Actress,  Torrents of tributes have poured in for renowned Yoruba movie actress, Moji Olaiya.

Moji’s demise Thursday morning after she reportedly suffered a cardiac arrest sent a shock wave across the Nigerian entertainment industry.

Her last post on Instagram was 18 hours before her death was announced. She wrote, “Hello fans, Okiki app is now on Apple App Store. Watch movies from me and other great actors for free.”

But before that she had posted two days earlier, sharing a picture where she looked trimmer and wrote:

“Alliamdulilahi to you Allah I give all the glory for all you have done. I will forever praise and worship you. It’s not by power but the Grace of Allah. Thank you for the gift of life. Thanks also to all my friends and family my fans for your supports and prayers. Love you all.”

When photographs of the late actress on her deathbed found its way to Instagram, it was greeted with a lot criticism from her fans and colleagues.

Although her family is yet to issue an official statement, more information about the circumstances that let to her death have also been made public.

Olaiya’s housekeeper, Mrs. Keji, who described herself as a very close friend of the deceased, revealed in an interview that the actress’ sudden death could be a spiritual attack.

According to her, in the last three days before she passed away, the actress had placed several calls from her base in Canada to complain of “being uncomfortable”.

“Her baby was born premature— her EDD was for May 2017 but complications arose that necessitated that she be induced to save the baby’s life as well as hers. But since the delivery in March, her health had not been exactly perfect.”

She said that around 10p.m. Canadian time (3a.m. Nigerian time) Moji went into a crisis. “Her blood pressure shot up and she became unconscious. An ambulance was called to transport her to the hospital. But her case worsened and she gave up the ghost before they could make it to the hospital,” She revealed.

Moji, 42, died almost exactly two years after her younger brother, Abidemi Olaiya, passed on. He died on May 4, 2015.

Endless tributes and eulogies

Fans of the deceased actress have also been posting videos of dirges, which they specially composed in her honour on Instagram.

Her colleagues have also been expressing shock over the untimely death of one of their own.

Popular actress, Bisi Ibidapo-Obe, who shared a bond with Moji in the movie industry and also lived next to her in Magodo, Lagos, wrote, “RIP my darling beautiful friend Mojisola Abikeade omo Olaiya..I will miss you so much! May God almighty be with you in Jesus name. My beautiful friend l will miss you so much. I will forever miss you my beautiful darling friend love you so much.”

The duo were more of family friends whose relatives all knew one another. They were close and always at each other’s place if either of them was hosting a party.

More of an organiser, Moji stood by Bisi when she bore her love child for Senator Dino Melaye, and ignored what people said in the movie industry especially from the camp of actress Lola Alao, who made it a messy media war when Bisi got pregnant for the controversial lawmaker.

The director of Public Relations and Media Affairs of the Theatre Arts and Motion Picture Association of Nigeria, Yomi Fash-Lanso, said, “It is with a heavy heart and sad disposition to hear about the sudden death of our colleague; friend and sister, Moji Olaiya, who’s death occurred a few hours ago in Canada, few days after giving birth.”

Veteran actor, Yinka Quadri, said, “What is really happening, why are our dearest ones going too soon? It so sad to hear Moji Olaiya is no more. May her soul rest in perfect peace. May God be with those she left behind.”

Actor Femi Branch recalled, “We were just mere colleagues until the day we had a certain discussion in Sagamu with Aunty ‘Fali Werepe’ and you rose in my defense. I have recounted this tale to more people than I can recall and in every instance, the mention of your sincere intervention was the highlight of my tale.

“That day, I knew the good hearted Moji Olaiya and for as long as I have the gift of memory, Mojisola Olaiya will remain embedded in my heart. Sleep well `Mj’. May God erect a canopy of protection over your children and the family you left behind. Lord, please stem this hand of death moving over our industry and please open our eyes to know that life belongs to you and only you can give it in abundance.”

Also, Actress Funke Adesiyan said, “Days like today should not exist. I refuse to believe the news of your untimely demise. I still don’t get why good people don’t last. You were a true soul. Beautiful in and out with absolutely no space in your heart to hate or pretend to love.

“You were so genuine. May Allah rest your soul and give your family the fortitude to bear this loss. It’s a sad day.

The Chief Executive Officer Okiki Films, Sunday Esan, said, “I’m currently in a state of grief and shock. Is it true that Moji Olaiya is gone? My good friend is no more; I will miss her personality, talent and humility.”