Mena's Muzik


MusicPlaylistView Profile
Create a playlist at MixPod.com

Tuesday, 27 September 2011

PHOTO AND ARTICLE OF THE DAY




LAGOS, Nigeria -- When the sun sets in Nigeria, candle flames dance against the darkness, flashlights bob down empty streets and thousands of diesel generators cough to life.

This nation has more than enough oil and natural gas to satisfy its energy needs, but its power grid is a wreck, reaching less than half the population even on a good day. To frustrated Nigerians, the initials of the state-run electricity provider, the Power Holding Company of Nigeria - stand more aptly for "Please Have Candles Nearby."

Nigerian President Goodluck Jonathan vowed Thursday to set things right by expanding, repairing and privatizing the system - a hugely important issue for the nation of 150 million, IRONICALLY He made the announcement in a luxury Lagos hotel powered around the clock by diesel generators.

The effort will require enormous investment. In a report, Nigerian officials suggested that $100 billion "would represent a conservative estimate" to build new power plants and transmission lines over the next decade.

There haven't been improvements in Nigeria's electrical grid since the 1970s, and its population has almost tripled since then. Former President Olusegun Obasanjo, who governed from 1999-2007 and is a mentor to Jonathan, purportedly spent as much as $16 billion to revamp the power grid - to no visible effect.

Nigerians' cynicism about the situation is as dark as the streets are at night. A survey of businesses conducted by the nation's anti-graft agency found executives rated the national power company less trustworthy than even Nigeria's trigger-happy and bribe-prone federal police. Many of thosE surveyed said they feel obliged to bribe workers to repair power lines or provide electricity.

Employees of the state-run power company went on strike over their salaries but returned to work . But even when workers man their stations, most of the country remains without power.

Some Nigerians steal what little electricity there is. Power poles look like tangled black yarn with illegally spliced lines running in every direction. Workers cut electricity during hard rain, over fears of transformers blowing or poles falling to the ground, their live wires killing passers-by. One such incident left at least 20 dead in February.

Many in Africa's most populous country remain skeptical of ever seeing steady electricity.

"Every day I pray to God ... to give us light," said Cecilia Akpan, a 55-year-old widow who sells cassava at night by candlelight in the capital.

Those who can afford it get by with diesel generators. Those powering office buildings can be the size of boxcars. In humble market stalls and homes, small generators provide enough electricity for a few light bulbs and a fan during humid nights.

In Lagos, a city of 14 million, the growling engines create a monotonous soundtrack, their diesel fumes a noxious perfume. The central bank estimates Nigerians spend $13 billion a year to fuel generators, which together provide more than twice as much electricity as the national power company.

Jonathan's plan calls for privatizing the 11 electrical distribution companies that fall under the power company. Private investment would build new, natural-gas power plants that would rely on Nigeria's ample gas reserves. The government would create a new power grid to carry the additional electricity while contracting a private firm to manage it.

"We need a revolution in the power sector," Jonathan said.

At Lagos' Oshodi Market, a maze of concrete store stalls specializing in electronics, salesmen scamper to their rooftops to pour more oil mixed with fuel into their small generators, which provide just enough power for lights. Only one stall - the generator store - had enough juice to run a flat-screen television, which blared music videos.

Fueling a small generator costs about $10 a day in country where most earn less than $1 in the same time, noted Anthony Okeke, the market's vice chairman.

"We use the profit to buy the fuel," Okeke said.

Those at the market have relative comfort compared to most Nigerians. In rural pasturelands, fires light the night in homes, just like in ancient times. In the city, street hawkers like Akpan sell their wares by candlelight, their faces illuminated only by passing headlights.

Less than a mile away from the market, meanwhile, generators at compounds owned by the country's political and business elite chug into the night, powering security lights on empty parking lots.

"Poor people, we are suffering in Nigeria," Akpan said. "It is only the rich people who are enjoying Nigeria."

SOURCE: ASSOCIATED PRESS
http://www.miamiherald.com/2010/08/26/1793619/oil-rich-but-candlelit-nigeria.html
Mena

Sunday, 25 September 2011

ENGAGED but SINGLE by guest blogger Femi Job




Hi!!!

Many men and ladies too are in exactly this situationn! Whcih situaion? read on:

This is a true story. It is about a lady and her efforts to find Mr right. Ladies say that 9 out of 10 guys are wrong (of course this is not true). Chidimma (not real name) is (currently) engaged to a guy called Ugo (not real name). I know Chidimma personally, but I do not really know Ugo. Chidimma lives in Houston, Texas whereas Ugo lives in Baltimore, Maryland. Chidimma works as a sales associate at WalMart Stores (location: Houston) whereas Ugo is a student at Towson University, Maryland.


Chidimma met Ugo at a 'naija' party in Dallas, Texas (in December 2008). He 'toasted' her and she fell for him. They started going out in January 2009, and they got engaged in October 2009. It's a 'good' long distance relationship, but it works for them (who said long distance doesn't work?). On her facebook account (Chidimma is my friend on facebook), her relationship status (currently) is 'SINGLE'. In February of this year, I had this conversation with her in Houston.


Me: Chidi-mama, how you dey now?

Chidimma: Jobeeee, I dey fine oh, you nko?

Me: I dey o...

Chidimma: I dey always gbadun your moves for facebook o, all those your controversial status updates. Hahahahaha! I dey always laff tire!
Me: You know me now...Oh, by the way, I get person wey wan know you oh. I get friend wey like you. He saw your picture and he's never going to be the same again until he meets you oh. I told him I will check to see if you are available.

Chidimma: Really? that's good oh! Before I can know if I am available or not, I have to find out about the guy now! Tell me about am - wetin be him name? where him dey work? where him live? how him look?

Me: well, you know say I no know whether guys are fine or not, but him dey ok sha. Na Ibo boy o. Him name na Chuks. Na Chevron him dey work for here in Houston. Na Houston him dey live!

Chidimma: I AM AVAILABLE. Tell him I am 'single' and 'available'. You can tell him to add me on facebook. Jobeeeeee, you get real person oh! Chei, see as my leg dey shake sef! You get him picture?

Me: E dey my facebook...(pause)....ummmm, so I take it you don break up with your fiance Ugo. Wetin happen now?

Chidimma: NO oh! Who tell you say I don break up with Ugo. We still dey engaged!

Me: but...you just said you were SINGLE and AVAILABLE! you dey confuse me big time oh!

Chidimma: Jobeeee, you suppose understand now! Free me small now!!! If na wo-wo guy wey no get money you introduce me, I go be seriously ENGAGED, but as you introduce fine hardworking engineer to me, I dey SINGLE. (pauses)...e sound somehow abi?

Me: Odikwa serious gbasky o....chei...eeewo......nnem nnem udu ma rapota mo udu (Ibo song of hope)

Chidimma: See, IT'S LIKE THIS - I am ENGAGED to Ugo, but until I am MARRIED to him - I am technically SINGLE. We have both discussed this and he knows about my status on facebook. So, if I see someone better, I will break up with him...(pauses)....I am with him because I don't want to be ALONE. I am 30 years old Jobeeee, all my friends are married or engaged or in a relationship. So, I don't want to BLOW my chance of finding the right guy, and so if the right guy comes my way, I AM SINGLE AND AVAILABLE, if the WRONG guy comes my way, I AM ENGAGED.

Me: OK O

Chidimma: Jobeeeeeeeeeeeeeee....!!!!!

copyright* FEMI JOB,


Now I say as long as you are not married, even if you are engaged, especially all those 2yrs plus 'engagment', you can keep as many potentials around, but not SLEEP with them, while my altruistic youngest sister believes once you are engaged you keep off all other potentials, what say you???

Mena

Wednesday, 21 September 2011

FIVE BOYS GANG RAPE FEMALE STUDENTS OF ABIA STATE UNIVERSITY:- as narrated by Linda Ikeji


I just came across this evil barbaric story and just couldnt help but share, a lady was raped for 2 days. My biggest problem with this is what actions will eventually be taken, will justice be served or will they get away with it as is normal in lawless barbaric fatally paternalistic society like Nigeria?

Read on


And the photo you see was taken by her (Linda's) camera and the rest of the note is from her blog, source immediately after.

FIVE BOYS GANG RAPE FEMALE STUDENTS OF ABIA STATE UNIVERSITY:- as narrated by Linda Ikeji
My whole weekend messed up. I saw a video that has messed with my head. A rape video. One hour of five boys taking turns on a girl. So heartbreaking to watch! One woman I showed it to today cried for three hours straight...it's one of the worst things I've ever seen in my life



A female student was gang raped by five boys in Abia State University. This incident happened Tuesday August 16th , 2011. These boys raped this girl, recorded it, passed it round their friends, who then passed it round ABSU campus.



And do you know what her offense was, why this girl was raped? She supposedly insulted one of the boys...that was all.



In the rape video, which lasts for over an hour, the girl cried her eyes out and tried to fight them off in the first few minutes, after a while they subdued her; by slapping her, rough handling her, threatening to kill her and having rough sex with her. After a while she gave in and instead of fighting, she started pleading, and after her pleas fell on deaf ears, she begged them to kill her that she couldn’t take the pain anymore. These boys laughed at her, made fun of her and told her that if she didn't co-operate, they would keep her in the room and continue raping her for two days.



Then she starts mentioning names, saying ‘What did I ever do to you’, (they spoke in English and Igbo language) she mentioned at least two names.



And in between, you will hear her scream out in pain as one guy stands up and another penetrates her...and all the while, these boys are laughing.



In the video, you can clearly see the girl’s face; the boys faces you really can’t see clearly... but they talk a lot and one of them said he’s a 4th year law student, another one said he’s an IT student...names were mentioned...these boys can be fished out.



This girl is someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s friend, and God’s creation. You cannot do this to another human being and get away with it.



I have the video...one hour of it on my laptop, and 10 minutes of it on my phone...but the rape was more than an hour, she went through this ordeal for several hours. Uploading this video online is not an option, but I want people who can do something about this to see it.



These boys can’t get away with this. Please if there’s any Women Rights Group, police, lawyers, journalists, who can take this up, please contact me; I will bring the video to you, wherever you are or send via email...see more at.. http://lindaikeji.blogspot.com/2011/09/five-boys-gang-rape-female-student-of.html

Monday, 19 September 2011

A NIGERIAN LOVE/HATE STORY- 'pending on your perspective :)


Hi there. Not been such a good and faithfully employee bcos my health has just been crazy. Was ill wednesday. Felt better on friday, then on Saturday I was so ill I got up from my bed to get a glass of water and fell on the floor ill with cramps, couldnt move, my phones were ringing couldnt pick it up till help came, was rushed to maitama hospital....given injetions felt better and was told to come back together for some lab test. Went there after dropping my bag at work to see very sick people all waiting to do similar tests as mine or other tests in general. Very rude lab assistants shouting at ill patients, very tired medical personnel to tired to show where the right offices where located the best they could do was a toss of their head. etc etc. Waited for a long time for my blood to be taken, infact missed a lot of office hours and still couldnt finish the whole samples to be taken from me , will finish do some more tomorrow *dreading it*...my point being that, isnt there a more efficient way for things to be done???? My guest blogger speaks Nigeria as a nation in limbo..enjoy

A Nation in Limbo, A People at AkimboIt is a ward meeting of the biggest political party in the country, a country that boasts huge natural resources which includes oil, tourmaline, gold, tin, copper etc, and huge agricultural potentials with weather and soil in different regions that can grow virtually anything required. The ward meeting has in attendance members of the local community, the next election is near and they have come to discuss their nominations for political offices ranging from ward councillors to the presidency. Potential candidates are in attendance, they have come to discuss their plans with the community members and tell them how they intend to develop the community if elected into office.

Bola walks down the road, his girlfriend Aisha is around for the weekend, they just returned from the swimming pool at the VGC residents club and were taking a stroll on this beautiful Saturday afternoon. They see a group of people gathered in a building and his girlfriend asks him what is going on, I don’t know he replies, I rarely walk past here, I drive past and didn’t even know that building existed. They walk back home and relax, it will soon be 9pm and they will be meeting up with some friends at newscafe for some drinks before heading out for the night.

The ward meeting has ended, they are chattering as they return, each man to his own abode, the market woman to her stall, the area father to his gang of area boys, the barber to his shop, the okada rider to his queue, the bus driver to his garage. They are all uneducated and look toutish, shouting and singing songs of loyalty to their great party, afterall it is the biggest political party in Africa . The aspirants are well dressed and look out of place, but they have learnt to live amongst these people, they share banters with them and crack jokes. They have just concluded a very important meeting, and the atmosphere seems to favour them.

Bola and Aisha are back by 4am on Sunday morning, they see a group of area boys sleeping by the road next to Bola’s gate, they drive past them and go home to sleep, it was an eventful night, they had plenty to drink, Aisha danced till she almost dropped, they slept, it was Monday morning again, on the way to work Bola curses the Lagos bad roads and wonders what the local governments are doing with all the money they get, bunch of touts and thieves Aisha replied, he drops her off at work and goes to his office. Nobody is working, the generator has broken down, the blackmarket diesel they bought was fake, he curses PHCN for making entrepreneurship difficult, his PA says they should be scrapped, bunch of idiots.

It is another Saturday, the aspirants have done as agreed, the community make their way to the ward meeting, they are dressed roughly, the market women smelling of fish, the okada riders haven’t had a bath in weeks, they get to the meeting and want to know how much each aspirant has brought, the Ghana must go bags of money are brought in and shared, the okada riders association chairman takes the share for him and his boys, the market women leader takes for her and her people, same goes for the bus drivers chairman, the area father, the barbers association, plumbers association, mechanics association etc. The aspirant with the most money is selected; they sing his praises and promise to do everything to crown him the winner of any election.

Sunday night, Aisha is on facebook, her friend Chinelo changes her facebook status and says Nigerian politicians are thieves, there are many comments, Aisha joins in on the debate, she spends the whole evening exchanging banters about how bad the Nigerian government is, she says we need a revolution, her friend Chinelo says no we need prayers, the thread ends, they both have to go to bed, they have to be up by 4am tomorrow to beat traffic, Chinelo curses the government for not making alternative roads, Aisha supports her views, calls Bola to tell him how much she loves him and misses him, Bola says he loves her too and misses her, he promises to take her to Dubai on his next leave, so they can have time alone to themselves. They both go to bed.

It is election day tomorrow, the anointed candidates make their last appearances in the community, Ghana must go bags are moving around, very high police presence, the community members are discussing their candidates, they have all gotten about N1000 each and had sold their votes even before election day.

It is election day tomorrow, an extra public holiday for Bola and Aisha, they go to Obudu cattle ranch, it is a lot fun, wow, this guy tried for Calabar says Aisha, I even wonder why we didn’t wait in Lagos to vote, Bola answers nonchalantly, this nation is in a state of limbo, there is no need wasting our time over votes that wont count. Aisha slept with a heavy heart, with Bola’s statement on her mind… A NATION IN A STATE OF LIMBO.

They sleep into election day, but Aisha cannot sleep, she wakes up at 3am and taps Bola, he grunts and asks why his baby is not sleeping, she tells him they have to pick the first flight to Lagos tomorrow, Bola sits up startled, we still have the whole weekend he says, yes, but we have to vote Bola, you say Nigeria is a nation in a state of Limbo, but we ourselves are standing at akimbo, we need to play our parts and vote, your votes will never count squirms Bola, at least we will have voted says Aisha. First thing in the morning, they were in Lagos , and they voted.

It is election day, the market women are out, the okada riders are out, area father mobilizes his area boys, bus drivers association chairman mobilizes his boys, they are singing in support of their candidates, they are still relishing the many wads of naira that has been shared, they vote, wait and watch you vote, fight anybody who tries to take a ballot box that doesn’t belong to their candidate, they are joking and laughing with the policemen, they carry the empty ballot boxes after voting, and stuff it with illegal votes in favour of their candidate, they sing songs of loyalty about the anointed candidate.

Election results are out, the anointed candidates have won, Bola calls Aisha, you just wasted our weekend he shouts, I told you our votes will not count. His driver is washing his car and hears him, oga leave that tin he says, whish kain vote u dey talk, vote wey dem decide finish for ward meeting 2 weeks ago, u no dey see dem for ward meeting for down the road, why una sef no go there go talk una own, una go come dey shout. Bola went back indoors and fell into a deep thought, we were never a part of the process, so we couldn’t even ensure credible candidates got to be party candidates, he went back out and asked his driver what is usually discussed in this ward meeting, nothing o replies the driver, na jus moni dem dey share for us for dia, dis one don finish now, na till next election b dat.

Bola and Aisha meet for dinner at Golden Gates restaurant in Ikoyi, they discuss the topic, and wonder if they could make a difference, attend local ward meetings, insist on aspirants having a manifesto, speak up against the sharing of money, educate these community members on the importance of not selling your vote, vote and mingle with the community members to know how votes are filtered away, become a part of the process and not just a wasteful voter. Bola said he could never get so low as mingling with such people, they are touts and unreasonable he says, Aisha said she was ready to do it, Bola watched her as she ate her chicken, he was deeply in love, he told her how much he loved her, told her that her determination is one of the things that draws him to her, he went down on his knees, and brings out a small box from his pocket, my love, Aisha, will you marry me he says as he opens the box to reveal a sparkling diamond ring… YES YES, screams Aisha, tears rolling down her cheeks as he slips the ring onto her finger, she pulls him up and gives him a very long kiss, I have always dreamt of this day she whispered in his ears, I want to be your wife, I want you to be the mother of my kids he whispers. They dine and drink a bottle of red wine, then head home. It was 11pm.


A lorry is parked right on the road, no illumination and Bola runs into it, he swerves and was lucky enough, what silly country without rules is this he shouts, Aisha reminds him he is standing at akimbo and complaining, you have to get involved she says, look to your right and left she tells him, totally dark, no electricity in the houses, no street light on the roads, it is not the government’s fault Bola, it is our fault for condoning it she says, unemployed youth are into robbery and this darkness even gives them a place to operate she reminds him, we need to get involved and do our part to save our country, Bola listens and drives on, suddenly he sees a flash, sticks and rods hit the car.. STOP STOP or I’ll shoot they scream, he screeches past as Aisha screams and shouts, gun shots rent the air, wow.. and you just mentioned it that thieves could be here he says, wow, this our akimbo and lackadaisical attitude towards dis naija na everybody go suffer am o, baby, I will join u and become more involved in Nigeria he says, there is no reply, baby he calls, still speeding down the road, no reply, he switches on the inner light and sees Aisha covered in blood, baby he screams and races towards hospital, please answer me he says trying to shake her, please wake up.

He drives into the hospital and there are no doctors on duty, they are on strike, no wheelchairs so the nurses manage to carry Aisha with their hands into the ward, the only doctor who managed to come to work against the strike strolls in, he is exhausted, please save her Bola begs, we just got engaged tonight, please she is my life, she is still alive the doctor says, but she has sustained a bullet wound to her neck and has lost a lot of blood, she needs blood and we don’t have blood here, you have to take her to the next hospital, where is the ambulance driver, he is nowhere to be found, there is no light so it isn’t easy to find him, everybody is screaming his name, he comes and says he doesn’t have fuel, Bola should bring money for fuel, cant we use my car Bola screams, shivering, oh why didn’t u say you came with a car since says one of the nurses who helped bring Aisha out of the car, they rush her back into the car and Bola races towards the next hospital… Aisha died on the way.

If only there was adequate security, if only there were doctors on duty, if only there was blood in the blood bank, if only there was fuel in the ambulance… If only… If only… If only we all got involved in the Nigerian project and make it work. My people, if you ignore Nigeria , you will be a victim one day. Together we can build this nation. Now is the time! Time to start holding our government accountable and make sure our kids and grandkids see a Nigeria they will be proud of. Nobody will do it for us; we have to do it ourselves. As Oga Kalu says, it is our problem, we have to fix it.

I know of two great platforms you can join to become a part of the change you want to see, Join the Transform Nigeria Movement and Arise Nigeria Group today.

Transform Nigeria Movement (http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/group.php?gid=58374855775&ref=ts or http://www.yourgovt.com/)

Arise Nigeria (http://www.arisenigeria.org/)

nb: All names used are fictitious, a result of the writer’s imaginations.

Written by guest blogger Ifeoluwa Adebayo


Agree with him or have some issues with his write up? speak forth *er in this case, comment* or forever hold your peace.lol

Mena

Monday, 12 September 2011

(NSFW OR FOR THE WEAKHEARTED)UPDATE: Akolade Arowolo, the man, who allegedly killed his banker-wife, Titilayo (Omozoje), reportedly attempted suicide



Akolade Arowolo, the man, who allegedly killed his banker-wife, Titilayo (Omozoje), reportedly attempted suicide at the Ikoyi Prisons last week by drinking acidic substance.



PUNCH METRO learnt that immediately after the incident, Akolade was taken to the Lagos University Teaching Hospital, Idi-Araba, Lagos, where he is still recuperating.



When our correspondent inquired from a medical doctor at LUTH, he said he could not disclose details of Akolade’s condition because he had to maintain doctor-patient confidentiality.



However, an employee of the hospital, who spoke to our correspondent on condition of anonymity because he was not in a position to divulge official information, said Akolade ingested a harmful acidic substance.



She said, “From the tests conducted, we discovered that Akolade took a substance with high acidic content.



“As I am speaking to you, he has just undergone a surgery because his stomach cannot retain solid food. So, we had to pass a tube through it so that he can eat.”



But the Public Relations Officer, Nigerian Prisons Service, Lagos Command, Mr.Chuks Njoku, denied such claims, saying that it was impossible for an inmate to get a toxic substance in custody.



He said, “The way the prison is run, I tell you that it is impossible for an inmate to get his hands on any harmful substance. The person in question (Akolade) is quite ill.



“We always search inmates before they enter or leave prison so there is no way he could have taken a poisonous substance. It is simply an allergic reaction. He just took something that he is reacting to.



“I was with him some days ago and he is responding to treatment.”




Meanwhile, the court hearing on the murder of Titilayo held on Friday has been adjourned till October 26. Akolade is being tried for alleged murder of his wife, Ttilayo, at a Yaba Chief Magistrate’s Court, Lagos.



The Magistrate, Mrs. Demi Ajayi, said the court was waiting for advice on its jurisdiction from the Directorate of Public Prosecution.



Addressing newsmen outside the court, the lawyer holding brief for the slain banker’s family, Mr. Nelson Ekoh, said the DPP had not been able to give advice because it had not received the victim’s autopsy report.



Ekoh added that the autopsy took very long because it had to be very thorough.



“The professor handling the autopsy at Lagos State University Teaching Hospital is doing it painstakingly in order to avoid any error and he confirmed to me that it is now ready,” he said.



However, the defendant’s lawyer, Mr. Olanrewaju Ajanoku, berated the slow pace at which the case was unfolding, adding that it could give room for manipulation.



He said, “If a person is alleged to have died in June, and the remains have been deposited at hospital since then, I’m surprised that the report is just getting ready. It is this delay that has handicapped the DPP, preventing it from giving advice to the court.



“Ordinarily, any corpse undergoes conclusive autopsy within a few days. So, why is this one different? In my own opinion, it gives room for manipulation.”



When asked why Akolade was absent in court, Ajanoku said he was very ill and was receiving treatment at a hospital.



Meanwhile, the Oyakhire family has decried the slow pace at which the autopsy of their daughter, Titilayo (Omozoje), is being carried out.



The remains of the 29-year-old banker, who was allegedly killed by her husband, Akolade, on June 24, 2011, had yet to be buried because of the delay in the autopsy report.



The head of the Oyakhire extended family, Mr. Shyngle Oyakhire, who spoke to our correspondent at their home in Ifako, Lagos, on Saturday, said the delay in the release of the report had prevented them from going ahead with the burial arrangements.



He said, “The autopsy is taking too long. I visited the Homicide Unit of the State Criminal Investigation Department, on Friday and the officer in charge told me that they had not yet received the autopsy report.



“The usual procedure is for the hospital to send the report to the police. The police will forward it to the DPP who will in turn give it to the court.



“But as at Friday, the report has not yet reached the police. It is agonising having our daughter’s corpse lying there at the mortuary. She ought to be given a final resting place.”

Source: http://www.nairaland.com/nigeria/topic-757471.0.html#msg9127573

Sunday, 11 September 2011

TOXIC CHALLENGES-in this instance relationships-THAT TURNS OUT TO BE HUGE OPPORTUNTIES: The Katie Piper story





Hi there

Its been a while I know, in my defence accessing a fast broadband connection to blog and visit blogsville regularly has been virtually impossible, I know because I have spent money buying the next 'fast speed broadband internet connection and watched the hour tick by whilst I try to publish a commment in just one blog visited (grits teeth)Please dont be mad at me

As you know I moved to Lagos and then moved to Abuja. I am kinda finding it tough and expensive. I flew into Abuja and jumped right into work. Then after work, I had to spend a few good amount on making where I stay comfy. Its a long story but the parts that really upsets me is having to get home late, needing to eat and write my report on 1000pages document due the next day (so much for reasonable time consideration)walking into my little room and seeing my bathroom flooded for the umpteenth time. Plus the water spread to my bedroom area and tv area where electrical plugs are located..and for the umpteenth time the caretaker says walahi he will work on the next day but needs xxx thousands for xxx part for the job. I now have to work long enough to take time of and look for a plumber I can trust in a strange land. Meanwhile I am behind in my reports..Then the money!!!!! I am scared to calculate how much I have spent DAILY since I got here but am thinking 1. I spent much more schooling and living abroad, 2. The job is a great opportunity and just Gods favour on me. 3. People have faced far worse and yet are far more happier and at peace than unngrateful me. I welcome you to the story of Katie Piper.
The second part of this series has to do with a case of assault, so brutal that I tear up as I write this.

Monday, 19 October 2009
Katie Piper: victim of a rape and an acid attack by a jealous boyfriend
A model and aspiring TV presenter who had sulphuric acid thrown in her face has revealed details of her courageous battle to recover and pioneering surgery to treat her burns.

Katie Piper was left fighting for her life when her jealous boyfriend Daniel Lynch raped her and then arranged for another man to throw the corrosive liquid on her.
The acid burned through all four layers of skin on her face and some spilled down her throat, damaging it so badly that she needs to be fed through a tube into her stomach.

She was left blind in one eye and has undergone more than 30 operations on her face and throat. Surgeons had to remove the skin from her entire face and use an artificial skin substitute and skin grafts from other parts of her body to rebuild it.

The 26-year-old's recovery was feature in a Channel 4 documentary later this month, and she has waived her right to anonymity over the sexual assault. In the film, she says she was a “fun person” before the attack on March 31 last year.

She said: “I was a fun person. I had lots of friends. If I went somewhere and people met me for the first time they would say ‘Oh, you're really pretty’ and I would think ‘Yeah, I am’.”

In the wake of the attack and only able to communicate by writing, she told her mother Diane “kill me”.

She now wears a plastic pressure mask for 23 hours a day to flatten her scars and keep in moisture.

She said: “I think I've got the chance to build a life.

“I don't it's going to be that easy, but I wanna try. I want to move on from my attack, and I don't want to be a scared little child. I want to blossom into a confident, able woman.”

”My dream would be just to live a normal life and after all this be able to meet somebody again and learn to trust a guy and the normal dream: a girl wants to get married and have kids.”

She has thanked the hospital staff who saved her life and have cared for her since the attack.

“Coming to terms with the fact that my life as I knew it before the acid attack was over, and that my facial appearance had changed forever, has been incredibly difficult,” she said. “I wouldn't have been able to rebuild my life without the support of all the staff at Chelsea and Westminster.

“I want to say thank you to everyone in the Burns Service, in particular my surgeon Mohammad Jawad who has done an amazing job of rebuilding my face - it has exceeded my expectations of what I ever thought would be medically possibly. I'm absolutely thrilled.”

She told the News of the World that she had decided to go public to raise awareness of the plight of burns victims.

Miss Piper said: “I've decided to tell my story so that people know what these men did to me. To help people understand who have ignorance about people that look different, and for people not to be frightened of burns and the stigma attached to it, to understand that it's still the same person underneath.”


Read more: http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/local-national/model-katie-pipers-struggle-after-rape-and-acid-attack-14535601.html#ixzz0jQVjGWFG

Latest news: http://www.guardian.co.uk/tv-and-radio/2011/mar/13/katie-piper-acid-burns-campaigner

Latest photograph:

I am guessing that the moral of this tale is look at challenges as stepping stones to opportunities..You never know whats behind that seeemingly unmovable mountain

Mena

Saturday, 3 September 2011

ADVICE NEEDED! WAHALA DEY DIS FAMILY (if i no ask una bloggers na who i go ask?) happy new month yall


Mfon will not allow her husband Okon to make love to her without condom, her reason is that the husband is not faithful and shes not willing to contact STD, Okon is very angry and frustrated and is threatening to get a second wife.


who do you blame for this and wouldnt this cause a big issue in the marriage?
how do you curtail a known philanderer and avoid contacting the incurable......bloggers family..your views before they get to the stage in the following picture ;)

Cest Moi
Mena

Tuesday, 23 August 2011

He should be Tall, Handsome both physically and financiallyy, be loving, be...etc etc


This is a story about 2 ladies. One day they had a discussion about the type of man they wanted to marry.


Dupe: Oh, my man must be tall, dark, handsome, rich.....oh, and God-fearing. I am talking ‘Denzel-fine’ not just ordinary fine. I am 5 feet 5 inches tall, so when I say tall -- I am talking 6 feet tall 'minimum': any guy that is not that tall should go and jump inside well and should not even bother talking to me o (she hisses).


Lola: what if he’s not 6 feet tall? what if he’s not handsome? would you reject such a man?

Dupe: Can you see how goodlooking and attractive I am? I can’t be with a wo-wo guy o, GOD forbid bad thing! (Dupe proceeds with glossolalia. Lola joins in too. They both 'glosso’ for about 30 seconds....oh, for those that don’t know what glossolalia means -- it means ‘speaking in tongues').


Lola: you know you shouldn’t focus too much on looks. The handsome guys are likely to be womanizers o. Do you want to share your guy with other women?


Dupe: Are you telling me this because you know that I know that your boyfriend Kunle is not fine? I have already told you to dump the guy. You are a fine girl, what are you doing with that *WOGGLY* thing (SEE MEANING BELOW)? He doesn’t have money or looks. He’s like your height - 5 feet 5 inches. Imagine!!. As for me, if someone like that toasts me, it means dem no born am well...I will slap the he-goat. .yes, someone like that toasting me is like an insult. Abeg, make I hear word jo! You better hear me now for the sake of your children. If you marry that woggly thing, HA....your children will be woggly like him, they won’t be fine like you...
but me, I want a fiiiiiiiiiine guy - the type of guy that when the ladies see me they will be so envious. For example, you can see my boyfriend Sola, he is a total bloke, see how fine he is. Compared to Sola, your ‘thing’ of a boyfriend is like thrash can. Oh, my boyfriend is 6 feet 2 inches and cool. Abeg, dump your wo-wo thing my friend. I can introduce you to Sola’s friends - fine boys, they have the looks, the height, the money.


Lola: I don’t want anyone apart from Kunle. Just be careful, don’t get hung up on looks and money, there’s more to life than the exterior, try to look beyond that and see the inner beauty.


That was a while back. Let me tell you what happened to the ladies. Lola married a guy called Soji (one of Sola’s friends that Dupe introduced her to). Soji is a very goodlooking guy (according to the standards of the ladies, don’t ask me what those standards are....I honestly do not know). Lola didn’t marry her college sweetheart Kunle: SHE DUMPED HIS ARSE (she accepted that he was woggly and ...hey, she was thinking about how their children will look and decided it was best to dump the guy).


As for Dupe, she did not marry Sola (he dumped her during NYSC for a finer babe named Rolake). However, Dupe is happily married to a dark, handsome, rich.....oh, and God-fearing guy (he’s 5 feet 5 inches tall but so what!!!...she doesn’t wear high-heel shoes anymore). As for how goodlooking the guy is? People say that he’s almost as fine as (and I quote) ' the male version of Grace Jones'!

NB. Definition -- *WOGGLY, WOOOOO, WOGULIE, WOGGLIE, WOGGLILICIOUS, WOGGI-WOGGI* --- (regarding a physical visage) a 'shocking' 'unsettling' look about someone capable of instilling fear, anger, rage, confusion, prayers, screams, constipation, diarrhea, miscarriage, fainting or a combination of all these emotions and physiological upheavals.

Friday, 19 August 2011

A TAD UNUSUAL----S.O.S (SAVE MY SOUL)


Dear friends, yes the title is a bit overdramatic but to me its kinda like a Life or Death Matter as its so close to my heart.

I write this blog on behlaf of my good friend, Amechi. We have been friends for over 11 years so you can imagine the bond.



We grew up vIrtually together, went through ups and downs but lost contact when i moved to London and she to Abuja.

Please take what I am about to tell to you very seriously, I recently went to Abuja on an officialm visit and met up with her again. SHE HAS DRASTICALLY CHANGED! At her biggest she was a uk size 12, now she is a uksize 4 with a potruding belly...all the food she eats gets injested by...guess what..fibroid... She went to the doctor and was told some parts of it was calcified. My friend is a very spiritual person and doesnt believe in western medicine and such, however i was able to part convice her of the seriousness of her condition. Now I have made private enguiries and found out that the bill could be more than a million naira. Note that I am blogging on my own (she will never ask me to do this) plus Infact if she knew I was doing this, our friendship will probably end. I am doing this out of love..I dont want to loose my friend, she has already beeen through A LOT in this life but thats for another day


THIS IS NOT A PLEA FOR YOU TO SEND MONEY FOR HER TREATMENT

But for you to find some compassionate pace in your heart to discreetly purchase her items or /and services.

1.My friend is an artist (a painter),here are a few examples of her work:









2.She is a fashion designer, she does Nigerian fashion, but here is her sample for an arabian wedding:




3 She sells jewellries examples are





she arranges flowers for occassions..



Please if you are interested in her work, do buy from her and help in a little way to save her life. She can be reached by email at serenadesprings@yahoo.com or by telephone (+234) 07040585298 or (+234) 08033073865. Please just call and say you were recommended by a good friend of her and is interested in purchasing certain quantities of her pieces, or you would like her to design an outfit for you or make a piece of Jewellry to your standard. You would love her work and also might be saving a life.

Please, please, please find it in your heart to purchase her items and be a blessing to her in her present condition and may such help,love, empathy and blessings to a virtual stranger come back to you from the four corners of this earth



Thanks to all who read this, called and made some purchases

Thanks to all who read and called

Thanks to all who read and prayed

Thanks to all


Mena

p.s: I write with heavy heart, just Ii case of any changes in this situation, This is how I choose to remember one of my quirky BFF'S

Wednesday, 10 August 2011

LIVING IN NIGERIA- from the eyes of a British person while London's burning..??


He wrote this piece in his blog and considering what is happening in London right now, I mean the riots, I couldnt help but share it....


Routine Life
I have now been in Nigeria for over 7 months, and things are going pretty well. The depression of the first few weeks are now but a distant memory and time is passing quickly. Like in all hardship postings, you need to quickly get into a routine to get through the days and stop time dragging, and that’s pretty much what I have done. In case anyone is wondering what a typical day in the Nigerian oil business looks like, here it is.

I am woken up at stupid o’clock by some b*stard cockerel which lives on the undeveloped plot beside by apartment building. It belongs to a family of somewhere between 10 and 15 members who have built themelves a shack for sleeping in but conduct pretty much the rest of their lives outside on the dirt ground. Dawn breaks in Lagos at about 6am, whereas this damned bird kicks off its racket at about 4:30am, every single morning. It’s the only thing I’ve seen in Nigeria that is early. I have not seen any shop selling air rifles in Lagos, and an AK-47 is too inaccurate, so I have been unable to silence it. Instead, I have taken to putting in ear-plugs for the last hour or so of sleep after I’ve been woken up. So really, my day starts at 4:30am.

At 6am I leap out of bed, remove the ear-plugs, and jump in the shower. Fortunately, the water is reliable and hot, which makes a change from Sakhalin in two aspects. Having squashed any ants which are wandering around my wash basin, making off with the soap, I have a shave and get dressed. Fortunately you don’t need to dress too smartly here. Working amongst the French, you soon realise that wearing anything Lacoste is considered smart (or at least patriotic), and no Frenchman will ever tell a Brit to go home and change out of his Lacoste polo shirt. So, getting dressed isn’t half as fiddly as it sounds.

I eat breakfast, which consists of cereal mixed with ants (for added protein). I then go downstairs past the snoozing halfwit who doubles as a security guard and hand the keys of my car to my driver, who lives in another time zone and had to get up an hour before he went to bed in order to be at my place at 6:45am. Having a driver in Lagos is not a sign of wealth or class, it is a sign that you are not insane enough to try to negotiate traffic which is more dense and less organised than a cattle stampede in which local miscreants ram the cars of white drivers in order to extort compensation monies. Besides, timewise, your driver is not paid to drive. He is paid to snooze in your vehicle once he has found a parking space – which is usually in the playground of a nearby school, or on a pavement somewhere – and wait 10 hours for you to go home. Anyway, I leave the compound (yes, we live in compounds. For those who think this is something we shouldn’t be doing, try living wherever you do without a front door for a year. This would be an act of equivalent stupidity.) at 6:45am and settle down in the back seat to read a book for the next half an hour, during which we will cover the 4km between my residence and the office. I try to concentrate on the pages and ignore the blaring horns, suicidal motorcyle taxis drivers with their unfortunately non-suicidal passengers, and the constant jerking of the vehicle. There are two movements to vehicles negotiating Lagos traffic: sudden acceleration and violent juddering halt. Half the problem is that there is no right of way at intersections: whoever can get their nose in front of the oncoming traffic far enough to persuade the drivers it is in everybody’s best interests to slow down or stop is the one who gets to proceed three metres. As a result, it is possible for as few as four cars to result in a traffic jam. The other half of the problem is a combination of drivers’ determination to switch lanes as often as possible for no discernible reason, and the ego of those same drivers. Once somebody has managed to get into one lane it is imperitive that he tries to re-enter the lane he has just left, usually having travelled no more than ten metres in the meantime. A gap of more than a metre is sufficient to try to squeeze your 3m car into, something which is made easier if the driver you are carving up doesn’t object and accelerate to close the gap, which he always does. In fact, drivers in Lagos react to somebody trying to enter a lane in front of them as if they’d just come home and found their daughters raped and the perpetrator still standing there. I’ll go into the reasons why some cultures’ inability to concede anything or compromise whatsoever leaves them shit poor in another post, but the same applies on Nigeria’s roads. Remove the egos and you’d have half a chance of free-flowing traffic. When you look around, the actual number of cars is not that high.

Eventually I get dropped at my office which is an impressive looking, glass fronted building. Well, it’s impressive provided you are looking at only the outside, and then preferably from a distance of not less than a mile. There is an underground car park which nobody is allowed to park in, so everyone parks on the nearby pavements instead, meaning the pedestrians have to take their chances in the road. The road at that point is covered in an inch of brown slime. I go into the building, through the lobby featuring marble panels fitted by somebody who had neither a spirit level or plumb line, and wait for the lift. There are three lifts, only two of which ever work at any given time, and often it is just the one. The lift has no logic system whatsoever, they don’t communicate with each other meaning both lifts are often on the same floor (there are ten), and they have an overide system meaning the owners of the building, who have offices at the top, can bypass all other floors should they so desire, and they often do. So it is not uncommon to be waiting three or four minutes for a lift and watch it sail gaily past you. Once you’re in the lift, and assuming you have been in Lagos long enough to have gotten used to the appalling stench of unwashed bodies and grease marks on the glass walls, you have to tell some cretin, who lives on a stool placed in the lift, which floor you want to go to. Half the time he is not listening because, the attention span in this city averaging at around two seconds, he is busy talking to somebody else or playing with his phone, and so you have to ask him a few times. If you lose patience and press the button yourself he will grumble as if you’ve tried to fly an Apache helicopter without the necessary training, presumably thinking if word got out people could press lift buttons all on their own he’d be out of a job. Actually, he is needed, because the lift buttons all reset themselves randomly and they need to be re-pressed or the lift just stops. Sometimes the lift just stops anyway and the whole system has to be reset. I heard a story about one bloke being whisked to the very top whereupon it whacked into the buffers then dropped like a stone for a floor or two before the emergency brake came on and it descended, at a snail’s pace, to the basement. The whole cycle repeated itself twice more before he could escape.

On my floor I am squawked at by somebody who is simultaneously the security guard and the weakest link in the floor security system. Like in Sakhalin, the prime suspect in any office theft is the security guard. Unlike in Russia, they security guards don’t dress up in Spetznaz uniforms all ready for massacring a Chechen village; instead they wear slightly gay gendarme uniforms, complete with Foreign Legion style hats. I guess it makes the French feel more comfortable. The security guard on my floor doesn’t like me much, because I don’t bother signing in on the sheet of paper he keeps on his desk. I don’t bother because when I go to leave, he asserts his minimal authority by hiding the piece of paper and making me ask for it, and I’m not playing this sort of game with anyone dressed like a gay gendarme.

My office isn’t too bad, except it is miles too hot, we have 6-8 power cuts each day, the toilets resemble those of a Salford nightclub, and we are not allowed to store paper copies of anything because the weight might cause the floor to collapse (seriously). The view is not too bad though, not least because I can see amusing instances of extreme idiocy on the street outside my window at regular intervals, and the transformer mounted on the pole outside often blows up with a satisfying bang, a bright orange flash, and a puff of blue smoke whenever it rains heavily enough.

I start my work day by checking my emails and deleting those which all oil companies send out warning of IT issues on random servers located in other countries. I then spend the day…well, I’m not going to go into this. There is enough material here to write a book, and that’s without using anything that could be considered company confidential. Some of the stuff you encounter in the Nigerian oil business would make Catch-22 seem like a serious tome of philosophical discussion. I witness daily instances of personal and organisational buffoonery which would be impressive even for the army. But all told, I rather like my job and I’m doing rather well by most accounts, and I’m not about to jeopardise that by writing something which will incur the wrath of anybody that could see me unseated. So, with that, I work as well as I can without murdering anybody or laughing loudly in people’s faces until lunchtime.

We take lunch in a building 200m down the road from our own, a journey which is more perilous than any undertaken on this continent by Henry Stanley. Because the cars are all parked on the pavement, you have to walk in the road, which is full of maniacal motorcylists and impatient, retarded motorists. The closer you get to the building where we eat, the deeper the water gets to the point where, even in the middle of a drought, you have to cross the road to avoid a huge lake of stinking brown water with stuff floating in it which would be kicked out of an open sewer for breaching the dress code. Yes, they built the road beneath the water table. Darting between the cars, you hop over a little rivulet, a tributary of the huge brown lake, and mount the pavement, hopping over a log which has been blocking the path since I arrived and nobody has bothered moving. Maybe it’s considered sacred? I did notice teeth marks on it. You jump over a tyre, squeeze between the bonnet of a car and an abandoned stall, walk five metres, drop off the pavement into some filth to skirt round some concrete thing which has been built in the middle of the pavement with no obvious purpose, taking care not to disturb the bloke sleeping on the cardboard at your feet. When mounting the pavement a metre or so further on, you need to dodge the stack of knock-off DVDs being sold under the tree, patiently waiting for customers to clear the way before proceeding. You go past a bin of rotting plantains, situated beside a drainage hole which looks like that thing in the desert Jabba the Hut tried to push the goodies into in The Return of the Jedi. It is honking. You cross the entrance to the school, which doubles as a car park and hang-out joint for all manner of weirdos, and squeeze past the fat cow selling plantains from a stall which blocks the whole pavement save for six inches. You get to the corner of the street where a restaurant is doing a merry trade, consisting as it does of half a dozen breezeblocks turned on their ends to serve as chairs and a woman putting crap into a wok over an open fire and selling it to the diners as crap which has been heated up a bit. It’s not the most relaxing setting for a meal, and I cannot recommend taking your loved one there for your anniversary meal, because the corner is packed full of phone card salesmen, an outdoor barber salon, crates of soft drinks being picked up and put back down, and a few dozen blokes doing what blokes do best in Lagos: standing around doing nothing. By now the pavement consists of mud with some random blocks sticking out of it, but even this is better than the street which is at this point covered in an inch or two of black sludge with all manner of detrius in it. You have no choice but to step into it and cross over. All of this you do in sweltering heat with tropical humidity. If the smell hasn’t put you off eating for life, you carry on.

You then go through a small reception room which is full of people who honk to high heaven and are standing about gormlessly for God knows what purpose. You squeeze past, get out the other side, and into the canteen where you join the queue for food. To be fair the food isn’t bad. I mean, those who went through the siege of Leningrad might have eaten it eventually, and who are we to be more fussy than they? It is free, after all. The menu is divided in two: local and continental. The local food consists of cow leg, sheeps innards, goat pepper soup (which would have justified the Iraq War twice over had Hans Blix discovered it in one of Saddam’s installations), fish in a curry sauce which looks as though it could be used to dissolve fire-bricks, mashed yam, polythene bags containing what looks like mud, turkey legs which would worry the dentist of a Rhodesian ridgeback, and a soya porridge which smells like the stuff you feed cows on a dairy farm back home. The continental food is made for us lot, and consists of a half decent soup with a main course of chicken with rice or spaghetti. I don’t like the rice much, so I tend to eat chicken and spaghetti, which I have done almost every day since I got here. Sometimes I have something different, such as spaghetti and chicken, but usually it’s chicken and spaghetti. This is washed down with some boiled fruit drink which, if they’ve remembered to make it the night before, is chilled. Otherwise it is still hot. This is eaten on rickety chairs opposite somebody who, if you’re lucky, is mannered enough to use cutlery and not spit bones out onto the table. There are several benefits to working where I do in Nigeria, but the staff canteen is not one of them.

Returning from lunch is the same pantomime as on the way, only in reverse. The afternoon is generally less hectic than the morning, a period of quiet reflection where half the company think of new and innovative ways to stop the other half getting anything done. By 5pm I’ve normally had enough and am outside calling my driver to untangle the car from the random pile of vehicles in which it is parked and pick me up. The way home takes a little longer, about 40 minutes, with the extra time used by dozens of street hawkers standing in traffic waving all manner of wares from knock-off watches to tumbler sets to shoe racks to bananas to bound volumes of the complete works of William Sheakespeare.

If the traffic isn’t too bad I’m home by 5:45pm or 6pm and within ten minutes of that I’m usually in the gym. Remember the fitness regime I entered into when I first came to Nigeria, and talked about here? Well, it’s still going strong, 4-5 times per week, and I look and feel quite a bit different than I did last August. It kills the time, tires me out, and enables me to loaf in front of the TV or computer without a nagging feeling that I should be doing something else. Most nights I’m cooking something, or else I’m eating what I cooked the night before, after which I try to do forty minutes of French study from a textbook at least three nights per week. That’s not going too badly, either. It’s an awful lot easier than Russian, and once you’ve learned Russian grammar a lot of French grammar makes sense. Je t’adore, Я тебя люблю, it’s all pretty much the same, isn’t it? I’m rubbish at speaking it though, preferring to nail the grammar before really trying to converse, although my French colleagues have to endure my mangled greetings and questions occasionally, something they seem not to mind one bit. I find French much easier to understand than speak, whereas with Russian, for me, it’s the other way around. And reading French is easy, it’s almost the same as English, again compared to a block of Russian text.

If I’m lucky my TV will be working and I can spend the last hour of the day watching something or other. As I said in my earlier post, self-disciplined lives tend to be pretty dull (and I am remarkably self-disciplined here save for an incident last weekend which involved a big Norwegian bloke, three bars, two nightclubs, Solichnaya vodka neat from the bottle, loss of memory, a 5am finish, and me being sick), but it’s the routine which makes things easier to manage and the time go more quickly. Fortunately, it’s hard for life to be dull when you live and work in the world’s largest and most populated lunatic asylum.


Tim Newman

Personally, considering some areas burning or about to be set ablaze/looted in London even as I type, I feel life is ironic with the riots and how it (and other factors) are affecting the stock market...I also feel God has a very 'wickid' sense of humour. What do you think?

Mena

Friday, 5 August 2011

All these bellies and big bum business sef (is it obvious that am beefing the exercise routine)ing)


Yes I am still ranting about exercising :-(


Well I guess from yesterday's blog the only thing one can do is....wait..fashying fellatio, cunnlylingus, kissing, hugging, sucking, feeding via lips, talkless of chandeliers, reverse cow girl, nibbling of earlobes, and so on. As a virgin I dont know many of these things o, but with how much chatter they get from the internet,the must be very fun thing to do as a married couple

But heh, hope virginity doesnt stop lapdancing o, heeeh, it better doesnt, cus am trying to perfect the art with my favourite chair oghenebikoooo!!

Down to the main blog, So as my mum and I were going for the usual routine exercise which consists (for me) of walking, jogging a bit, walking some more, drinking water. Ignoring the footballers, volleyballers and other ballers. Ignoring the runners, the aerobics experts, the otakara dancers. I call them Otakara cus if its not lap dancing snkae dancing or 'getting your eagle on' WHATS THE POINT???? Note that my mum is a much much more serious weightwatcher than I am and can quick walk round the field 25times if she wants, she is just slowing down for my lazy ass to catch up.

Anyway before I digressed, so as I was avoiding them pumped up athletes and panting y way through, i got this epiphany! I was suddenly thinking of prominent females in our society surely SURELY they have big bellies and butts. I mean come of it, this woman is not huffing and puffing like me na

Neither is she,-->
and she is presently a very very hot 'commodity' right now

And oh please, leaving the world of politics lets not even go to entertainment. Cus if we do we just have to paste this lady's picture---> and say full stop!!!

And while some are huffing to loose theirs, others are gaining recognition for theirs.

Carol Voderman just won the award for Rear Of The Year 2011 alongside male winner, Strictly Come Dancing professional Anton Du Beke.

Before now, the British media has been obsessed with derriere of Pippa Middleton (sister to Kate Middleton, who got married to Prince William in April)which in my humble opinion is hardly visible.


Whats wrong with British people anyway? I mean, Pippa doesn't even have a rear in that dress. It's weird that it seems to have got so much attention. She has to bend very low for it to actually show that I agree with the thought that Pippa's bum can only be entered for "invisible thing of the year"


All in all as I see through the glaze of fatigue to the gate of my house, I thank God for two women, of different sizes, for loving their belles and bums.




Falls into bed dreaming of this -> NIce huh?

Or even warmer, cosier and better this -> .God knows what he designed oh! LOL.

(Disclaimer: referring to their poses not one of their website was advertising oh. :-)


Mena

p.s: Is it me or there seemed to be no fat women in the bible?

Thursday, 4 August 2011

I dont wanna I dont wanna I dont wanna wait in vain.....

Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man. The man said, 'This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called 'woman,' for she was taken out of man.'

Marriage is an important issue in the Christian life. Vast numbers of books, magazines and marriage counseling resources are dedicated to the subject of marriage preparation and marriage improvement.. The general theory is that there is the 'one' who was specially created to be your life long mate.


What Does the Bible Says About Marriage?

Gen. 2:18, 21-24
The Lord God said, 'It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him'...and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man's ribs and closed up the place with flesh.
Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man. The man said, 'This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called 'woman,' for she was taken out of man.' For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh. (NIV)

Here we see the first wedding. We can conclude from this account in Genesis that marriage is God's idea, designed and instituted by the Creator. In these verses we also discover that at the heart of God's design for marriage is companionship and intimacy.

What Does the Bible Say?
• Marriage was designed for companionship and intimacy.


My simple question is, how long are you willing to wait for that one?