Wednesday, 26 February 2014

I’m Addicted To Sex, I Must Have Sex Everyday’- Maheeda Reveals

Controversial singer, Maheeda who was once a prostitute is known for sharing raunchy pictures of herself. In a recent interview with the NET, Maheeda reveals that she has just started and that we should expect more from her.

The mother of one who has been married to her husband for two years now doesn’t seem to bother or care about what anyone thinks of her as she discusses her love for sex, boys, and shares her story with the naked pictures.
Excerpts
Do you feel by taking off your clothes at every chance you get, that you are sending a good message to your daughter?
I don’t know, because the way people take things are very different. My daughter is now 13, and I once sat my daughter down and asked her what she thought about my video, and she just said ‘Why did you take your clothes off’, and I said I wanted to get attention, and she was like, ‘Okay’. You know the orientation in Europe is completely different from around here.

You seem to derive a lot of pleasure from flaunting your private parts. Why?

Honestly, some years back, I wanted to start wearing bum shorts on the TV, but I was scared of what people would say. But all of a sudden, bum shorts were everywhere. I wanted to wear panties also, but was also scared of what people will say, and all of a sudden everyone is wearing it. And when I wanted to get naked in a music video, people were like I shouldn’t do it. But I had to do it, because I didn’t want anyone to do it before me. You know it is show business, and there are competitors.
How has being semi-nude majority of the time made an impact on your career?
I feel like this is one of the best peaks of my career. I was telling my team that maybe I should just keep taking off my clothes, but they are like, I have to sing. They are trying to get me to have a balance even though getting naked is what brought me all the attention, but they really want me to focus on the music.

On being in your comfort zone now
Yes! I would say that, because I’m a crazy person, I love sex, I love attention, I love boys, I love music, I love attention, I love modelling. Everything that I love is what I’m doing.
You love sex? How much do you love it?
A lot… I’m addicted to sex, and I have to have sex everyday.
How many times do you have sex in a day?
At least once everyday, and if there’s no guy around me, I’ll help myself by masturbating. I have a lot of sex toys; in fact, I’m a regular customer. It’s like food to me, and you have to eat. It is very healthy and it gives you the right curves and my body is used to it.

You mean your body needs sex to function normally?

Yes! Sometimes I just squirt, like when am having sex, and because I am used to it and my body needs it.
On Afrocandy offer to appear in her porn movies. Is there any chance you’ll ever do porn?
No way! This is working for me, so why do I have to do that?  She’s doing all that and she’s getting her money and I’m also getting the same money doing what I’m doing, so why should I do porn. I enjoy sex but I’m not sure I want to do it in front of the whole Nigeria.

Friday, 21 February 2014

TELL ME GUYS , WHO IS FOOLING WHO. I found out about my man's other woman via BB


It started about two months ago. There was this contact on my BB who updated her status based on what was happening with my man. One day she updated 'my boo is back, so happy'. My boyfriend had just returned from a trip to Europe. I didn't think much of it until she updated her status again saying she was in Port Harcourt. My boyfriend had left for Port Harcourt two days earlier. Then on January 22nd, she wished her boo a happy birthday. January 22nd is my boyfriend's birthday. Then on Val's day, she updated her status wishing her man a happy val's day and said she wished he was in town so she could spoil him. He was in South Africa with me. We returned on the 17th of February and when I checked her status, she'd updated with 'my boo is back' with love emoticon. I knew then that we were dating the same man. I confronted the idiot and he denied it so I decided to chat with the lady on my bb to find out more though I didn't let her know I was with the same man. She didn't mention his name but everything else she said proved it was him. He's been dating the lady for about 9 months. I've been with him for almost 2 years. Well, I have decided to dump his ass. I will not share a man with a cream seller. I buy my body cream from this lady and that's why she's on bb, not because she's my friend. So she can keep him seeing that he has no class. And you ode, I'm done with you.

The world's biggest boobs(Photos)

Think Cossy has big boobs? Checkout  30yr old German nude model known as Beshine who is said to own  “The World’s Biggest Boobs.” Her boobs fills a Z cup! As of 2011, Beshine’s breasts weighed about 20 pounds each. Her bras are custom made and she struggles to find clothes that fit. In an interview on her web site, Beshine said, “It is always an adventure to be in public with such big boobs.

More below


 According to the Guinness Book of World Records, New York born porn star  48yr old Maxi Mounds (born Jenna Curlington) officially has the “world’s largest augmented breasts,” She has (the now illegal) polypropylene string breast implants, which irritate breast tissue, causing her breasts to grow continuously. Maxi claims to wear a 156MMM bra. Each breast weighs 20 pounds and is bigger than her head.
In Nigeria,Cossy is still queen

The biggest breasts in the world has Chinese Ting Hia Fen. Each of her breasts weighs 10 kg. She became famous at 14 years. According to her, because such large breasts experience a lot of inconvenience.

you need to see what this actress is flaunting, what do you have to say to her?(photo)

Now even Beyonce would bow down to this ..Guys don't faint ........
More sexy pics below




"We didn't go begging for alms,everyone transported themselves"-Segun Arinze defends Nollywood's visit to Aso Rock

The recent visit to Aso Rock by Nollywood stars raised alot of eyebrows considering the surmounting insecurity issues in the country.Film maker Kabat Esosa was one of the first to lash out saying
‘One question I think begs an answer from them is; what was the reason and value of the Presidential visit? How have their visit added anything to the hue and cry in the country in respect of security, unemployment etc.‘
Segun Arinze who was there replied him
I think it’s so unfair for anyone to criticise AGN for paying a courtesy visit to President Goodluck Jonathan. We are an Association in Nollywood and our visit was to discuss issues as it affects our Guild and the industry in general.  Everybody transported themselves to and fro.
We didn’t go begging for alms. Pls do read Madam President Ibinabo Fiberisma’s  speech which has been sent by mail to you. Kabat’s statement was totally uncalled for. We are very apolitical.  We have a right to visit GEJ after all he’s the president of the federal Republic of Nigeria,’  Segun began.
Chyke Bryan who is the president of screen writers guild is down with kidney problem. What have the members of that guild of whom Kabat is also a member done to raise money for his treatment?  They should stop poking their noses in other people’s business.  And focus on how to move the industry forward instead of bickering and sulking like Children. Making a mountain out of a molehill.’


Segun with the Special Adviser on Media and Publicity to President Goodluck Jonathan of Nigeria Reuben Abati (middle)

IT SEEMS SANUSI LAMIDO ISNT A SAINT AFTER ALL, SEE THE REASONS FOR HIS SUSPESION

Fresh facts have emerged on why President Goodluck Jonathan SuspendED the embattled governor of the Central Bank Of Nigeria (CBN) Mallam Sanusi Lamido Sanusi. A State House Press Release sent to elombah.com earlier today said President Jonathan Suspended Lamido Sanusi As CBN Governor and appointed Dr. Sarah Alade
as Acting Governor because reports of the Financial Reporting Council of Nigeria and other investigating bodies "indicate clearly that Mallam Sanusi Lamido  Sanusi’s tenure has been characterized by various acts of financial recklessness and misconduct which are inconsistent with the administration’s vision of a Central Bank propelled by the core values of focused economic management, prudence, transparency and financial discipline".
sanusiHowever according to the report by the Financial Reporting Council of Nigeria, some of the infractions against Sanusi includes his persistent refusal and/or negligence to comply with the Public Procurement Act in the procurement practices of the Central Bank of Nigeria. 
It cited " A) By virtue of Section 15 (1)(a) of the Public Procurement Act, the provisions of the Act are expected to comply to 'all procurement of goods, works and services carried out by the Federal Government of Nigeria and all procurement entities.' This definition clearly includes the Central Bank of Nigeria. 
(B) it is however regrettable that the Central Bank of Nigeria, under your leadership, has refused and/or neglected to comply with the provisions of the Public Procurement Act (PPA). You will recall that one of the primary reasons for the enactment of the PPA was the need to promote transparency, competitiveness, cost of effectiveness and professionalism in the public sector procurement system. 
(C) available information indicates that the Central Bank has over the years engaged in procurement of goods, works and services worth billions of Naira each year without complying with the express provisions of the PPA. 
(D) by deliberately refusing to be bound by the provisions of the Act, the CBN has not only decided to act in an unlawful manner, but has also persisted in promoting a governance regime characterised by financial recklessness, waste and impunity, as demonstrated by the contents of its 2012 Financial Statements". 
Anther infraction stated by the Council is the unlawful expenditure by the Central Bank of Nigeria on 'Intervention Projects' across the country. 
The report cited " A) the unacceptable level of financial recklessness displayed by the leadership of the Central Bank of Nigeria is typified by the execution of 'Intervention Projects' across the country. From available information, the bank has either executed or is currently executing about 63 such projects across the country and has committed over N163billion on them. 
(B) it is inexcusable and patently unlawful for any agency of government to deploy huge sums of money as the CBN has done in this case, without appropriation and outside CBN's statutory mandate. It is trite that the expenditure of public funds by any organ of government must be based on clear legal mandates, prudent costing and overriding national interest".  
The report further accused the gov of Financial infractions and acts of financial recklessness committed by the Central Bank as reflected in its audited financial statements of 2012. 
It cited "(A) pursuant to Section 50 of the CBN Act 2007, a copy of the audited financial statements of the CBN for the year ended 31st December 2012 was sent to Mr. President. Based on the issues raised in the financial statement, a reinsertion was requested from you to enable a proper appreciation of the nation's economic outlook. 
(B) the response to this query was further referred to the Financial Reporting Council of Nigeria.
The review by the council, rather than allay the fears of government, further confirmed concern bout the untidy manner in which you have generally conducted the operations of the CBN. 
Some of the salient observations arising from the review are; 
(A) in a most ironical manner, it has become obvious that the CBN is not able to prepare its financial statements using applicable International Financial Reporting Standards (IFFS) whereas Deposit Money Banks that the CBN is supervising have complied with this national requirement since 2012.Undoubtedly, this laxity on the part of our apex bank, apart from calling to question its capacity for proper corporate governance, is capable of sending wrong signals to both domestic and international investors on the state of the Nigerian economy.
(B) the provisions of the Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) signed by the CBN and other Deposit Money Banks on Banking Resolution Sinking Fund have been breached in a material manner. For example, a Board of Trustees (BOT) to manage the Fund has not been constituted since 2010 when it was established. The CBN has however continued to utilise the Fund for certain operations without approval of the said BOT. 
(C) contrary to section 34 (b) of the CBN Act 2007 which provides that the CBN shall not, except as provided in Section 31 of the Act, inter alia, purchase the shares of any corporation of company, unless an entity set up by the approval or authority of the Federal Government,m CBN in 2010, acquired 7% shares of International Islamic Management Corporation of Malaysia to the tune of N0.743 billion. This transaction was neither brought to Mr. President's attention nor was a board approval obtained before it was entered into. 
(D) the CBN has failed or refused to implement the provisions of the Personal Income Tax (Amendment) Act 2007. Accordingly the Pay-As-You-Earn (PAYE) deductions of its staff are still being computed in accordance with the defunct Personal Income Tax Act 2004, thus effectively assisting its staff to evade tax despite the generous wage package in the CBN, relative to other sectors of the economy. 
(E) the CBN had an additional brought forward to General Reserve Fund of N16.031 billion in 2012 but proceeded on a boy age of indefensible expenses in 2012 characterised by inexplicable increases in some heads of expenditure during the year. Examples include:
1. The bank spent N3.086 billion on "promotional activities" in  2012 (up from N1.084 billion in 2011). The bank spent this sum even when it is not in competition with any other institution in Nigeria; 
2. The CBN claimed to have expended N20.202 billion on 'Legal and Professional Fees' in 2011 beyond all reasonable standards of prudence and accountability; 
3. Between expenses on 'Private Guards' and 'Lunch for Policemen', the CBN claimed to have spent N1.257 billion in 2012;  
4. While Section 6(3)(c) of the CBN Act 2007 provides that the board of the CBN is to make recommendations to Mr. President on the rate of renumeration to Auditors, the bank has consistently observed this provision in breach and even went to the extent of changing one of the Joint External Auditors without notifying the office of the President. 
5. In the explanations offered by the CBN pursuant to presidential directives, it offered a breakdown of 'Currency Issue Expenses' for 2011 and 2012. Interestingly, it claimed to have paid N38.233 billion to the Nigerian Security Printing and Minting. Company Limited (NSPMC) in 2011 for 'Printing of Banknotes.' Paradoxically however, in the same 2011, NSPMC reported a total turnover of N29.370 billion for all its transactions with all clients (including the CBN). 
6. It is significant to note that the external audit revealed balances of sundry foreign currencies without physical stock of foreign currencies in the CBN Head Office". 
The report also mentioned his Questionable write-off of N40 billion loans of a bank. 
"The above issues are only a few of the infractions highlighted by the review and which point to the gross incompetence and recklessness which characterised the operations of the CBN in the period under review" the report said.
Meanwhile the State Security Service has seized Sanusi's passport when he landed at Murtala Mohammed Airport this afternoon from Niger Republic.

Friday, 14 February 2014

Breaking News: Singer Tiwa Savage Arrested Just Now In Front Of Eko Hotel


Singer Tiwa Savage arrested just now in front of Eko Hotel, Diamond Celebrities is exclusive reporting.
According to our source, Tiwa Savage was arrested just now in front of Eko Hotel for removing a policeman’s cap from his head. 
The talented singer violated  the traffic law and the policeman stopped her, out of annoyance she forcefully removed the officer’s cap and threw it away.
She was then arrested and taking away.
News still developing…

new movie- watch the trailer of an indecent past

about the movie
A young beautiful innocent and faithful lady fall in love with a popular Casanova. As a result of this, his personality changes as he decides to marry the only one he loves. Now some of the ladies he hurt are back for payback. the movie stars Amanda Ebeye and others. produced and Directed by Paul Omoruyi

click the link below to watch the trailer
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=ZfEvvAjDjvA

Saturday, 8 February 2014

Revealed: Why Nelson Mandela never forgave ex-wife, Winnie


Revealed: Why Nelson Mandela never forgave ex-wife, Winnie

Nelson Mandela was laid to rest on 15th Dec 2013. John Carlin in his new book ‘Knowing Mandela,’ reveals why he never forgave the former wife who has featured through out the 10 day mourning period and even in the official programme.
TWO weeks before Nelson Mandela’s release from prison in February 1990 I went to see his wife, Winnie, at her home in Diepkloof Extension, the posh neighbourhood of Soweto where the handful of black people who had contrived to make a little money resided. It was known as Baverly Hills to Soweto’s other presidents.
Winnie’s home, funded by foreign benefactors, was a two-floor, three-bedroom house with a garden and a small swimming pool. The height of extravagance by black standards, it would have more or less met the aspirations of the average white, middle-class South African
Zindzi, Winnie’s slim and attractive second daughter, was 29 but looked younger in a yellow T-shirt and denim dungarees. It was 9.30 a.m. and she was in the kitchen frying eggs. She invited me in and started chatting as if we were old friends. The truth was that I had not scheduled an interview with Winnie. I had just dropped in to try my luck. But Zindzi saw nothing wrong in me giving it a shot.
Mum, she said, was still upstairs and would probably be a while. As I hovered about waiting (and, as it turned out, waiting, and waiting friends of Zindzi wandered in for coffee and a chat. Completing the South African middle-class picture, a small, wizened maid in blue overalls padded inscrutably around.
Finally, Winnie made her entrance, Taller than I had expected, very much the grande dame, she displayed neither surprise nor irritation at my presence in her home. When I said I would like to interview her, she responded with a sigh, a knowing smile and a glance at her watch. I said all I would need was half an hour. She thought a moment, shrugged her shoulders and said: “OK. But you will have to give me a little time.” She still had to put the finishing touches to her morning toilette.
The picture presented to me by mother, daughter, friends and cleaning lady was of a domesticity so stable and relaxed that, had I not been better informed, I would never have imagined the depths of trauma that lucked beneath.
Winnie had been continually persecuted by agents of the apartheid state during the 1970s and 1980s; she had borne the anguish of hearing her two small daughters screaming as the police broke into her home and carted her off to jail; she had spent more than a year in solitary confinement. Trusting that her confused and stricken children would be cared for by friends; she had been banished and placed under house arrest far away. But she was back, her circumstances altered dramatically for the better now that Mandela’s release was imminent.
One hour after her first entrance, she majestically reappeared, Cleopatra still needed her morning coffee, and motioned me to wait in her study while she withdrew into the kitchen. I had five minutes to take in the surroundings.
On a bookshelf there was a row of framed family portraits, a Christmas card and a birthday card. Only a month had passed since Christmas, but nearly four since Winnie had turned 53. I could not resist taking a closer look.
I opened the Christmas card, which was enormous, and immediately recognised Nelson Mandela’s large, spidery handwriting. “Darling, I love you. Madiba,” It said. Madiba was the tribal name by which he liked to be known to those close to him. On the birthday card he had written the same words.
If I had not known better I might have imagined the cards had been sent by an infatuated teenager. Once we began our interview. Winnie took on just such a role, playing the tremulous bride-to-be, convincing me she was in a state of nervous excitement at the prospect of rekindling her life’s great love.
Close up she had, like her husband, the charisma of the vastly self-confident, and there was a coquettish, eye-fluttering sensuality about her. It was not hard to imagine how the young woman who met Mandela one rainy evening in 1957 had struck him, as he would later confess, like a thunderbolt.
The Mandela the world saw wore a mask that disguised his private feelings, presenting himself as a fearless hero, immune to ordinary human weakness. His effectiveness as a leader hung, he believed, on keeping that public mask from cracking. Winnie offered the greatest test to his resolve. During the following years the mask cracked only twice. She was the cause both times.
The first was in May 1991. She had just been convicted at Johannesburg’s Rand Supreme Court of assault and accessory to kidnapping a 14-year-old black boy called Stomple Moeketsi, whom her driver had subsequently murdered. Winnie had been led to believe, falsely as it turned out, that the boy had been working as a spy for the apartheid state.
Winnie and Mandela walked together down the steps of the grand court building. Once again the actress, she swaggered to the street, right fist raised in triumph. It was not clear what she could possibly have been celebrating, except perhaps the perplexing straight off to jail and would remain free pending an appeal.
Mandela had a different grasp of the situation. His face was grey, his eyes were downcast.
The second and last time was nearly a year later. The setting was an evening press conference hastily summoned at the drab headquarters of the ANC. He shuffled into the room, sat down at a table and read from a piece of paper, beginning by paying tribute to his wife.
“During the two decades I spent on Robben Island she was an indispensable pillar of support and comfort… My love for her remains undiminished.” There was a general intake of breath. Then he continued: “We have mutually agreed that a separation would be the best for each of us… I part from my wife with no recriminations. I embrace her with all the love and affection I have nursed for her inside and outside prison from the moment I first met her.”
He rose to his feet. “Ladies and gentlemen. I hope you ‘ll appreciate the pain I have gone through and I now end this interview.”
He exited the room, head-bowed, amid total silence.
Mandela’s love for Winnie had been, like many great loves, a kind of madness, all the more so in his case as it was founded more on a fantasy that he had kept alive for 27 years in prison than on the brief time they had actually spent together. The demands of his political life before he was imprisoned were such that they had next to no experience of married life, as Winnie herself would confess to me that morning.
“I have never lived with Mandela,” she said. “I have never known what it was to have a close family where you sat around the table with husband and children. I have no such dear memories. When I gave birth to my children he was never there, even though he was not in jail at the time.”
It seemed that Winnie, who was 22 to his 38 when they met, had cast a spell on him. Or maybe he cast a spell on himself, needing to reconstruct those fleeting memories of her into a fantasy of tranquility where he sought refuge from the loneliness of prison life.
His letters to her from Robben Island revealed romantic, sensual side to his nature that no one but Winnie then knew. He recalled “the electric current” that “flushed” through his blood as he looked at her photograph and imagined their caresses.
The truth was that Winnie had had several lovers during Mandela’s long absence. In the months before his release, she had been having an affair with Dali Mpofu, a lawyer 30 years her junior and a member of her defence team. She carried on with the affair after Mandela left prison. ANC members close to Mandela knew that was going on, as they did about her frequent bouts of drunkenness. I tried asking them why they did not talk to Mandela about her waywardness, but I was always met by frosty stares. Winnie became a taboo subject within the ANC during the two years after Mandela left prison. Confronting him with the truth was a step too far for the freedom fighters of the ANC.
His impeccably courteous public persona acted as a coat of armour protecting the sorrowing man within. But there came a point when Mandela could deceive himself, or the public, no longer. Details of the affair with Mpofu were made luridly public in a newspaper report two weeks before the separation announcement.
The article was a devastating, irrefutable expose of Winnie’s affair. It was based on a letter she had written to Mpofu that revealed he had recently had a child with a woman whom she referred to as “a white hag.” Winnie accused Mpofu of “running around f***** at the slightest emotional excuse … Before I am through with you, you are going to learn a bit of honesty and sincerity and know what betrayal of one’s love means to a woman … Remember always how much you have hurt and humiliated me … I keep telling you the situation is deteriorating at home, you are not bothered because you are satisfying yourself every night with a woman. I won’t be your bloody fool, Dali.”
In private, Mandela had already endured quite enough conjugal torture. I learnt of one especially hurtful episode from a friend of Mandela some years later. Not long after the end of her trial, Winnie was due to fly to America on ANC-related business. She wanted to take Mpofu with her, and Mandela said she should not, Winnie agreed not to, but went with him anyway. Mandela phoned her at her hotel room in New York, and Mpofu answered the phone.
On the face of it, Mandela was a man more sinned against than sinning, but he did not see it that way. It was his belief that the original sin was to have put his political cause before his family.
Despite everything, Mandela believed when he left prison that he would find a way to reconcile political and family life. Some years after his separation from Winnie, I interviewed his close friend Amina Cashalia, who had known him since before he met Winnie.” His one great wish,” she told me, “was that he would come out of prison, and have a family life again with his wife and the children. Because he’s a great family man and I think he really wanted that more than anything else and he couldn’t have it.”
His fallout with Winnie only deepened the catastrophe, contaminating his relationships with other family members, among them his daughter Zindzi. She was a far more complicated character than I had imagined when I chatted with her cheerfully in her mother’s kitchen over fried eggs. At that very moment, in late January 1990, her current lover, the father of her third child, was in a prison cell. Five days later he hanged himself.
Zindzi was very much her mother’s daughter, inheriting her capacity to dissemble as well as her strength of personality. The unhappiness and sheer chaos that she would endure in her own private life, a mirror of her mother’s, found expression in a succession of tense episodes with her father after he was set free.
One of them took place before friends and family on the day of her marriage to the father of her fourth child, six months after her parents’ separation. It was a glittering occasion at Johannesburg’s swankiest hotel, with Zindzi radiant in a magnificent pearl and sequin bridal dress. It seemed to be a joyous celebration; in truth, it provided further evidence of the Mandela family’s dysfunctions.
One of the guests seated near the top table was Helen Suzman, the white liberal politician and good friend of Mandela. She told me that he went through the ceremonial motions with all the propriety one would have expected. He joined in the cutting of the wedding cake and played his part when the time came to give his speech, declaring, “She’s not mine now,” as fathers are supposed to do. He did not, however, mention Winnie in the speech. When he sat down, he looked silent and cheerless.
Maybe he had had time to reflect in the intervening six months on the depth of Winnie’s betrayal. For more details had emerged of her love affairs and of the crimes of the gang of young men “Winnie’s boys,” as they were known in Soweto – who played the role of both bodyguards and courtly retinue. They had killed at least three young black men, beaten up Winnie’s perceived enemies and raped ;young girls.
Whether Mandela chose to realise it at the time, he was the reason that Winnie never ended up going to jail. Some years later, the minister of justice and the chief of national intelligence admitted to me that they had conveyed a message to the relevant members of the judiciary to show Winnie leniency.
Mandela’s mental and emotional wellbeing were essential to the success of the negotiations between the government and the ANC; for him to bow out of the process could have had catastrophic consequences for the country as a whole. Jailing Winnie would be too grave a risk.
Bizarrely, one of the guests at Zindzi’s wedding, prominently positioned near the top table, was the “white hag” Winnie had derided in her letter to Mpofu, and she was sitting next to a man I know to be another former lover of Winnie’s.
It also would have been difficult for Mandela to miss the menacing glances Winnie cast towards the “hag” although I hope he missed the moment when Winnie brushed past her and hissed at her former lover: “Go on! Take her ! Take her!”
When the band struck up and the newly married couple got up to dance, Mandela, who had been standing up, turned his back on Winnie and returned stiffly to the top table. Grim-faced for the rest of the night, he treated Winnie as if she did not exist. At one point, Suzman passed him a note. “Smile, Nelson,” it said.
In October 1994, five months after Mandela had become president, I spoke to a friend of his, one of the few people in whom he confided the details of his marital difficulties. The friend leant over to me and said: “It’s amazing. He has forgiven all his political enemies, but he cannot forgive her.”
During their divorce proceedings a year and a half later, he made his feelings towards Winnie public at the Rand Supreme Court, where he had accompanied and supported Winnie during her trial in 1991.
As his lawyer would tell me later, he was arbitrarily generous about sharing his estate, giving Winnie what was more than fair. But he made his feelings bluntly known in the divorce hearing. Standing a few feet away from her, he addressed the judge, saying: “Can I put it simply, my lord? If the entire universe tried to persuade me to reconcile with the defendant. I would not … I am determined to get rid of this marriage.”
He did not shirk from describing before the court the disappointment and misery of married life after he returned from prison. Winnie, he explained, did not share his bed once in the two years after their reunion. “I was the loneliest man,” he said.
The Victorian poet Arthur Hugh Clough wrote about the “terrible notions of duty” that boost the public figure but can stunt the private man. It is impossible to avoid concluding that Mandela was far less at ease in private than in public life. In the harsh world of South African politics he had his bearing; in the family sphere he often seemed baffled and lost.
Happily for his country, one did not drain energy from the other. Thanks to a kind of self-imposed apartheid of the mind, personal anguish and the political drive inhabited separate compartments and ran along parallel lines.
As out of control as she could be in her personal affairs, she possessed a lucid political intelligence and a mature understanding of where her husband’s priorities lay, even if she was deluded in attributing some of his qualities to herself.
“When you lead the kind of life we lead, if you are involved in a revolutionary situation, you cease to think in terms of self,” she said. “The question of personal feelings and reactions dues not even arise, because you are in a position where you think solely in terms of the nation, the people who have come first all your life.”
•Courtesy: Sunday Times
Extracted from Knowing Mandela by John Carlin
NB: In Mandela’s will, Winnie is NOT listed as beneficiary, she got NOTHING!


culled from kenyan today

Friday, 7 February 2014

Governor Amechi may be removed from his position as Governor Next week


Except there is a last minute change of heart by the Presidency, Rivers State governor, Rotimi Chibuike Amaechi will be packing from government house soon.
amaechiAccording to a reliable source, the Presidency has decided to interfere with yesterday's Supreme Court ruling between the governor and his cousin, Sir Celestine Omehia. We gathered that Celestine Omehia formally returned yesterday to the fold of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) and was seen in the Presidential Villa, apparently to meet President Goodluck Jonathan.
The enfant terrible governor, Amaechi our source noted is already out of the country, as he has gotten wind of the likely court decision to kick him out of office, through presidential directive. Omehia who addressed his supporters in his hometown, Ubima, has asked them to remain calm and be rest assured of victory
Another source squealed that the transfer of CP Joseph Mbu just yesterday from Rivers State is also a political ploy by the presidency, who would not want Mbu to be in charge of escorting Amaechi out of the government house, but a neutral police man; an act which will not raise alarm. “As we speak, all plans have been concluded to celebrate Omehia victory. He is the next governor”, our source stated.
Should the presidency have its way, it simply means that there will be no election in Rivers State come 2015 and the PDP would have regained Rivers State for the President.
 

Graphic photos: Soldier pictured stabbing man to death in front of a crowd

A group of soldiers in the Central African Republic lynched a man they suspected was a rebel minutes after hearing the new president's promise to restore security at a ceremony to reinstate the divided country's armed forces.

About 20 uniformed soldiers accused a member of the crowd of having belonged to Seleka - the mostly Muslim rebel group that seized power in a coup last March, before stabbing him repeatedly until he was dead.

A soldier stamped on the lifeless body, which was then dragged nearly naked through the streets as residents looked on and took photographs. Continue...



Ten minutes earlier the new interim president, Catherine Samba-Panza, stood just 20m away where she addressed a crowd of at least 1,000 soldiers.

The Army effectively disappeared during nine months of Seleka rule.She told the gathering at a training ground in the capital Bangui: 'Within a month, I would like to fully secure the greater part of the country and I aim to stick to my word.'

Seleka disbanded after Samba-Panza's inauguration last month and is deeply resented by the Christian majority after months of lootings and killings.

Peter Bouckaert, emergencies director at Human Rights Watch in Bangui, tweeted that the corpse of the lynched man had been burned. 

He posted a photograph showing a man holding up a severed limb next to a bonfire, as an armed French soldier gestured in the background.

Source: UK Daily Mail

I ate cockroaches to survive-Shocking story of Nigerian who played Basketball for Ghadaffi

When US basketball player Alex Owumi signed a contract to play for a team in Benghazi, Libya, he had no idea that his employer was the the most feared man in the country. Nor did he guess the country was about to descend into war. Here he tells his story, parts of which some readers may find distressing.
It was a beautiful flat. Everything was state of the art and it was spacious, too. It had two big living rooms, three big bedrooms, flat screens everywhere. The couches had gold trim and were so big and heavy they were impossible to move. The door to the apartment was reinforced steel, like on a bank vault.

It was 27 December 2010 and I had just arrived in Benghazi, Libya’s second biggest city, to play basketball for a team called Al-Nasr Benghazi. I had stayed in some nice places playing for teams in Europe, but this seventh-floor apartment in the middle of town was something else. It was like the Taj Mahal.
I didn’t immediately notice the photographs dotted around the place – of Libyan leader Col Muammar Gaddafi and his grandchildren.
When I did, I phoned the team president – we called him Mr Ahmed – and he told me how it was. “The apartment belongs to Mutassim Gaddafi, the Colonel’s son,” he said. “Al-Nasr is the Gaddafi club. You are playing for the Gaddafi family.
Gaddafi! When I was a young kid growing up in Africa – I was born in Nigeria – Gaddafi was someone we all looked up to. He was always on the news and in the paper, helping out countries like Niger and Nigeria. I thought of him as one of the faces of Africa – him and Nelson Mandela. As a kid I wasn’t really aware of any of the bad things he was doing. Maybe I was too busy playing sports.

In my first practice with my new team-mates there was a weird atmosphere. I asked the other international player on the team, Moustapha Niang from Senegal, “Why does everybody look so depressed?” And he explained it to me. “We’ve been losing,” he said. “They haven’t been getting paid, some of them are getting physically abused. If we don’t win our next game, some of these kids are going to get beat.”

A lot of the players had scratches and banged-up bruises on their arms. One had a black eye he was trying to conceal. Gaddafi’s security goons would push them up against lockers, things like that – and some of these guys were not big athletes like me and Moustapha. During practice you could see some of them were just scared to make mistakes. But in any sport you’re going to make mistakes, you’re going to make bad plays. I can’t go into a game and trust people who are scared.

The next day, we travelled to a game in Tripoli on a private jet like we were a team playing in the NBA [the National Basketball Association in the US]. That’s how it was with Al-Nasr and the Gaddafi family – they got extra funding, extra millions of dollars. But the deal was we were supposed to win – and when we lost, it was a problem.

Col Gaddafi was at that game. Before the start I saw him sitting with his military personnel up in the stands in a white dress uniform. Walking on the court was his son, Saadi Gaddafi, the man in charge of sport in Libya. We spoke and honestly, he seemed like a nice man who just loved sport.

As we were talking, I looked into the stands at his father and we locked eyes. It lasted just a moment, but my team-mates saw it and my fans saw it. We won that game by 10 points and afterwards, in the locker room, Mr Ahmed handed out envelopes, each containing about $1,000 (£600) in dinars. “From our leader,” he said.

After that game I started to get a lot of special treatment around the country because I had been personally acknowledged by the Gaddafi family. I never had to pay for food at the markets or in restaurants again. Everything from socks to a new TV and laptop – I got it all free or on a sort of open-ended loan. I never had to pay anything, not a dime. And after that game, we just kept winning and winning. I was the point guard – the captain, the conductor of the orchestra. We just kept winning and my team-mates weren’t scared any more.

But we noticed that our team coach, Coach Sharif, was often sad during practice. He was Egyptian and was worried about the situation back home – by this time, the revolution there was in full swing. There were rumours that there would be an uprising in Libya, but I never really took them seriously. We’re talking about a country where the leader had been in power for 42 years. Who in their right mind would cross that kind of leadership, that kind of army?

From the roof of my apartment in Benghazi I could see the whole of the city. I liked going up to the roof, especially when I was homesick and missed my family. I could really clear my mind up there.

But on 17 February 2011, at about 09:15 in the morning, I go on to the rooftop and see 200, maybe 300 protesters outside a police station across the street. A military convoy is coming closer and closer. Then, without warning, shots. People running, people falling. Dead bodies all over the ground. I’m praying, praying that this is a dream, that I will wake up sometime soon.

With these bullets flying everywhere, I’m hugging the floor of the rooftop. I am so frightened. So many things are running through my head and I just can’t think straight. After 10 minutes or so, the shooting stops and there is only wailing and screaming.

I go back to my apartment and close the door. I call Coach Sharif. It takes a long time before my call is connected, but eventually he picks up. He tells me that he’s on his way out of the country, back to Egypt, but that I should stay in my apartment and that somebody will come for me.

I try calling Moustapha but there is no connection. Over and over I punch the numbers on my phone, but the networks are down. The internet is down. I sit huddled against a big metal bookcase, praying.

Every now and then I peek out the window. The crowds of men have dispersed. Instead, I see kids, kids I played soccer with on the street. They have turned into rebels now, with their own shotguns and machetes. Regular life is over – it’s every man for himself.

I watch as a little girl tries to drag her father back to their house. He’s so heavy her mother has to come and help her. I can see the blood leaking from his head. His eyes are just gone, popped out of his head. And they can’t move his body. They just sit by the road, wailing.

There is a bang on my door. I open it and two soldiers ask me, “American or Libyan?” I show them my American passport and they let me go back in. I shut the door. About 15 minutes later I hear a commotion in the hallway – yelling and scuffling. When it dies down a little, I open my door to see what’s going on and I see a man, my neighbour, lying in the doorway to his apartment. He’s covered with blood and isn’t moving. For a moment I think he’s dead.

I know this man and I like him. He has a daughter, about 16 years of age, and sometimes after practice I sit with her in the hallway and help her practise English.

I hear these noises coming from around the corner of the hallway. Strange noises – crying and heavy breathing. I creep slowly around the corner and see an AK-47 on the ground. I creep further round the corner and see one of the soldiers on the stairwell with his pants down raping that little girl.

There’s so much anger in me. I reach for the gun, but then the other soldier steps out of the shadows, and pokes me with his own AK-47. I think he might just pull the trigger and blow me away.

But he doesn’t. He just shoos me back to my apartment, jabbing at me with his gun. I’m yelling at him in English, calling him every name under the sun, but I don’t have it in me to take him on. There’s nothing I can do. He closes the steel door on me and I sink to the ground, weeping, banging my head against the door. I can still hear that poor girl on the stairwell. I can’t do anything to help her.

As a Christian, it’s hard for me to say this, but there were many times I questioned my faith in God. That first day I just sat on the ground, crying and praying, trying my phone again and again.

There was a group of women next door who had a baby who was crying with hunger. Libyans don’t tend to keep much food in the house – they buy fresh groceries every day. So I gave them most of what I had – just a couple of slices of bread and some cheese – thinking that in two or three days this would be over.

But it carried on – the screams, the sirens, the gunshots. Non-stop, 24 hours a day. My apartment was in a war zone. It was all around me, I was just a dot in the middle of the circle of the bull’s-eye. I told myself that I would be rescued, that at any moment Navy Seals would come crashing through my steel door. I kept myself ready to go at a moment’s notice. I didn’t go to bed, but just took short naps throughout the day and night.

The police station on the other side of the road was set on fire. The policemen climbed on to the roof, which was the same height as my apartment building. I stared at them across the street and they stared back at me.

I had no power and no water. The food I had left over was gone in a day or two. I rationed the little water I had for four or five days, then it was gone. So I started drinking out of the toilet, using teabags to try to make it more palatable. When I needed to go to the toilet, which wasn’t much, I would urinate in the bathtub and defecate into plastic bags, which I tied up and left by the door.

I realised that if I didn’t do these things I wouldn’t survive. Three or four days after the massacre I had seen from the roof, a building across the street collapsed. The next day, the Libyan Air Force started dropping bombs all over Benghazi as they tried to retake the city.

I thought – I have those couches with gold trim but I can’t eat this gold. These flat screens are not going to feed me. Everything in this apartment is worthless. The things that we take for granted as human beings – water, a bit of cheese, a slice of bread – suddenly these things felt like luxuries, luxuries I didn’t have. I was getting weaker every day, slowly starving.

When the hunger pains got really bad, I started eating cockroaches and worms that I picked out of the flowerpots on my windowsill. I’d seen Bear Grylls survival shows on TV and seemed to recall that it was better to eat them alive, that they kept their nutrients that way. They were wriggly and salty, but I was so hungry it was like eating a steak.

I started seeing myself, versions of myself at different ages. Three-year-old Alex, eight-year-old Alex, at 12 years, 15 years, 20 years and the current, 26-year-old version. The younger ones were on one side, and the older versions on the other. I was able to touch them and I talked to them every day.

And I noticed that the younger Alexes were different, happier somehow, than the older versions, who seemed to have lost their direction. I asked the younger Alexes: “What happened? How can I get back to that happiness? How can I get my life back on track?” I asked them, “What made me make bad decisions?”

Twelve days after I shut myself away in my apartment, my mobile phone rang. It was Moustapha. “My brother, how you doin’?” he said. I told him I wasn’t doing too well. He was stuck in his apartment on the other side of the city, too. And he told me that my girlfriend, Alexis, had called him from the US, frantic with worry about me.

When we spoke again the next day Moustapha told me that our team president, Mr Ahmed, had promised to get us out of the country. We had to make our way to his office – it was only two blocks from my apartment, but I wasn’t sure how I would get there. “I will see you or I won’t,” I told Moustapha. “I will make it or I won’t.”

I was so weak that it took me about 15 minutes to climb down the seven flights of stairs in my apartment building. Out on the street I saw the empty shell cases that had been fired at the crowd two weeks earlier. I picked one up and thought, “Did this go through a human being?” They weren’t like handgun bullets – they were the sort of thing that could take a limb off.

Then I saw those same kids I had watched from my window, the ones I had played football with – one had an AK-47 that was almost bigger than him. They recognised me and called out: “Okocha!” They called me that because they thought I looked like Jay-Jay Okocha, the Nigerian footballer. These kids saw my legs start to buckle and they raced to grab my arms. Two of them took my arms and I made them understand where I needed to get to.

They basically had to carry me for about a mile. We went the long way, down backstreets and alleyways. Sometimes they would break into a run, and sometimes one of the kids would shout and we all stopped dead and looked around.

At my team president’s office, Moustapha and I hugged, and Mr Ahmed told the two of us, “I could get you out of here, but it’s going to be very dangerous.” He said it would mean a six-hour drive on a long desert road to the Egyptian border. Just a few days earlier, he had hired a car to take a Cameroonian footballer to the border. But this footballer had panicked at a rebel checkpoint and made a run for it across the desert. He had been gunned down.

Moustapha didn’t want to do it but I managed to convince him. And all the time we were talking it over, I was stuffing my face with cakes and drinking bottles of water. It gave me enough energy to get back to my apartment on my own two feet, accompanied by my band of miniature warriors.

I packed a small suitcase and at about 02:00 a car horn beeped outside. It was our car to Egypt – a tiny vehicle with Moustapha – all 6’10″ (2.08m) of him – already jammed into the front seat.

Fifteen minutes outside Benghazi we got to our first checkpoint – rebels searching through our stuff, throwing our clothes on the floor, looking for our passports. As black men, we were suspected of being Gaddafi mercenaries trying to escape the country.

At one point the rebels, guns in hand, kicked the legs from under Moustapha. I thought he was going to be gunned right down in front of me. The driver kept telling them, “They’re just basketball players, they’re just basketball players.” But there was so much turmoil, so much death around the city, that people didn’t believe anything.

By the grace of God they finally let us go. But there were another seven of those checkpoints, and instead of it being a six or seven-hour journey, it was 12 hours because we had to stop so often. We were searched and kicked to our knees so many times, thrown in the dirt. It was rough – and if I ever see that driver again I will give him all the money in my pocket.

We crossed the Egyptian border and after three days in a refugee camp, I could have begun the journey home to the US. But while I was waiting at the border for the Cairo bus to leave, I got a call from Coach Sharif. He told me: “I want you to come to Alexandria, stay with me and my wife, and get yourself back together, talk to us.”

I thought about it and realised that I needed some time – I didn’t want my family to see me the way I was. So I said goodbye to Moustapha and took the bus to Alexandria.

When Coach Sharif saw me, he shook his head, saying: “This is not the guy I’ve come to know. This is not him.” I looked different – the pigment on my face was discoloured, I had hair all over my face. My teeth were rotten brown, my eyes were bloodshot red. But it wasn’t just that. He basically saw that my soul was gone. And he said, the times I saw you happy were when you played basketball.

So while he and his wife took care of me, he got me involved with an Alexandrian team called El Olympi, coached by one of his former players. And it wasn’t about the money any more, I didn’t care about that. The big thing was being normal again.

I had a check-up before I started playing and I found that that fortnight without food had killed my body. Being a professional athlete, my body was used to a high-calorie diet. My liver was messed up, my lungs were bad, my blood was not right.

But I played anyway. El Olympi wanted me to help them make the playoffs, but we ended up winning 13 games in a row and taking the championship. It was amazin

That decision to play the rest of the season in Egypt was a lot for my mum and my girlfriend to take, though.

When I went home and saw my father again I shed tears. He was in a diabetic coma. Had he gone into this coma because I didn’t want to come home, his youngest son? I felt very, very guilty.

I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. I would shut myself at home for 15 hours with the blinds closed. I didn’t shower. My girlfriend, Alexis, would come home and find me like that and it took a toll on our relationship. I got a lot of treatment, a lot of therapy. But I was raised in the Catholic church, and I found going back to church was a way back to my regular self.

As for my old team-mates in Benghazi, there was nowhere for them to go, no way for them to escape. A lot of them had to fight in the war. I am still in touch with one of them and with Moustapha, who I speak to about once a fortnight. I saw him last summer and gave him the biggest hug in the world. We’re partners for life.

I have tried very hard to get in touch with that girl who lived across the hallway from me in Benghazi. I’ve found nothing, just nothing.

I was trying to forget about everything that had happened to me. But my family convinced me that I needed to get my story out there, so I wrote a memoir, Qaddafi’s Point Guard. Doing that was hard – there were a lot of tears.

I don’t regret going to Libya. In life, just like in basketball, you’re going to make mistakes, you’re going to make bad plays. But God has a plan for everybody – you could go left, you could go right, you’re going to end up on his path at the end of the day.

My girlfriend and I are still together, and after a break from the game, I am playing again, this time in England, for the Worcester Wolves. My team-mates don’t really know how to deal with me. I still get depressed just like that. In a minute, I go from happy to sad. I am liable to snap at people. They just leave me alone and I’m grateful for their understanding.

When I close my eyes I relive moments from 2011. I see faces, I see spirits. So staying awake is my best bet. I only sleep for four hours and by 08:00 I’m excited to go to practice. Basketball is an escape for me. The only time I get to be calm is in those 40 minutes of a game.

I do get really bad anxiety attacks before games, though. My hands get sweaty and start to shake. I can’t breathe, I can’t function. Sometimes I can’t leave the locker room. People look at me and say, “Woah, this dude is so crazy.” But that’s normal for me now. That’s normal life.

Source: BBC

Nollywood Actress Uche Iwuji confirms Marriage Split


Uche Iwuji Wedding
Nollywood actress Uche Iwuji has confirmed the breakup of her marriage to Juwon Lawal.
Over the last few months, there have been various reports speculating the demise of the union. However, the couple fervently denied the rumours.
Now it has been confirmed. Read the statement below.
”This should serve as the official statement confirming the end to the marriage formalized on Friday, November 16th 2012 between the CEO of ABD Fuels Plc, Mr. Juwon Rasak Lawal and actress Uche Iwuji.
Already, the court processes are on to give a legal seal to the separation.
Mr. Lawal was in Europe on a business tour when the story first broke through the media.  This was the reason why he could not react appropriately to it, plus the fact that he felt the event could be redeemed.
Although, he would not want to talk about the reasons for the separation, Mr. Lawal is not married anymore to Miss Iwuji. And he will like to treat his estranged wife’s case as “once a friend, always a friend”.
Status & Living Media - Publicist

Caught : Pastor With 11-Wives,Rapes Four Church Members, Threatens Them With Evil Spells



A Zimbabwean pastor, Robert Martin Gumbura, the founder of 'Robert Martin Gumbura Independent End Time Message Church' was sentenced on Monday to 50 years imprisonment for molesting four female members of his congregation and threatening to cast evil spells on them if they exposed him.

The incidents, were said to have occurred more than a decade ago.

During the court hearing, the 57-year-old Pastor who already has 11 wives and 30 children, claimed that all female members of his church were his wives by right, and married women were on loan from their husbands. See photo of some of Gumbura's wives below....


Presiding over the matter, magistrate Hoseah Mujaya said, "You were a real wolf in sheepskin. The core business of any church is worshipping and not sleeping with girls and women and threaten them that misfortune will befall them."

His conviction included a four-month term for a separate charge of possession of badographic videos.

In his defence, Gumbura stated the DVDs were private recordings with his wives.

However, 10-years was taken off his sentence because he had no previous convictions.

Nigerian Musician Olu Maintain Weds Secretly (Photos)


Olu Maintain has been reported to have secretly wedded a white lady.
Obviously, the wedding didn’t take place in Nigeria because no one knew about this.

He wanted to keep this secret but the photos were leaked to Erave. 

Thursday, 6 February 2014

THE REASON WHY THE SSS ARRESTED ASARI DOKUBO TODAY

SSS has today, 6 Feb, 2014, summoned courage to arrest Niger Delta Militant leader, Asari Dokubo for questioning, after so much discussions by PDP agents in Abuja on ‘whether or not’ he should be arrested since he is one of those speaking in favour of President Goodluck Jonathan.
It was also reported that Asari threatened to strike and shock the world if Jonathan loses 2015 election.
image
Below is what Asari said would happen in Nigeria if Jonathan loses 2015 election:
“In less than one hour, the way we would strike, the world will be shocked. If anybody does anything against Jonathan, we will retaliate. What we will do will shock the whole world. We will cripple the economy of the country not only in the creeks, but also on the nation’s territorial waters, no vessel will be allowed to enter Nigeria’s territorial waters.”
About these ads

Osita Iheme 'Pawpaw' Set To Marry Ghanaian Lover


PawPaw Spotted on the Beach with a Beautiful Actress
Popular Nollywood Actor, Osita Iheme also known as pawpaw may be getting married soon
His screen twin brother Chinedu Ikedieze also known as Aki got married some years back while Osita has remained single.
According to reliable sources, wedding plans are on the way for the actor to marry his Ghanaian sweetheart and it would happen soon.
Speaking to Osita on this, he says he is getting married to a Ghanaian, and they are opting for a secret wedding...
Source : Naij