Chasing money, many have regrettably discovered, is like playing hide and seek with the ghost of Houdini. In Nigeria in particular, money continues to play hard to get with tens of millions of us that the country’s dismaying status as the global capital of involuntary austerity seems quite inescapable, or maybe even destined. Yet, right here in Lagos, there’s a young lady — intrepid, resolute — who has assigned herself the task of coaching a new generation of Nigerians on how to play this game of show me the money and win. This lady, her name is Oluwatosin Olaseinde, Tosin for short.
When somebody famous dies, Twitter and Facebook go crazy with philosophy.
“What a life.”
“Life is short.”
James Altucher has no filter. He exposes everything that has ever happened to him to absolute strangers on the Internet. He talks about his first divorce, he talks about his second divorce, and he won’t stop talking about his many financial failures. There was that time he moved into Hotel Chelsea in New York City, with a troupe of colourful characters as neighbours; and that other time he sold all his belongings so he could relocate into a duffle bag. James Altucher is an American businessman and writer who blogs about every single thing. He’s also Jewish.
Lindaikejisblog.com is no longer on Alexa’s top 10 list of sites in Nigeria. For about a decade it was there at the top and only got pushed down when the likes of Naij.com first burst onto the Nigerian media scene. At the time, you’d also find Bella Naija and YNaija on the top 10. Now, none of these blogs are in the top 20. So what happened to Linda Ikeji?
A tiktok video went viral last week that spontaneously got some major celebrities vexed. Here’s a quote from the video:
“AND THESE PEOPLE (MARIAH CAREY AND NICK CANNON) ARE AWFUL. I HAD TO DEAL WITH BOTH OF THEM SEPARATELY. SHE IS AN ABSOLUTE DIVA AND HE IS AN ABSOLUTE DIVA AND I HOPE THAT NO CAST MEMBER HAS TO DEAL WITH THESE MONSTERS EVER AGAIN.”
One afternoon in 2005, my boss and I stood in the vast newsroom of The Guardian and watched time whizz by.
It was 4,5pm-ish. The reporters were back, as usual, sliding across the glazed floor, nearly crashing into the concrete, to rush their stories to the typists and graphic designers who would set the pages for the next day. At this moment, my eyes were locked on a certain senior correspondent—there was something about his tie.
He doesn’t even know it, but Naira Marley is a cult leader.
All of a sudden, there’s an army of Nigerians all over the world calling themselves Marlians. They follow the philosophy of the Great One aka Afeez Fashola, who is only 25 years old.
Their doctrine, it appears, is smoke a bouyant amount of weed, rage against the authorities, have a lot of sex, and secure the bag aka naira.
Okay, that’s reckless hyperbolism. My grand arrival in that famed continental magazine was anything but sudden. That story took me all of three weeks, plus a couple of extra sleepless nights—factoring in interviews, research, transcriptions, rewrites, edits, and reverts.
But one day, just as I languished in one of those Lagos traffic jams on Alfred Rewane Road, Ikoyi, I saw Ayeni Adekunle and Steve Babaeko on the cover of Forbes Africa and I was like, Wait, that’s my story.
For three weeks, Tope Jemerigbe had waited with nerves on fire for this phone call. Now that she was on it, she knew there was only one answer she could accept from the man on the other end of the line. That man, Tarek Abdelnabi, must make up his mind today or Tope and her people would be out of time. Tope didn’t like to be out of time.