LeSudAfricaine:
So much"The Giants Of Africa" you guys are the crybabies of Africa! What exactly are you so upset about? What do you guys want? A Medal? Money? All this anger due to "Shout Outs?" You guys are'nt serious, This anger is better direct to your authorities to help free the Chibok girls for god's sake!

And what does your country get?

Ojo ore pe, asiere gbagbe... The day to show gratitude has come, and the foolish one has forgotten... (Yoruba Proverb)

myfairlady911:
Guys, please has anyone used this hotel deal site called Hotelnownow.com ? I saw their advert on facebook for a protea VI hotel for 20k and some other good hotels at a ridiculously low rate!
I wonder how they do it sef. Pls guys check it out: www.hotelnownow.com

Hmmm, Internet biz just dey spring up anyhow for Naija, anyway na good thing.

I've seen a few of their ads and they have some cool offers, one will actually be forced to wonder how they make their own money, maybe traffic but i can't see google ads there sef.

Last bullet: op, is this supposed to be some kind of promotion or what? I'm tempted to think you own that site. Talk true o

Not long ago I found myself in Lagos, Nigeria. It is a city where hulking skyscrapers in the heart of downtown sit completely dark at night, because there’s no electricity to keep them lit, where moat-ringed mansions belong not to businessmen but politicians who bring real-life meaning to the term kleptocrat. Just as Nigeria has made a successful grab for its status as the economic heavyweight of West Africa, its sprawling centerpiece has scrambled to transform itself into the modern city it aspires to be. With this has come a cache of modern chain hotels to accommodate the stream of oil executives and money movers that flow in and out of the town every day.

I didn’t end up at one. My hotel was dirty, its lounge dim. I was perched on the corner of my seat, anxiously awaiting the return of my laptop. The abductor was my hotel’s “Technological Officer,” Muhammad, who assured me that taking my laptop away to his office was my only hope for getting it online. He was a tiny guy, swimming in an enormous navy blue tent of a polo shirt that screamed Chevron in golden block lettering across the front, a lightning bolt seared down the back.

Muhammad hovered over my keyboard, his skinny brows knit together in concentration while he muttered to himself. The outlook was grim. When it comes to technological matters, Nigeria’s reputation, generally speaking, is unfavorable. You don’t want people you don’t know meddling with your computer there, Technological Officer or otherwise. But I had an assignment that was facing the formidable deadline of dawn, and even brief access to email was my only hope of meeting it. I took my chances.

I was with a friendly Lagosian doctor named Vicki who was working on the same project as me. She remained by my side the entire trip, ostensibly to keep me company, but also, I assumed, to prevent me from succumbing to any manner of schemes that might befall a conspicuous American amid the chaos of this city. While we waited for Muhammad to determine the fate of my laptop, we decided to try dinner chez hotel.

Prior to this trip, much of my knowledge of Nigerian food — really, food from most of West Africa — came from a high school reading assignment. In Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart (before the series of events referred to in the title), the Nigerian villagers are constantly prodding and pounding yams into a dish enticingly known as fufu.

It turns out that fufu is first and foremost an invention of the Ghanaians untold years ago. It then became a mainstay throughout West and Central Africa, where its preparation was adjusted to accommodate any number of other starches, like cassava or plantains. You can now find ready-to-whip fufu flour in discerning groceries worldwide, from the suburbs of Atlanta Georgia to the Eastern tip of Brazil. Just add water, and a mound of reconstituted yams will be ready to eat in minutes.

I’m serious about root vegetables; I’ve yet to encounter a tuber I haven’t liked. Few weeks go by in fall when I don’t find myself cloistered in my tiny hallway of a kitchen braising, roasting, or pounding my own hoard of yams into a silken mash. It was time to try Nigeria’s rendition.

The restaurant’s menu featured its fufu prominently, in its own section, along with a modest collection of protein pairings and soups. The relatively tame tomato stew caught my eye. I elected to go with the fish, as well.

A waitress materialized from the kitchen, her every appendage decorated with enormous rhinestones. We were early to be eating dinner, an issue she raised immediately, but she let us place our orders anyway. When I did, her eyes widened in skepticism as they moved over my blond hair.

“Where are you from?” she demanded, not bothering to hide her misgivings.

“New York.”

“Have you eaten fufu before?”

“No. But I’d like to try.” I didn’t say how I knew about fufu, sensing my appreciation for the literary context would not help my case. Still, even though it was clearly available on the menu, something told me I needed to justify my choice. I regaled her with my knowledge of its preparation and ingredients.

“It is hard to eat,” she responded. “An American would not like it, or eat it properly. And it’s too expensive to waste. But I will bring you the fufu.”

I thanked her for the warning. Fufu is a fun word to say for an American in Nigeria, and I was enjoying the conversation more than she probably understood. Satisfied, she disappeared to the kitchen. When she returned with my water, she proudly demonstrated its intact seal and smiled brightly.

Her apprehensions were warranted, if misplaced. The fish I’d ordered appeared to be something like a river perch (ichthyologist I am not). Aside from the charred strip blazed across one flank, it looked like it had been plucked minutes ago from some oil-choked river on the city outskirts and tossed on the back of a lorry for transport straight to my plate. Calcified spikes protruded along its massive dorsal. Fearsome eyes glared up at me in reproach, as if to accuse me of hastening its death. I looked away, contemplating my next step: attempting to take the creature apart with knife and fork. The prospect was not appealing.

Americans, after all, prefer to think of their meat as separate from the animals from which it originated. The association between the hamburger on our plate and the cow grazing in a pasture — if we even see real cows with the same frequency that we eat them nowadays — makes us uncomfortable. The line blurs a bit more with fish; we’ll tolerate some scales, even a vertebra left intact. We like it when the fish counter at the grocery store puts some whole fish out along with the fillets to build the ambiance; it’s like a string of ornamental chilies or garlic cloves knotted together and hanging beautifully but uselessly beside a produce stand. We tend to draw the line at the entire animal placed intact on a plate before us.

In Nigeria, this was clearly not the case. I would have the entire river perch, and I would keep an open mind. Growing up, there were many times when I cheated a little at dinnertime by having one of my parents cut up my food for me. This time, I couldn’t cheat. I went eye to bulging eye with this fish, working my way along the spears of rib bone striating down its side and extracting the slivers of stream-toughened flesh. This Lagosian perch didn’t have the luxury of the farm experienced by its fish counterparts in the Mediterranean and Atlantic. Its flesh was sturdy, the legacy of a life spent fighting its life upstream, rather than floating in a pen like those who usually made their way to my plate. I asked my companion how she liked it.

“It’s good,” she announced. She contemplated more. “A little sandy.”

Soon it arrived. In a pallid lump, the fufu rested at the bottom of my bowl, surrounded by a startlingly thick tomato sauce flecked with indiscernible spices. I could tell the yams did not go down without a fight — someone with strong arms had spent a good part of his or her day plying and beating them into oblivion. The problem was that the concoction before me appeared to resemble cement.

I asked my companion if I could use my spoon and still fall within the range of acceptable fufu consumption. I could not. So tentatively, I followed her lead. I dipped in my fingers, scooped out a ball, made an impression in it with my thumb, munchkin-style, and waded it through the soup.

It was deliriously rich. The fufu was a glorious, glutinous wad of starch. It played delightfully off the piquant acidity of the soup. Together, they were a symphony.

We scraped away at the sides of our bowls, careful to keep the fufu to soup ratio at a gentle equilibrium to the end. My fish flopped forlornly beside us, abandoned for the interim. And not too many minutes later, Muhammad reappeared with my computer.

The fufu was delicious, my vanished laptop returned. Things stayed together. It was just an hour, but it was Lagos: chaos, well-done.

Lindsay Crouse has spent her entire life living somewhere along Amtrak’s northeast corridor (first Kingston RI, then a brief stint in Boston for college, and now New York City). Her day job in global health keeps her out of the city more than she’s in it.

http://bygonebureau.com/2010/12/22/fish-and-fufu/

blaqship:
No one is above the Law

Let's talk in private pls. #ZF

They forgot the first rule... "Don't feed the trolls"

Ghostlady:
We don't know Him in Chelsea...Though we Chelsea fans are proud of our club,This man is simply rubbishing our name...warris dis

Your club? Your name?

As if she's sharing in the returns or even plays for the team.

Lol, it's funny how we personalize these sports clubs... I'm guilty too

Oops

Which is more feasible, a National Social Welfare package or Open Wifi in the State? Considering our current economic status

Arsenic poisoning... Very few know about this... Al Mustapha won't speak about everything that went down.

I'll assume the woman had a child before the marriage and didn't conceive any for the man.

Based on this, I'll be forced to believe the man has been impotent before the woman's claim and hence the charm was just a placebo.

That's why he can't get the second wife pregnant.

anthoniaz:

Xion you are right.Cyprigold can make one sleep like kpomo and eat like sey tomorrow no dey .Another wicked drug that can make one eat like a glutton is "feed fine"

My sister, those prescriptions are totally absurd... I promised myself never to go near CypriGold again. I slept like a slug throughout. Methinks, they should be fed to pigs.

CypriGold... You'll sleep and eat like anything you can think of...
Snap a picture of yourself now
After one month of taking CypriGold snap another

No one will tell you to stop.

delishpot:


Recieve it by faith.

Just sent it by faith, hope you got it...
Share with someone who needs it

delishpot:


Ha ha, abeg give me some of your claimed riches.

Oya, at this level, you have to act with faith...

Send me your account details by faith

delishpot:


Na wa. That kain money go make me enter coma. Chei, people are rich o.

We rich o... (I claim it)

Mentioning millions anyhow, no be small thing o

aisha2:




Hence Nigerian women will keep remaining slaves, an agreement is an agreement he should stick to it, its bot about the money. You are ready to sit eat shit pray and fast and take whatever crumbs is thrown your way she isn't, thats why our women here will continue to open lamentation threads everyday, he beat me, he cheated, he wont sleep with me, and they continue to get shitty advice while those who have standards hold on to their standards and insist the right thing be done. Don't hate, raise your own standards from a professional shi-t chopper to a woman who knows what she wants and stands by it

You Don try big time...

EroticAngelina:
That woman z a devil!
abeg bring the money cum ma side

If you need it, you won't wait for it to be brought to you... You'll rush it.

Tallesty1:
How many Nigerian husband get that kain money?

Lol, I'll find out and get back to you...

delishpot:
See moneyyy!

I tell you... This is best thing that can happen to a Nigerian lady at the moment...

elantraceey:
She's just described in one word 'greedy'



Not as if am judging her though.

She claims she worked for it...
We all know how bad the oil market is right now

Not everyone gets to see a check for $975
million with their name on it. But after a
highly contentious divorce, Sue Ann Arnall
is looking for more.

She rejected the check her ex-husband Harold
Hamm sent her Monday, according to his
attorneys.

Hamm agreed to pay the nearly $1 billion back in
November. He's somewhat of a legend in the oil
business, having built Continental Resources ( )
from the ground up and led the development of
North Dakota's Bakken oil field.

But Arnall, an economist and a lawyer who held
executive positions in the company, has said she
is entitled to more . She filed for an appeal,
claiming that the fortune was due to both her work
and his.

Arnall's attorney did not immediately respond to a
request for comment.

The couple was married for 26 years, have two
children and had no prenuptial agreement.
To make things even messier, Hamm himself filed
for an appeal as well. He claims that with the
dramatic drop in oil prices , his company's value
has taken a hit, along with his wealth.
Despite writing the check, Hamm will move forward
with his appeal, his attorney Craig Box said

Source: money.cnn.com/2015/01/06/luxury/billionaire-divorce-check/index.html

Learnt quite a lot about the pre-Islamic Hausa culture in secondary school, and I even enjoyed the array of literature...

I'll appreciate if pagan9ja can shed some light on Hausa marriage, Se.xual, childbirth customs... Especially the ngozuma duties.

Also something on the king's court, the shantali et Al...
The Sanchi contest was well portrayed in the classic literature "The Passport of Mallam Iliya".

Great thread, ka yi kokari

777 is the number, OluwaShina o

lilmaxfidel:
you are healed in jesus name

On top wetin?

It was the age of innocence, the making of Clarence Peters
Lovebirds in 1982, Clarion Chukwura & Shina Peters on the cover of the original track of Owo L’Agba (Money Power)

Culled from @SeeMeSeeNigeria

Let's see it happen

Rosarie:
befre i replied re u married?if not i cnt xplain till u re.d foundation u lay will follow up.alot abeg d only tins is xperience.is ur choice to tk or nt .

Lol, I'm semi-married, I'll still like to get the explanation.

prettyboi1989:
When u are offered gifts by som1 related to som1 u know u av no choice than to accept. Or are u too big to be given a gift? Rejecting such gifts myt be an insult esp when the giver is way richer than the receiver. There's no harm in collecting.. If its a situation where the inlaws were the ones milking the guy dry ya'll gona complain, now inlaws are giving, una still dey complain. What will eva satisfy man?

Lol, I understand your point.

Rosarie:
small small see finish they enter.how u stasrt is how u will endup.it was xtrmly wrong for the man to offer him tp cos d boy wos prepared coming to c him and d boy wos foolish to collect.no matter how jovial dey will alwys be inlaws.since d deed has been done:cos some in law if u give dem dat chance dey will tk advantage of ur situation.even ur galfrnd will not b submissive.una nva c.d bros an sis go c una finish.marriage is wisdom and foundation.wen he is going for another visit he should buy win and tins worth dan dat 3#

You actually feel the trend will continue till the girl's parents start to take advantage? Please make me understand

freecocoa:
There's no big deal, he did the right thing by collecting it.

Sounds like something my dad would do, no matter how wealthy the person is, it's just him being a caring man.

That's good