Jubril Dotun Sanusi to Host Ooni of Ife as '2GEDA' Social Media Platform Unveils August 16

The stage is set for the grand unveiling of Nigeria’s first indigenous social media platform, ‘2GEDA’, scheduled to hold on Saturday, August 16, 2025, at 3:00 PM, at the prestigious Ilaji Hotels and Sports Resort, Akanran, Ibadan.

The landmark event will be hosted by the Okanlomo of Yorubaland and Chairman of Ilaji Group, Chief Jubril Dotun Sanusi, as he welcomes a royal and star-studded gathering to witness the historic birth of a digital innovation that aims to redefine Africa's tech landscape.

According to a statement by Smith Emeka Eze, co-owner of the platform, His Imperial Majesty, Oba Adeyeye Enitan Ogunwusi, Ojaja II, the Ooni of Ife, will officially unveil 2GEDA, a platform proudly built by Nigerians for the world. Eze describes 2GEDA as a revolutionary, secure, and inclusive social media hub designed to foster communication, creativity, culture, and commerce among Nigerians, Africans, and global users.

The high-profile launch is expected to be graced by royal fathers, top government officials, technology stakeholders, and celebrated business moguls, including Alhaji Aliko Dangote, Mr. Femi Otedola, and Chief Obinna Iyiegbu (Obi Cubana). Celebrities, influencers, youth leaders, and members of the press are also expected to be in attendance.

In a pre-event statement, Oba Ogunwusi described 2GEDA as “a digital revolution tailored for Nigerians, by Nigerians, and for the benefit of Africa at large,” noting that the platform aligns with the strategic vision to make Nigeria a trailblazer in indigenous technological advancement and innovation.

Highlights of the unveiling will include live demonstrations of both the web and mobile applications of 2GEDA, keynote speeches, cultural exhibitions, and a roundtable discussion focused on building Africa’s digital future through homegrown solutions.

Smith Eze further stated that the initiative has already gained endorsement from traditional institutions and industry leaders, positioning 2GEDA to become a continental flagship platform that will drive digital transformation, economic inclusion, and youth empowerment across borders.

#Freshvoice.

Fashola: We Renamed Lagos Streets to Preserve Yoruba Culture*

Former Lagos State Governor Babatunde Raji Fashola has revealed that his administration renamed some streets in Lagos to Yoruba names in order to protect and preserve Yoruba culture and tradition.

This effort is part of a broader initiative to promote Yoruba cultural heritage and identity, which has been influenced by centuries of external cultural exchange. By renaming streets, the Lagos State government aims to revitalize the use of Yoruba language and cultural references in everyday life.

Preserving cultural heritage is crucial in the face of globalization and urbanization. The Lagos State government's efforts have helped promote cultural pride and identity among the Yoruba people, contributing to the rich cultural diversity of Lagos and Nigeria.

Head of Mission, Jonny Baxter Extols Super Falcons Defender Ashleigh Plumptre Upon Her Reception at the British High Commission in Lagos

Jonny Baxter remarked, "From Leicester to Lagos! It was a pleasure meeting with Ashleigh Plumptre and her father, Tim Plumptre, today."

He further praised her as a remarkable ambassador for both Britain and Nigeria, stating, "She embodies the spirit of Jollof and Tea, symbolizing how our shared culture, heritage, and sports unite us."

Success has many friends

Head of Mission, Jonny Baxter Extols Super Falcons Defender Ashleigh Plumptre Upon Her Reception at the British High Commission in Lagos

Jonny Baxter remarked, "From Leicester to Lagos! It was a pleasure meeting with Ashleigh Plumptre and her father, Tim Plumptre, today."

He further praised her as a remarkable ambassador for both Britain and Nigeria, stating, "She embodies the spirit of Jollof and Tea, symbolizing how our shared culture, heritage, and sports unite us."

Success has many friends

Breaking:
A lady heading to Umuechem market to sell buns was tragic@lly k!lled by a tipper driver in Etche L.G.A, Rîvers Státe.

Locals are in over the brûtal scéne.

May this new month Never bring us tears
#willyculturetv #EtcheUpdates #TragicLoss

*"Dear beloved followers of African Jokes and Stories,*

As we step into this new month, I want to take a moment to express my deepest gratitude to each and every one of you. Your love, support, and engagement have made this journey truly special.

I pray that this new month brings you joy, laughter, and abundant blessings from above. May God's favor and protection be upon you and your loved ones.

May our shared love for African jokes and stories continue to bring us together, inspire us, and remind us of the beauty of our diverse cultures.

Thank you for being part of this wonderful community. I'm honored to share laughter and stories with you.

Wishing you a blessed, happy, and prosperous new month!

*Best regards, [Izundu Chigozirim]

In the Benin tradition,it’s forbidden for a woman who is not a Queen (Oloi) or princess to touch the Oba. If she does, she automatically becomes his wife. If the the Oba don’t want her as a wife,she’s given to any Chief or Obas subject.
In 1956,the Oba waved this by shaking Queen Elizabeth of United Kingdom.

Culture is indeed dynamic .

Credit:Onion Edionwe

As a fluent speaker of Yoruba, Igbo, and Hausa, I hope to use my vast knowledge of the diverse cultures in Nigeria to promote harmonious relationships.
Happy new month. #grace

~@polyglotodulesi

“I was given food at the back door for ten years, not knowing that the girl they called ‘orphan’ would one day own the school.”

My name is Amarachi.

When I was six years old, I lost my parents to a fire. Our landlord said, “Your people are cursed. I can’t keep the daughter of a witch.” So, from Owerri to Port Harcourt, I lived under a bridge. I begged for food.

One morning, I saw a group of students wearing green uniforms entering a school: Royal Kingsway Academy. Their food smelled like glory. So I waited by the back door. A woman—the kitchen cleaner—passed me a nylon bag of jollof rice.

That became my routine. Every lunch hour, Mama Risi would sneak me leftovers—sometimes bones, sometimes breadcrumbs, but always with kindness.

I sat on a rock behind the school wall, listening to lessons through the cracks. I memorized poems and answered math questions aloud. They called me “Radiohead.”

One day, a teacher overheard me recite Shakespeare from the other side of the fence. He asked, “Who is she?” I ran away.

The next day, he brought me books, a notebook, and a pencil. In a low voice, he said to Mama Risi, “Start letting her sit at the back of Classroom 3. No one has to find out.”

So I started attending school unofficially—barefoot and invisible. After class, I swept the classrooms and mopped the hallways with Mama Risi. But I never missed a class. Not even when malaria tried to stop me.

When I was seventeen, the director asked, “Who registered this girl? She’s not on our list.”

Mama Risi lied, “She’s my niece.”

They let me sit for the WAEC exam using their surname. I got eight straight A’s. No celebration. No pictures. Just me, under the handle, holding my result and crying.

Years of silence followed, as I prepared my place in the world.

A few missionaries gave me a scholarship to study business administration in the UK. I graduated with honors. I started a logistics company in Nigeria, then expanded into agriculture and education.

Ten years later, my company bought a property in Port Harcourt.

The address?

Royal Kingsway Academy.

The school was bankrupt—salaries unpaid, buildings in ruins. I said nothing during the negotiation. I just signed the check.

The former principal greeted me at the door with a forced smile.

“Madam CEO, welcome.”

I looked at him and said, “I used to sit behind that wall… with jollof in a nylon bag.”

His smile faded.

We renovated every block, fixed every broken desk, raised teachers’ salaries, and invited the community to the reopening.

When the fabric on the new sign fell, gasps filled the air:

“Amarachi Risi Academy: Where Every Child Has a Seat.”

Mama Risi was by my side, crying like a baby.

I whispered, “They gave me bones. I made them a throne.”

Today, hundreds of students—some orphaned, some abandoned—study for free at our school.

No child eats alone.

No child learns outside a fence.

Because sometimes, the girl who was fed through a hole in the wall…

Comes back to buy the whole building—

and feed generations.

LOVE AND BULLET
PART 13
The address led to an abandoned textile factory on the outskirts of Lagos—its broken windows like hollow eyes staring into the night.
Ava stood in the shadows of a crumbling wall, the humid air thick with the scent of rust and rotting cotton. Her fingers tightened around the phone in her pocket, the screen still displaying that ominous message:
"Come alone."
She hadn’t.
Obinna and three of his most trusted men were positioned around the perimeter, hidden in the darkness. Sergeant Kola waited in an unmarked car two blocks away, NDLEA backup on standby.
Ava took a deep breath and stepped into the open.
"Show yourself!" Her voice echoed through the empty compound.
For a long moment, there was only silence.
Then—
A single light flickered on above the factory doors, illuminating a figure seated casually on a plastic chair.
"Ava Carter." The voice was smooth, cultured. Familiar. "Or should I call you Lola now?"
Ava’s blood turned to ice.
Commissioner Dike.
But not the broken man they’d left bleeding in the evidence room. This version was polished—custom suit, gold cufflinks, his smile as sharp as a razor.
And behind him, emerging from the shadows like ghosts, were six armed men.
No.
Not men.
NDLEA special ops.
"You didn’t really think it would be that easy, did you?" Dike chuckled, crossing his legs like they were at a business meeting instead of a deserted factory. "A few leaked documents, some resignations—you barely scratched the surface."
Ava forced her voice steady. "Then enlighten me."
Dike leaned forward, his eyes glinting. "This was never about drugs or money. It’s about control. The people on your list? They don’t run this country. We do. And you?" He smirked. "You’re just a loose end."
Ava’s pulse pounded. "If you wanted me dead, you’d have done it already."
"True." Dike stood, brushing invisible dust from his trousers. "But Obinna Eze is worth more to us alive. And you?" His smile turned cruel. "You’re the perfect bait."
Ava barely had time to process the words before the warehouse doors burst open behind Dike—
And Obinna staggered out, his hands bound, a gun pressed to his temple by a masked operative.
No.
Her stomach dropped.
They’d known. They’d known about the ambush, about Kola, about everything.
Dike’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then laughed. "Ah. It seems your Sergeant friend won’t be joining us after all."
They forced Ava to her knees in the dirt, the cold barrel of a gun pressing into the back of her skull.
Obinna’s gaze locked onto hers, his eyes blazing with silent fury—not at their captors, but at her, for walking into this trap.
Dike crouched in front of her, his cologne sickly sweet. "Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to call off your little crusade. You’re going to disappear. And in return?" He patted her cheek. "Your beloved drug lord gets to keep breathing."
Ava’s nails dug into her palms hard enough to draw blood.
She could lie. Play along.
But one look at Obinna’s face told her he’d rather die than let these monsters win.
So she smiled.
"Wrong answer."
The first explosion rocked the compound like an earthquake.
Dike’s men stumbled as the factory’s east wall erupted in flames, the shockwave sending debris raining down.
Ava didn’t hesitate—she lunged, driving her elbow into the kneecap of the man behind her. His gun went off, the shot whipping past her ear as she rolled and came up swinging.
Obinna moved like lightning, snapping his bonds on the edge of a broken pipe and tackling his guard to the ground.
Chaos erupted.
Gunfire. Shouting. The roar of spreading flames.
Through the smoke, Ava saw Dike scrambling for a fallen pistol—
She dove, tackling him just as his fingers brushed the grip. They crashed into the dirt, rolling, punching, tearing at each other like wild animals.
Dike was stronger than he looked.
His fist connected with her jaw, sending stars exploding across her vision.
"You ****** girl," he spat, pinning her down. "You could have walked away!"
Ava grinned through the blood in her mouth. "I don’t know how."
Then she headbutted him with everything she had.
The fire raged.
Sirens wailed in the distance—too late, as always.
Ava staggered to her feet, coughing smoke from her lungs. Around her, the factory burned, illuminating the bodies of Dike’s men.
Obinna emerged from the haze, his face streaked with soot and blood.
"Dike?" he rasped.
Ava shook her head. "Gone."
The commissioner had vanished into the night, like the coward he was.
But the war wasn’t over.
It had just begun.
TO BE CONTINUED...