" Before i started rapping, i have produced for some Artists here in Nigeria, i came in the music industry with igbo rap and i won't lie, many discouraged me before but now see the accomplishments! Its huge. I can't stop doing it for my culture no Matter what" ~ Phyno

Don't let Nobody discourage your vision, they will try but you have to stay determine and focus in what you believe.

#EMMACK

Ayra Starr reveals that Football Legend Lionel Messi was in the Audience Watching her performance at Coldplay's concert!

Just few weeks after signing with ROC Nation — Ayra Starr has entertained one of the Greatest footballers of all time.

Congratulations to Sabi girl

#EMMACK

I started sleeping with D0GS at the age of 16. My name is Amanda, and this is my story. A story I wish I never told anyone, but I can’t keep hiding. Everyone needs to learn from my story.

If anyone told me that I would be sleeeping with dogs, just to make money. At the age of 16 I would not believe that, but it happened to me, and this was how I found myself in this situation.

I was born into a very poor family in lagos. when I say poor I mean very poor, my parents were struggling to eat including me, I was the only daughter and child.

My father was a security, he was paid a small amount. And my mother stayed at home with me. I stopped going to school because they couldn’t continue to pay me school fees.

Hunger was our fourth person in the family, it dealt with us like an army. But sadly my father died.

He died right at his work post, he could not bear it anymore. My mom cried and cried. I cried even more.

After my father was buried, my mother was not the same anymore. She felt sick and died too.

I became an orphan, my uncle took our small property, claiming he was the rightful owner. And I was left in the street of Lagos. Sleeping under the bridge, inside the gutter, just to survive.

Life was dealing with me. I suffer, in fact I did all kind of quick jobs like breaking firewood and many more. it couldn’t help me. Sometimes I pray for late parents to come and take me.

But all this things changed one evening. I was selling my last orange, ready to got back to sleep under the bridge again.

A black car came and parked in my front. It was raining that evening. A lady came out of the car. Her name was Cynthia, I thought she was coming to buy orange.

“Why are you sitting alone under the rain. It late already” she says politely.

I told her I have no where to go, I told her that sleep under the bridge. Then she offered to take me to her place, but I rejected, because Lagos was a scary place, you can’t trust nobody.

“Do not be afraid, come with me, am not a bad person” Cynthia says to me.

Then I followed her, she gave me food at the house, she bought new clothes for me. For ones I felt like paradise.

I was enjoying the good things of life now. But after a week. Cynthia came with a total different topic.

She sat me down and told me. “I have been good to you, but you need to starting making money just like I do, can you work ?” Cynthia says.

“Yes, i answered, “I can do anything for you”

Then Cynthia told me about the job. “They are going to pay you plenty money. You will become rich. They are my clients. They don’t like women, but they need the woman to play with their pet” Cynthia says.

“I didn’t understand at first. “Play with their pets? I asked.

“Yes play with their dogs, like satisfy their D0gs” Cynthia says clearly.

Immediately I dropped the juice I was drinking, pouring on the ground. Immediately I felt like I was sitting with the devil.

“Never ! Never Cynthia ! So this is how you make your money. I would never Sle-p with dogs just to make money” I scream at her.

To be continued.

THE DOG BUSINESS EPISODE 1

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Lîsten up, Mên! Here’s Why Yóu Don’t Marry a W0man Over 35 The Math, the Biology, the Reality

Whelên I tell you don’t marry a woman over 35, I’m nôt just throwing opinions.
I’m giving you cold logic, fãcts, and brutal masculine truth that society is too scared to say out loud.
Let’s brêak it down.

Let’s say she became sêxua||y active at 18.
She’s nôw 35. That’s 17 years of sêxual activity.
If she ãveraged just 10 men per year and believe me, that’s modest for many in this era of “exploring” and “experiencing” that’s 170 men.

Yes, 170 dîfferent men have had access to her body.
170 opportunities to pair-bond, create soul ties, and destroy her ability to submit to one man.
Yôu want peace with a woman like that?
Bro, you’ll be fighting emotîônal ghosts and soul trauma daily.

Nôw let’s talk biology.

By age 35, she’s a|ready lost over 90% of her egg supply.
That’s not speculation. That’s science.
The peak fertility window for women is between 18 and 28. After that, fertility drops drastica||y, and after 35, it’s a dangerous gamble.
You’ll spend mi||lions chasing IVF, praying for miracles, or end up childless with a woman who has nothing to give but complaints and comparison.

Now let’s get darker.

If she was hãving unprotected sex often (which is common in “serious” or “long-term” re|ationships) she may have had multiple abortions.
At 20 pôtential pregnancy events over those years?
You’re looking at a wôman who could’ve terminated 20 lives, and now wants to settle down like it’s just anôther phase.
And you? You’re supposed to be the fool who gîves her a ring and raises her leftover future?

Let’s be rea| you’re not her dream man.
You’re just the last option now that the games are over and the clock is ticking.

You don’t bui|d a dynasty on a used foundation.
You don’t marry history, you marry future potential.
And the o|der she is, the more of her value is already behind her.

Choose wise|y or suffer silently.

Crêdit: EMMACK
moral lesson:To whom it may concern

He slēpt with hēr right in fr0nt of mē, without minding my presence. And I was still in my wedding gown when all these were happening. But what I did next shocked them. I didn't say anything o. I just went and carried...
.
MY HUSBAND BROUGHT ANOTHER WOMAN HOME ON OUR WEDDING NIGHT

Chapter 1

They said marriage changes a woman.

They didn’t say it would happen in one night.

The hotel room was cold—too cold for comfort, too quiet for celebration. My wedding dress clung to my skin, the lace already itchy. My hands smelled of fried rice, perfume, and sweat. I had waited over an hour, seated on the edge of the hotel bed, legs pressed together, heart trembling like a candle in wind.

Tonight was supposed to be the beginning.

My beginning.

But Chuka wasn’t picking his calls.

I dialed again.

Switched off.

I dropped the phone. Picked it again. Put it down. Repeated it like prayer.

A knock came at the door.

Not hurried. Not soft. Just... calm.

I jumped to my feet and smoothed the dress even though it was crumpled from sitting. I checked the mirror one last time. My lipstick was fading, but I still looked like a bride.

I opened the door with a smile I forced.

And then I froze.

Chuka stood there, yes.

But he wasn’t alone.

There was a woman beside him.

Tall. Beautiful. Red lips, long hair. Dressed in white silk like she belonged in perfume commercials. Like she belonged beside him.

She didn’t look surprised to see me.

She looked... bored.

“Ezinne,” Chuka said. “Let’s go inside.”

I stepped back slowly, eyes darting between both of them. “Who is she?”

“She’s with me.”

I stared at him. “With you? As in?”

“She stays with me.”

My smile died.

“Tonight?”

“Every night.”

The woman walked past me like it was her wedding suite. Like she’d been here before. She kicked off her heels, sat on the bed, and unzipped her purse. Comfortable. Confident.

“Chuka,” I whispered, feeling my chest tighten. “I don’t understand.”

He shut the door behind him. “She’s part of this marriage. That’s how things work. You’re the wife. She’s... Amaka.”

Amaka.

Her name was Amaka.

I wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or disappear.

“You’re joking,” I said.

“No, I’m not.” His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t shake. It was the same tone he used when he ordered fried rice with no pepper. “If you can’t accept that, you can leave.”

The words didn’t make sense.

I didn’t move.

I just stood there.

My veil slipped to the floor.

Amaka picked it up, looked at me, and said with a small smile, “You’ll get used to it.”

I ran.

Out the door.

Down the hall.

No slippers, no bag.

Just my legs, my wedding dress, and a sound in my throat I couldn’t name.

Outside, the night air hit my skin like slap. I sat on the stairs behind the building and cried. Not loud. Just small, broken sobs that nobody would hear. My phone vibrated in my hand.

It was my mother.

I picked.

“Mama…”

She didn’t let me finish.

“Ezinne, please don’t disgrace us.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You’re married now. Endure. At least he married you. At least you’re not like some girls jumping from one man to another.”

I held the phone away from my ear.

I couldn’t breathe.

I had just been replaced—in my own marriage. And my mother called it endurance.

The line went dead.

I looked up at the sky. The stars were watching.

God was watching.

And I whispered, “Why me?”

But the night gave no answer.

Only the wind.

While I'm trying my best to impress you guys, biko, make ona react and co.m.me.nt so I'd know if I should go on with this story. Please read the notice below:

To be continued...

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When I see people choosing either rude boy or Mr P and blasting the other I just laugh at those kind of people. Like, Why will you chose rude boy and then in-sult Mr P??

Timaya, 2Baba, and Sarkodie have all praised Rudeboy's musical talent. They agree he's one of the best in Nigeria. Rudeboy's energy and mic skills are undeniable. These legends know a thing or two about great music.

Despite the praise for #rudeboy , his brother Mr P is often overlooked. Mr P has his own strengths, particularly in dance. Some fans still can't seem to give Rudeboy the recognition he deserves. Rudeboy's talent speaks for itself.

The contrast between Rudeboy and Mr P's skills is notable. While Rudeboy shines in music, Mr P excels in dance. Both brothers have their own unique talents. It's great to see them bringing their A-game.

EMMACKThe-Blogger

A BEAUTIFUL HOUSE KEEPER ACCIDENTALLY SLEPT OFF IN THE BILLIONAIRE'S HOTEL ROOM
EPISODE 5
The peace didn’t last. Three days after Liam showed up at Alma’s apartment, news broke like a wildfire across social media and gossip blogs. “Billionaire Liam Hart Caught in Scandal with Hotel Housekeeper”—headlines screamed, photos splashed across timelines: one showed Alma stepping out of Liam’s car, another captured him entering her building. A third—more invasive—was a blurred shot of them hugging in her doorway. Alma’s world spun. She had never known this kind of attention, and it wasn’t the fairytale kind. It was cruel. Her inbox flooded with hateful messages. “Gold digger.” “Social climber.” “He’ll drop you soon.” The hotel press office issued a cold, rehearsed statement: “We are investigating internal staff relationships to maintain professional standards.” The management who once apologized to her were now silent.

Liam tried to shield her, but the damage spread. Business partners pulled away from him. Investors raised questions. And when Alma walked through the hotel lobby just once—head low, heart beating—someone spat near her feet. It was too much. She broke down that night. “I can’t do this, Liam,” she whispered, tears falling as she sat on his expensive couch, curled into herself. “This isn’t my world. I’m not strong enough for this.” He dropped to his knees in front of her. “I didn’t bring you into my world. You became part of it the day you fell asleep in my room like it was the safest place in the world. I don’t care about them, Alma. Let them talk. Let them scream. I only care about us.” She shook her head. “What if I ruin your name? Your empire?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out something small—silver, delicate, and glinting. A key. He pressed it into her palm. “This isn’t a ring. Not yet. But it’s the key to my house. You’re free to walk away, but I want you to know the door will always be open. For you. For Daniel. For a future we build, not one we inherit.”

She sobbed into his shoulder, and for the first time in weeks, her heart felt steady. She didn’t walk away. She walked with him. Days passed. Then weeks. Liam took a step back from the press, released a simple statement of his own: “The woman I’m seeing didn’t sneak into my life—she walked in and changed it. I’m not ashamed. She’s not my scandal. She’s my peace.”

The world moved on. Gossip found new fuel somewhere else. The noise faded. And in the quiet, Alma found something she never expected—love without condition.

One year later, Liam returned to Suite 709, this time holding Alma’s hand. He opened the door, now renovated and filled with sunlight, and turned to her with a smile. “Remember this place?” She laughed. “The bed I wasn’t supposed to sleep on?” “The bed that changed my life,” he said softly. “And now… I think it’s time.”

He knelt, pulled out a velvet box, and opened it. “This time, it’s not a key.” Alma gasped, her hand over her mouth, tears falling freely. “Alma Adeyemi, will you marry me?”

Her answer was the only truth that mattered. “Yes.”

Not because he was a billionaire. But because he saw her. And loved her. In a world built on power, she was the only thing that ever made him feel human.

THE END.

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Dïdier Drōgba -------The only diffê rence b/w Osimhen, messi and C. Rolando and other great oyibo players are cōlors of their skïns.... Victor Osimhen deserves to be honored as the first African man winning the Balon D'or.

He merited it, he earned it let's keep rãcïsm aside, victor Osimhen is world Best currently
Congratulations to you my African brother

I love you so dearly because you are dedicated to what you do best, scoring at any given chance.. I'm super proud of you and know that you are just starting there's a better version of you I want to see... The world wants to see and that's winning the Balon D'or.
African should learn to celebrate and acknowledge their own, it will pay us better.

Congratulations great champion Turkish Cup champion (EMMACK
Sports )

A GEN Z MOTHER SOLD HER NEWBORN BABY TO BUY BENZ
EPISODE 1

Tonia was just 19, a Gen Z girl who lived online more than in real life. Her dream wasn’t a degree or a career—it was fame, designer bags, flawless makeup, and of course, a brand new Mercedes-Benz that would shake social media. She lived for attention, clout, and comments. Her phone was always in her hand, face always filtered, but behind that perfect TikTok face was a reckless girl who didn’t even know the father of her newborn baby.
The pregnancy had been an inconvenience. Nine months of hiding her belly behind oversized hoodies and pretending she was just gaining weight. She didn’t even attend antenatal appointments. She watched a few YouTube videos and said “God will help me.” When her water broke, she went to a local clinic quietly, had the baby, took one photo with a Snapchat filter, and posted it with the caption: “Y’all, I did a thing.”
She didn’t even name the baby.
But reality hit her like a truck when the nurses handed her the baby and asked what she'd name her. Tonia stared blankly. The baby cried, but she just blinked. “Uhm… can I go live on Insta first?” she asked. The nurse snatched the phone.
Later that day, as her friends sent fake congratulations, one comment stood out: “Girl, I can link you with someone who buys babies. DM me if you ready to cash out.”
Tonia’s eyes widened. She wasn’t broke per se, but she had no real job, her makeup hustle was slow, and her ex who ghosted her when she told him about the pregnancy had vanished completely. And all she really wanted was a Benz. Not a baby. Not sleepless nights. Not diapers.
She clicked the comment.
The DM opened doors she never imagined existed.
A few coded conversations later, a man in shades and an oversized hoodie came to the clinic with a briefcase. “You sure about this?” he asked. Tonia didn’t even flinch. “I want the Benz with red interior. Don’t mess with me.”
The man opened the briefcase. It was cash. Tonia's eyes sparkled. She nodded. Within minutes, the baby was gone, the birth certificate erased, and she walked out of the clinic with new hair, new lashes, and a down payment for her dream car.
By the weekend, Tonia posted a boomerang: her in the front seat of a shiny black Benz, music blasting, long nails tapping the wheel. Caption: “God did!”
But the world was watching. And karma? Karma was in her comment section.
The post blew up. Not for the reasons she wanted.
One follower recognized the baby from the clinic—her cousin was a nurse. Another saw the strange man leaving the hospital. Rumors flew like wildfire.
Then came the live video. The same nurse who took her phone that day went on Facebook Live:
“This girl sold her baby for a car! I was there! I saw the man! She said the baby’s name was ‘Benzina’—I thought she was joking! Please help us find the child!”
Internet detectives rose like ants to sugar. Tonia’s location was tagged. Memes started flying.
Tonia: Sells baby for Benz
Benz: Returns itself to dealership
But Tonia wasn’t laughing.
A week later, she was sipping a milkshake when her door was kicked open. Two officers stormed in. One held up a printed screenshot. The caption read: “Y’all, I did a thing.”
They cuffed her. “You’re under arrest for illegal sale of a child.”
She laughed. “This is a prank, right? Are you filming this? Wait—can I fix my wig?”
It wasn’t a prank.
They dragged her out while she screamed, “You can’t arrest a baddie in Crocs! Let me wear heels!”
Her neighbors watched as her wig flew off mid-scream.
The Benz sat silently in the driveway.
But the worst wasn’t the arrest. It was the face of the person she saw waiting at the station…
Her mother.
And her mother wasn’t alone.
Standing beside her was a man Tonia hadn’t seen in a year.
The child’s father.
With rage in his eyes.
To be continued…

Written by Real Life Stories

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THE SECRET OF A SLAY QUEEN WHO ONLY SLEEPS WITH MAD MEN

Her name was Maliya—fierce, bold, unapologetically beautiful. On the outside, she was every man’s fantasy and every woman’s envy. Slay queen by title, heartbreaker by reputation. But what nobody knew was that behind her polished nails, heavy makeup, and thousand-dollar shoes was a twisted obsession—one that could ruin her life forever. Maliya didn’t sleep with rich politicians, or musicians, or sugar daddies. No. Her secret desire was far darker. She only felt true lust for men society called “mad.” The street wanderers. The mentally unstable. The forgotten souls. The kind who talked to the air, laughed at nothing, and roamed in tattered rags. She believed madness held a kind of freedom no rich man could ever give her.

At night, when her friends were clubbing or posting half-naked pictures online, Maliya would sneak out in disguise. She wore an oversized hoodie, no makeup, just a scarf. She’d go behind the abandoned rail tracks where she knew one of them always slept. His name was Dogo. People said he had once been a brilliant university professor before something snapped in his head. Now he danced naked in the streets and barked like a dog. But to Maliya, Dogo was beautiful. She brought him food, bathed him, whispered to him, and made love to him like he was a king. And the terrifying part? He remembered her name. Every single time. “Maliya,” he would say, looking into her soul with eyes that once knew more than the world allowed. “They’ll never understand you, but I do.”

She thought no one knew. Until one day, her closest friend, Anita, followed her. Anita had always suspected something strange about Maliya’s behavior. So when she saw Maliya sneaking behind the slums, she trailed her—and what she found left her speechless. Maliya on her knees, feeding a mad man with such devotion it almost looked holy. Anita tried to confront her. “Are you sick in the head? What if someone finds out? Your brand, your endorsements, your family—everything will be gone!” Maliya didn’t flinch. “I’m already gone, Anita. I’ve been gone since I was twelve and I watched my stepfather beat my mother to death and everyone called him a pastor. Madness feels safer than sanity to me.”

Anita backed off. She didn’t understand, but she knew better than to question a pain she couldn’t imagine. But secrets don’t stay buried. A vlogger spotted Maliya a few days later, in her disguise, embracing another mad man near the river. The video went viral within hours. “Famous Slay Queen Seen Kissing Lunatic,” the headlines read. Her followers dropped. Brands cut ties. Her family disowned her. But strangely, she didn’t cry. She laughed. Laughed louder than ever before. Because now—finally—she didn’t have to hide. She took Dogo and two other mad men, moved into a remote area outside the city, and built a shelter for the mentally ill. She named it “The Free Mind.”

But what she didn’t know was that one of the men she loved—one of the supposed “mad” men—wasn’t mad at all. He was a billionaire’s son hiding from a murderous conspiracy. And everything was about to change.

To be continued....
Written by Real Life Stories

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“I never planned to be an actor. I actually studied Microbiology at the University of Calabar. Back then, I thought I’d end up in a lab, wearing a white coat and doing research. But deep inside me, I always loved storytelling and performing. During school dramas, I felt alive—like I had found my true calling.

After graduation, I gave acting a try, thinking it was just for fun. But the more I acted, the more I realized this was where I belonged. Today, I'm grateful I followed my heart. Science gave me discipline, but acting gave me life.”

— EMMACKHub

SUDDENLY .

Your house has flies .
You sm£ll like sh!ts
Your room is old, rusty, and d!rty .
Your cutain has seen better days.
You are unk£mpt .
But suddenly, your house is beautiful
And your room is clean and smells nice.

You are too gr0ss .
You talk too much .
You are too man!pulative .
You are very cond£scending.
You lack respect.
You don't respect w0men.
But suddenly, you are very decent , strategic
Sympathetic, and you are every woman's Dream.

You will never make it .
Your type is for low class .
You are too p0or .
But suddenly, you are the most successful
Nigerian online .
And you are very rich .

So what change ? Nothing.
Just the perception that he now has money.
Nothing changes people behaviors towards
Anyone than the perception of money.
It shows that people have no integrity and don't
Mean what they say when money shows up.

That is why you don't have to listen to anyone
Just be successful in whatever you do and
Ignore their noises .
They will come around when money comes.
The women that say you are nothing ,
Will beg to be with you .
And the men that says you are us£less
Will admire you from afar.
Money rules the world.

EMMACK
#EMMACKbullet