TYPES OF DATES EVERY COUPLE SHOULD TRY:

1. PICNIC DATE
There is something special and free about the outdoors. Pack up some food and drinks and a leso, find a spot and have fun

2. WALK DATE
Make time to just take a walk as you bond. Walk for long as you hold hands, laugh, bump shoulder to shoulder. You need no money for this

3. ELEGANT DATE
Go all out. Gentleman, ask her out to an expensive, classy venue. Give her a chance to dress up. She will feel special, smiling as you romance her; she wearing her fashionable dress

4. DANCE DATE
Find a place where good music is played or dance is taught and go there as a couple. Salsa, lingala, afro, twist, benga; go to a place where you will sweat, groove and get down

5. IMPROMPTU DATE
Dates don't have to be pre-planned. Be spontenous sometimes, drop everything and go somewhere as a couple for some quality time

6. MOVIE DATE
Go to the cinema. Movies bring out emotions

7. DOUBLE DATE
Go out on a date with another couple close to you. This will give you a chance to celebrate love and talk couple to couple. Your love will grow stronger

8. COMPASSION DATE
There are many people in society to bless. You and your partner, find a children's home, an elderly home, a hospital or someone in need and together go spend time with them. God will bless your love

9. CANDLE-LIGHT DINNER DATE
There is something romantic about looking into each other's eyes in dim candle light. Make it special. Romance is sweet

10. SPECIAL MOMENT DATE
This is when you celebrate big as a couple a special moment like Birthday, Anniversary, Graduation or Promotion. Never forget these moments

11. MAKE-UP DATE
If things between you two haven't been going well. Make effort to save your love by planning a good date. A date provides a good setting to allow you two to talk and get back to deep love

12. LUNCH DATE
Since you work at different jobs, sometimes meet up and have a couple's lunch for an hour or so

13. OLD LOVE DATE
Dates are not for young love only. Sadly, as lovers stay in a relationship/marriage, the dates become fewer as they go through the motions. No matter how long you've been together, step outside your everyday responsibilities and go for a date to rekindle and sustain the excitement

14. SPORTS DATE
Is your favorite football club, rugby team, basketball team, golfer playing? Is it the safari rally, athletics? Go out for dates as a couple where you can scream, cheer and go wild. You two will connect more

15. FRIENDS DATE
Have a barbeque, hook up with friends, throw a party. Organize something as a couple where your love will be celebrated in the presence of close friends

16. TRAVEL DATE
Pack your bags and travel. Break the monotony and as a couple drive, fly, sail to a place you've never been. Experience new attractions together. Your love will never be boring this way

16. STAY AT HOME DATE
Or lock yourself in the house. Not to work or do chores. But to switch off everything and concentrate on each other. Cook together, eat together, make memories for two

A man has two choices when he's in a relationship with a strong, loyal, emotionally invested woman: either rise to the occasion and be everything she needs, or step aside and stop blocking the view for the man who actually can. It’s that simple.

You don’t get to half-love her, breadcrumb her with attention, or keep her on a leash while you figure yourself out. She’s not a placeholder. She’s not a test run. She’s a woman with a heart that loves deeply and a soul that deserves stability. If you’re going to love her, really love her. Show up. Lead with consistency, not confusion.

Be intentional, not impulsive. Speak life into her, no doubt. Handle her with care, not control. Because a woman like her doesn’t just want romance, she needs reliability, presence, protection, and peace. And if you can’t be that then don’t waste her time. Sit down and let the real one step up. Because someone else will. Someone who recognizes her worth without needing to be reminded.

Someone who sees her strength and doesn’t feel intimidated by it but is inspired to match it. She deserves someone who doesn't hesitate when it comes to loving her right. If that’s not you, move out of the way.

A man has two choices when he's in a relationship with a strong, loyal, emotionally invested woman: either rise to the occasion and be everything she needs, or step aside and stop blocking the view for the man who actually can. It’s that simple.

You don’t get to half-love her, breadcrumb her with attention, or keep her on a leash while you figure yourself out. She’s not a placeholder. She’s not a test run. She’s a woman with a heart that loves deeply and a soul that deserves stability. If you’re going to love her, really love her. Show up. Lead with consistency, not confusion.

Be intentional, not impulsive. Speak life into her, no doubt. Handle her with care, not control. Because a woman like her doesn’t just want romance, she needs reliability, presence, protection, and peace. And if you can’t be that then don’t waste her time. Sit down and let the real one step up. Because someone else will. Someone who recognizes her worth without needing to be reminded.

Someone who sees her strength and doesn’t feel intimidated by it but is inspired to match it. She deserves someone who doesn't hesitate when it comes to loving her right. If that’s not you, move out of the way.

Ladies… stop trying to impress boys who don’t even know who they are. Start learning how to awaken a man who’s met his soul—one who’s ready for yours.

The Divine Masculine isn’t moved by lashes, fake curves, or filtered illusions. He’s not searching for a showgirl. He’s longing for a woman whose presence melts him.

He wants the kind of woman whose energy wraps around him like warmth after a long winter.
A woman who doesn’t have to try so hard… because her essence already speaks volumes.

It’s not your lip gloss that keeps him—it’s the way your silence feels like safety. Not your designer heels—but the soft grace in your walk. Not how loud you are in a room—but how your energy lingers when you leave it.

You see, a real man—one who’s been broken, rebuilt, and reborn—isn’t chasing perfection.
He’s magnetized by the woman who is deeply in love with herself.

He wants the curve of your vulnerability,
The stretch of your soul, The sweet contradiction of your wildness wrapped in grace.

He watches you when you don’t realize it.
How you treat strangers. How your laughter bubbles up, unfiltered and free. How you close your eyes when you talk about something that sets your spirit on fire.

He doesn’t crave your independence—he respects it. But what calls him is your surrender.
Not weakness. Not submission. But that kind of raw trust only a strong woman knows how to give.

He’s not excited by your armor. He’s aroused by your truth. By the softness in your sigh. By the curve of your emotional honesty. By the way you let your soul show without apology.

You don’t need to shrink for him. You don’t need to morph into someone else’s fantasy. Because a man who has awakened isn’t seeking plastic.
He’s seeking presence.

He desires the kind of feminine that makes him feel seen, safe, and stirred. The kind that awakens his mission, humbles his ego, and honors his heart.

So breathe, goddess.

Let your sweetness return. Let your softness speak. Let your spirit drip with all the sensual, sacred magic you were born with.

Because the man who’s worthy of your womb?
He’s not chasing the girl who looks like everyone else.

He’s falling—hard—for the woman who feels like no one else.

Every. Damn. Time.

DEAR SINGLE KING, WHEN LAST DID YOU MAKE A PRAYER LIKE THIS:

Lord, send me a wife—not just any wife, but a woman after Your own heart. A woman who knows how to fight battles on her knees, who walks with grace and speaks with wisdom. One who will anoint my head with oil, not just as a ritual, but as an act of love, protection, and spiritual authority.
Let her hands be gentle but powerful—so when she touches me, healing flows. May she see beyond my flaws and cover me in prayer, especially when I’m asleep and unaware. Let her whisper blessings over my future, declare peace over my mind, and invite Your presence into our home daily.
Give me a wife who understands the weight of purpose, who will encourage my calling, speak life into my dry seasons, and remind me who I am in You. Let her be a safe place, a warrior in the Spirit, and a woman who finds her strength not in the world, but in You.
And Lord, when You send her—prepare me to be the husband she deserves. Let me be her protector, her provider, her priest, and her peace. Together, may we be a kingdom couple—fueled by love, anchored in faith, and destined for purpose. Amen.

May you find "THE ONE".

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
FINALE
The grand villa, once a gilded cage echoing with tension and Amanda’s venomous whispers, had transformed into a sanctuary bathed in golden light and the vibrant hum of genuine joy. The "Welcome Home" party wasn’t just for Jessica; it was a rebirth for the entire household. Paper lanterns, reminiscent of the secret baby shower but multiplied a hundredfold, adorned every archway and balcony, casting a warm, celebratory glow. Lush floral arrangements overflowing with crimson hibiscus, golden birds of paradise, and fragrant white jasmine replaced the sterile opulence. The air thrummed with the infectious rhythms of highlife music and the laughter of Scar’s men – no longer just guards, but an extended family sharing in their leader’s profound relief and happiness.
Jessica stood near the sweeping staircase, a vision in flowing ivory silk. The lingering shadows of fear and hardship were gone, replaced by a radiant serenity that seemed to emanate from her very core. She watched Scar move through the crowd, his usual intimidating presence softened into an almost boyish delight. He greeted his men with firm handshakes and claps on the back, his deep laughter ringing out freely, a sound many hadn’t heard in years. His eyes, however, constantly sought hers, anchoring himself in her presence. Every few minutes, he would weave his way back to her, his hand finding the small of her back, his lips brushing her temple, a silent, possessive reassurance. "Mine. Safe. Home."
Amidst the joyful chaos, Scar spotted Ghost standing near the open terrace doors, a quiet sentinel observing the celebration. Chioma was beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Scar excused himself from a conversation and walked towards them, his expression turning solemn. The music seemed to fade slightly as he approached.
"Ghost," Scar said, his voice low and thick with emotion. He stopped before the man who had been a shadow, a weapon, and ultimately, a savior.
Ghost straightened, his usual impassive mask in place, but his eyes held a flicker of wariness.
Scar didn’t offer a handshake. Instead, he placed both hands firmly on Ghost’s shoulders, a gesture of profound respect and intimacy reserved for the closest of brothers-in-arms. He looked directly into Ghost’s eyes, his own dark gaze unwavering and sincere.
"Words are cheap," Scar began, his voice rough. "But they are all I have right now to express what can never truly be repaid." He paused, the weight of the past months heavy in the silence. "You saved her life. You saved *my son’s* life. When I was blind with rage, walking in darkness, you were the one who held the light. You saw the truth when I refused to. You risked everything – your position, your life, my wrath – to protect Jessica when I couldn’t, when I *failed* her." Scar’s voice cracked slightly. "You brought her back. You kept her safe. You gave me back…" He glanced towards Jessica, his eyes softening, "...everything."
He squeezed Ghost’s shoulders. "My gratitude isn't just for tonight. It’s a debt etched into my bones. You have my loyalty, Ghost, not as an employer, but as a brother. Now and always. Whatever you need, whenever you need it – it’s yours. Without question." He finally released him, stepping back slightly, but the intensity of his gaze remained. "Thank you. For Jessica. For my son. For my life."
Ghost, a man of few words, swallowed hard. The stoic mask fractured, revealing a depth of emotion rarely seen. He gave a single, sharp nod, his voice gruff when he finally spoke. "Just bringing you home to what matters, Boss. To *who* matters." He glanced at Chioma, a softness touching his eyes. "We did it together."
Chioma beamed, tears glistening. Scar nodded, the profound understanding passing between them. He clasped Ghost’s hand firmly this time. "Together," he echoed. The moment solidified a bond forged in fire, stronger than any empire.
Weeks later, the villa was hushed, filled with a different kind of anticipation – sacred and primal. Jessica labored not in a sterile hospital, but in the sun-drenched master suite Scar had transformed into a birthing sanctuary. Chioma, now officially Jessica’s sister and confidante, was her unwavering pillar, alongside a trusted midwife. Scar paced the adjoining sitting room like the lion he was, his usual composure shattered. Every muffled cry from Jessica sent a jolt of terror and helplessness through him. He heard William’s low murmur trying to offer reassurance, but the powerful kingpin was reduced to a bundle of raw nerves, praying to deities he’d long ignored.
Then, cutting through the tense silence, came a new sound – a strong, indignant wail. A sound that stopped Scar’s heart before setting it pounding with a frantic, overwhelming joy. The door opened. Chioma emerged, her face radiant, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Boss…" she whispered, her voice thick. "Come meet your son."
Scar moved as if in a dream, pushing past her into the room. The scent of blood and effort hung in the air, but it was eclipsed by something purer, sweeter. Jessica lay propped on pillows, exhausted but glowing, her face a picture of awestruck love. And in her arms, swaddled in soft white linen, was a tiny, perfect human being. A shock of dark hair, a button nose, and eyes screwed shut as he voiced his displeasure at the bright new world.
Scar approached slowly, his massive frame seeming too large, too clumsy for this fragile miracle. He sank to his knees beside the bed, his eyes fixed on the tiny face. Jessica smiled weakly, shifting slightly. "Sebastian… meet your son. Adebayo Sebastian Scar."
Tentatively, reverently, Scar reached out. His large, scarred hand, capable of such violence, trembled as he gently traced the curve of his son’s impossibly soft cheek. The baby’s cries subsided slightly, tiny fingers unfurling. As Scar’s fingertip brushed that miniature hand, the tiny fingers instinctively curled around it with surprising strength.
The dam broke. A single tear, then another, escaped Scar’s tightly shut eyes, tracing a path down his scarred cheek. A sob, raw and unexpected, ripped from his chest. He bowed his head, his forehead resting gently against Jessica’s arm beside the baby, his shoulders shaking silently. The fear, the rage, the betrayal, the relentless pursuit of power – it all dissolved in the face of this profound, terrifying love. He wept for the man he’d been, for the pain inflicted, for the miracle granted.
"He’s perfect," he choked out, lifting his tear-streaked face to look at Jessica, his eyes blazing with a love so fierce it stole her breath. He placed his other hand over hers where it cradled the baby’s head. "Both of you. My world." He leaned down, pressing the most tender kiss first on Jessica’s sweaty forehead, then on the downy head of his son. "I swear on my life," he whispered, his voice thick with conviction, his gaze locked on the tiny face, "I will protect you. Both of you. With every breath, every drop of blood. Nothing will ever harm you again. You are my heart. My sanctuary. My *everything*." The Lion of Lagos had found his true purpose, not in territory or fear, but in the fierce, unwavering protection of his pride
Four months later, Adebayo was a thriving bundle of energy, his dark eyes already holding a disconcerting echo of his father’s intensity, often softened by a gummy smile that could melt stone. Life settled into a blissful rhythm. Scar embraced fatherhood with a fierce, almost comical devotion, often found pacing the nursery at 3 AM with Adebayo asleep on his broad chest, or conducting business meetings via video call with the baby propped in a sling.
One quiet afternoon, Jessica found Scar in his study, engrossed in building a ridiculously complex block tower for Adebayo, who watched with rapt fascination. Sunlight streamed through the windows. Jessica sat beside him on the plush rug, leaning her head against his shoulder. "He’s getting so strong," she murmured, watching their son grab a block.
"He’s a Scar," Scar rumbled proudly, carefully adding another block. "Strength is in the blood."
Jessica took a deep breath, a secret smile playing on her lips. "Speaking of strength… and blood…" She reached into the pocket of her flowing dress and pulled out a small, familiar plastic stick. She placed it gently on the carpet beside the tower.
Scar froze, his hand hovering over the next block. His gaze snapped from the test to Jessica’s face, then back to the test. Two clear pink lines. His breath hitched. Understanding dawned, slow and then blindingly bright. He dropped the block, ignoring Adebayo’s startled gurgle. He turned fully to Jessica, his eyes wide, searching hers.
"Jessica?" His voice was barely a whisper, filled with disbelief and burgeoning hope.
She nodded, her smile widening, tears sparkling in her eyes. "Another little lion cub. Or maybe a lioness this time. Due in about seven months."
A roar of pure, unadulterated joy erupted from Scar, startling Adebayo, who blinked and then let out a delighted squeal. Scar swept Jessica into his arms, lifting her off the rug, spinning her gently despite her laughing protests. He buried his face in her neck, his laughter mingling with tears of profound gratitude. "Another chance," he breathed against her skin, setting her down but holding her close. "Another miracle. You give me everything, my lioness. Everything."
He kissed her then, deep and slow, pouring all his love, his relief, his awe into the touch. Later that night, after Adebayo was asleep, their reunion was a slow, tender exploration. It wasn't the frantic claiming of the past, nor the desperate passion after Amanda’s exposure. It was a celebration of life, of their enduring bond, of the future stretching bright before them. He worshipped her body, the subtle new curve taking shape beneath his hands, whispering promises against her skin, their movements a beautiful, synchronized dance of love and creation.
Adebayo was six months old, a sturdy, curious baby with his father’s intense gaze and his mother’s gentle smile, when Jessica walked down the aisle. Not in a cathedral, but at dawn on the private, white-sand beach of a secluded Seychelles island. The guests were few but deeply cherished: Her parents, beaming with pride and tearful joy; Chioma and Ghost, holding hands; William, Kola, Musa, and a handful of Scar’s most trusted men, now truly family.
Jessica wore not a traditional white gown, but a stunning creation of layered, whisper-thin ivory silk that flowed like water around her, subtly cinched beneath her breasts to accommodate the gentle swell of her second pregnancy. Her hair was woven with fragrant frangipani blossoms. She carried a simple bouquet of tropical white orchids.
Scar waited for her beneath a canopy woven with vibrant bougainvillea and seashells, barefoot in the sand, wearing crisp white linen trousers and an open-necked ivory shirt. He held Adebayo, dressed in a tiny linen suit, who stared wide-eyed at the ocean. But as Jessica approached, guided by her father, Scar’s gaze locked onto hers. The raw love, the fierce protectiveness, the awe he’d felt holding his son for the first time – it all shone in his eyes, amplified a thousandfold. Tears tracked freely down his face as she reached him.
The ceremony was simple, profound. They spoke vows not written by anyone else, but forged in the fires they’d walked through together. Jessica promised her strength, her unwavering love, and the sanctuary of her heart. Scar vowed his protection, his absolute fidelity, and his endless gratitude for the family she’d given him. He included Adebayo in his vows, promising to be his guide, and placed a gentle hand on Jessica’s belly, whispering a promise to the child yet to come. When they kissed, the rising sun painted them in gold, the turquoise waves their witness.
Their honeymoon wasn't just a vacation; it was a month-long immersion in peace, connection, and the simple joy of being a family. They spent mornings building sandcastles with a delighted Adebayo, afternoons napping in hammocks strung between palm trees, Scar’s hand resting possessively on Jessica’s growing bump. Evenings were spent sharing fresh seafood under the stars, Adebayo asleep in a sling against Scar’s chest, Jessica leaning against his shoulder. They talked – truly talked – about their fears, their hopes, their dreams for their children. They swam in crystal-clear lagoons, explored vibrant coral reefs, and simply existed in a bubble of love, far removed from the shadows of Lagos.
One moonlit night, after settling Adebayo in the villa’s nursery, Scar led Jessica back to the beach. He spread a blanket on the sand, the only sound the gentle sigh of the waves. He pulled her down beside him, wrapping his arms around her from behind, his hands cradling her belly. He rested his chin on her shoulder, looking out at the vast, star-strewn ocean.
"From the slums of Lagos," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble against her ear, "to the devil’s mistress… to my wife. My queen. The mother of my children." He kissed her temple. "My Jessica. My sanctuary."
Jessica leaned back into his embrace, covering his hands with hers on her belly, feeling the tiny flutter within. She looked up at the endless sky, then back at the sleeping villa where their son dreamed. "Our sanctuary, Sebastian," she whispered, turning her head to capture his lips in a tender kiss under the watchful moon. "Built together. Forged in fire. Found in love."
The Lion had found his true kingdom – not in fear or territory, but in the boundless, fiercely protected love of his lioness and their cubs. The Devil’s Mistress had become the Queen of his heart, and their story, scarred but unbreakable, was only just beginning. The future stretched before them, bright as the dawn over the Indian Ocean, filled with the promise of peace, family, and the enduring strength of a love that had conquered hell itself.
THE END

To toxic parents and grandparents:

When your children decide to keep their distance, or when they choose to shield their own children from you, it’s not to punish you—it’s to protect their little ones. It’s not an act of cruelty or spite, but a decision made out of love and care.
If you’re feeling hurt, pause and reflect. Sometimes that pain comes from a place of unmet expectations, a sense of entitlement you’ve created. You may have convinced yourself that you can behave however you want, without consequences. But relationships, especially with family, don’t work that way.
If you truly want to be part of your grandchildren’s lives, it starts with humility. Stop playing the victim, stop spreading negativity. Instead, take responsibility for the hurt you’ve caused. Understand that love and respect must be earned, not demanded.
Become the kind of person your children feel safe to welcome back into their lives—the kind of grandparent your grandchildren will cherish. It’s not too late to change, to show gratitude, and to build bridges instead of walls.
Love isn’t about control. It’s about creating a space where your family feels safe, valued, and loved in your presence.

Dear Bad Days,
Thank you for letting me practice gratitude on days it’s so difficult to smile. Despite your crappy presence, your challenge is an opportunity for me to learn and grow, it reminds me to still be thankful on days when it feels so hard and overwhelming. Your visit reminds me to appreciate the good ones. To be adaptive to changing circumstances. And to be extra gentle with my heart and mind.
But sometimes it takes a lot of work to just be okay, so please don’t visit too often. If you ever come again, it’s alright. I’ve gone through you before; I know that I’m strong enough to do it again.

The woman I am becoming no longer settles for shallow love or empty promises. My softness is rare, my presence is sacred — and only a man with a good heart and real intentions deserves the love I give.