BREAKING NEWS: Saudi "Sleeping Prince" Al-Waleed bin Khaled Reportedly Regains Consciousness After 20 Years in Coma

In a stunning and emotional development, Prince Al-Waleed bin Khaled bin Talal Al Saud, popularly known as the “Sleeping Prince,” has allegedly regained consciousness after spending nearly two decades in a coma. The prince, who was critically injured in a devastating car accident in 2005, has been on life support ever since.

According to reports circulating on social media and some regional outlets, Prince Al-Waleed, now 36 years old, showed signs of waking up earlier this month and has now regained a level of consciousness that shocked both his family and medical team. While official confirmation from the Saudi royal family has not yet been released, the news has sparked a wave of emotional reactions across the Arab world and beyond.

A Tragic Accident, A Miraculous Recovery

The accident that changed Prince Al-Waleed’s life occurred in 2005 when he was a university student in the United Kingdom. The crash left him with severe brain injuries and multiple fractures, leading to a persistent vegetative state that defied years of medical intervention.

Despite medical advice urging the family to consider ending life support, Prince Khaled bin Talal, his father, refused to give up hope. The prince remained in intensive care in a specially equipped facility in Riyadh, where he was continuously monitored by top-tier medical professionals.

A Family's Hope Rewarded

Over the years, the prince’s father remained steadfast in his belief that his son would recover. Videos occasionally released by the family showed minimal movement, such as the prince raising a finger, which they took as a sign of life and hope.


Sources close to the family claim that Prince Khaled was speechless and overwhelmed with emotion upon hearing the news that his son had opened his eyes and responded to stimuli.

“Welcome back to life, our handsome prince,” said a family member in a message shared on social media.

Public Reaction and Reflections

Across the Middle East, citizens have expressed joy, astonishment, and admiration for the family’s resilience. The story has reignited debates about faith, the power of medical care, and the emotional weight of end-of-life decisions.

Many on social media are calling the prince’s recovery a “miracle,” while others reflect on the extraordinary resources committed to sustaining his life.

A Moral Reflection

The extraordinary story has also prompted philosophical and moral reflections, with many noting: “Money can sometimes buy life.” While not diminishing the miracle of the recovery, this statement acknowledges the role of wealth in providing long-term critical care and sustaining hope over two decades.

Awaiting Official Confirmation

As of the time of this report, there has been no formal statement from the Saudi royal family or the King Faisal Specialist Hospital where the prince is believed to have been treated. The world now watches for further details and confirmation of the prince’s current medical condition and prospects for recovery ..

Iran calls on Trump to seek ceasefire as Israel intensifies air war

Iran called on US President Donald Trump on Monday to force Israel to cease fire as the only way to end the four-day-old aerial war, while Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said his country was on the "path to victory"

Israeli forces stepped up their bombardment of Iranian cities, while Iran proved capable of piercing Israeli air defences with one of its most successful volleys yet of retaliatory missile strikes.

“If President Trump is genuine about diplomacy and interested in stopping this war, next steps are consequential,” Iran’s Foreign Minister Abbas Araqchi said on X.

“Israel must halt its aggression, and absent a total cessation of military aggression against us, our responses will continue. It takes one phone call from Washington to muzzle someone like Netanyahu. That may pave the way for a return to diplomacy.”

Sources told Reuters that Tehran had asked Qatar, Saudi Arabia and Oman to press Trump to use his influence on Israel to agree to an immediate ceasefire. In return, Iran would show flexibility in nuclear negotiations, said the two Iranian and three regional sources.

Netanyahu told Israeli troops at an air base that Israel was on its way to achieving its two main aims: wiping out Iran’s nuclear programme and destroying its missiles.

“We are on the path to victory,” he said. “We are telling the citizens of Tehran: ‘Evacuate’ — and we are taking action.”

'Israel bombard Iran, 224 Iranians killed'


Israel launched its air war on Friday with a surprise attack that killed nearly the entire top echelon of Iran’s military commanders and its leading nuclear scientists. It has said it now has control of Iranian airspace and intends to escalate its campaign in coming days.

Tehran’s retaliation is the first time in decades of shadow war and proxy conflict that missiles fired from Iran have pierced Israeli defences in significant numbers and killed Israelis in their homes.

Iran says more than 224 Iranians have been killed, most of them civilians. Media published images of wounded children, women, and the elderly from cities across the country.

State TV broadcast scenes of collapsed presidential buildings, burned-out cars, and shattered streets in Tehran. Many residents were trying to flee the capital, describing queues for petrol and bank machines that were out of cash.

“I am desperate. My two children are scared and cannot sleep at night because of the sound of air defence and attacks, explosions. But we have nowhere to go. We hid under our dining table,” Gholamreza Mohammadi, 48, a civil servant, told Reuters by phone from Tehran.

In Israel, 24 people have been killed so far in Iran’s missile attacks, all of them civilians. Round the clock television images showed rescuers working in ruins of flattened homes.

“It’s terrifying because it’s so unknown,” said Guydo Tetelbaum, 31, a chef in Tel Aviv who was in his apartment when the alerts came in shortly after 4 a.m. (0100 GMT). He had tried to reach a shelter but his door was blown in.

“This could be the beginning of a long time like this. Or it could get worse, or hopefully better, but it’s the unknown that’s the scariest.”

Trump has consistently said that the Israeli assault could end quickly if Iran agrees to U.S. demands that it accept strict curbs to its nuclear programme.

Talks between the United States and Iran, hosted by Oman, had been scheduled for Sunday but were scrapped, with Tehran saying it could not negotiate while under attack.

On Monday, Iranian lawmakers floated the idea of quitting the nuclear non-proliferation treaty, a move bound to be seen as a setback for any negotiations.

Hence there's Live,
There's Hope

🎙Enzo Maresca's Full Pre-LAFC Press Conference:

Enzo Maresca: "We need to see the impact of the Club World Cup. Our rivals are on holiday, we are here. It's a new competition. We will see how it affects our season."

Enzo Maresca: "We've only had ten days. Some of the players also had international duty. The feeling when we returned was a bit like pre-season. We had some new players. The main message, though, was, 'Guys, this is not pre-season. It's a big tournament'."

Enzo Maresca: "The situation about the keepers is quite simple. Robert Sanchez is number one. Filip Jorgensen is number two. And we will analyse and judge Mike Penders. Maignan is with another club."

Enzo Maresca: "The players with us were with us last season, [other than] Jadon Sancho and Wesley Fofana due to injury. It was not complicated to pick this squad."

Enzo Maresca on Cole Palmer wearing face mask on the plane: "I didn't ask him. He wasn't ill. To be honest, I don't even know if it was for a joke!"

Enzo Maresca: "Jadon [Sancho] is not with us so for sure that is a position we need to do something. We have Noni, Pedro and Ty only as the proper wingers so something for sure is going to happen..."

Enzo Maresca: "For sure, we are going to rotate players. It is impossible in this heat to always play with the same players."

Enzo Maresca: "Success is to try and win tomorrow against Los Angeles. I don't like to look too much further ahead. 2024/25, we achieved an important top-four finish and won a European trophy."

Enzo Maresca: "Liam knows how important the no.9 is for this club. I see Liam relaxed and easy, since he arrived he's working well. I know what he can give us and he knows what he needs to be a better player. As no.9, hopefully he can score goals for us."

#CFC | #Chelsea | #FIFACWC | #Interviews

@CFC_ChelseaFC

THE AGONY OF THE BENUE STATE PEOPLE
Benue, land of sorrow and pain,
Where blood of innocents stains the ground again.
The cries echo through the night,
As lives are lost, and futures take flight.

Who will save our land from this despair?
Will it be the Governor, SGF, or Federal care?
Will faith leaders step in to calm the strife?
Or will our children continue to lose their life?

The farmers, once proud, now lie in death's cold grasp,
Their villages bleeding, their future aghost.
The land is scarred, the people worn,
Their hearts heavy with grief, their hope forlorn.

We call out for help, for someone to hear,
To save our Benue, to wipe away our tears.
The Agony is real, the pain is true,
Benue State is dying, and nobody's coming through.

Help us spread the word, send out a plea,
To those who can help, to set our people free.
Benue needs a savior, a voice to cry out loud,
To stop the bloodshed, to heal the wounds allowed.

Afodaga Digital Coach and supported by CAP Members.

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 2
The first time Jessica stepped into the VIP lounge, her stomach twisted with shame. The air smelled like expensive whiskey and desperation, a far cry from the stench of the slums she had grown up in. The neon lights flickered, casting shadows over the faces of men who watched her like she was a meal. She was nineteen, dressed in a tight black dress that clung to curves she hadn’t even known she possessed—a far cry from the bony girl who used to count grains of rice in the dirt.
Lady Lily, the woman in the sleek car, had painted this life as glamorous. "You’ll wear designer clothes, sleep in five-star hotels, and make in one night what your parents sweat for in a year," she had said.
But the first time a client touched her, Jessica had locked herself in a bathroom afterward and scrubbed her skin raw.
Not all of it was hell.
There were nights when the men were kind—older businessmen who preferred conversation over groping, who tipped her extra when they saw textbooks peeking out of her bag. Some even admired her ambition.
"You’re too smart for this," one had said, a silver-haired executive who paid her just to listen to him talk about his failed marriage. He left her an envelope thick with cash and a note: "For your education."
On those nights, Jessica allowed herself to hope. She would return to her tiny apartment—a step up from the slums, but still a far cry from luxury—and spread her books across the bed. Economics. Law. Literature. She devoured knowledge like a starving woman, her highlighter bleeding across pages late into the night.
And then there was the money.
Every month, without fail, she sent home stacks of cash—enough to feed her siblings, to pay for medicine, to finally get her father’s cough checked by a real doctor. Her mother’s voice on the phone was lighter these days, no longer frayed with exhaustion. "God bless you, my daughter," she would say, and Jessica would swallow the lump in her throat.
They never asked where the money came from.
She never told.
But then there were the other nights.
The ones where men didn’t see her as a person, just a body. The ones where their hands left bruises, where their laughter was cruel, where they called her names that made her want to vanish.
One client, a politician with a gold Rolex and dead eyes, had smirked as he threw cash at her feet. "Pick it up," he ordered.
She did.
That night, she cried in the shower until the water ran cold.
Lady Lily had warned her: *"This life will eat you alive if you let it."
Jessica refused to let it.
She kept a strict schedule—classes in the morning, study sessions in the library between appointments, nights "working" only when she had to. She learned how to read men, how to manipulate their desires, how to give them just enough to keep them coming back without losing pieces of herself.
And she never, ever let herself forget why she was doing this.
Her siblings were slipping away—one sister pregnant at sixteen, a brother dropping out of school to hawk goods in traffic. The slum was a monster, and it was hungry.
But Jessica had claws too.
Then came the night she met him.
A crime lord.
Not just any client, but the kind of man even powerful people whispered about. His name was a rumor, a shadow. And when he walked into the VIP lounge, the air shifted.
He didn’t leer at her like the others. He studied her.
"You don’t belong here,"* he said, his voice low.
Jessica met his gaze without flinching. "Neither do you."
For the first time in years, someone saw her—*really* saw her.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
TO BE CONTINUED...

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 1
The stench of rotting garbage and sweat clung to the air like a curse. In the heart of Lagos' worst slump, where hope went to die, a little girl with too-big eyes and ribs poking through her skin crouched in the dirt, counting grains of rice like they were gold. Jessica was eight years old the first time she understood what hunger truly was—not just the gnawing emptiness in her belly, but the kind that made her mother weep silently at night, the kind that made her father’s hands shake when he couldn’t afford medicine for her baby brother’s fever.
Nine people. One room. A single mattress stained with years of suffering, shared between her parents and seven children. The walls were thin, and the sounds of the slum never slept—drunken shouts, the cries of hungry babies, the scuttling of rats that were bolder than the people. Jessica learned early that life wasn’t fair. While other children played, she scavenged. While others dreamed, she fought—for food, for space, for a single moment of silence.
But there was something different about Jessica. Even as a child, her eyes burned with a fire that poverty couldn’t extinguish. At ten, she taught herself to read using tattered newspapers she found in the trash. At twelve, she sold boiled groundnuts under the scorching sun, saving every coin in a rusted tin she buried beneath their floor. At fifteen, she watched her eldest sister, Ada, disappear into the night with a man who promised her "work"—Ada never came back. That was the day Jessica swore she would never let the slum swallow her whole.
By some miracle—or sheer stubbornness—she finished secondary school. Then came the university admission letter, a flimsy piece of paper that felt like a ticket to heaven. But heaven came with a price. Her parents cried—not tears of joy, but of shame, because they couldn’t afford it. So Jessica did what she had always done: she fought.
She sold pure water under the rain, braved the leering eyes of market men who "tipped" her extra for bending low, took cleaning jobs in rich neighborhoods where women looked at her like she was dirt. Still, it wasn’t enough. Then one evening, a woman in a sleek car rolled down her window and said the words that would change everything: "A girl like you could make a month’s salary in one night."
Jessica knew what it meant. She wasn’t ******. But as she stared at the woman’s manicured nails and perfumed wrists, she thought of her siblings’ hollow cheeks, her father’s cough that never went away, her mother’s broken back from carrying other people’s loads. That night, she made a choice—not because she wanted to, but because the slum had given her no other options.
She became an escort. Not the kind draped in shame, but the kind who wore her pain like armor. She studied men the way she had once studied textbooks—learning their weaknesses, their desires, the way power curled around them like smoke. She was careful. She was smart. And most importantly, she had a plan.
This life wouldn’t break her. It would fuel her.
Because Jessica had one rule: no matter how far she sank, she would never stop climbing.
TO BE CONTINUED....

Somewhere along the path of life,
you'll get crushed by its demands and unpredictability.
You'll hit the wall. You'll feel hopeless. Sad. You'll feel alone. You'll question every decision you've made.
You'll wonder if you're really where you're meant to be, or if you've lost your way entirely. And sometimes, everything will feel like too much. Like nothing is working. Like you're standing still while the world keeps moving. But I hope that in such times, you'll remember that you'll be okay. That the waves and winds will eventually settle. That these moments, just like seasons, don't last forever. You won't feel like this always. You'll not be hopeless forever. You will not be stuck here forever. And even when it's hard to believe, you are not alone. You will rise again. You will find your way through life. You will look back, with tears of joy, seeing how far you came.

Hope you are not this type of father

Very glad to be here, hope to be acquainted with the workings soon