Ife Adebayo

Diezani's story points at the transience of power, money, beauty and just as for everyone, life itself! Nothing lasts forever.

The Scariest Photo in My Gallery... In the evening, I learned about a seriously wounded man who couldn't be carried away. He had been lying there for a long time, waiting for help, while an enemy drone hovered above him, watching for an evacuation team. But the company commander seized the moment and risked his life to go get him. And they did it - they brought him to the nearest shelter. Late at night, I went there, hoping I could still help. Several hours of struggle, five or six failed attempts to insert an IV - no more veins left... One last time, by some miracle, I found a vein. We started injecting solutions, his blood pressure rose, a few more injections, and finally - we exhaled. He was stable. The evac team arrived, we loaded him into the vehicle, and I said: "That's it, boy, hold on. It's over now. The doctors are waiting for you. Just a little longer, and everything will be fine." They drove away. I sat down, and at that very moment, my combat medic took this photo. A second later, we heard a powerful explosion. Then-silence. Our evacuation team never made contact again. Russians were waiting for them. Everyone was killed. When I joined the army, many people asked me: "Are you going to avenge your husband? Do you want blood?" And I always answered: "I'm not here to kill. I'm here to save lives - so that no one else, like my husband, is left without medical care on the battlefield." They also asked if I would treat prisoners. My answer was always yes. It was my duty. Not anymore. I don't want to save anymore. I want to kill. And I want to see them die. I want to see their mothers and wives screaming over their graves. I will not help any prisoner. I don't care about your humanity, your rules of war, your conventions. Damn you, russians. You, your children, and your grandchildren - for all the grief you have brought to our land. Author: Combat Medic Nadiya Bila, Ukraine.

My refrigerator sent me a push notification that I'm eating too much dairy. I didn't ask for this feature. I just wanted a machine that dispensed crushed ice and kept my milk cold. Instead I bought a $3K appliance that acts like a judgmental nutritionist. Yesterday I tried to open the crisper drawer to get a block of cheddar. The fridge locked the drawer and suggested a handful of almonds via the LCD screen. I'm a grown man paying a mortgage. I had to unplug the entire unit just to make a grilled cheese sandwich. Now all my condiments are warm but I've reestablished dominance over my kitchen. Tomorrow I'm going to eat a stick of butter right in front of the internal camera. I won't be bullied by a Samsung.

During the Nigerian Civil War, many Igbo people fled cities like Lagos, leaving behind houses and property. Alex Ekwueme (then a young architect) left his house in Apapa. His neighbour, Otunba Subomi Balogun, a banker did not seize the property. Instead, he removed intruders from the house, renovated it and rented it out while Ekwueme was away. He carefully kept all the rent proceeds. When the war ended and Ekwueme returned, Balogun handed back the house to him and gave him a full envelope of all the rent collected Ekwueme was reportedly shocked, because many others lost their properties during that period. About a decade later, Ekwueme became Vice President under President Shehu Shagari (Second Republic, 1979–1983). Subomi Balogun wanted to establish his own bank but faced significant hurdles at the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN). Officials resisted because it was unprecedented for a private Nigerian citizen to own a commercial bank without foreign partners; there were also political suspicions (some alleged he might use it to finance certain politicians). After failing to get traction through official channels, Balogun turned to his old friend. One Sunday after Church Service, he and his wife "cornered" Ekwueme at the Cathedral Church in Marina, Lagos. They physically grabbed Ekwueme and his wife's clothing to get past security and plead their case. Ekwueme listened, reassured him, and instructed him to come to the Federal Executive Council meeting he would preside over (as Shagari was absent). That very Thursday, the Finance Minister called Balogun to confirm that the license had been approved on Ekwueme's instruction. This paved the way for FCMB and reportedly opened doors for other indigenous banks. Balogun later opened an FCMB branch in Ekwueme's hometown of Oko (Anambra State) in continuation of their friendship. We love ourselves, it is the politicians that are dividing us.

You can’t understand a woman you want to marry by asking “What’s your favorite color?” Surface questions give surface answers. If you want clarity, ask deeper questions. Here are 8 that will show you who she really is. 👇🧵

Every time I see old couples, I always wonder how many times they’ve forgiven each other.