Story Story

The Handover (Episode 1) I heard him before I saw him. That laugh low, unhurried, the kind that made people around him relax without knowing why — carried down the corridor of the fourteenth floor before he did. I was standing by the printer with a stack of client files I no longer needed to be holding, because I already knew whose voice it was. Eight years hadn't changed it. Eight years, and my body still reacted before my mind caught up, some old alarm going off in my chest like it had never been switched off, only muted. Chidi Okonkwo. In my office. Wearing a suit that fit too well, shaking Mr. Adeyemi's hand like he'd never once been the reason my sister cried into my shoulder for three months straight. "Yewande." He said my name the way he used to — like it cost him something to keep it casual. "Chidi." I matched him. I am, if nothing else, excellent at matching people. Mr. Adeyemi, oblivious as ever to the eight years of history standing in his boardroom, clapped Chidi on the back. "You two know each other, good, good — saves us the awkward introductions. Yewande will bring you up to speed on the portfolio before she goes on leave. Full handover by Friday." Full handover. As if my father's illness could be folded into a Friday deadline. As if the last time this man and I had spoken, it hadn't ended with my sister's engagement ring on the kitchen table and nobody — nobody — asking me why I looked the way I looked that night. "Of course," I said. "My office. Give me ten minutes." I did not need ten minutes. I needed all of them, and none of them would be enough.

@instablog9ja Na so... misplaced priorities everywhere

Outrage as FG Allocates ₦8.05bn for Construction, Renovation of Churches, Mosques in 2026 Budget The Federal Government has come under fire following revelations that ₦8.05 billion was earmarked for the construction, renovation, and equipping of churches and mosques in the 2026 budget. The allocation, uncovered by public accountability organisation Tracka, shows that ₦1.91 billion was set aside for seven church-related projects, while ₦6.14 billion was budgeted for 52 mosque projects across the country. The budget includes funding for the construction and renovation of worship centres, solar power installations, boreholes, musical equipment for churches, carpets, Islamiyya schools, imam houses, and other religious facilities. Some of the projects are assigned to government agencies whose mandates are unrelated to religious affairs, a development that has raised concerns over transparency and budget implementation. The disclosure has sparked widespread criticism, coming at a time Nigeria is battling a widening fiscal deficit, rising public debt, inflation, and funding shortages in critical sectors such as healthcare, education, roads, and water supply. Tracka questioned whether public funds should be used for religious projects while many communities still lack basic infrastructure and essential services. The organisation argued that every naira spent, especially borrowed funds, should deliver measurable public value. Public policy analysts also faulted the allocations, saying borrowing to finance projects with little or no direct economic return is difficult to justify. Critics further warned that placing religious projects under unrelated ministries and agencies could weaken accountability and increase the risk of political patronage.

@instablog9ja Tenant and family rep sign, but landlord no sign See format.

Netizens react as landlord’s letter increases annual rent for self-contained apartment from ₦600,000 to ₦1.5m

“Chidi…” “I’m not trying to complicate your life, Yewande. God knows you have enough right now with your father. But I can’t pretend this handover is just business. Not when I sit in your chair every day smelling your perfume. Not when I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.” My throat tightened. The car felt too small, the night too heavy. “I ruined things once,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “I don’t want to ruin them again.” Silence stretched between us, filled only with the sound of two people breathing in different parts of Lagos. “Then don’t run this time,” he said finally. “Whatever happened eight years ago… we face it. Together. Or we stay professional and pretend. Your choice.” I pulled over on the side of the road, heart hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears. The city lights blurred through the windshield. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, voice barely steady. “8 a.m. My office.” I hung up before he could reply. But as I sat there in the dark car, fingers still wrapped around the phone, I knew the truth. The handover had already become something else entirely. And I was no longer sure I wanted to stop it.

The Handover (Episode 5) Sunday evening found me at my parents’ house in Ikoyi, the one place I had been avoiding all week. Mummy had insisted on “family dinner” — code for come and let us worry about you in person. The compound smelled of jollof rice and fried plantain, the familiar scents wrapping around me like a too-tight hug as I stepped through the gate. Dad was resting upstairs, but the house still carried his presence: the old newspapers stacked neatly, the faint trace of his favourite cologne. Ada was already there. She looked beautiful in a simple Ankara wrapper and blouse, her hair in fresh twists. When she saw me, her face lit up with that open, trusting smile that always made guilt twist like a knife in my ribs. “Sister Wande!” She pulled me into a hug that smelled like shea butter and home. “You’ve lost weight. Work is stressing you again, abi?” I forced a laugh and hugged her back, harder than I meant to. “Just the usual madness. How’s the new job at the foundation?”

He squeezed my fingers. “Life usually is. Especially when old things refuse to stay buried.” I looked up sharply. Did he know? Had he always known? But he only smiled faintly and changed the subject to the stock market. I stayed with him until Mummy called us for dinner, my chest tight with everything I still couldn’t say. Later that night, after I had dropped Ada at her place and was driving home through quiet streets, my phone rang. Unknown number. I answered on autopilot. “Hello?” “Still driving this late?” Chidi’s voice. Low. Familiar in a way that made my grip tighten on the wheel. “How did you get my number?” “Company directory. Old habits.” A pause. I could hear traffic in his background too. “I’ve been thinking about you since Friday. About us. About what we never finished saying.”

Ada was quiet for a moment. Then she smiled, small and a little sad. “The world is small, sha. I haven’t seen him since… well, you know. I hope he’s doing well.” Mummy made a sound of disapproval. “That boy nearly brought shame to this family. Good thing you talked sense into your sister back then, Yewande.” I nearly dropped the jug of water. The memory hit me hard: that night eight years ago, sitting on Ada’s bed while she cried into my lap. Me whispering all the reasons Chidi wasn’t right for her — half-truths about his ambition, his “restlessness,” the way he looked at other women (a lie I had manufactured out of desperation). All because two nights earlier, in the dim light of his apartment, I had let him see too much of what I felt. And then panicked. I excused myself to check on Dad. He was propped up in bed, looking frailer than the last time I saw him. The cancer had taken pieces of him I wasn’t ready to lose. When he saw me, his eyes crinkled with tired affection. “My strong girl. How is work? They brought in that Okoye boy, abi?” “Yes, Daddy.” He studied my face the way only fathers can. “You don’t look happy about it.” I sat on the edge of the bed, taking his hand. It felt thinner than it should. “It’s complicated.”

We chatted about safe things — her NGO work, the traffic, Mummy’s latest church drama — while helping set the table. But every time Ada laughed, every time she called me “Sister” with that effortless affection, I felt Chidi’s question from Friday echoing in my head: Why did you really push me away from her? Mummy came in carrying a tray of drinks, her eyes sharp as ever. “Yewande, your father has been asking for you. He wants to know how the handover is going with that Chidi boy.” My stomach dropped. “It’s… going. He’s competent.” Ada tilted her head. “Chidi? As in our Chidi? He’s back in Lagos?” The way she said “our” made something ugly twist inside me. Not jealousy exactly — something heavier. Regret mixed with a longing I had no right to feel. “Yes,” I said carefully, arranging glasses that didn’t need arranging. “Consulting for a few weeks while I take time off for Daddy.” Ada was quiet for a moment. Then she smiled, small and a little sad. “The world is small, sha. I haven’t seen him since… well, you know. I hope he’s doing well.” Mummy made a sound of disapproval. “That boy nearly brought shame to this family. Good thing you talked sense into your sister back then, Yewande.” I nearly dropped the jug of water. The memory hit me hard: that night eight years ago, sitting on Ada’s bed while she cried into my lap. Me whispering all the reasons Chidi wasn’t right for her — half-truths about his ambition, his “restlessness,” the way he looked at other women (a lie I had manufactured out of desperation). All because two nights earlier, in the dim light of his apartment, I had let him see too much of what I felt. And then panicked. I excused myself to check on Dad. He was propped up in bed, looking frailer than the last time I saw him. The cancer had taken pieces of him I wasn’t ready to lose. When he saw me, his eyes crinkled with tired affection. “My strong girl. How is work? They brought in that Okoye boy, abi?” “Yes, Daddy.” He studied my face the way only fathers can. “You don’t look happy about it.” I sat on the edge of the bed, taking his hand. It felt thinner than it should. “It’s complicated.” He squeezed my fingers. “Life usually is. Especially when old things refuse to stay buried.” I looked up sharply. Did he know? Had he always known? But he only smiled faintly and changed the subject to the stock market. I stayed with him until Mummy called us for dinner, my chest tight with everything I still couldn’t say. Later that night, after I had dropped Ada at her place and was driving home through quiet streets, my phone rang. Unknown number. I answered on autopilot. “Hello?” “Still driving this late?” Chidi’s voice. Low. Familiar in a way that made my grip tighten on the wheel. “How did you get my number?” “Company directory. Old habits.” A pause. I could hear traffic in his background too. “I’ve been thinking about you since Friday. About us. About what we never finished saying.” “Chidi…” “I’m not trying to complicate your life, Yewande. God knows you have enough right now with your father. But I can’t pretend this handover is just business. Not when I sit in your chair every day smelling your perfume. Not when I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.” My throat tightened. The car felt too small, the night too heavy. “I ruined things once,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “I don’t want to ruin them again.” Silence stretched between us, filled only with the sound of two people breathing in different parts of Lagos. “Then don’t run this time,” he said finally. “Whatever happened eight years ago… we face it. Together. Or we stay professional and pretend. Your choice.” I pulled over on the side of the road, heart hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears. The city lights blurred through the windshield. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, voice barely steady. “8 a.m. My office.” I hung up before he could reply. But as I sat there in the dark car, fingers still wrapped around the phone, I knew the truth. The handover had already become something else entirely. And I was no longer sure I wanted to stop it.

Beneath the lust. “Good,” he said softly. “Because when I’m done…” His hand slid up her thigh. Lingering. Pressing. “You will beg me to stop.” Ada’s breath hitched. A mix of dread and unwanted heat. She tried to stand. But he held her there. Seconds stretching into eternity. The doorbell rang suddenly. Sharp. Intrusive. Emeka’s voice from outside. “Chairman! You dey house?” Chinedu smiled. A dark, satisfied smile. “Perfect timing.” He released Ada. Letting her stumble back. Her chest rising and falling fast. “Go open the door for your boyfriend,” he said coldly. “Act normal.” Ada’s hands shook as she adjusted her wrapper. She walked to the door. Chinedu remained seated. Watching.

The Revenge (Part 3) The next morning arrived heavy with silence. Chinedu sat at the breakfast table. Sipping black coffee. His eyes never left Ada. She moved around the kitchen. Wrapper tied low on her hips. Every step deliberate. Every bend calculated. She knew he was watching. And she was playing the game back. “Darling, you look stressed,” she purred. Her voice like warm honey. She leaned over him. Her breasts brushing his shoulder. Deliberately.

Then smiled. Kissing him deeper. Her tongue teasing. Trying to pull him under. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.” Lies dripping like sugar. Chinedu pulled back. Just enough to look into her eyes. He saw the fear swimming there. The real performance was about to begin. Emeka stepped in. Laughing. Slapping Chinedu’s back like old times. But his eyes darted. Nervous. Something was off. And Chinedu could smell it. The fear. The guilt. The coming storm. Your move.

Chinedu’s grip tightened on the cup. He could smell her. That familiar scent now poisoned. “I had a long night,” he replied calmly. Thinking of the new cameras he installed. Hidden. Recording everything. Ada slid onto his lap. Straddling him slowly. Her hands on his chest. “You need to relax, my king.” She rocked gently. A slow, tempting rhythm. Her lips grazed his neck. Chinedu let her. For now. His hands rested on her waist. Fingers digging in just enough. To remind her of control. “You think this will fix it?” he whispered. His breath hot against her ear. Ada froze for a split second. Then smiled. Kissing him deeper. Her tongue teasing. Trying to pull him under. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.” Lies dripping like sugar. Chinedu pulled back. Just enough to look into her eyes. He saw the fear swimming there. Beneath the lust. “Good,” he said softly. “Because when I’m done…” His hand slid up her thigh. Lingering. Pressing. “You will beg me to stop.” Ada’s breath hitched. A mix of dread and unwanted heat. She tried to stand. But he held her there. Seconds stretching into eternity. The doorbell rang suddenly. Sharp. Intrusive. Emeka’s voice from outside. “Chairman! You dey house?” Chinedu smiled. A dark, satisfied smile. “Perfect timing.” He released Ada. Letting her stumble back. Her chest rising and falling fast. “Go open the door for your boyfriend,” he said coldly. “Act normal.” Ada’s hands shook as she adjusted her wrapper. She walked to the door. Chinedu remained seated. Watching. The real performance was about to begin. Emeka stepped in. Laughing. Slapping Chinedu’s back like old times. But his eyes darted. Nervous. Something was off. And Chinedu could smell it. The fear. The guilt. The coming storm. Your move.

@instablog9ja Sometimes, few hours, days, weeks , months, years or never.

Lady stirs debate after asking how long it takes to fully know a person

@AffluentMist 1. Brushing before bed helps 2. When you're really in the mood, you won't mind 3. Your partner's preference may also play out. They may also mot give a sh*t and make it easy for you, or, they may also maintain good oral hygiene that makes you worry less about brushing.

People who have morning sex, do you wake up and brush your teeth first or how do you control morning breath???

@KelOnovo Facts

You want to know how messed up this place is? Do this small experiment. Open a new account here. Use picture that isn’t yours. Don't show your face. Then start posting things that degrade women. Talk bad about women every day. No sense, just insults. Trust me, you’d be shocked. Before one month, you’ll have followers. Plenty of them. People that will be typing “facts 💯” under every rubbish you post. M🅰️d people have huge community on X.

@yabaleftonline Goat said "who's the goat now?" 🤣🤣🤣

😂😂😂

@jon_d_doe Full stop.

Some of you single ladies in relationships, you already know that the men that you're dating will not be good husbands, fathers or providers. But because he fucks your toto so good and always avoiding to tell you truth & makes you feel good, you're still foolishly in that relationship. God gave women the gift of foresight. Your boyfriend doesn't have to be rich, but he should have a rich and abundant mindset. If you're dating a man who grew up seeing his mother being the major provider, please ask questions, and listen to his responses. When a man is telling you things like: 1. What will my wife be using her own money for? 2. If we get married, I'll be bringing 70% and you will be bringing 30%. 3. Why should I pay my wife back if she spends money for the home? 4. I can never allow my wife to be a house wife. 5. My mother was the one paying the house rent or school fees and I never saw her disrespect my father. You need to take a second and third look at your relationship. You should also consider the age gap between you and your boyfriend, assess his current financial situation, and evaluate where he will be when he turns 40. Yes, you're not God, and life happens. But you must always remember that when a man is choosing you, he's choosing his destiny. Meaning, whatever he becomes in the marriage, it would be tied to you as his wife. Hence, this is why I frown upon enabling a man. Do not tie your destiny to a man who has shown you repeated red flags, and you keep claiming that you love him & refuse to heed the words of advice from experienced persons and elders. There is hardly any marriage that didn't start off sweet. But the proof of the pudding is in the eating. There are no perfect marriages, but many married women who ignored all those red flags that I mentioned above are living with regrets. Shame, most of the time, will not let them speak up because, somehow, they were warned ab initio. And that woman includes your mother, who was the main provider in your family. And that's why wives who have seen it all would never advise their daughters to make the same mistakes they made. Sit down and assess that man that you're dating today. Most importantly, check if he's a greedy person. He can be stingy, but he should not be greedy. A man who always wants to take from you, always looks for you to pity him, is always envious of the achievements of his friends, and is not willing to challenge himself even when pushed, is a red flag. Do not let his sweet mouth, big preeq and good fuck game to deceive you. Because any man that you finally decide to get married to, must be your head and leader. Even if he's a stupid leader. End.

@yabaleftonline Bro is inhaling water

Ever seen a rattlesnake drinking water?

@Ayomide__koya If it works, why not?

They said it's back pain vandalizer method E remain to add roof🤣🤣🤣

@yabaleftonline King of the dead?

Woman causes a stir with the special pap she made for her king (husband).

@DanielRegha True... true

"Women like money, women like money", men nkor? Men also love men that have money. Have you not seen how men be trading loyalty because of money? Rest pls.