Photography: Wedding Light

Wedding Light



So I’ve started working for my good friend Nnamdi Alistair Englebert Preston Patrick (yeah I know. so posh :D). He is a great photographer and great teacher (you should check out his work here ). This was shot at a wedding we went to cover. It was a Catholic wedding and while I dont know why they lit the candles I thought it was beautiful 🙂


My shutterchance is finally up (yay) so y’all go down to and check it out. One photo will drop every day till the end of July. I hope you guys enjoy them (be gentle with your comments I bruise easy ( ._.)  )


Loopy Music Presents The Green 36 Party

Some things are worth celebrating. Like Love, Life, Music

Come Friday July 19th 2013

Loopy Music, family and friends is bringing “THE PARTY” to Lagos Mainland
with an event themed Green 36, holding at the Aquatic Hotel, No 31/37 Opebi
Ikeja Lagos Nigeria, featuring: MI Abaga,  Pryse, Loose Kaynon, EFA, Ruby,
DJ Lambo, Ketchup, Grip Boiz, Kahli Abdu, Victoria Kimani,  and a few
surprise appearances

Tickets go for:  Regular: N2,500          VIP: 10,000
Table: 150,000

Experience is: PRICELESS

Tickets are available and at The Palms (Lekki),
Ozone Cinema (Yaba), Silverbird Galleria and Ikeja City Mall

For table bookings and enquiries, Call Temi on 08102484399. One lucky guest
will win a free trip to the city of Dubai.

Date:   19/07/2013     Red Carpet Starts7:00pm

Venue: Aquatic Hotel, No 31/37 Toyin Street Ikeja Lagos Nigeria.

This event is proudly supported by:

Loopy Music,<>, Chocolate City, Beat FM
99.9, Top Radio 90.9 Jus Kiddin’ entertainment,  PoshHillz Marvels
Entertainment, I.A.N Entertainment, Rebel Republic, AceCarz, Greengo
Travels and of course YOU.Green 36

Never Again

Hi guys.

Here’s another story from Ms O under the Ghost Writer tab. I loved reading it and I’m sure you will too. Enjoy and please leave your comments


Never again, I’d said to myself, never again. The first time was a mistake. Who would have seen it coming? “Just the tip” he after all said.

I was young and naïve and I didn’t know better. Yeah, I didn’t know better. Momma’s version of “the talk” was; you carry belle come this house, you carry am go back to where you get am.

So I didn’t go home. And he wouldn’t admit it was his fault. I went to Bimpe, good girl that one, and she took me to “The Chemist”. Two injections, a week of crippling pain and a seemingly endless “period” was all it took.

That was the first time. The second time I didn’t need Bimpe. I already knew the code to tell the man in The Chemist. He smiled at me knowingly. He must have been thinking “Hey! Regular customer”. Bastard!

The pain was worse that time. But I really panicked when I bent over the toilet bowl, to throw up for the umpteenth time, and saw blood mixed with puke… Needless to say I thought I was going to die.

What the hell was I thinking? So I prayed. If I survive this, I promise not to let any man touch me again…never again…

That was last year.

Now I sit in an aircraft, impatiently waiting for take off. Everything is taking forever.

In the two hours its taken us to wait for our flight to be called, I’ve bled all over three change of clothes.

For what must be the tenth time I tell Phil that we don’t need to miss our flight just to get to the nearest hospital.

And yes, I am sure that I will be fine.

It’s just a little bleeding not a lot…a litre maybe…and pain, excruciating but I’ll live. Right?

Amazing how no one seems to notice the huge red stain on d back of my current dress that Phil’s leather jacket is doing a poor job of hiding.

I’m in terrible pain and Phil is looking at me like I’m about to drop dead — I feel like I’m about to drop dead — saying over and over again that I will be fine. He’ll drive us to the nearest hospital the moment we land…

If I survive that long.

How did I get here? Never again I’d said. Philip wanted to keep the baby and get married. But we both know I can’t marry him. I’m not ready and he’s not suitable. Period. Maybe I should have accepted his proposal.

What if I die right now? I’d get to heaven and tell God; I killed the baby and myself because Philip wasn’t good enough in bed to get me to take that ring. I mean, I’d rather break his heart now than get married and cheat. No wait! I wouldn’t go to heaven would I?

Maybe I should pray for God to save me…again. But I’m sure He won’t listen this time. I should have learned my lesson the first time…or at least the second.

Maybe I will die…In an airborne plane…covered in baby murder blood…in front of all these people… How hard would my mum cry? Oooh but when she learns the cause of death — Aha! Finally, take off.

I’m going to be sick…I gesture towards my makeshift puke bag Phil passes it to me and again, I throw up more of the nothing I’ve had to eat all day…and blood. O boy, so much blood…I am dying! People do die from loss of too much blood.

I can feel it. My heart is beating so fast…like my chest is going to explode. Feels like my soul is leaving my body. My head is heavy. I’ve never felt so…so dizzy…sigh.

I look down with eyes that just won’t focus. A steady trickle from the seat is fast forming a crimson pool on the cabin floor.

I remember Trey Songs singing something like “my vision blur…my words slur” lol that’s exactly how I feel right now. I love that song. And Nicki…

I look, dazed, towards Phil and see him slowly rise and gesture to someone…why is he calling for help? He should look for a way to clean up all this mess.

Aarrgh my head..and I feel so so dizzy. My heart is pounding in my ears. I try to tell Phil to sit back down. He’s drawing too much attention.

I make a futile effort to raise my hand before the blackness covers me. 1 litre of blood? Two? More?

The Renaissance Man

So this is a continuation of my Ghost Writer’s series. You send me a story, I post it up and you can remain anon. Simple and easy

This one is by the Communist Flower. Enjoy




The Renaissance Man

I sit back and ponder on what it is that I want in a man, what I need. This lonely feeling has become a heavy burden on my mind, built a fire which burns with rage deep within my chest and instigates a desire between my thighs. A void must be filled but I am not in a hurry to do such as I have come to realise that the man I seek may not be of this world or this lifetime. He is but a memory, dare I say, a figment of my imagination brought about by my numerous encounters with tales from the 14th-17th century. A Renaissance man, that he is.


He is a cultured man, a strong man standing tall like a royal steed, well to do and from a house of integrity. He mingles with the nobles at the king’s court, his honour is without blemish and it is only I that he desires, it is only I he sees. He derives pleasure from dancing to sonnets, his mind is a ballad which I hope to be listen to and learn to play someday, he draws his inspiration from art and nature, he is fearful and respectful of the higher powers which exists in this world, his mind is open to enlightenment and he can manipulate me without my knowledge.

He takes delight in my plunging neckline as it lays bear my bountiful mounds, he stares deeply into my eyes as if it held the key to eternal youth and smiles as colour rushes to my cheeks knowing that I am embarrassed in his sight. He is not scorned by my intelligence, height, beauty or success, in fact, that is what delights him most about me. He is comforted by the envy of his peers as they look upon me as a great catch fit for a king and not some trophy to forget on a shelf.

I wonder where this man might be, what he is called by his peers, when he was born, what he is doing to keep himself occupied and whether he is aware of my existence. I wonder if he feels the same way, whether he loves me as much as I do him; Truly, Madly, Deeply.

How can I love another who is unknown to me with so much conviction? How can I be bewildered by a man who may be yet unborn? Perhaps we were lovers in previous versions of the world and our paths are just destined to cross. Star crossed lovers are we and lovers we shall remain until earth prime (earth as I know now) ceases to exist, and we are all drifting vectorless into empty space or until my delusions have clearly began to becloud my sense of better judge and I am to be institutionalized until I have become a burden not only to myself but to others that surround me and I am to be made a martyr, beheaded on a scaffold to warn the younger generation of women not to let their foolish fantasies get ahead of their duty to their houses and society.

I wait patiently in anticipation of my fate which lies in the hands of this unknown figure of the past and hope that the scales tip in my favour. . . .


Well then. She would appreciate your comments