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”Cultivating The Garden Within” Mindfully with Tunmise Hosts Reflective Session on Self Awareness For Women

Women from all walks of life have gathered in an intimate setting to participate in the “Cultivating the Garden Within” event, a reflective and empowering session hosted by Oluwatunmise Oladapo-Kuku, the host of Mindfully with Tunmise podcast.

Oladapo-Kuku who is also a mental health advocate and wellness coach explained that the gathering was designed to encourage women from diverse backgrounds to explore their relational, professional and maternal roles, while embracing self-awareness and balance.

The metaphor of “cultivating the garden within” represents the journey of self-discovery and growth. As Oladapo-Kuku explained, “Every woman plays multiple roles, and it is essential to find peace within those roles by recognizing both strengths and perceived weaknesses. What may be a strength for one woman may be a weakness for another.”

She also said the event aimed to create a space for open discussions, something many women rarely get the opportunity to have.

Oladapo-Kuku further highlighted the societal expectations placed on women, particularly the generational patterns where mothers dictated responsibilities without providing the necessary emotional and psychological tools.

“Our mothers only told us what we should do, but they didn’t guide us in finding ourselves. Now, as we raise the next generation, we must understand our values, whether in spirituality, relationships, or career paths,” she said.

The women who attended the event, each with their unique experiences and perspectives described it as a form of soul sisters bonding, emphasizing the importance of self-acceptance, balance and decision-making.

Funsho Kola-Ogunlade, one of the attendees, described the event as a privilege, noting that it helped her rediscover deeper aspects of herself and her friends. “I learned the importance of balance—being myself, being happy, and taking care of myself first so I can take care of others. Finding a supportive community where I can share my thoughts was truly valuable.”

Another participant, Diana Emenyonu expressed her joy at reconnecting with old friends. “I love that we are open and vulnerable as women. This event was a reminder to keep growing and to focus on personal happiness because a happy woman creates a happy environment.”

For Tolase Olohunnihi, the event reinforced the need to live unapologetically. “I learned that I can be myself without needing to apologize. That is how I want to be moving forward.”

Eyinmofe Onifade highlighted the significance of embracing different stages of life as a woman. “It was enlightening to see women at different stages, some further along and others still navigating their paths. It reminded me that every stage is temporary, and it’s important to enjoy the moment.”

“It was refreshing to just be in our own space, embracing our femininity and unwinding from the pressures of work, family and societal expectations,” Onifade added.

Mofebisola Omopeloye brought a humorous and heartfelt perspective, sharing that no gathering is complete without good food. “I won’t stop talking about the food!”. “But beyond that, I learned to be more intentional about my growth and my family, she said. I also learned from older women about their journeys, family and personal growth. I now understand the importance of nurturing my garden.”

For Opeyemi Bamidele, the event not only strengthened friendships but also provided a space for re-evaluating values and fostering self-acceptance.

“Cultivating the Garden Within” proved to be more than just a gathering; it was a powerful movement towards self-awareness, intentional living and community support among sisters, she added.

As part of the event, the women participated in a podcast, while each participant received motivational affirmation cards to serve as daily reminders of their journey.

The host, Oladapo-Kuku emphasized the power of these affirmations, stating, “Whenever they feel low, I hope they look at their cards and remember that everything unfolds at the perfect time.”

Cultivating the Garden Within proved to be more than just a discussion, it was a transformative experience, leaving participants with a renewed sense of purpose and community. Through meaningful conversations, shared experiences, and affirmations, these women are now better equipped to cultivate their inner gardens and embrace life with confidence and clarity.

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Street Children Crisis in Kano: Young Girls Face Growing Risks.

A sample of displaced children rescued by UNICEF

 

By Prosper Mene 

In the streets of Kano, northern Nigeria’s largest city, thousands of children roam without shelter or protection, with young girls among the most vulnerable. Humanitarian organizations are sounding the alarm over the escalating crisis, warning that these girls face heightened risks of exploitation, violence, and abuse as they struggle to survive amid poverty and displacement.

The sight of children begging or hawking goods is not new to Kano, a commercial hub with a rich cultural heritage. Yet, the numbers have surged in recent years, driven by Nigeria’s worsening economic crisis and ongoing security challenges. Authorities estimate that over 5,000 street children currently live in the city, a figure that reflects only a fraction of the broader national issue. According to the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF), Nigeria has 18.5 million out-of-school children, with Kano State alone accounting for 1.9 million—the highest in the country.

For young girls, the streets offer little beyond danger. “These girls are at the mercy of predators,” says Amina Usman, a social worker with a local nonprofit, Rahama Foundation. “Without family or a safe place to turn, they’re targets for trafficking, forced labor, and sexual violence.” Reports from humanitarian groups indicate that many are lured with promises of food or money, only to be trapped in cycles of exploitation.

The roots of this crisis run deep. Nigeria, Africa’s most populous nation, is striy with its worst economic downturn in decades, with inflation soaring to 34.6% in early 2025. In Kano, where 39% of children live in multidimensional poverty, families are increasingly unable to cope. High divorce rates and the displacement caused by banditry and insurgencies in the northwest and northeast have further swelled the ranks of street children. “Parents can’t feed their kids, so they end up here,” Usman explains. “For girls, it’s even worse they’re often seen as burdens.”

Local authorities have taken notice. In January 2025, Kano State launched a mass evacuation of street children, aiming to rehabilitate and repatriate them. The initiative, led by the state’s Hisbah—a religious police force—includes plans for psychosocial support and education. “We see these children as a security threat, but also as a social one,” says Commander Haruna Daurawa, who oversaw a similar effort between 2017 and 2018 that evacuated 26,000 children. Yet, many returned to the streets, underscoring the challenge of addressing root causes like poverty and lack of opportunity.

Grassroots efforts are also stepping in. Organizations like Rahama Foundation and Rising Child Foundation are working to provide safe spaces, education, and vocational training, with a particular focus on girls. “Education is their way out,” says Taibat Hussain, founder of Rising Child Foundation, which has empowered vulnerable children across Nigeria. “But we’re fighting against a tide of systemic issues—poverty, gender inequality, and violence.”

The plight of Kano’s street girls mirrors broader gender challenges in the region. Nigeria ranks 130th out of 146 countries in the Global Gender Gap report, and activists point to weak enforcement of laws like the Violence Against Persons Prohibition (VAPP) Act as a barrier to progress. “The government has tools, but they’re not using them effectively,” says Fatima Bello, a women’s rights advocate in Kano. “These girls need more than evacuation—they need justice and a future.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Nigerian Women Turn to Prostitution Amid Economic Crisis.

 

By Prosper Mene 

In a corner of Lagos’ bustling streets, Aisha, a 24-year-old single mother, adjusts her makeup under the flicker of a streetlamp. Once a petty trader selling vegetables in Oshodi market, she now stands among a growing number of Nigerian women compelled to trade their bodies for survival. “I didn’t choose this,” she says, her voice heavy with resignation. “But when inflation eats your profits and your child is hungry, what choice do you have?”

Nigeria, Africa’s largest economy, is reeling from its worst cost-of-living crisis in decades. With inflation soaring to 34.6% in November 2024 and food prices climbing beyond 40%, according to government data, millions of households are buckling under economic strain. For women like Aisha, the fallout is not just financial—it’s personal, pushing them into desperate measures as traditional livelihoods collapse under the weight of a devalued naira and dwindling opportunities.

A Crisis Driving Choices

The economic turmoil began intensifying in 2023 when President Bola Tinubu removed fuel subsidies and liberalized foreign exchange rates reforms aimed at revitalizing the economy but leaving ordinary Nigerians in their wake. The naira has since plummeted, losing over 70% of its value against the dollar, while the cost of basics like rice, beans, and cooking gas has tripled. For women, who often bear the burden of feeding families and managing households, the impact is profound.

“Before, I could make 5,000 naira a day selling vegetables,” Aisha recalls. “Now, I’m lucky to break even after transport and market fees. My son needs school fees, food, medicine, I couldn’t keep up.” Last month, she joined the ranks of women engaging in what’s locally dubbed “hookup”—a discreet form of prostitution facilitated by social media and apps, offering quick cash in a crumbling economy.

The United Nations World Food Programme projects that 33.1 million Nigerians will face acute food insecurity in 2025, a 7 million increase from last year. Women, particularly in urban centers like Lagos and Kano, are among the hardest hit. A 2023 report by the Council on Foreign Relations noted that Nigeria’s GDP could rise by 23% if women were equally engaged in the economy, yet cultural norms and economic exclusion continue to marginalize them, leaving prostitution as a last resort.

From Markets to Streets

Across Nigeria, stories like Aisha’s echo a trend. In Benin City, Edo State—long a hub for trafficking, Blessing, 19, abandoned her tailoring apprenticeship when customers stopped coming. “Thread and fabric prices doubled, and people couldn’t afford my work,” she says. A friend introduced her to a “madam” who promised fast money through clients in Lagos. “I send half home to my mother. She doesn’t ask where it comes from.”

The rise of “hookup” culture, distinct from traditional brothel-based prostitution, has exploded in cities, fueled by anonymity and smartphones. Young women, including university students and unemployed graduates, connect with clients online, charging anywhere from 10,000 to 50,000 naira per encounter—sums that dwarf the 33,000 naira monthly minimum wage for public servants like NYSC members. “It’s not pride,” says Tolu, a 21-year-old student in Ibadan. “It’s survival. Books don’t pay rent.”

A Legacy of Exploitation

Nigeria’s prostitution crisis isn’t new, but the economic downturn has amplified it. Since the 1980s, trafficking networks have funneled women from Edo State to Europe, particularly Italy, where an estimated 21,000 Nigerian women and girls have been trafficked since 2015, according to the UN. Today, the same desperation driving international trafficking is turning inward, with local sex work surging. The National Agency for the Prohibition of Trafficking in Persons (NAPTIP) reported rescuing 1,266 women from trafficking in 2021 alone, yet the agency struggles to keep pace with the domestic shift.

In northern Kano, where Sharia law bans prostitution, economic pressures are quietly eroding taboos. Fatima, 28, a widow with three children, began meeting clients in secret after her roadside tea stall folded. “Bandits took our farms, and prices took my business,” she says. “I’d rather sin than watch my kids starve.”

Society’s Blind Eye

The stigma surrounding prostitution remains fierce, yet economic necessity is softening judgment in some quarters. “People whisper, but they know why we do it,” Tolu says. Families, too, often turn a blind eye when remittances arrive. In Benin City, activists note a troubling normalization: parents once pressured daughters to migrate for sex work abroad; now, they tacitly accept it at home.

Government response has been patchy. Tinubu’s administration has rolled out cash transfers and grain handouts, but critics say they’re inadequate. “We’re treating symptoms, not the disease,” argues Muda Yusuf, CEO of the Centre for the Promotion of Private Enterprise. “Without jobs and security, women will keep falling through the cracks.”

Grassroots groups like Girls’ Power Initiative (GPI) in Edo State offer vocational training and counseling, but resources are stretched thin. “We’re seeing younger girls every day,” says Grace Osakue of GPI. “Poverty doesn’t wait for empowerment programs.”

A Future in Question

For Aisha, Blessing, and countless others, prostitution isn’t a career—it’s a stopgap. “I pray every night for a way out,” Aisha says, glancing at her son’s photo on her phone. Yet, with 33 million Nigerians projected to face food insecurity and inflation showing no signs of slowing, that way out feels distant.

As morning comes in Lagos, Aisha heads home with 15,000 naira in her pocket—enough for a week’s worth of food. “This isn’t who I am,” she insists. “But until Nigeria gives us something better, it’s what I have to do.” For now, the economic crisis holds her—and millions of Nigerian women—in its grip, a stark reminder of the human cost of a nation’s struggle.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Nollywood’s Rising Queens: Women Directors Redefine a Global Giant.

 

By Prosper Mene 

In a lit Lagos studio, Jade Osiberu tweaks the sound mix for her 2025 crime thriller The Shadow Runner, a pulse-pounding tale of a female ex-soldier turned vigilante. Released in January, it clocked 12 million streams on Netflix in its first month eclipsing Nollywood’s male-directed heavyweights like Kunle Afolayan’s latest and earned Osiberu a standing ovation at the Berlin Film Festival.

Meanwhile, Mo Abudu, dubbed “Africa’s Oprah,” oversees post-production on Widow’s Fire, a drama about a Nigerian woman defying patriarchal norms after her husband’s death. Launched through her EbonyLife-Netflix pact, it’s trending in 30 countries by March 2025. These women are the vanguard of Nollywood’s new wave, steering the world’s second-largest film industry churning out over 2,000 movies yearly—toward female-driven stories that resonate globally. Yet, with women making up just 15% of directors, their ascent battles funding droughts, entrenched sexism, and an industry slow to evolve. This story unpacks how they’re reshaping Nollywood’s DNA, probing whether their breakthroughs signal lasting change or a gilded anomaly.

Osiberu, 38, a former ad exec turned filmmaker, embodies the hustle Nollywood demands. Her 2025 hit, shot on a shoestring $80,000 budget, blends Lagos street grit with a heroine who’s “not here to be saved,” she tells me over Zoom. “Audiences crave real women, not props for male egos.” Her gamble paid off—The Shadow Runner outdid 2024’s top Nollywood earner, a male-led action flick, by 30% in global views. Abudu, 60, takes a different tack: her polished productions, backed by Netflix’s deep pockets, elevate Nigerian narratives to Hollywood sheen. Widow’s Fire, starring Genevieve Nnaji as a steely matriarch, has sparked X threads praising its “quiet power,” with 4 million views in its first week. Together, they’re flipping Nollywood’s script—once dominated by tales of rich men, juju curses, and docile wives—into a showcase for complex female leads who fight, grieve, and win.

But the shine belies the struggle. Industry data from the Nigerian Film Corporation shows women directors snag just 22% of available funding, often dipping into personal savings or crowdfunding. “Men get the big checks; we get skepticism,” says Funke Akindele, another rising star whose 2024 comedy grossed $1 million locally but stalled internationally for lack of marketing cash. Male producers, who control 70% of Nollywood’s purse strings, still balk at “risky” female-led projects, insiders say, citing a 2025 survey where 60% admitted preferring “proven” male talent. Abudu’s Netflix deal—rumored at $10 million over three years—makes her an outlier, not the norm. On X, fans hail “Nollywood’s queens,” but critics like @LagosFilmGuru

snipe: “It’s elite women winning, not the industry changing.” Even Osiberu admits the grind: “For every script I shoot, I pitch ten that get ignored.”

The stakes are high as streaming giants like Amazon and Disney+ circle Nollywood, drawn by its $1 billion annual haul. Female directors could ride this wave to parity—Osiberu’s next project, a sci-fi epic, has Amazon’s interest—but systemic hurdles loom. Training programs like the Women in Film Nigeria Initiative, launched in 2024, aim to boost numbers, mentoring 50 aspiring directors this year. Yet, with no government subsidies and a piracy-riddled market eating 40% of profits, progress crawls. Abudu, ever the optimist, sees a tipping point: “Every hit we make cracks the ceiling.” This dives into their victories—raw talent meeting global appetite while exposing the fault lines: an industry hooked on cheap, male-centric formulas, and a funding gap that keeps most women on the sidelines.

 

 

 

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Nigeria’s First Female Mechanic Empowers a New Generation.

 

By Prosper Mene

Sandra Aguebor never fit the mold. Growing up in Benin City in the 1970s, she traded dolls for engines, dreaming of a life under the hood rather than in the kitchen. Today, at 50-something, she’s not just Nigeria’s first female mechanic—she’s a trailblazer who’s handed wrenches to hundreds of women, defying norms and rewriting futures through her Lady Mechanic Initiative (LMI).

Aguebor’s journey began at 13, sparked by a recurring dream she says came from divine inspiration: Jesus teaching her to fix cars. Her father balked; her mother beat her for tinkering instead of cooking. “They thought I was mad,” she recalls with a wry smile, her hands still stained with grease. But in 1983, she stepped into a local garage in old Bendel State, a teenage girl among men who’d fixed Peugeot 404s for generations. “They laughed at first, then they taught me,” she says. Six years later, she was a pro.

The road wasn’t smooth. “I had to work five times harder than the men,” Aguebor told CNN in 2020, recounting the skepticism and outright dismissal she faced. After stints at Edo Line and the Nigerian Railway Corporation, she launched Sandex Car Care Garage in the mid-90s. Success brought attention—and demolition. When authorities razed her first workshop, she turned her car into a mobile repair unit, proving grit outlasts concrete.

In 2004, Aguebor channeled that grit into the Lady Mechanic Initiative, a mission to empower vulnerable women orphans, trafficking survivors, former sex workers with the skills to fix cars and reclaim their lives. “I wanted to teach them how to fish,” she says, echoing a philosophy of independence. Over two decades, LMI has trained more than 1,000 women across five states, from Lagos to Kano. Graduates like Joy Amuche, now a mechanic in Edo, credit Aguebor with their transformation. “She made me who I am,” says Mary Sunday, another alumna.

The impact is tangible. Clients flock to LMI-trained mechanics, drawn by their precision and determination. “They’re better than some men who take the job for granted,” Aguebor notes, pride in her voice. Her vision stretches further: to mentor 100,000 women across Africa by 2030, smashing gender ceilings one oil change at a time.

Yet, challenges linger. Nigeria’s bureaucracy has uprooted her garage more than once, and cultural resistance still brands mechanics’ work as “unladylike.” Aguebor shrugs it off. “The obstacles became my opportunity,” she told Al Jazeera in 2015. Recognized with awards from Lagos Governor Akinwunmi Ambode and a national merit honor, she’s no longer an oddity but an icon.

Today, as she patrols her bustling Lagos workshop, Aguebor sees more than engines. She sees women like herself—defiant, skilled, and free. “My Nigeria is where women do what men say we can’t,” she declares. For her and her trainees, every revved engine roars a truth: stereotypes don’t stand a chance against a woman with a wrench.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Eldest Daughter of Late Oyo Governor, Bisola Ajimobi Kola-Daisi, Passes Away in UK at 42.

 

By Prosper Mene 

The family of the late former Oyo State Governor, Senator Abiola Ajimobi, is mourning the loss of his eldest daughter, Bisola Ajimobi Kola-Daisi, who passed away in the early hours of Thursday, March 27, 2025, in the United Kingdom. She was 42 years old.

Bisola, a prominent figure in Nigeria’s public and private sectors, reportedly succumbed to a brief illness. Until her untimely death, she served as the Special Adviser to Nigeria’s Minister of Budget and Planning, Atiku Bagudu, under President Bola Tinubu’s administration. Her passing marks another significant loss for the Ajimobi family, coming five years after the death of her father in 2020.

A statement from Bolaji Tunji, a former aide to the late Governor Ajimobi, confirmed the tragic news. “Yes, it has been confirmed,” Tunji told journalists in Ibadan, though further details surrounding her death remain undisclosed at this time.

Bisola was married to Kolapo Kola-Daisi, a respected Ibadan-born politician and bank executive, since 2010. The couple, who celebrated their engagement and wedding in grand ceremonies in Ibadan, Nigeria, on November 5 and 6, 2010, respectively, are survived by their three children. In a heartfelt social media post, Kolapo expressed his grief, writing, “The world has lost a shining star. Bisola was not just my wife; she was my partner in everything. Her spirit will live on in our children.”

Known for her contributions to governance, business, and philanthropy, Bisola carved a notable legacy in Nigeria. She served as the Managing Director of Grandex Nigeria Ltd., a leading retail and wholesale chain established in 1984, and founded Florence H., a luxury boutique that solidified her presence in the fashion and retail industry. Additionally, she supported her mother Florence Ajimobi’s ABC Foundation, a charitable initiative focused on uplifting disadvantaged communities in Ibadan.

The news of Bisola’s passing has elicited an outpouring of condolences from across Nigeria. Senator Sharafadeen Alli, representing Oyo South Senatorial District, described her as “a woman of grace, intellect, and dedication, who upheld the values of excellence and service.” He extended his sympathies to her husband, mother, Chief (Mrs) Florence Ajimobi, and the broader Kola-Daisi and Ajimobi families, praying for strength to bear the loss.

The Nigeria Association of Women Journalists (NAWOJ), Oyo State chapter, also expressed shock and sadness, noting Bisola’s connection to their matron, Florence Ajimobi. “Her daughter was a shining example of her mother’s values and legacy,” the group said in a statement. “We pray that God grants the Ajimobi family the fortitude to bear this irreparable loss.”

Bisola’s death has reverberated through Nigeria’s social and political spheres, with many reflecting on her vibrant life and sudden departure. A close friend of American reality stars Khloe Kardashian and Malika Haqq, she was also known for her luxurious lifestyle and strong presence in Nigeria’s high society.

As of now, the Kola-Daisi and Ajimobi families have not released an official statement regarding funeral arrangements. Nigerians, both at home and abroad, continue to mourn the loss of a woman whose life exemplified service, entrepreneurship, and familial devotion.

Bisola Ajimobi Kola-Daisi’s legacy is expected to endure through her contributions to her community and the lives she touched. May her soul rest in peace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Nigerian Women Rise Up: Kaduna Case Ignites Fight Against Gender-Based Violence.

By Prosper Mene 

 

In the bustling city of Kaduna, a courageous woman’s stand against years of marital rape and domestic abuse has become a rallying cry for Nigerian women demanding an end to gender-based violence. Today, her story—first brought to light by local journalist Joy Funmilola Oke—has galvanized activists, community leaders, and survivors, shining a harsh spotlight on a crisis that too often lurks in the shadows.

The woman, whose identity remains protected for her safety, filed for divorce this week after enduring a nightmare of physical and sexual assault at the hands of her husband. According to sources close to the case, the abuse unfolded in plain sight of their children, a detail that has fueled public outrage. “This isn’t just one woman’s fight,” said Aisha Mohammed, a Kaduna-based women’s rights advocate. “It’s a wake-up call. How many more must suffer before we act?”

The case is far from isolated. Nigeria’s National Human Rights Commission reported over 1,600 cases of gender-based violence in Kaduna State alone last year, though activists say the true number is likely higher, with many incidents unreported due to stigma or fear. The Kaduna woman’s decision to break her silence has struck a chord, inspiring a wave of solidarity. Today, dozens of women gathered outside the local courthouse where her divorce proceedings began, holding signs reading “No More Silence” and “Justice for Survivors.”

Local journalist Joy Funmilola Oke, who first shared the story, emphasized its broader implications. “This is a pattern—wives beaten, raped, dehumanized in their own homes,” she wrote in a widely circulated post. “It’s not ‘culture’ or ‘marriage.’ It’s violence, and it’s time we named it.” Her reporting has amplified the survivor’s voice, drawing support from across Nigeria and beyond.

Women’s groups are seizing the moment to push for change. The Kaduna chapter of the Nigerian Feminist Forum announced plans for a sensitization campaign, targeting rural communities where patriarchal norms often shield abusers. “We need education, enforcement, and empathy,” said Fatima Usman, the group’s coordinator. “This woman’s bravery shows us what’s possible when we refuse to stay quiet.”

The legal battle itself is a test case. Nigeria’s laws, including the Violence Against Persons (Prohibition) Act of 2015, offer protections on paper, but enforcement remains spotty. The survivor’s husband has reportedly denied the allegations, claiming they’re a ploy to tarnish his reputation. Legal experts say her case could set a precedent—if she wins. “The courts must send a message,” said Barrister Ngozi Eze, a human rights lawyer in Kaduna. “Impunity has thrived too long.”

Public reaction has been swift and fierce. On platforms like X, hashtags like #KadunaSurvivor and #EndGBVNigeria trended today, with users praising the woman’s resolve and calling for systemic reform. “She’s not just fighting for herself—she’s fighting for every woman trapped in silence,” one post read. Yet, challenges loom. Advocates warn that without sustained pressure, her story risks fading into the noise of Nigeria’s myriad crises.

For now, the unnamed survivor stands as a symbol of resilience. Her children, removed from the home for their safety, are with relatives as the case unfolds. “I want them to grow up knowing this isn’t normal,” she told a confidante, her words shared anonymously. In Kaduna, her fight is just beginning—but for Nigerian women, it’s a charge they’re ready to lead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Relationship

The Ruthless Breakup: Are Women Rewriting the Rules of Heartbreak?

By Prosper Mene 

March 26, 2025 

Across social media platforms and in hushed conversations at Lagos sit outs , a narrative is gaining momentum: when it comes to ending relationships, women are increasingly seen as wielding a sharper, more decisive edge—and often without a hint of remorse. From high-profile cases to everyday splits, this perception of female ruthlessness in dealing with men post-breakup is sparking debate about gender dynamics, emotional accountability, and the modern breakup playbook.

Take the story of Chika, a 32-year-old tech entrepreneur from Abuja. After five years with her partner, Emeka, she ended things abruptly last month. “I was done,” she says, her tone matter-of-fact. “He kept promising change, but I’d heard it all before. I blocked him everywhere and moved on—no looking back.” Emeka, still reeling, describes her exit as “cold-blooded.” Friends say he’s been a shadow of himself, while Chika’s already planning a solo trip to Zanzibar. Her story isn’t unique—tales of women cutting ties with surgical precision are popping up nationwide, leaving men scrambling to process the fallout.

Psychologists point to shifting dynamics. Dr. Amina Bello, a relationship therapist in Lagos, notes that women today are more likely to prioritize self-preservation over lingering in unfulfilling relationships. “Women are socialized to nurture, but that’s changing,” she explains.

 

“Many now see staying in a bad relationship as a betrayal of themselves, not just their partner. When they leave, it’s often with clarity and finality—men might interpret that as ruthless because it defies the old script of tearful goodbyes.”

Data backs this up. A recent global study from Humboldt University found women initiate roughly 70% of breakups in heterosexual relationships, often citing unmet emotional needs. Men, the research suggests, suffer greater emotional distress post-split, partly because they lean heavily on partners for support and lack the broader networks women tend to maintain. In Nigeria, where cultural expectations once tethered women to enduring silently, this shift feels seismic. “She didn’t even give me a chance to explain,” says Tunde, a 29-year-old banker from Ibadan, still smarting from a breakup in January. “One day we’re fine, the next she’s gone—no remorse, nothing.”

Social media amplifies these stories. Posts trending online depict women celebrating their post-breakup glow-ups—new hair, new cities, new lives—while exes lament being ghosted or replaced. Critics call it ruthless; others call it liberation. “Why should I owe him my tears?” asks Ify, a 27-year-old influencer from Enugu, who dumped her boyfriend of three years after he cheated. “I grieved privately, then I leveled up. He doesn’t get to dictate my healing.”

Not everyone agrees this is progress. Some men argue it’s a power play—women weaponizing emotional detachment to punish. “It’s like they enjoy seeing us beg,” says Kunle, a 35-year-old engineer whose ex moved on within weeks. Relationship coach Tolu Adebayo counters that what looks like ruthlessness is often survival.

 

“Women are done carrying the emotional labor alone,” he says. “When they walk away, it’s not about cruelty—it’s about reclaiming agency.”

The fallout? A growing divide. Men report feeling blindsided, grappling with loneliness as women forge ahead. Yet, stories of female remorse do exist—just quieter. “I hurt him, and it haunts me,” admits Lara, a 30-year-old teacher from Port Harcourt, who ended a six-year relationship last year. “But staying would’ve hurt us both more.” Her guilt, though real, didn’t stop her from leaving.

As Nigeria navigates this evolving landscape, one thing’s clear: the breakup game has new rules, and women aren’t apologizing for playing to win. Whether that’s ruthlessness or resilience depends on who’s telling the story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Nigerian Women in Politics: Triumphs Shadowed by Turmoil.

 

By Prosper Mene 

In Nigeria’s political arena, women are scripting a story of striking contrasts—celebrated trailblazers breaking barriers, yet battling a relentless tide of sexism and exclusion. Today, this duality took center stage as public discourse spotlighted both the triumphs and tribulations of Nigerian women in leadership, a narrative unfolding against the backdrop of a nation where female representation remains stubbornly low.

The triumphs are undeniable. Figures like Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, the globally lauded Director-General of the World Trade Organization, and Aisha Yesufu, the firebrand activist who co-founded the #BringBackOurGirls movement, stand as beacons of what Nigerian women can achieve. Their names trended online today, praised for reshaping narratives of leadership and resilience. Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan, one of just four women in Nigeria’s 109-member Senate, joined their ranks—her recent defiance against alleged harassment by Senate President Godswill Akpabio earning her widespread admiration. “These women are proof we belong at the table,” said Kemi Adebayo, a political analyst in Lagos. “They’re not just surviving—they’re rewriting the rules.”

 

Yet, the turmoil is equally stark. Akpoti-Uduaghan’s story took a dramatic turn today when the judge hearing her appeal against a six-month Senate suspension withdrew, citing pressure from Akpabio’s camp. The suspension, handed down after she accused Akpabio of sexual harassment, has ignited outrage among women’s groups, who see it as a blatant attempt to muzzle dissent. “This is what happens when women speak truth to power in Nigeria,” said activist Oby Ezekwesili, herself verbally attacked by a pro-Akpabio senator this week. The episode underscores a grim reality: with women holding just 3.7% of National Assembly seats—ranking Nigeria 179th globally for female representation, per UN data—progress remains a battlefield.

 

Social media captured the tension vividly. Posts today hailed heroines like Okonjo-Iweala and Yesufu, while others lambasted women like First Lady Remi Tinubu and Abike Dabiri-Erewa, head of the Nigerians in Diaspora Commission, for allegedly aligning with controversial political agendas. “We celebrate the queens who lift us up, but call out those who prop up the system dragging us down,” one X user wrote, summing up the polarized sentiment. The criticism reflects a broader frustration: even as some women ascend, others are seen as complicit in a patriarchy that keeps most locked out.

 

The numbers tell a sobering tale. Since Nigeria’s return to democracy in 1999, female representation has barely budged, a stark contrast to neighbors like Rwanda, where women hold over 60% of parliamentary seats. Cultural barriers—derogatory labels like “prostitute” hurled at female candidates, as seen in past Bauchi elections—and structural hurdles like exorbitant campaign costs keep the glass ceiling intact. “It’s not enough to have a few stars,” said Funmi Oladele, a gender studies professor at the University of Ibadan. “We need a system that lets every woman with vision step forward.”

 

Today’s developments hint at both hope and hurdles. Akpoti-Uduaghan’s fight has galvanized women’s networks, with protests planned in Abuja next week. Meanwhile, younger voices—like 28-year-old Zainab Yusuf, who announced her 2027 candidacy for a state assembly seat—signal a rising tide. “I’m inspired by the triumphs, but I’m running because of the turmoil,” Yusuf said. “We can’t wait for permission anym

ore.”

This gives an insight on the struggles and wins of women in the Nigerian political landscape.
(more…)

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Senator Natasha’s Suspension Battle Intensifies: Judge Steps Down Amid Bias Claims.

By Prosper Mene 

The legal fight over Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan’s controversial six-month suspension from the Nigerian Senate took a dramatic turn today as Justice Obiora Egwuatu of the Federal High Court in Abuja recused himself from her case. The judge’s withdrawal, prompted by a petition from Senate President Godswill Akpabio alleging bias, has thrown yet another wrench into the embattled senator’s bid to overturn what she calls an “illegal” punishment, escalating a saga that has gripped the nation.

Akpoti-Uduaghan, representing Kogi Central and one of only four women in the 109-member Senate, was suspended without pay on March 6 following her allegations of sexual harassment against Akpabio. The suspension, upheld by a majority vote after the Senate ethics committee dismissed her petition on procedural grounds, stripped her of security details, barred her from the National Assembly, and halted her salaries—measures she and her supporters decry as vindictive. Today’s courtroom twist came as Egwuatu stepped aside, citing Akpabio’s challenge to his impartiality, and returned the case file to the Chief Judge for reassignment. No new hearing date has been set, leaving the senator’s fate in limbo.

The escalation has fueled outrage among women’s rights advocates and Akpoti-Uduaghan’s constituents, who see the suspension as a blatant attempt to silence a rare female voice in Nigeria’s male-dominated legislature. “This is a travesty,” said Chioma Agwuegbo, executive director of TechHerNG, a women’s rights group. “The Senate’s actions, now compounded by this judicial delay, send a chilling message: speak out, and you’ll be crushed.” Protests erupted outside the National Assembly earlier this month, with supporters chanting “Akpabio must go,” while counter-demonstrations backing the Senate president underscored the polarized public response.

Akpoti-Uduaghan’s troubles began in February when a seating dispute in the Senate chamber spiraled into a public clash with Akpabio. She accused him of tying her legislative motions to demands for sexual favors—an explosive claim he denies. The Senate insists her suspension stems not from the harassment allegations but from “gross misconduct,” including disruptive behavior and defiance of chamber rules. Yet, critics, including human rights lawyer Femi Falana, call it “legislative recklessness,” arguing it flouts natural justice and disenfranchises Kogi Central voters.

The legal battle has been fraught from the start. Egwuatu had issued an interim order on March 4 halting the Senate’s disciplinary process, only for the ethics committee to proceed anyway—a move Akpoti-Uduaghan’s team branded as contemptuous. Akpabio, meanwhile, has fought back, filing an appeal on March 20 to stay the High Court proceedings, claiming the judge’s rulings undermined legal norms. Today’s recusal hands him a tactical win, though it delays resolution further.

Public sentiment, especially online, is a cauldron of anger and support. Akpoti-Uduaghan, undeterred, has taken her case global, addressing the United Nations earlier this month and vowing to continue serving her people “till 2027 and beyond.”

 

 

 

 

 

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