Trending with Nancy Mbaegbu
My people, it’s time to take a chill pill, sip some wine and relax, because this no be birthday party oh, na presidential inauguration mixed with spiritual revival.
Obi Cubana, Chief of Enjoyment, clocked 50 and instead of whispering “Thank you, Jesus,” this man entered celebration mode that made angels pause to praise and say, “Wait first, who dey party like this?” The party shook Abuja, Nigeria’s capital like thunder. It shattered Nigeria’s internet for three business days.
Let’s talk gifts. His younger brother and business partner pulled up with 50 brand new tricycles. Yes, Kekes. Not phones. Not perfumes. Two trailers of them, parked like they were launching a new logistics company.
As if that wasn’t enough confusion, one man showed up with 50 full-grown, horn-swinging, beard wearing rams. Obi just laughed like, “Una dey try. You wan turn my compound to Noah’s ark?” My sister, if na me, I for cry tears of designer perfumes.
Day one of the celebration? Madness with vibes. Samsung sponsored an all-white VIP soirée, right inside Obi’s mansion. That wasn’t a party, it was a lifestyle seminar. Phones we’ve never seen in Nigeria were handed out like party packs.
Men glowed like fresh oil money, and the women? Imported elegance! Every bite of food felt like it was seasoned by ancestors with culinary degrees. The only thing missing was a trumpet announcing, “Welcome to paradise.”
Day two? Transcorp Hilton turned into heaven with chandeliers. Celebs, politicians, business moguls, oil barons. If you no see your fave there, maybe them never blow. Money rained like it was allergic to wallets. Pounds, dollars, naira, nobody cared about conversion rate that night. One table spent enough to fund a local government election. If Instagram had blood pressure, it would have fainted. Everybody came dressed like they had a red carpet appointment with destiny.
Day three was supposed to be a “recovery brunch.” But please, which recovery? Even hangovers showed up in kaftan and Gucci slippers. Soft jazz, bottomless champagne, and vibes that smelled like success. Brands lined up like JAMB candidates to associate with the party. There was a ₦2 million logo competition, a car giveaway, and one brand did a 50-day countdown just to count down to enjoyment. Who dey breathe?
Now, the gifts? Ah! Custom-made suits you can’t wear twice, diamond wristwatches that can blind your enemies, ₦100 million in cash, and someone even mentioned a whole island. Obi Cubana no just celebrate birthday, he used the opportunity to remind the country that enjoyment is not a sin. And me? I was watching from my phone, shouting “Amen!” like I was in the congregation.
If your birthday doesn’t involve rams, tricycles, and billionaire blessings, my dear… go back to the drawing board.
Deliverance or husband snatching church?
Imagine you carried your husband to church for deliverance, only for the prophetess to deliver him straight into her own bedroom! As in, the Holy Spirit whispered, “Take… he is yours now,” and just like that, bros relocated. No forwarding address, no goodbye text; straight into the arms of the woman of God. Na rapture or romantic robbery?
This hot gist started when Dr. Chido, director of Hungry and Angry NGO, dropped a bombshell voice note on Facebook. My people, the streets have not known peace since then. The voice note? A call between Mrs. Njoku and one Prophetess Beyoncé, who boldly admitted snatching the husband… with divine backing! People were rewinding like it was Netflix, part two loading!
Now, let’s rewind. Mrs. Njoku, a Nigerian woman based in the city of Liverpool, thought she was living her best married life until her husband started behaving like someone wey dem unplug from the marriage socket. Man would leave the house and forget the road back. No calls, no texts, Just vibes, silence, and premium emotional ghosting. Out of frustration, she confided in her friend, who now suggested they visit one “very anointed prophetess” to pray the man back to factory settings. That’s how they landed in front of Prophetess Beyoncé.
No be music Beyoncé oh; this one carries Bible and divine Wi-Fi. Prophetess Beyoncé welcomed them with holy hugs and heavy prayers. She laid hands on Mr. Njoku, gave him “healing” advice. But instead of spiritual restoration, na romantic relocation happen.
Few days later, Mr. Njoku stopped coming home completely. Mrs. Njoku, in shock, returned to church to report. That’s when the prophetess looked her dead in the eye and said, “Sweetheart, you’re not the one. The Holy Spirit told me he belongs to me now.” Chineke, God of Elijah!
Wait first, she didn’t even deny it. They added her on a call, and she said it proudly “While I was fasting for you, God said the man is mine. So, I collected him.” Collected like package from DHL. And to crown it, she had the audacity to tell Mrs. Njoku, “Don’t worry, I can help you find another husband.” Ah! Is this church or spiritual matchmaking center? Talk about Holly Ghost fire with romantic intentions!
Since that voice note dropped, the internet has been vibrating. Some people are dragging Mrs. Njoku: “Why you carry marriage matter go prophetess? You no see say fire dey there?” Others are defending Beyoncé the Prophetess, saying, “Maybe na true. Holy Spirit sabi see things wey our eyes no fit see.” One guy even typed, “Konji no be sin. Maybe God just pity her.”
Na so we enter argument: was it divine revelation or desperate snatching? Prophetic destiny or coded romantic destiny? Either way, my loves, next time you carry your spouse for prayers, hold him like car key in Oshodi, because the anointed might just be hearing from the Holy Spirit… with your man’s name on her lips.
Kemi Olunloyo unfollowed her ancestors
Just when we were still recovering from the prophetess that snatched somebody’s husband in the name of divine assignment, Dr. Kemi Olunloyo, Nigeria’s favorite internet drama plug and certified wahala journalist decided to scatter the table of family values.
Her father, the former governor of Oyo State, Dr. Victor Omololu Olunloyo, just passed on. But instead of the usual “he was a great man” tribute, our aunty Kemi logged into Instagram and said, a “Don’t send me condolences. I am not
part of that family!” Ah! Even Lucifer blinked twice.
Sis didn’t cry, she didn’t post black-and-white photo, she didn’t wear black wrapper. She came online and disowned her entire lineage, like she was editing her family tree on Microsoft Word.
According to Kemi, she already gave public warning in 2024: no matter who dies, she’s not attending any burial. And true to her word, she stayed in her house, hugged her WiFi, and started dishing generational secrets like Sunday rice. This wasn’t mourning. This was episode one of a tell-all docu-series.
She claimed her late father was never a daddy in the true sense, said he emotionally and physically abused her, sabotaged her career, and treated her like expired jollof.
Meanwhile, he allegedly hyped his other kids like they were presidential candidates. Kemi said she suffered because of the man and now that he’s gone, she feels free. Free as in… “the hater has finally logged out.” At this point, even village people dropped their calabash to watch.
Online in-laws didn’t know whether to cry or collect popcorn. Some were typing “Ahh Kemi, forgive and forget,” others were like “No lies detected.” But aunty no gree. She started posting throwback pictures with captions like “The family I don’t know,” and I said, “Dear Lord, what type of real housewives of Ibadan is this?” Every post was given trauma meets-timeline, with a touch of “drag everybody, block nobody.”
While her siblings were probably selecting aso-ebi and planning how to immortalize daddy dearest, Kemi was busy on Instagram saying, “Don’t tag me in funeral posts.” She was serving pain, pepper, and premium content with a straight face. At one point, I started checking if Netflix has called her yet, because this is not an Instagram thread, this is an award-winning limited series.
So if you think your family has issues, just remember Kemi Olunloyo has cut ties with her entire bloodline, changed her WiFi password, and said, “I don’t know these people.” No tears. No apologies. Just pure Gen-Z style block and delete energy in Gen-X packaging.
Moral lesson? Not all family tea is Lipton, some dey burn tongue like boiling kerosene. And Madam Kemi? She’s not sipping, she’s serving it hot and loud, with screenshots for garnish.
Designer brands caught red-handed in China
Just when we were still trying to recover from Aunty Kemi’s diatribe, China entered the group chat with a mic-drop moment that shook the entire luxury fashion industry like bad generator wire. My Loves, this tea is hotter than harmattan pepper soup, and if you’ve ever flexed a designer bag with pride, e be like say it’s time to check if your so-called “luxury” item has Chinese citizenship.
It all started on TikTok, where one Chinese factory worker casually pressed “record” and decided to drag Hermès like village generator. Oga showed himself sewing what looked like a Birkin bag. Yes, the one that sells for $35,000! He said the whole thing costs just $1,300 to make. The internet instantly entered panic mode. And before you could say “Made in Italy,” other factory workers started dropping exposé like it was Black Friday.
The thing weak everybody. People wey use one-year savings buy Gucci began to question their life decisions. Twitter (sorry, X) was on fire. One guy said, “So I sold my iPhone and even borrowed to buy bag wey dem sew beside a rice warehouse?” Even influencers began deleting their “Soft life activated” captions and replacing them with “Buy what makes you happy.” Sis, is it now you know?
But here’s where it gets sweeter: this factory saga no be by mistake o! It’s happening during U.S.-China trade tension, and instead of shouting back diplomatically, China picked violence and factory footage. They said, “You dey fight us? Okay, let’s show the world where their luxury bags truly come from.” They’re even inviting people to skip the middleman and buy designer-grade straight from the factory. Who needs Paris Fashion Week when you can get same drip in Zhejiang with change for shawarma?
Now, luxury brands dey sweat. Their PR teams are spinning faster than DJ at Yoruba weddings. Some are screaming “We value craftsmanship.” Others are hiding behind blurry statements like, “It’s about the brand experience.” But when people don see aunty Ling stitching Chanel beside a boiled corn seller, what do you want us to believe?
People are now side-eyeing their $2,000 shoes like, “So na China sew you too?” And the best part? Chinese netizens are now running full exposé tours online. They’re listing brands, showing factory locations, even sharing behind-the-scene footages.
The drama is dragging brands like Versace, Coach, Prada and honestly, even Beyoncé hasn’t trended this hard since Coachella.
So If you dey use designer bag take oppress people at Owambe parties, just know say one Mr. Wei might be the real MVP behind your drip. Because with the way China dey spill this tea, e go soon reach eyelashes, perfumes, even that your boyfriend’s boxers.
Next time you carry your bag with pride, remember it might be Made in China, but now trending worldwide.
Stay tuned to gist nation in the next edition for more juicy gists.
