Oct 7, 2010


South Africa's Archbishop Desmond Tutu is stepping down from public life, as he celebrates his 79th birthday.

Oct 4, 2010


It drives me mad that you want to rule Nigeria and you are busy championing sectional cause over national cause. IBB,truth must be told: You killed this our beloved country in 1985 when you overthrew Buhari/Idiagbon and opened up the floodgates of all the evil that has beset us as a nation.Most painful was JUNE 12 annulment. Do you know how many people who died from that single error of judgment of yours.Let me tell you,my father who was a diehard patriot of this once beloved nation,died years later when he was unable to find answers to why you had to annul such a free and fair elections won by Chief MKO Abiola. In June 93,you almost broke up this country. You really wanted to,as you stubbornly held on to power,but for providence and 'peoples power'.I expected you to at this stage of your life to be playing the role of an elder statesman to ease the pains of that wicked act of yours in 1993 and at the same time be at the forefront of championing a charity in honour of your late wife Mariam and humanity in general.
Sir,what is it that you want to offer this country that you couldn't offer when you held sway for 8 years? If you so love the North as you are championing,why dont you throw your support behind a young dynamic and visionary candidates like Nuhu Ribadu,El Rufai or even encourage Maj (Rtd) Abubakar Umar to take a notch at the presidency? What makes you think that you are the Messiah for the North? IBB,you and I know so well that all those guys drumming for you are only doing that for what they will get from you. If they love you so much,they will tell you the truth and only the truth-You don't need to heat up the polity.
Take a bow!

Sep 16, 2010


Nigerians can be fanatically crazy about clubs in the English Premier League. On weekends you get to hear die-hard fans in the streets of Lagos,Owerri or Kaduna referring to Chelsea FC as ''our club'' or dorning a complete all red outfit of Manchester United or Arsenal or blue colours of Chelsea.Last Saturday I encountered this pretty girl who punctuated every of her speech with ''our players..our coach...our team..will win the Premier League cup.'' I was almost getting infurated with her posing.I asked her:''Excuse me,which one be your club wey you no wan let person hear word so?'' ''Ah so you dont know my club,even from my complete to match blue dressing? Anyway,to save you the stress,My club is Chelsea-GUNNERS FOR LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!". Did i hear her well? She repeated the words again ''My club is Chelsea-GUNNERS FOR LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!''. Hmmmmm?I just shook my head. So many of us don't even know the clubs we are fanatical about.When I first heard of Drogba was when he moved to Chelsea.I was in Aba,Abia state then. I thought the guy was an Igbo boy because everybody was just calling him 'Idurogba''.

Apr 15, 2010



My book A Heart to Mend is now available in Nigeria from Magic Wand Publishing. It will be available in all book stores after the launch on Tuesday April 20, 2010. The first 500 books will contain a raffle ticket/ free bookmark. The first prize to be won from a random draw will be an Ipod. Other prizes include a Thesaurus, Memory Cards, internet modems, and Flash drives. Please see attached pictures, you can also download the wallpapers and posters for your use.

To get your advance copy, or for further inquiries, call 08098643221, 08059864322To read the chapter one, click -

Thank you

Myne Whitman



Sheltered Gladys Eborah has spent most of her life in a suburb of Enugu brought up in a deprived single parent household after losing her father as a young girl. After finishing her education, she moves to Lagos to seek a job and moves in with an estranged aunt who now wants to be forgiven for all perceived wrongs. Gladys suspects Aunt Isioma abandoned them out of disdain for their poverty, and has the uneasy role of the bridge between both families.Her new friendships and career achievements gradually transition Gladys into an independent young woman. Soon, she begins to fall for wealthy Edward Bestman who, though physically attracted to her, is emotionally unavailable. Edward is very wealthy, but he is haunted by the past of his illegitimate birth and other secrets he will not share. The themes of premarital sex, social class mobility, and romantic ups and downs that mark a budding love are fully explored. However, Myne Whitman takes the story even further. Some unnamed people are about to take over Edward’s business empire and Gladys is implicated. Who are these people who want to betray him and destroy their happiness?


What the maven's are saying;

"Only few writers that spin this kind of tale... For once, we get the feeling that we are treading this path of love with the characters and again, we try to be one with the city, which is a character on its own. Truth is; Whitman has charmed me. Enthralling!"

- Onyeka Nwelue, author of The Abyssinian Boy

“Nigerians and indeed Africans are not known for romance writing. The reason can be attributed to the sense of morality (real or apparent) that seeks to relegate issues of love to the secrecy of bedrooms and treats sex as something to be talked about only in hushed tones like it were some mysterious sacred ritual...Myne Whitman’s book, A Heart to Mend, makes a bold statement to the contrary.”

- Sylva Nze Ifedigbo, Author of Whispering Aloud

“…the beauty of this book, is that there is redemption for all…in tandem with the title cover, that there can indeed be mended hearts”

- Ify Malo

“…love (even with all its problems) can transform a person and heal them enough to allow forgiveness in a heart.”- FFF, http://www.shotmusinz.blogspot.com/

“The book has been buzzing and is a definite buy.”

- Arinze Obikili, http://www.jaguda.com/

"A HEART TO MEND narrates the relationship between Gladys and Edward and offers a unique reading experience. Direct and action packed, the masterful use of emotion and suspense will keep readers totally engrossed and guessing till the end."

“Filled with questions and themes of clashing backgrounds, societal class, premarital sex, family feuds and personal scandals, this book will have you flipping through the pages anxiously…It brings you back to the realities of life: how fragile love can be and the realizations of trust and fear.”

- Mariam Olagunju, http://www.gidilounge.com/

“Myne Whitman has written a captivating first novel…”

“…it is the journey, not the destination that entertains in this novel, and the author has done a great job of creating a story of two characters who engage our sympathies and who we find wanting to triumph over the odds that are thrown their way.”- http://www.nigeriavillagesquare.com/

“More than anything this book is a breath of fresh air - very different from the stereotypical images portrayed in most books regarding the continent...this is just plain easy feel good read like a top selling novel sitting on the Romance aisle at Borders or Barnes and Nobles.”

- Olamild Entertainment, http://www.olamildentertainment.com/

A captivating contemporary African love story, A HEART TO MEND is best described as heartwarming, vivid and charming. Myne Whitman delivers romance in her first and newly released novel with such practicality and skill. It is an unforgettable love story weaved together by a quixotic and imaginative mind that is both believable and relatable!- N Amma Twum-Baah, Founder and Editor, Afrikan Goddess Online "A Heart to mend is a fearless tale about love….an unbiased story of the struggles, failures, victories, strength and harsh decisions people face at some point because of those they love. This book has a story that has been broken down and told with smooth and simple language. A Heart to mend is a delicious and beautiful story."

Feb 8, 2010


C is for cancer
By Toni Kan

MY brother, Charles Emeka Onwordi, (February 2, 1968 - December 21, 2009) would have been 42 today as I write this tribute to his short but eventful life. Trained as a Fine Artist at the Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, we graduated the same year even though there was an almost four-year age difference between us and schooling together in close proximity, I at Jos and he in Zaria, meant that we soon became more of peers than older and younger brother but no matter how close we got, he still remained Broda to me.

My brother had been ill for close to a year for what was diagnosed as pile or Haemorrhoids. He fluctuated between periods of wellness and illness but it never went beyond a stomach ache or diarrhea. Then on December 19, 2009, he called me to say he was vomiting blood and I asked him to go see my doctor immediately. He drove there himself and was admitted but when I saw him the next day at the hospital, I experienced a sudden and inexplicable panic attack; my brother was at death's door.

The thought came to me without a diagnosis; the mere sight of my brother with his distended stomach and emaciated frame left me in tears and I remember walking downstairs blinded by my tears as I bawled like a baby. The last time I saw him was a mere 12 days earlier and in that short span of time my brother had undergone some severe depreciation. I hadn't yet gotten a grip of myself when I re-entered his room and one look at me and he said "You are crying for me, abi? So, what do you want me to do?"

Things moved pretty fast in the next few days. My doctor, a thorough and methodical man, who had seen him about three months earlier was upset that my brother never came back for the test he had asked him to undergo, didn't have a good prognosis. I recall his exact words: "I suspect he has a growth in his stomach which is causing a blockage. I just hope it is not malignant. You know what malignant is?" I know what malignant is but what is a man without hope. My brother underwent a CT Scan on Monday and by the time I walked into the hospital that Monday evening and was summoned to the doctor's consulting room, I suddenly realised that my life was about to change in a way I had never imagined.

The doctor showed me an x-ray film that had been placed against a light box. It turned out that he, not being an oncologist, had placed it wrongly. But the full picture would emerge a short while later when we were joined by another doctor, a surgeon who had been summoned from Lagos University Teaching Hospital (LUTH). The diagnosis was dire. My brother had Cancer of the Colon. It had spread or metastized from the Colon to the liver and latched on to a bone. The large intestine was completely gone so he could no longer pass waste. The immediate imperative was to open him up, drain the waste, perform a colonoscopy and drill a hole through his tummy from where he would pass waste. My brother's life was changing irreversibly too.
"How bad is this?" I asked sweeping aside all the arcane medical terms.
"Sit down," the doctor said and I did. My doctor for about nine years now, I have always trusted his judgement.

And so he told me what to expect. He said Cancer is a disease that destroys and impoverishes families and there is scant chance of the person getting better. He also said that right now, aside from Malaria and Road accidents, Cancer has become the third highest killer of young people in Nigeria. But he did add a caveat, "We are doctors, but we can never rule out miracles."
I left them and walked outside into the gathering dusk, tottering like a drunk. I was confused and depressed. My brother was just 41. He had a wife and three kids. The eldest, like mine, was just six going on seven. He was by every definition of the term, a young man.

I walked the length of the street, then sat on a slab and cried like a baby, the second doctor's words echoing in my head: "what we can talk about now is quality of life not quantity of life." The sub-text was clear, there was a shroud hanging over my brother's head; he was living on borrowed time. How much time, was what no one could say. My parents were upstairs and in the dark with regard to the diagnosis but I told the doctor I needed my brother to know. The doctors wanted to know if I was sure and I told them that my brother is a fighter and if he knows he will fight for his life the way a horse would; with all his strength.

So, we went upstairs, asked everyone to leave and told him. He was calm and his only question was: "When is the surgery? Tonight?" He didn't sleep that night. The pain and anxiety kept him awake and by 6am, he was already in the theatre. It lasted all of three hours and my brother was out looking rested, relieved and relaxed for the first time since he checked into that hospital. But it was a mirage. The cancer had done serious damage. I remember the surgeon wringing his hands as he spoke to me after the surgery. He was almost in tears. His eyes were red and he kept saying "Ah, he should have come earlier. He should have come earlier."
My brother's blood and system had been poisoned by the waste that had burst in his stomach. He was given powerful antibiotics and we were told that the next 24 hours were critical. His liver had also been damaged by the cancer which had spread all the way up and as we all know, we have only one liver. There is no spare unlike the kidney. He slept. He rested and we even spoke but by 7 p.m., everything went down hill as he went into what they call extremities. His blood pressure was fluctuating like a yoyo as his system began shutting down from Acute Septicemia or blood poisoning. It was heartbreaking to watch him expire in degrees. He cried, begging for water, as his lips caked over from dehydration. And for the first time since he took ill, I saw my brother show fear as he watched the doctors and nurses scurrying about looking for what to do to stabilise him. And as I watched them, I leaned close to him and said "Broda, you have fought this thing. Just pray and rest."

He died hours later in the intensive care unit of our hospital in Surulere. And his death threw up many issues for us. First, is the quality of health care in Nigeria and the parlous state of our health care system. A qualified doctor had treated him for over one year for pile while the actual disease, Cancer of the Colon ravaged his body, running wild and destroying healthy cells. It makes you wonder whether we now train butchers instead of life-savers.

Secondly, at about 8pm, the surgeon had suggested that we move him to another hospital where they had better Intensive Care equipment. There were two options. LUTH and a private hospital in Apapa. Calls were made. LUTH was available but there was no light. So, we were left with the private hospital option. They demanded a one million naira deposit. When we said we could afford it, another call was placed explaining his situation at which point, the hospital said they wouldn't accept him because the prognosis didn't look good and they didn't want to appear fraudulent.

The President can fly to Saudi Arabia, at our expense, where there are Intensive Care units every mile and the light never blinks. But how many of us hapless tax payers can walk into a government hospital and come out with an analgesic? That, not my brother's untimely and avoidable death, is the real tragedy. Happy 42nd birthday, Broda and rest in peace

Toni Kan is a popular Nigerian writer,columnist and company executive