Strange Affair: Meet The Husband, Wife And Concubine Living Under The SAME Roof

When mum-of-two Maria Butzki left her husband Paul for another man, she didn’t realise how much she’d miss him.
At the same time, she couldn’t imagine living without her new lover Peter Gruman.
So when the two men struck up an extraordinary friendship, she came up with the perfect solution… and moved Peter into the family home in Barking, East London.
Now Maria, 33, Paul, 37, their two ­children, Laura, 16, and Amy, 12, and Peter, 36, live as one big happy family.
“People might think it’s weird but I love both men and couldn’t choose between them,” says Maria, a ­housing liaison officer.
“When I left Paul there was a huge hole in my life. But the thought of never seeing Peter again was heartbreaking. So living with both men is the only way.”
Incredibly, the men agreed. Paul, a railway assessor, says: “Peter is a great guy. When Maria first had the affair with him I was just heartbroken. But as I got to know him, I realised we have so much in common. We both adore fishing, and he’s like a surrogate dad to the kids.”
Peter, a construction site manager, adds: “We all get on so well. It doesn’t feel as if I’m ­sharing Maria. There’s no ­jealousy …it feels as if we are a team.”
It was last year that they all moved in ­together after three years of ­Maria to-ing and fro-ing between her husband and lover.
Peter sleeps on the sofa while Paul has a room ­upstairs. Maria shares a bedroom with her eldest daughter.
She says: “The three of us never share a bed. Although I have a s*xual relationship with each man, that side is kept very private. If Paul is out, then Peter and I might make love, and vice-versa. But both men turn a blind eye and we never discuss it with one another.”
Maria was 15 when she and Paul met at school. After dating for two years, she unexpectedly became pregnant. Paul proposed seven months into her term and a month later they ­married. Four years after the birth of Laura, Maria had their second daughter Amy. But in 2006 their marriage hit a rocky patch.
Maria says: “Paul was out of work for six months and it put a strain on our ­relationship. The stress led to less s*x and we grew apart. Although we carried on with life – cooking, cleaning, looking after the child­ren – we’d lost our intimacy. The relationship was more brother and sister than a couple.”
Around the same time a new manager, Peter, started at Maria’s workplace.
“Someone introduced me to Peter and when we smiled at one another, I could feel the chemistry straight away,” she says. “Until that moment, I’d been happily married for 13 years to my childhood sweetheart and had never thought about being with another man.”
Peter, who was also married at the time, recalls the same instant attraction. “It was like a bolt from the blue… love at first sight,” he says.
Soon the pair were meeting secretly. “We’d meet at the local pub for lunch,” says Maria. “One day he put a hand on my leg and my whole body began trembling with desire. I knew it was wrong but soon we were sleeping together.”
Their affair carried on for a year before Paul stumbled on messages between them on Maria’s phone. She managed to convince him they were just friends. But a few months later her lover left his wife and moved from Luton, Beds, to be closer to Maria in Barking.
“I grew even closer to Peter,” says Maria. “Paul had to go away on business for a few weeks and so Peter took the children shopping, ­spoiling them rotten with gifts.”

But on Valentine’s Day in 2010, Maria says she could no longer cope with the secrecy. “I began to feel more and more that my future lay with Peter,” she says. “So I confessed my affair to Paul, and moved out to stay with Peter.”
Paul and the children were devastated. He says: “I was just shocked and heartbroken. I couldn’t believe Maria had left me.”
Over the next few months Paul and Maria took turns to have the children. “I felt bad about tearing the family apart,” says Maria. “So after work I’d go and clean and cook for Paul and the kids and then go home to Peter.”
Paul says: “While I was so upset, I decided to try to put the children first. It was going to be much better if we could all be mature adults and be amicable about it. I could see Peter was a decent guy. When the kids went to stay over I knew he was putting himself out to make sure they were happy. I’d go to pick them up and we got chatting.”
Over the next year their relationship became even more amicable. Maria says: “Rather than cook two separate dinners, it was easier to just do one and all sit down together. Paul and Peter got on so well they went on a fishing trip together. We even started going on days out and holidays together.
“It was strange but I noticed I felt at my happiest when we were all together. The children adored having both of them around too.”
Then in November 2012 the tenancy on Peter’s rented flat came to an end. He went to stay with a friend and Maria moved back to the family home. Maria says: “It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement but while I missed Peter terribly, it was fantastic to be back as a family.”
When Peter found another flat, Maria decided it was time to sit both men down and be honest with them. “I said I loved them both,” she says. “I said I couldn’t face living without either of them.”
To her delight, both men said they understood.
Peter says: “By now Paul and I had developed a huge respect for each other. We didn’t see one another as rivals for Maria’s affections. We were friends who got on well. At the same time I’d come to care so much for the children. It seemed natural to live together.”
Paul says: “Maria was and still is my soulmate.”
The “family” are now in the process of buying a larger house to accommodate them all.
Maria admits many friends and family find the arrangement difficult to understand.
“Some people are shocked, mostly because they get the wrong idea and think it’s some sort of threesome,” she says. “Most people seem to think I should just remain with Paul, but those who see all of us ­together think differently.” She adds: “There are huge benefits to living together. For example, as Paul and I leave for work early, Peter is often able to take the children to school.
“Ultimately the children benefit from three adults able to help with school work or give them lifts. Financially too, it makes sense as the bills are split three ways.”
Ironically, Maria is now the one who sometimes gets jealous. “I’m left on my own when the pair of them go on a long fishing trip,” she says.
She’s unsure what the sleeping arrangements will be in their new house. “But we would never have any sort of rota where I sleep with Peter one night and Paul the next. I do know I’m very lucky to have two wonderful men in my life.”

InformationNigeria

(EMOTIONAL PHOTOS) Ondo State Commissioner for Culture, Deji Falae Buried Today

The the late Ondo State Commissioner for Tourism, Barrister Ayodeji Olaniran Falae, who had died in the Associated Airline plane that had crashed on 3 October, was buried today after a funeral service at Saint David’s Cathedral, Ijomu, Akure, the Ondo State capital, southwest Nigeria.

Mrs Ese Falae, widow of the late Ondo State Commissioner for Culture and Tourism, Deji Falae, being consoled this morning during a funeral service before Deji’s burial in Akure
Ayodeji, who was the second son of former Secretary to the Government of the Federation, Mr. Olu Falae, died just 6 days to his 43rd birthday when an Embraer aircraft operated by Associated Airlines conveying the corpse of a former Governor of Ondo State, Chief Olusegun Agagu, from Lagos to Akure for burial, crashed shortly after take-off at Murtala Mohammed Airport, Lagos.
In honour of the late commissioner, a farewell service was held on Tuesday, 12 November, at This Present House, the dome end of Admiralty Road, Lekki Phase 1, Lagos State while a Christian wake took place on Wednesday at the Adegbemile Cultural Centre in Akure, Ondo State.

Ondo State Gov Segun Mimiko, Deji’s widow and others during the funeral service Ondo State Gov Segun Mimiko, Deji’s widow and others during the funeral service
According to a statement by Ondo State Commissioner for Information, Kayode Akinmade, the remains of the late commissioner will be laid to rest after the funeral service today.
The late Deji Falae is survived by his parents, his wife Ese, and 3 children, Ayomide, Wonuola, and Oreoluwa.

PM News

EFCC Arrests Gov. Sule Lamido’s Sons Over N10 Billion Money Laundering Fraud

Aminu Lamido and Mustapha  Lamido, sons of Jigawa State governor, Alhaji Sule Lamido were arrested yesterday, November 14, 2013  by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission, EFCC. Dependable sources say they were picked up by operatives of the Commission between 10 and 11.55pm in Kano and have been moved to Abuja, the Commission’s headquarters, where a crack team of investigators will grill them.
Their arrest, according to a knowledgeable source, is in furtherance of the investigation that commenced in December 2012 when Aminu Sule Lamido was arrested at the Mallam Aminu Kano Airport en route Cairo, Egypt for failure to declare the $50,000 he had on him.
Though Aminu has since been prosecuted and convicted by a Federal High Court in Kano, investigation as to how he came by the money has led investigations to uncover a web of money laundering in which billions of naira from Jigawa state government accounts are funnelled into the accounts of companies run by the Jigawa state governor and his two sons.
Over N10billion is said to have been transferred from Jigawa state government accounts into the accounts in which Sule Lamido and his two sons have interest from 2007 till date.
The Commission is said to have traced these transfers to 10 companies where Lamido and sons are directors and signatories to the account.
The companies include Bamaina Alluminium Limited, Bamaina Holdings Limited, Bamaina Company Nigeria Limited, Rawda Integrated Services Limited, Speeds International Limited and Saby Integrated Nigeria Limited.
The account of these companies received huge cash inflow between 2007 and 2013, a period that coincide with the tenure of Sule Lamido as governor of Jigawa state. For instance in Bamaina Aluminium where Sule Lamido and his two sons are directors, investigations revealed that the company’s account controlled by Mustapha as signatory received total credit of N1.52billion between January 2010 and August 2013. It recorded a total debit of the same amount, with Mustapha and other companies in which Lamido and his sons are directors, being the beneficiaries.
In the same vein, Bamaina Holdings Limited’s account with the governor as sole signatory received a total of N1.19billion between February 2007 and July 2013. About N1billion was paid from this account into accounts of companies controlled by the governor and his sons.
Massive lodgements were also discovered in the account of Bamaina Company Nigeria limited controlled by Mustapha as sole signatory from Bamaina Alluminium. Between January 2010 and July 2013, the account received over N500million.
 From the account of Rawda Integrated Services Limited controlled by Mustapha, there have also been massive movement of funds to another company run by Sule Lamido, Speeds International Limited. Speeds’ account recorded a turnover ofN2.2billion between January 2007 and February 2010.
 In the account of Rawda with a new generation bank investigators discovered the movement of N2.6billion to an unknown signatory. That account recorded over one hundred withdrawals running to over N600milion in cash between November 2007 and April 2008
Saby Integrated Services Nigeria Limited, another company owned by Lamido received over N730million from several Jigawa State government agencies between June 2010 and August 2010.

Saharareporters

Jackie Chan's Son Will Get None Of His $130 Million Fortune

Being the only son of international movie star Jackie Chan clearly comes with many privileges and advantages. Jackie Chan's only child, a 30 year old son named Jaycee, lived a life filled with opulent mansions, luxurious vacations, expensive cars, the best education and much more. 
Jaycee was even been able to launch his very own singing and acting career thanks to his famous father. But there is one important thing that Jaycee will not receive from his father.
Jackie Chan recently announced that upon his death, he will donate 100% of his $130 million fortune to charity and that his son Jaycee will be left out entirely…
While accepting an award in Beijing, Jackie was asked if Jaycee will inherit his massive fortune some day. Jackie stated that he was originally intending to donate half of his wealth to charity and leaving his family the other half but recently changed his will to leave 100% for charitable causes throughout the world.
The elder Chan explained: "If he is capable, he can make his own money. If he is not, then he will just be wasting my money."
Jackie also expressed regret for not sending Jaycee to the army where his son would have received "life experience and character."
If Jaycee wants to continue living an extravagant lifestyle, his career is going to need a boost. Since 2004 Jaycee has appeared in around 20 films, most of which have been major flops.
Jaycee's 2012 movie "Double Trouble" became one of the biggest box office failures in history grossing just $9000 at the box office, despite heavy marketing and promotion. He also starred alongside his father in 2010′s "1911″ which became Jackie's worst performing movie ever.
Jackie is not the only celebrity who plans on giving their fortune to charity instead of their children. Warren Buffett, Bill Gates and Ebay founder Pierre Omidyar are some of the more notable billionaires who have pledged their entire fortunes to charity.
Buffett is an especially staunch opponent of what he calls "dynastic wealth" (wealth that is so vast it creates generational dynasties).
Buffett refers to anyone who grew up wealthy as a "member of the lucky sperm club" and, like Jackie Chan, firmly believes that if his children work hard enough they can achieve great success the same way he did.
TON

Clarence Peters’ Mom, Clarion Chukwura, Returns To Nollywood

Ok, let me first explain to you the family famous music video director, Clarence Peters comes from.
Clarence Peters is the son of famous Nollywood actress, Clarion Chukwura  and famous Fuji musician Shina Peters. Bet most of you didn’t know that.
Anyways, his mother Clarion Chukwura, who stopped acting a long time ago is back.
She plays a role in the new Nollywood movie – ‘Hustlers’.
In the Elvin Chuks movie, the veteran actress comes alive with the role of a materialistic mother who aims at using her daughter, Mercy Johnson Okojie to pave way out of poverty.

Together with Nse Ikpe Etim, Mercy blends to her mother’s wish in the city life survival.
The actress says the movie is challenging but irresistible.
‘I had already taken a break in the movie industry, when Elvis gave me a brief summary about the movie; I said in my mind that there is nothing challenging about it.
Not until he brought the script and I read through it, I was amazed at the impeccable themes, characterization, plot and the rest, I couldn’t help but say yes’.
Other cast members include IK Ogbonna, Chelsea Eze and Paul Sambo.

InformationNigeria

EXPOSED: Married Women Who Secretly Work As Prostítutes In Lagos

A growing number of middle-class housewives secretly work as prostítutes, it has now been established.
Although accurate statistics are hard to come by, we have evidence that some of these women are so successful at it that they have even invested and own shopping boutiques and apartments within the city. And you guessed right: their husbands don’t know what their wives do.
The greedy ones do it for (more) money. But some do it to add thrill and adventure to dreary middle-class lives.
We met with a married prostítute on Wednesday at 11.30am. We had spoken on phone previously and for obvious reasons, she wasn’t keen to talk to journalists. Eventually, she agreed to be interviewed.
After waiting for ten minutes, she came driving a Toyota Saloon and, without getting out of the car, told us to follow her to a restaurant.
She was polished, her spoken English flawless.
“Listen, it’s not like I do something illegal or go out to the streets to wait for clients. Many women do it,” she began defensively.
Rachel (not her real name) has been married for seven years and has two children, both male. She refuses to disclose their ages.
“I have a husband that I love very much. He is a business man and he gave me some capital to start my own business,” she says.
The business wasn’t doing very well and one of her regular clients, also married, was keen to sleep with her, so she jokingly suggested that he stocks her business.
“He immediately sent me to his car to get his cheque book and wrote me a cheque for N75,000. He wanted to sleep with me in exchange and I saw no reason not to since we were both married and had to go home before midnight,” says Rachel.
After that incident, she has never looked back. She dates rich married men, who fund her businesses. She now owns four shopping boutiques in various parts of town and says she is putting up rental.
“There are a lot of rich men who would gladly pay to have my company for a few hours every day,” says Rachel. Her husband believes she has made all that money from her businesses.
All her clothes shops have different secret partners who are her lovers.
“They are partners but nothing is written down. I pleaded with them to give me the capital to fund the business. Some contribute a little but I doubt they want anything back,” says Rachel.
The trick, she says, is to once in a while send the man N20,000 as his share of profits.
“They laugh and tell me to plow it back into the business. Or when we meet, they even spend more on me. I am not a prostítute, I am just a business woman who never lets go of an opportunity,” says Rachel.
Then she drops a bombshell: Nearly all her friends, who are married, also have other men paying them for séx.
“I don’t know why people fool themselves. A woman who has children will do a lot of things to secure a bright future for her kids. Your wife will sleep with her boss for a promotion; she will sleep with another man to fund her business.”
“It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. Actually, she loves you so much. That’s why she doesn’t want to pass financial burdens to you yet she wants a good life for her family.
I have shares here and there. Some were gifts from previous lovers. I have the shops and I will not rest until my net worth comes to N200 million. I will do everything to get there,” says Rachel.
Tellingly, although she claims to be worth a tidy sum, she walks out of our meeting leaving me with a N3,000 bill, even though all I took was water while she ate chicken and had a glass of wine.
Rachel also referred us to another woman she calls her ‘godmother’ in the business. She owns an apartment and several flats in the city.
Her ‘godmothers’ first block of flats was built for her more than a decade ago by a Caucasian male ‘client’ she met. Her husband died four years ago, and she still does prostítution on the side and has built more rental houses.
Although we were given her contacts, she refused to meet us and stopped picking our calls.

TON

Deadliest Drive In Africa? Bus Ride From Abuja To Lagos As Told By Foreigner (PHOTOS)

American journalist narrates his experience of going by bus from Lagos to Abuja.
People told me I was insane for going on that journey. Two Nigerians I met, from Lagos, described it to me as “the deadliest drive in Africa.” But they only told me later. The day I embarked on a bus ride from Lagos to Abuja, Nigeria, I had no idea of any of that. And on the morning of Aug. 25, everything seemed to be going as smoothly as could be expected.
I was in Nigeria to take photos with my reporter and friend Connor Adams Sheets, who was set to arrive later that day in Abuja on a fellowship with the International Center For Journalists. But I had flown into Lagos, and needed to find a cheap way to get 475 miles (650 km) northwest to the Nigerian capital. I decided on the bus.
After haggling with the guy who organizes the rides and agreeing to pay the arbitrary sum of 4,680 Naira (about $29), I boarded the bus at the muddy, hectic lot that passes for the Lagos bus depot at about 6:30 a.m.

The word “bus” was extremely generous; it was nothing more than a 13-seat rusting white Toyota Coaster — or “Toaster,” as the locals called it — minivan that was packed by 7 o’clock.
Every inch of ratty upholstery but those taken up by my wiry frame was occupied by Nigerian travelers, mostly sullen adult males who were not making the trip for the first time, who waited with me. And waited. In true Lagos style, the driver didn’t show up until 8:30.
By then, the aisles were stacked so high with luggage, bags of clothes and even an old, crusty microwave oven that I couldn’t even see the woman sitting across the narrow aisle from me. I had to convince the driver not to bungee-cord my bags to the roof.

Not-So-Easy Riding
Once we were off, we had to endure a full hour of Lagos’ infamous “go-slow” traffic jams before the chaos of the city faded from view.
The next three hours were pretty hassle-free once you got used to the insanity of dodging craterlike potholes at upward of 80 miles per hour.
Most of the time was spent careening past dense, oppressively wet jungle. But occasionally we slowed down to pass through small villages where hawkers would run alongside us, shoving bags and trays of fruit, nuts and trinkets in the open windows, in mostly doomed attempts to make a few naira off the city folk.
We came upon our first roadblock around 11:30, and it was a fairly easy stop. Only five cars ahead, a few soldiers — or maybe they were cops, you can usually never tell for sure which are which in Nigeria — with AK-47s slung over their shoulders peered in the windows before waving us on.
We stopped a few times along the way to urinate or grab some fiery “food is ready” (Nigerian for fast food) and every so often the G-force of the van’s pothole-evading maneuvers threw me against the window glass, but we were making good time.
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The driver had estimated that the trip would take about eight hours, and it seemed like we’d be in Abuja in time to have a drink or two before dinner.

Confrontation
I hadn’t anticipated how many checkpoints would be ahead in Boko Haram-era Nigeria. Terrorism is a daily concern, and the government has clamped down hard.
I counted a succession of 10 military roadblocks over the course of the journey, which stretched to 13 claustrophobic hours, and it seemed that each stop was more intensive than the last.
The men with the oddly painted AKs — a blue stock here, a yellow barrel there, as if each piece was from a different war — started asking for ID and suspiciously examining my passport and visa. At the fourth checkpoint, they opened the door and scanned the interior of the bus, eyeballing me but eventually letting us proceed.
A couple dozen miles after that stop, we passed a semitruck that had rolled off the road, spilling its contents into the brush.
Shortly thereafter we came upon checkpoint 5, the worst one. There were about 30 cars in line when we pulled up, and cement blocks placed in the road, Iraq-style, to make sure you couldn’t blow through the stop.
It was a rare moment of stillness on the route, so I pulled out my vintage Canon film camera and started snapping photos out the window. A soldier ambled by and I took what I thought was a stealth shot, but when he slammed the b*tt of his fist against the back window and yelled something at the driver in a language I assumed was Yoruba, I knew I had been caught. You can’t take photographs of cops or military personnel in modern Nigeria.

The driver slammed on the brakes and then reached back to open the sliding door as the soldier ran around the right side.
When he got to the open door, he pointed at me and we stared one another down for a couple seconds before he barked, “white man, get off,” then “bring that camera with you.”
Knowing he had seen me photographing him, I had already torn the film out of the camera, and was holding the exposed roll up to show him as I disembarked.
“What am I going to do with that?” he asked dismissively. He seemed to be unfamiliar with film, and he snatched my camera out of my other hand and walked back to stand with his comrades.
I was dumbfounded and terrified, so I figured, “whatever, it’s a loss,” and got back in the van.
The driver, however, wasn’t going to allow such disrespect, so he pulled off the road and told me to come with him. Despite my vocal protests, we walked back to where the soldiers were resuming their car searches and explained that I was an oyibo — white person — new to the country and that I didn’t understand the rules. I apologized, they argued in a Nigerian language I assumed to be Yoruba, and finally the camera changed hands again.
“If we catch you doing that again, we’ll lay you out,” the soldier told me, pointing the barrel of his assault rifle at a spot on the ground.
But we won that round, and within minutes we had passed the roadblock and were back on the pockmarked open road.
We saw another accident aftermath during the long stretch before the sixth checkpoint. A minibus very similar to ours had flipped over, and people were still arguing about it on the side of the road. There was another totaled car, still smoldering, just past the seventh checkpoint.

Flattened
After we passed the ninth roadblock without incident, cement blocks started to pepper the roadway even when we were far from any soldiers. We were nearing Abuja, the nation’s capital and a popular terror target.
We slowly weaved our way through them, and the lead-footed driver would floor it whenever we came to an unimpeded stretch.
Then the inevitable happened. The driver, trying to dodge a massive canyon in the road, veered into the rocky median, where we were met by the unmistakable sound of a tire bursting. We had a flat just an hour from our destination.
At first the driver carried on as if nothing happened, perhaps trying to will away the problem. But the front-left tire eventually collapsed further, spewing fetid smoke into the air as we drove.
Eventually we stopped. The driver came back with a look of consternation on his face, but in Nigeria there’s no equivalent of the American AAA to rescue you — or at least, he certainly wasn’t a member — so we plodded on at 20 miles per hour for another several miles.
The tire continued to burn, and by the time we reached a rundown truck stop, I was choking on the light-gray smoke, feeling as though I was breathing in solid chunks of noxious rubber by the end.
When we finally parked, my fellow passengers and I vaulted out of the bus, gasping for air, and sprawled out on the ground a few feet away from the death trap we were all eager to leave behind.
The driver miraculously found a replacement tire within minutes, rolled it over, and had us back up and running within a half hour. After another 30 minutes we had reached the relative civilization of Abuja, and I felt a wave of relief at having escaped the harrowing drive mostly unscathed.
But there were still two more checkpoints to clear, and speed bumps of varied size. We cleared the smaller ones easily, but the bigger ones jolted us, sending my head crashing into the van’s ceiling and side window.
At the last roadblock, a soldier popped his head inside the van and asked me where I was coming from. I said Lagos, and he responded, shaking his head, “Why would you do that?”
I was nauseous, sore and tired when we pulled into the makeshift city center of Abuja. Traffic was sluggish and the fumes were strong, but when I finally got out of the van and arrived at my hotel via cab, it was as heavily fortified as any of the stops along the road from Lagos. A man with an AK-47 waved me past the steel gate.
“Welcome to Abuja,” I thought, and walked inside.