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US rapper/model Chynna Rogers suddenly die at age 25

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An American rapper and model, Chynna Rogers, who performed with ASAP Rocky’s hip-hop aggregate ASAP Mob, has died out of nowhere at 25 years old, as affirmed by her manager

“I can unfortunately confirmed Chynna died,” her director John Miller told Billboard’s Stereogum by means of email. He included that her family stated, “Chynna was deeply loved and will be sorely missed”.

A statement from her management crew at True Panther peruses: “Find happiness in the hereafter Chynna. Sorrowful. All the affection to those she deserted. Goodbye angel”

The reason for death still can’t seem to be uncovered.

Previously, Rogers struggled with opioid addiction, yet there is no sign on the off chance that it had anything to do with her demise.

Chynna Rogers who was conceived in Philadelphia, began her career as a model, in the wake of marking with Ford Models when she was only 14

Before long, she became friends with A$AP Mob originator A$AP Yams and discharged her first single Selfie in 2014 and Glen Coco in 2014 through A$AP Ant and DJ Nick’s Marino Gang record name, which became viral hits on YouTube.

It was the late Yams who gave Rogers the certainty to seek after a profession in music and in 2015, she discharged EP’s entitled I’m Not Here in 2015, trailed by Ninety out of 2016.

Likewise in 2017, Rogers discharged her EP, Music 2 Die 2. Her last release, ‘in case I die first’, dropped in January.

A$AP Mob led tributes to the young artist on Twitter. He wrote: “REST EASY CHYNNA. WE GON MISS U SIS,”

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Entertainment

Help! The future of my hometown is bleak. By Tomy Bakare.

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Grief has a way of making one think. Last week, I went home to Ikire to mourn the passage of my elder sister, Ronke Oyeyode (nee Bakare).

She joined the angels after losing the battle to cancer. Death is mocked because he could not do her a thing again. She has transformed from the ordinary mortal to the land of the glorious immortal. Death is thus put to shame. Her life and time is not the subject of this piece (There are so many things going on in my head now that won’t allow the kind of concentration), rather it is about the impending death of Ikire. The place of my birth is on the death bed and her future is bleak. Do not misunderstand me. It is not about the deplorable state of the roads within the community. It has nothing to do with the epileptic power supply or lack of basic amenities of life that were taken for granted in the seventies. That was a time public taps were running, roads were smooth and electricity was steady. The deplorable condition of things today is common symptoms of irresponsible leadership and is not peculiar with Ikire. It is actually prevalent in most communities in Osun and beyond. I was in Ife, the cradle of Yoruba culture, and ashamed successive administrations in Osun usually looked away and failed to give that ancient city the attention it deserved.

The inner-city roads are more like ponds and would better serve the community with canoes. Since 1999, I doubt if any repair work has been done on those roads. What you have are carcasses of Western Region public works and relics of Uncle Bola Ige administration of Old Oyo state. We seemed to be under a potent spell of lying politicians who never kept their campaign promises. They promised heaven on earth but ended making the world scarier than the hellfire. That is not even my concern here. My concern is not about the chaotic present. My grouse is that the future of my home town cannot be guaranteed. Why? Just wait. Jose Rizal, the Philippine freedom fighter said; “the youth is the hope of our fatherland.” Conversely, the fatherland is hopeless if the youth has no certain future. Here is my concern. Each time I followed a sympathizer who came to condole with the family over our loss to the road a few meters away from the house, an offensive smell of cannabis rented the air. At first, I ignored it as a one-off. After many stops at the spot, it became apparent that it is a regular occurrence. It is a two-four-seven thing. This made me probe further. I discovered that the small kiosk nearby is the joint where the persistent foul smell emanated from. The place was crowded by mostly teenagers who may be oblivious of that their future is in jeopardy.

On one occasion, I thought the game was up for the gang when a police vehicle pulled over. To my bewilderment, the four policemen who came down the vehicle happily exchanged pleasantries with the boys, paid, and collected some of the stuff sold at the ‘joint’. One even collected lighted stuff from one of the boys and took a long puff at it before they drove away. Further enquiries revealed there are about 15 other kiosks in the community. I counted 9 of them and observed boys smoke their brains out. In those days, there were young men who smoked banned substances in the community. However, it was not as widespread as it has become. Such activities were shrouded in secrecy. Those caught smoking became about derision and a source of shame to their families.

The open display of this thief-of-the-future and the obvious absence of any effort to stop it suggest that the community has greatly reduced their concern.

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