Other snaps show her cheering with friends and sharing hugs, all round having a good day out.
It comes just after Emily gave her fans a sneak peak into her new countryside home.
She teased her new abode with some subtle photos including one of a rustic bookshelf in the interior, old fashioned panelled walls and lovely wooden flooring.
Captioning the snaps, Emily wrote: “Welcome to our new home!
“Can’t wait to bore you all to death with my unhinged wallpaper decisions.”
Emily also shared a number of photos during the process of her moving house with her fiance Alistair Garner, including pics of moving boxes and a removals and storage van.
She brought her beau along for the game
Emily posed with a huge grin and two thumbs up outside the van as it was being loaded.
Excited about the new chapter, she reflected on how far she had come.
“From single girl flats in Camden, to where I had my baby in North London. Now the big one.
“As me Al, Barney and Penny have moved out of London and to the countryside to our dream home.”
Ali Juwon’s future shattered at the same time his father’s leg did. The year was 2012, and the 9-year-old, hand in hand with his mother, was fleeing his home in Borno State, northeastern Nigeria. Boko Haram members had stormed their community in Gwoza, killing neighbours and burning buildings Ali had known his entire life.
As he and his mother ran, a familiar voice cried behind them. Both turned to see that Ali’s father had crashed to the ground, crushing his leg in the process. Yet, with all the odds stacked against them, the three managed to make it out with their lives.
The family travelled for half a day to Nigeria’s federal capital, Abuja, and sought refuge in the Durumi IDP camp like many survivors at the time.
The camp, with the flurry of Borno survivors, was overcrowded, but Ali’s mother promised him it would not be home, only a resting place before they could find their footing again. Over 14 years later, the Juwon family continue to reside there.
Ali, now 23, explained how the situation derailed his life, “Before fleeing, my father had a business and was able to afford all my needs. Since he broke his leg, he hasn’t been able to work, and because we couldn’t get him properly treated, his leg never healed well. He hasn’t walked since the fall. Suddenly, all the luxuries we could afford before have vanished.”
Being the only child in his family, Ali took it upon himself to care for his parents. The only thing he needed was a decent education that would lead to a business or accounting degree. He planned to join whatever lucrative fields these courses would thrust him into and use his money to get himself and his parents a place away from the camp.
But Ali quickly learnt that he was no longer in Borno, dependent on his well-to-do father. His education now rested in the hands of IDP leaders, non-profit donors, government promises, and his own hustle. As the years wore on, he learnt that even with seemingly more helpers, his chances of finishing school had dimmed significantly.
In the Durumi IDP camp, displacement does not end with fleeing violence. For many, it continues in the classroom. While primary education is often supported by NGOs or private donors, secondary school is where the system collapses.
According to camp leaders, the girls in the camp are often married off after their basic education ends, as secondary education is no longer attainable without sustained government intervention. Hundreds of displaced boys, on the other hand, are forced to choose between survival and schooling, a gap that is reshaping their futures and deepening Nigeria’s long-term social and economic vulnerabilities.
No way past secondary school
“In primary school, things were okay. NGOs sponsored my schooling, but once I got to secondary school, that was where the real problem began. No one sponsored secondary schooling for us,” Ali explained.
Liyatu Yusuf, the woman leader of the Durumi camp, finds the schooling situation distressing.
“We had certain sponsors who do everything for these children. Usually, it’s from an individual with a good heart. We used to do their secondary school education in the camp as well, but due to a lack of teachers and overcrowding, we had to stop it.”
According to her, over 1,000 students occupy the less spacious class, forcing them to have seven different sessions in just one class. But that’s not just the problem. There is a lack of teachers, too.
“The teachers we have are university volunteers. They would come three times in a week, but then refuse to come the next week because no one was paying them or giving them transport money,” Liyatu said.
A classroom meant to hold more than 2oo standing students at a time. Photo: Rukkaya Saeed/HumAngle.
Liyatu says the children never receive government sponsorship, and that many of the people who help the children through primary school are good-natured individuals or NGOs. Despite record education budgets announced in Abuja, camp leaders say they have not seen much implementation, especially for the displaced children like those in Durumi.
In a 2025 press release by the Presidential State House Villa, Nigeria’s Vice President, Kashim Shettima, called for collaboration between the government and the private sector to invest in education, as the burden of educating children cannot fall entirely on the government’s shoulders. But in the Durumi IDP camp, help has come mainly from the camp leaders and individual sponsors.
So, with no one to help him through secondary school, Ali did what several boys in the camp chose to do: work and fund his education in tandem. This way, he would be able to pay for school with the money he made and leave some for his unemployed parents.
But this was not an easy route, and soon the stress of paying for so much caught up with the boys. Salim Aliyu, for example, now runs a small provision shop near Durumi, as his education ended in Senior Secondary (SS) 1.
“I’m 25 now,” he said. “I stopped at SS1 because it was too expensive. Transport alone was about ₦1,000 every day. How much was I earning to pay that?”
At the time, Salim did menial jobs, sweeping houses and cleaning compounds to survive. Eventually, the numbers stopped adding up. “One day, I realised I couldn’t continue. I just had to leave school.” His story is common in the camp. For many boys, the challenge is not only tuition fees but the impossible balance between earning and learning.
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Sulieman Nobo repeated SS3 three times after running out of money repeatedly. By his final attempt, anxiety had overtaken ambition. “In junior secondary school, I learned a lot,” he said. “But in senior secondary, I was focused on passing, not learning. I didn’t have time to retain anything.”
School ended by mid-afternoon. Work began soon after. By nightfall, he was too exhausted to revise his notes. Despite the strain, Sulieman managed above-average grades. Others were not as fortunate.
“I was funding my education myself,” Usman Selman, another young man in the camp, told HumAngle. “My school fees were ₦20,000 a year, so I had to work. But the stress became too much.”
The dual burden affected his concentration. “No matter how hard I tried to listen in class, the only thing on my mind was money.” For some, the pressure pushed them out entirely. Aliyu Usman began paying his own fees at 15. By 17, even ₦3,000 per semester proved unsustainable.
“I was tailoring while in school,” he said. “But I couldn’t cope with fees and transport. I dropped out in SS2. Now I do laundry. It feeds my family.” He paused before adding, “If I could go back to school, I would. But I know in my heart I can’t.”
Salim, now financially stable enough to run his shop, no longer sees school as essential.
“Even if I had the chance, I wouldn’t go back,” he said. “Everything I need for business, I learned here. And after school, where is the job? Unless you already have money, there’s nothing waiting.”
For the few who make it through secondary school, graduation does not guarantee anything. Umar borrowed ₦87,000 to register for the West African Examinations Council (WAEC) exam, one the final secondary school tests that qualify one for further education in the university and other higher insitututions. It took him half a year to repay the debt. In those six months, he was forced to cut back on food. “After all that, I still didn’t get a job,” he said. “If university graduates are struggling, who am I with only a WAEC certificate?”
The repeated disappointments take a toll. According to Liyatu, who coordinates the camp, more than half of the 1,000 boys there are currently out of school and unemployed. “If they even register for WAEC, we are lucky,” she said. “Most cannot finish secondary school. When they see there’s no support, they lose hope.” She worries about the ripple effects.
“With no school and sometimes no work, small arguments turn into fights. I saw boys punch each other over ₦200. I don’t excuse it, but I understand the frustration.”
Humanitarian worker Mohammed Abubakar, who has spent over a decade in Nigeria’s humanitarian sector, says prolonged educational exclusion carries broader consequences. “When young people are cut off from opportunity, their productivity drops,” he said. “They become more vulnerable to exploitation and manipulation.” He cautions that marginalisation, not ignorance alone, creates risk. “If society neglects them, others will step in, sometimes with harmful intentions. That is how cycles of insecurity and poverty sustain themselves.”
Beyond security, he points to economic cost. “When you underinvest in education, your population becomes less competitive. It affects productivity, innovation, even GDP. The impact goes far beyond one camp.”
Yet, despite the barriers, many of the boys continue to dream. Sulieman plans to register for JAMB, hoping for a scholarship. If that fails, he wants to join the armed forces.
“My dream is simple,” he said. “To live a better life and take my parents out of this camp.”
Umar still hopes to study computer engineering. Aliyu once imagined becoming a doctor. Sadiqi Shauku, 18, who left school in SS2, says he would return “if someone helped.” And Ali Juwon, still carrying the weight of his family’s survival, has not let go. “If there is anyone who can help me continue my education, I will continue,” he said. “I want to study something that will help me start a business or work in government. I want to be a better man.”
For now, he survives on friends’ support and periodic food distributions. Hope remains, but evidence of escape is scarce.
“Since I started primary school, I have never seen anyone gather enough money to leave this camp,” Sulieman said. “I believe in my future. But no one has gotten out.”
Support for James Van Der Beek’s family continues to pour in. The GoFundMe created to support them following the “Dawson’s Creek” star’s death approached $2.3 million in donations Friday morning.
Steven Spielberg and his wife Kate Capshaw are among the celebrity donors who have contributed to the fundraiser organized by the late actor’s friends. The couple’s donation is listed as $25,000. Those familiar with Van Der Beek’s breakout role on the millennial teen drama know that Spielberg is Dawson Leery’s favorite director.
Originally airing from 1998 to 2003, “Dawson’s Creek” was a seminal teen drama that followed four friends growing up in a small coastal town as they navigated their dreams, relationships and various coming-of-age milestones. Van Der Beek’s Dawson was an aspiring filmmaker whose dreams were bigger than his small hometown. Along with friends Joey (Katie Holmes), Pacey (Joshua Jackson) and Jen (Michelle Williams), Dawson grappled with very relatable teen dilemmas including heartbreak, betrayal and bad decisions.
The fundraiser, which had more than 44,000 donors as of Friday morning, was organized to help support Van Der Beek’s wife and children, who “are facing an uncertain future” due to the financial strain of the late actor’s medical costs. The late actor died following a battle with colorectal cancer. Funds will be used to “help cover essential living expenses, pay bills, and support the children’s education,” the organizers wrote.
Van Der Beek revealed in 2012 that he had been paid “almost nothing” for his work on “Dawson’s Creek” and had not received any residuals from the hit show.
“There was no residual money,” he told “Today.” “I was 20. It was a bad contract. I saw almost nothing from that.”
Before his death, Van Der Beek auctioned off personal memorabilia and sold collectibles to help pay for his cancer treatments. In September, his “Dawson’s Creek” co-stars helped organize and stage a reunion fundraiser to support Van Der Beek and his family — a reunion the actor had to miss because of a virus. “Black Bird” actor Paul Walter Hauser had also been raising funds through Cameo videos and auctions to help the late actor prior to his death.
Besides Spielberg, celebrity donors to Van Der Beek’s GoFundMe also reportedly include Zoe Saldaña, Jon M. Chu, Derek Hough, Busy Philipps, Jenna Dewan and others.
Van Der Beek’s “Dawson’s Creek” colleagues have also been among the many who have shared tributes to the late actor.
“Several times today, from my heart, I’ve tried to form the words to express the beautiful brilliance of James and what his presence has meant to my life,” “Dawson’s” creator Kevin Williamson wrote Thursday in a post shared on Instagram. “But I am truly at a loss for words. I will have to trust that one day those words will come… But today, all I can think about is Kimberly and the entire Van Der Beek family.”
Holmes, meanwhile, shared a handwritten note addressed to Van Der Beek on Instagram Wednesday. She was the first of “Dawson’s Creek’s” surviving core quartet to publicly acknowledge Van Der Beek’s death.
“Thank you,” Holmes wrote in her note, which was addressed to Van Der Beek. “To share a space with your imagination is sacred — breathing the same air in the land of make believe and trusting that each others’ hearts are safe in their expression.”
In her remembrance, Holmes highlighted their shared “laughter, conversations about life, James Taylor songs” and their “adventures of a unique youth.” She also highlighted Van Der Beek’s “Bravery. Compassion. Selflessness [and] Strength.”
“I mourn this loss with a heart holding the reality of his absence and deep gratitude for his imprint on it,” wrote Holmes, who also sent love to Van Der Beek’s wife and children in her message.
Other members of the extended “Dawson’s Creek” family, including actors Chad Michael Murray, Kerr Smith and Sasha Alexander, have also been among those offering condolences and paying tribute to Van Der Beek and his family online.
“James Van Der Beek was one in a billion and he will be forever missed and i don’t know what else to say,” wrote Busy Philipps in her Instagram tribute. “He was my friend and i loved him and i’m so grateful for our friendship all these years.”
Even those who do not follow French football in its most granular detail will be aware of the plight that could have befallen Lyon this summer.
Spared from administrative relegation to Ligue 2 just five and a half weeks before the start of the season, the club’s future in the French top flight hinged on their capacity to fulfil financial promises.
A firesale of the side’s most valuable assets duly ensued, and with it, expectations of a third successive season of European football dwindled.
Constrained by their financial frailties, Les Gones, spearheaded by sporting director Matthieu Louis-Jean, had to work diligently, embarking on an agile recruitment drive.
Spotting talent from lesser-known European leagues became a central tenet of their philosophy.
“We worked on different markets,” outlined the former Nottingham Forest right-back in September.
Amid a flurry of moves, Pavel Sulc and Ruben Kluivert arrived on permanent deals from Viktoria Plzen and Casa Pia respectively, while Adam Karabec joined from Sparta Prague on loan.
Louis-Jean has cultivated a burgeoning reputation as a strategic operator, but his most innovative market manoeuvre would have to wait until the winter window.
Having deviated from their reactive tendencies of the past, Lyon were left without a central striker of note, preferring to secure the temporary services of Martin Satriano on loan.
“We took a decision on the final day of the transfer window to leave the position of a first-choice striker open,” said general director Michael Gerlinger.
Louis-Jean, and Lyon’s wider recruitment department, were convinced an opportunity would present itself in January. Their intuition soon morphed into prophecy.
Having amassed just 99 minutes of action for Real Madrid during the first half of the season, Brazil striker Endrick needed an escape. Lyon were more than happy to provide sanctuary for a player and talisman they desperately craved.
Despite retaining Mateta, who is Palace’s top scorer with eight league goals this season, the Eagles paid a club record fee to sign striker Jorgen Strand Larsen from Wolves.
Palace were also on the verge of bringing in Everton winger Dwight McNeil until the deal fell through late on deadline day.
Glasner said he had “learned to accept situations” after Palace were also unsuccessful in finding a replacement for captain and centre-back Marc Guehi, who joined Manchester City earlier in the window.
“At the end of it, the club tried everything with huge offers and huge bids for a Marc Guehi replacement, but clubs said they don’t sell on deadline day,” Glasner said.
“Credit to the club that without getting any money for Mateta they still spent a big fee on Strand Larsen.
“On the other side, McNeil was the last one we thought we could finalise, but in the last minutes the terms of the deal changed again and the deal failed. I expected him and planned for him in the next day’s training.”
McNeil’s partner, Megan Sharpley, criticised Crystal Palace on social media for the way they handled the situation.
Everton boss David Moyes said the breakdown had “nothing to do” with his club and insists McNeil is “fine”.
“He’s in and he’s training as well, so Dwight’s OK,” Moyes said.
“We understand exactly where it went wrong, how it broke down. He knows everything about it and there’s no problems there.
“We had given permission for Dwight to go and have a medical and do all of the things required for it, so it was very hard to do much more than we have done.”
Following Bad Bunny’s landmark album of the year win at the 68th Grammy Awards for “Debí Tirar Más Fotos,” Ricky Martin penned a letter of appreciation to commemorate the moment.
In an opinion piece for the Puerto Rican newspaper El Nuevo Día published Tuesday, the Boricua hitmaker said Bad Bunny’s accomplishment stirred deep feelings within him.
“Benito, brother, seeing you win three Grammy Awards, one of them for album of the year, with a production entirely in Spanish, touched me deeply,” Martin wrote. “Not only as an artist, but as a Puerto Rican who has walked stages around the world carrying his language, his accent and his history.”
In addition to becoming the first all-Spanish album of the year winner, the “Nuevayol” artist took home the Grammy Awards for música urbana album and global music performance for the track “EoO” on Sunday.
Martin further called Bad Bunny’s achievement a “human” and “cultural” win, lauding him for not bending to the will of anyone who tried to change his sound in any way.
“You won without changing the color of your voice. You won without erasing your roots. You won by staying true to Puerto Rico,” Martin wrote. “You stayed true to your language, your rhythms and your authentic narrative.”
Martin, who first broke out as a solo musical act in the mid-’90s, became an international superstar off the back of his Spanish-language hits including 1995’s “María,” 1998’s “Vuelve” and “Perdido Sin Ti.”
He reached a new strata of stardom after his track “La Copa de Vida” was used as the official anthem for the 1998 FIFA World Cup. That song charted in over 60 countries and was translated into English. He landed his biggest hit with “Livin’ La Vida Loca,” which was the lead single from his 1999 self-titled English album.
When accepting his album of the year award Sunday night, Bad Bunny addressed the crowd predominantly in Spanish and spoke of the strugglesof the immigrant experience.
“I want to dedicate this award to all the people who had to leave their homeland, their country, to follow their dreams,” he said in English.
“Puerto Rico, believe me when I say that we are so much bigger than 100 by 35 and there is nothing that exists that we can’t accomplish,” the “Dakiti” artist said in Spanish. “Thank God, thank you to the academy, thank you to all the people who have believed in me throughout my whole career. To all the people who worked on this album. Thank you, Mami, for giving birth to me in Puerto Rico. I love you.”
The 54-year-old singer also showed love to Bad Bunny for using his platform to show solidarity for vulnerable communities.
“What touched me most about seeing you on the Grammys stage was the audience’s silence when you spoke,” Martin wrote. “When you defended the immigrant community, when you called out a system that persecutes and separates, you spoke from a place I know very well where fear and hope coexist, where millions live between languages, borders and deferred dreams.”
Martin concluded his letter by thanking Bad Bunny for reminding him and showing other Puerto Ricans that there is power in being true and authentic to yourself.
“This achievement is for a generation to whom you taught that their identity is non-negotiable and that success is not at odds with authenticity,” Martin wrote.
“This was for Puerto Ricans, for all our Latino brothers and sisters who dream in Spanish, for those crossing seas and borders wearing their cultures like a flag. From the heart, from one Boricua to another, with respect and love, I thank you for reminding us that when one of ours succeeds, we all succeed.”
This longing is shared by Angelica Angel, a 24-year-old student activist in exile.
She had grown up with tear gas and police beatings in Venezuela. After all, she had started protesting at age 15.
“They’ve pointed their guns at me, beaten me and almost arrested me. That’s when you realise that these people have no limits: They target the elderly, women and even young girls,” Angel said.
But the increasing political repression ultimately made her life in Merida, a college town in western Venezuela, untenable.
After 2024’s disputed presidential election, Angel decided to voice her outrage on social media.
Maduro had claimed a third term in office, despite evidence that he had lost in a landslide. The opposition coalition obtained copies of more than 80 percent of the country’s voter tallies, showing that its candidate, Edmundo Gonzalez, had won the race.
Protests again broke out, and again, Maduro’s government responded with force.
Military and security officers detained nearly 2,000 people, including opposition leaders, journalists and human rights lawyers.
When Angel denounced the arbitrary detentions on TikTok, she began receiving daily threats.
By day, anonymous phone calls warned her of her impending arrest. By night, she heard pro-government gangs on motorcycles circling her home.
Fearing detention, she fled to Colombia in August 2024, leaving her family and friends behind.
But living outside Venezuela gave her a new perspective. She came to realise that the threats, persecution and violence she had learned to live with were not normal in a democratic country.
“When you leave, you realise that it isn’t normal to be afraid of the police, of unknown phone calls,” said Angel, her voice trembling. “I’m afraid to go back to my country and to be in that reality again.”
For exiled Venezuelans to return safely, Angel believes certain benchmarks must be met. The interim government must end arbitrary detention and allow opposition members, many of whom fled Venezuela, to return.
Only then, she explained, will Venezuela have moved past Maduro’s legacy.
“Exiles being able to return is a real test of whether a new country is taking shape,” she said.
