those wealthy Mobil workers. “My best friend’s
wedding would be the talk of town”, Lilian’s
chief bridesmaid bragged.
All the big girls in school heard that and ran to
queue for her expensive asoebi. Rumours also
had it the groomsmen were representatives of
different oil companies. The best caterers in
town had been hired for the wedding. I
hurriedly used my hard earned money to buy 3
yards of her asoebi when I heard that.
Back then, I was a 400level student and
working on my project took a toll on me. The
wedding date escaped my memory because I
was too busy to catch up with my girls for
random gist. It didn’t occur to me that Lilian’s
wedding was in 4 days time until my friend
stormed my hostel with her already sewn
asoebi. Between requesting an express service
from a tailor or making my hair, I settled for
the later. When I saw the girls in my hostel
looking good in their asoebi that Saturday
morning, I had to cut a piece from my 3 yards
to stylishly strut around the shoulder of my
yellow dress so I wouldn’t feel odd amongst
them.
Let me make something clear at this point.
Whenever I attend a wedding, either one or all
of these four things take me there.
The people attending. e.g Lilian’s chevron, shell
and mobil groomsmen.
The excitement of the photos I will take. This
depends on how beautiful my hair or dress is.
My relationship with the couple. If you are
family, I might grudgingly attend the church
ceremony. Reason being, I unconsciously
memorise marriage vows and that is one hell of
an information that is completely worthless to
me. If you are my distant friend, I’ll attend
your reception for no4 only.
THE WEDDING FOOD.
It’s easy to tell no1 and no4 were taking me to
Lilian’s. The problem was the venue for the
matrimonial service and reception were one and
the same place. It was difficult to reckon when
the oil workers groomsmen would be outside
briefly for photos before the reception starts
and when refreshments would begin.
Good thing I bullied my two friends into
affirming the wedding food was our utmost
priority so we all waited till 1pm before leaving
the hostel. Surprisingly, the couple were yet to
recite their marriage vows when we arrived at
2pm. Fine! One more annoying marriage vow to
memorize. I cursed silently.
It was almost 4pm and the matrimonial
ceremony was still going on. There was nothing
spectacular at the wedding as those in Lilian
circle made us believe. Even some of the so-
called oil workers looked more like fillings
stations attendants. The pastor had diverted
from the usual Adam and Eve story to preach
on fornication. I cringed in my seat as I glanced
at my wristwatch and the programme booklet
for the umpteenth time. My friend whispered
that its because Lilian was four months
pregnant outside wedlock.
My impatience state had me lamenting,”But
pastor do our stomachs really have to pay for
the sins of the couple?”
My sigh was audible when the reception finally
began. We couldn’t leave the hall to take
photos with the couple for fear that we might
lose our seats. Due to the poor timing, they had
to rush most of the items listed in the
programme.
We were told to form a queue beside each
canopy for the buffet. It seemed like we were
not the only ones waiting for food as the whole
place was thrown into a pandemonium.
Nigerians sure don’t know how to queue up for
a buffet. They jump in line, push whoever is in
the way and makes sure those serving attend to
them before anyone else. I felt like stabbing the
restless guy in front of me with the heel of my
shoe or strangling him with the piece of aso ebi
on my shoulder.
My friends and I were among the first 20 in
our queue but my joy was cut short when the
MC instructed we all head back to our seats.
The ushers were going to serve us there.
The new directive messed everything up. Some
people had already gotten food at the buffet,
some got food twice while some didn’t and it
was difficult to tell where they sat. The ushers
were not helping matters by serving in a scalar
manner.
One of my friends got first. Fifteen minutes
after, the second one got hers. Thirty minutes
after, nothing for me yet. Both of them were
now giving each other that ‘eeyah… I pity
Naijasinglegirl sha’ look. Occasionally they
would glance at me and give me that ‘sister,
relax, you will eat in Jesus name’ look.
“Should I remain my food for you?” One of my
friend asked.
“NO!” I voiced out in anger.
Didn’t know who to pour my frustration on.
From the back row I sat, I tried to eye the
bride with disgust but she wouldn’t even look
at me. I thought of taking off the small piece
of asoebi from my neck to wave at her. After
paying for your asoebi, no food abi? 419
wedding!
One of my ‘bellyfull’ friends had the guts to
suggest we head outside to wait for the mobil
groomsmen. How can I listen to any man on an
empty stomach? I abused her with all the
curses and swear words I learnt since 1914.
As the immigration officer of our 3- female
clique, both of them had absolutely no right to
go out without me. At that point only the
wedding jollof rice mattered. LoL
Reality set in when people started leaving.
Typically of Nigerian ceremonies, once they eat,
they dump your a*s there and then! Even the
couple finished their ‘feeding of the couple
stuff’ and they no longer gave a hoot about
their guests…including me.
You’ve got to be strong girl, you’ve seen
worse. Don’t dare cry. I consoled myself.
I was too preoccupied with hunger to notice my
friend had gone over to the catering section to
complain on my behalf. Whatever she told them
worked as one of them was seen heading
towards my direction with a tray.
“Errrmmm…sorry oh. You should have struggled
for food na. There’s rice here but the chicken
and meat we have left has been packed away
by the bride’s relatives. Would you mind the
rice only?”
Emi? Eat leftover rice? I may be a beggar but I
am a beggar with class and a damn good
choice.
“Let’s leave please.” I motioned to my friends
tearfully. I could sense a violent ulcer attack
ready to strike me.
My friends began consoling me. “Don’t worry,
we would try to seat at the front when next we
attend a wedding.”
“There won’t be any next time!” I retorted
angrily.
Maybe they’ve been, but that was the last time
I wasted money on asoebi that couldn’t
guarantee me trival benefits like the wedding
jollof rice.
Source: naijasinglegirl
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