I Crashed A Wedding Yesterday.

Hello…Guy you dey house? 

 

How far? Any better? 

 

Answer me na… You dey house? 

 

Yes I dey house, what’s up? 

 

OK I dey come pick you, e get one occasion we go enter. 

 

Bro this one na short notice something, you know say I no dey like am. 

I know guy, just dress up, e go make sense. 

 

OK… I done hear. 

 

I dey road now oh, better ready before I dey reach your side. 

 

No Wahala.. I done hear, I go ready. 

 

I laid on the bed for a few more minutes, too lazy to move a muscle , sweating in the Lagos heat, nearly deaf from the cacophony of my neighbours’ generator sets, worse of all, I was hungry my favourite bukka didn’t sell on Saturdays  and if I ate anymore noodles, I’d fall sick and I knew it. I asked myself if I really wanted to be here in this house on a Saturday? It was a forlorn Saturday anyway, a little spice will help expedite the day. Besides, who knows? I may meet my next ex-girlfriend there. These thoughts propelled me to action.

 

I sluggishly dragged myself to the bathroom, the cold water brought me back to life, I went in dull and came out spry. I hadn’t washed, so I went to where a cluster of laundry lay by the corner. I performed the sniff test. One passed, it was the traditional attire I wore to a wedding last week. I slipped into it, slapped on some perfume to mask the faint smell of stale sweat.

 

My friend pulled up a few minutes later, I hopped in the ride and we were on our way, we didn’t speak much as the venue was not very far.

 

We parked, I stepped out, still uncomfortable I asked him if my cloth looked clean. I don’t remember what his reply was because as soon as I asked that question the delightful smell of party jollof rice hit me. I was relishing that delicious smell when another one of fried chicken hit again… My God. Me and my friend looked at each other, telepathically conversing. Even the worms in my stomach knew we had hit the jackpot.

 

We were a little late, the wedding had started but I was glad to see they still served food. The wedding was a boisterous and colourful one, there were a lot of different groups all dressed in different but matching asoebi, the music was loud, the conversations even louder. The food? Where do I start? Yoruba people I commot cap for Una. The jollof rice kicked ass, it was deliciously spiced, very peppery and its unusual red colour indicated the women used a different ingredient or they it bled for it, Either way I literally dove into the plate head first. The meat was the size of my fist, very soft and tender, adequately spiced. After my second plate, another bottle of wine was handed to us and we “killed” it.

 

The couple we were celebrating were going around greeting people and thanking them for coming, I don’t understand Yoruba, but I assumed. When they got to our table they shook us and I said to them “happy married life” as soon as I said it I felt something was wrong, first my friend cringed, the couple had an awkward look, and a template smile on their faces. I didn’t think much too much of it but as soon as they left, my friend pinched me and said “Guy you done eff, no be wedding we come, na child dedication”

We laughed about it on our way home, even though I felt terrible for embarrassing myself and the hosts of such a lovely event that had plenty to eat and drink. The bright side is that I had plenty to and drink and my boring Saturday turned out alright.

 

 

Photo credit : Epicurious.com

 

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