Every Nigerian loves wedding ceremonies, no, that’s not right, every Nigerian loves wedding receptions and I am not afraid to generalize.

You see, no one really likes to sit through three boring hours listening to the officiating minister drone on about cliche marital vows; no one and I daresay not even the couple because if you have very sharp eyes like mine, you might catch the groom dozing off every now and then.


There are two main reasons Nigerians love wedding receptions; one, everyone gets to show off their own style of the uniform asoebi on the dance floor and two, the food. We all look forward to the food.


On this day, my best friend and I were already seated in the reception hall. It was at a restaurant a stone’s throw from the church so the couple would have no difficulty or delay in getting here early. We weren’t really formally invited because when you belonged to House of Fellowship Christian Cathedral, one didn’t really need an invitation card to attend the wedding of a fellow member.

The hall was decorated in blue, white and red, with chairs covered in clothes of the same colours.


PSquare‘s Beautiful Onyinye was blaring loud and dimming low intermittently, an indication that the engineers still had some wiring to perfect. The MC was testing the microphone every now and then.

Women in bright red geles were laughing and gisting, their voices blending with the noise from the speakers, and men in filas were greeting friends or typing something on their smartphones. It was the perfect ambience for a party.


We occupied the front seats, Funbi and I along with others that had come in earlier. By now, there was no vacant seat in front. Front seats were usually hurriedly taken by huge women and their anonymous friends if one did not want item 7 and souvenirs to pass them by. You know, the early bird gets the fattest worm . . .

“How long shall it take them to round up in church?” Funbi asked absentmindedly, her eyes glued to her Nokia Lumia phone.


“When they finish, they finish,” I replied evasively.

Thankfully, this couple did not take time at the church for barely fifteen minutes after my best friend asked, whispers went around that the couple had arrived.


The MC asked for a lady volunteer and then began to call out prominent people to the high table.

“They should make it snappy,” Funbi whispered a little too loudly when it was beginning to seem that the MC wouldn’t stop.

“I wonder. All that rice will be getting cold by now,”

Neither Funbi nor I wore the asoebi though we wore clothes synonymous to the theme colour but it was okay since there were several others in the room who weren’t wearing the aso ebi.


“Abi now. But the organizers of this party didn’t plan it well. Remember the last one we attended? Jennifer hooks Segun? It was a buffet, serve yourself. This one, they didn’t plan well,” she added, raising her phone up to her face to take the thousandth selfie.

The fat woman whom we shared the table with cast what seemed like a chastening glance at us.


The MC now told us to rise in honour of the bride and groom as they danced their way in.

“Her hair is not fine sha,” Funbi whispered to me above the din of Sunny Neji’s Oruka.


“Her dress makes up for it,” I answered.

“If she had come to my shop . . .” The music drowned the rest of her words.

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