The Wedding Party
The anticipation and impatience of the guests was a living being feeding off the lateness of the awaited hosts. The invitation had said 8 am and yet there was no bride either was there a groom by 9. The general consensus was that traffic was holding them up, so the elderly guests passed time by catching up on other family members, the younger ones took selfies and the children who weren’t sleeping ran around the church counting the pews as they went. It was a large hall, thankfully the AC worked so the vexation that should have been felt for being made to wait was at minimal levels. The church’s choir performed soft music to the delight of the crowd until finally, the church doors burst open and in rushed Alli, the groom.
The first button of his shirt was undone while his bow-tie hung from beneath his collar and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, to the front of the church he trotted as the eager gaze of all in the church followed him.
“I am sorry for whatever delay we have caused, you know how Lagos traffic can be” this statement elicited a chorus of hmmm and ah accompanied by heads nodding.
“The ceremony will start shortly, I apologize for any inconvenience” and off he ran right back out of the church. During all of this, a woman with a large black fascinator was sitting in a corner in the church, her dress was made from the highest quality of cord lace that there is and she played with her phone as the groom spoke, at the mention of the wedding starting soon she gave a little smile.
True to his word the wedding started 30 minutes after. It was a beautiful procession of white and peach as the bridal train rolled in followed closely by the bride; Chiamaka, who was given off by her mother, who looked elegant as well.
The ceremony took its usual course until the officiating pastor announced; “if anyone has a reason why these two; Alli and Chiamaka should not be joined in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace”
A blanket of silence fell on the congregation, the church might as well have been empty for those few seconds until the silence was broken by the wail of a hungry child, which was responded to with laughter and the wedding continued without further ado.
I know you, yes you reading this, expected me to say the lady in the fascinator jumped up and wished peril on the couple for destroying her happiness, did something drastic like pour acid on the bride, throw some chairs, announce that she is pregnant with the groom or just walk out of the church. I for one do not think these kinds of things happen in Nigerian weddings, more often than not the usual drama that would happen at a Nigerian wedding is the fight for food or space to sit, nothing quite as life-threatening or heart-attack inducing.
The wedding ceremony ended without any fuss, the reception had all the drama that all wedding receptions have and the couple didn’t live happily ever after, nobody does.
It was a fun party for everybody and I enjoyed myself. I danced as best as I could without inhibitions or shame, ate all that was offered me. When the time came to catch the bouquet, I, the woman with a large black fascinator who sat in a corner in the church in a dress made from the best quality of cord lace there is was front and centre ready to catch it.
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