Peju told me about the wedding; 2 elite families coming together in marriage. Peju happens to know the bride, they go way back from her stay overseas and she was eager to celebrate with her on her special day though I knew better, she was going for the food (same with me). I did not know the bride or the groom from Adam and I could care less if they were getting married or committing suicide though one thing I’ve learned about elite marriage ceremonies is to be present and expectant (2 things then). The last elite wedding invitation I turned down, I learnt that all guests had received N100, 000, Ipad Airs and great big bags containing designer gunk. I was only interested in the cash and Ipad, why? My account can do with the sprucing and my tech gluttony has no limit. Today, I was expecting something more dramatic to be given out to guests, like say latest model cars. What? I can hope.
Peju and I arrived late to the venue, no thanks to traffic. The reception venue was a behemoth mansion in Lagos Island, rumor has it that it belongs to the bride’s “daddy” and I am not talking of her biological father who I happen to know is unnaturally wealthy. I’m not one for rumor and gossip so that little bit of information- true or not- mattered not to me. You would be forgiven for thinking the building is a 7-star hotel, virtually everything glittered. Interior decor of the corridor was a combination of vibrant, bling and rich. The rugs were so soft it felt like i was trudging through warm milk. The upholstery on the furniture would definitely be able to cover my current rent….for a few years.
“What are you standing there looking at? We are unfashionably late and if I don’t get to eat, someone would pay” threatened Peju as she semi-sprinted to the “Ball-room“.
Ball-room, you kidding right? Is this the friggin 18th century Britain” I said on scopping a pointer on the corridor.
Peju did not bother responding, her mind apparently on the rich company and delicacies she was missing out on. Nothing short of a grenade thrown down the front of her low cut gown would get her attention, typical.
“Wait up PJ” I grumbled as I increased my pace to catch up to her. We hadn’t sighted anyone on our way. I hoped they were not done giving out the cars.
Peju (PJ) is my colleague at work. Over time, we grew to be good friends. PJ would do almost anything for a piece of peppered chicken including sell body parts of people around her, in this case me thus slowing her down was not an option.
I entered the ‘ballroom’- an ornately designed massive room with ridiculously high ceiling….very 18th Century indeed and yes, it was appropriately named. I will bet there were vampires hiding in the shadow waiting to snatch up guests. I hoped a red-hair grabbed me.
A boring “drink of tap water” (learnt that expression from Simon R Green. My sensei at snarky, amazing, super awesome books) was giving some speech on how he met the groom and has known him for centuries blah blah. I detest cliché weddings. A lot of Nigerian weddings need sprucing…..lot of it. I may forgo my wedding night and do the deed during reception to shock the sensibilities of guest. Oh the look on my Martian mum’s face would be priceless. At least people would have something to talk about after starting at my awesome behind.
Speech over, wine was served to the about 50 guests. Very fine wine indeed. I took a couple of sips to appreciate it then promptly discarded it. My stomach was growling angrily, alcohol was not the proper response. I looked around the ball-room and for the first time noticed that all the guests were refined older gentlemen and a few ladies; there was no bride/groom, young adult or red-haired vampire but since the ‘tap water’ dude had given a toast to the couple then they must be here somewhere. I gradually became aware of a looming presence behind me. I turned around carefully expecting my red-haired lady…
“Zee its only old freaks in here, the reception proper is upstairs. How the blazes did we miss it” growled Pj.
Definitely not my red-hair, so no sensual abduction for me….yet.
“Where upstairs” I calmly asked.
“Right UP the STAIRS” came the reply tossed over her shoulder as she marched off.
I was going to be super pissed if we were denied admission into the hall. I shouldn’t have bothered with that thought, Pj barreled her way into the reception room like the wrath of God made flesh and people unconsciously scampered out of her path. She found us a seat close to the couple’s tent (the tent looked like some weird Egyptian contraption. It was impressive though). By ‘us’ I mean she grabbed a seat for herself, and threw off sufficient menacing vibe to get the seat beside her vacant which I seized and promptly squeezed my belongings into.
Food served, guzzling away I was startled when I heard a loud thud on the table, I looked up to PJ grinning fiercely. She was holding a lady (the bride’s sister) at bay with her left hand and scooping the cake she had dumped on my table with her right. Judging by the size, she must have used a cutlass to cleave it off.
“She has the cake” a female voice screamed from somewhere within the room. Immediately several people stood up and began arguing. Some tried to dive for the cake…utter pandemonium broke out at the ‘elite’ wedding.
I calmly stretched my hands, cut a piece of cake and as i settled in to savor the damn cake, I noticed Mrs Okonkwo pouring the content of my plate into a large stainless bowl. I also noticed several other empty plates on the table. Mrs Okonkwo was my Creative Arts teacher back in college, so what is she doing here and why is she stealing my pepper-soup? As I yelled an angry protest, my eyes opened..i had been dreaming. Few seconds later I wasn’t sure if I had awakened with a smile on my lips. I didn’t consider it much, I already creep myself out a lot on a traditional day.
I have quite bizarre realistic dreams often. I remember one i had not too long ago, I was piloting a spaceship that had Oprah Winfrey, the Kardashians (yea, the entire bunch), Jordin Sparks and Kanye West as crew mates. Star-studded huh? It should come as no surprise to you that we (i) crashed….on a planet where carnivorous grasses were masters. Yes yes, I should seek help and I will when I can find the time to spare. In the meantime I’ve a sh*tload of missions to perform…if only I can get off this bed.
Guy you really need help o. Deliverance session will be in order.
I do? For rescuing Oprah when she fell into a patch of killer veggies or when Scott ‘Kardashian’ was almost drowned by sea weeds and I plucked him out or when I scaled a fence and fell into another dimension. Blimey! I do need help.
OMG Zibah…….. Y dnt i ve such dreams. Lol
You fancy being a pilot or a wedding crasher?
Blimey! How did I get here!
*looks around with bemusement*
*Nods with realization and mock excitement*
This is Xanadu for Weirdos!
You write weird. Bet your boyfriend logs around with a dictionary in order to communicate with you.
Just a way of saying this is heaven for queer folks!
Loooooooollllll this is so funny I fell down laughing. Bookmarking. You write very well