Iya Femi seemed to be twerking as the band belted some Sir Shina Peters classics: Afro Juju and others. I was uninformed as to whether her glee was contrived from her son’s long-awaited nuptials, or that he was marrying into wealth. I did not care much for why a sixty-something year-old mama was giving Shakira a run for her money, I just wanted jollof rice.
All was well and dandy till mama shaking-her-bumbum-Femi ordered that the waiters temporarily stopped all food services, so we could dance properly. Now, two things are important in a Nigerian wedding: the Jollof rice and traditional attire (Aso ebi) . The Families are usually dressed to kill; even the ‘friends of the family’ dress to impress. Jollof rice is the omega and the god of item 7. So how dare mama shaking-her-bumbum Femi interrupt the flow of Jollof?
Chaos ensued: “Femi has finally married, we must dance, we must dance!”. I did not care that Femi was embarrassed, i just wanted the Jollof. As I was a mo gbo, mo ya (an uninvited guest), I did not wait long enough to partake of the jollof. I had never seen the devil until that day; she was wearing Aso-ebi and dancing to Shina Peters.
I have since decided to solely attend weddings I am invited to.
For the love of Jollof