"IF THERE'S anyone here who does not think they should get married, speak now or forever hold your peace..."
The whole room was deathly silent. The groom did a slow turn and looked back at the rest of the congregation, he was sweating. At the other end of the aisle, some bulky guys in aviator shades stood by the entrance. Bouncers in church…that was a first.
A silent beep. I checked my phone; Nadia had just sent me pouting selfie. Aunty Amaka from across the pew gave me a derisive look, nothing escaped her. I silenced the phone and put it in my suit. Suit by Mai Atafo.
“I now pronounce you man and….”
“HELL NO!”
“AINT THAT SHIT GONNA HAPPEN!”
Three intruding women had forced open the doors of the church and were making for the altar. One of the bouncers was on the floor, his designer sunglasses slid across the other side of the room. It was understandable; the women were built like rhinos. And one of them was even pregnant.
“You think you can knock up ma sis and marry some other bitch back here in Africa? Hell no!”
From their accent, I could tell they were Americans. They were black Americans.
By now, one of the women was close to the groom but a bouncer had got hold of her. The bouncer who was knocked down had recovered and grabbed the pregnant woman. Now it made sense why there were bouncers in church. The groom had committed back in the States and wanted to get hitched here. Only this time he had picked the wrong woman, as the only way these women could be described as was ratchet. They were just ratchet.
The groom and priest were hurdled behind the altar. The bride was screaming and the pregnant one was yelling back. The bridesmaid threw herself at the third woman and both of them began to roll on the floor.
“Lord have mercy! Lord have mercy!!” Boomed the speakers. It was the priest still on the microphone.The speakers boomed.
The church was in pandemonium. When it was obvious that the wedding wouldn’t continue (at least not today), people began to leave for the exits.
Beep! My phone again. It was Nadia, this time the picture was more than just a pouting selfie. I muttered my own “Lawd have mercy!”
“Ricky, wetin go happen now, no reception?” Nosike was my cousin, Aunty Amaka’s son.
“Sike (pronounced Psyche) I don’t know”, I answered. “Ask the groom”.
I made my way through the melee of people and was glad for the fresh air outside. I tried to remember how aunty convinced me to attend the wedding; everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. I pulled out a cigarette and was about to light it when someone from the choir told me it was illegal to smoke within the church premises. I asked him if fighting in the church was illegal too.
A few minutes later, I realised I couldn’t find Aunty Amaka anywhere or Nosike for that matter. Somehow they had mixed with the crowd (Maybe Sike was at the reception looking for food, wherever that was). I didn’t want to start looking. I couldn’t make any calls either; Nadia’s string of provocative pictures had drained my battery.
I decided to walk across the street from the Church. Sheraton Hotel Ikeja was somewhat opposite, quite a walking distance from there. I would have some drinks and go back to Archbishop Vining when the crowd had cleared.
I entered through the lobby and made my way to the hotel bar. The lady behind the counter was as fair as ripe lemons but her knuckles were black, as in Alek Wek black. It explained why Dencia’s Whitenicious had sold out only weeks after its launch.
After placing my order, I took in the view of the pool outside. There were few people out there, the usual white men, and some kids with their mothers. One of the women was wiping herself with a towel. From behind, there was something familiar about the hips…those obscenely accentuated hips, I couldn’t be too sure. Then she turned my way and faced me. Our eyes met and I recognised her. She did too.
How could it be? But it was.
It was Hauwa, in all her glory.
To be continued…
If you don’t remember Hauwa, then refresh your memory here Valentine Blues.
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