A pretty pretty bridesmaid.
Out of thirty fucking six.
Seriously, Nigerian weddings can be absolutely ridiculous at times. Like, it’s not even funny how wretched they can be for everyone involved.
And I don’t mean the actual traditional wedding custom, because that’s pretty endearing (I’ll explain later, like in another post maybe) - but the Nigerian take on the classic white wedding.
The Nigerians in my community love their church. They call themselves Redeemed and I’m not sure if they’re Baptist or Protestant or whatever, but I’m thinking they’re baptist. Every Nigerian I know goes to one of these four churches. They’re the same branch but just different congregations filled with strict and conservative pastors, gossipers, haters and drama unlike yo’ mama. My mom says she never wanted us to go to church with them because they all talk too much.
My family is very private and rather revered in this community, and I do think it is because of the distance we put between ourselves and the others (we go to a nice Catholic church filled with quiet little filipinos and a few white people and let the pastor preach for one hour before we go home) - because it really is who hates who and who’s not talking to this person right now and who’s sleeping with all the boys and yadda yadda yadda - I mean for fuck’s sake you go to church together.
I woke up at 6am for these people, drove to the tailor’s to get my traditional wear that hadn’t been finished until that morning, went to McDonald’s and Burger King for breakfast and coffee then headed to the bride’s house. I am so happy my sister and our cousin-best friend, Jenny, had to suffer through this day with me, or I would’ve killed everyone on the bridal train with my impossibly tall high heels.
The limo didn’t even fit everyone, and even though the driver promised to make two trips SHE NEVER CAME BACK. So the remaining bridesmaids had to illegally stuff our poofy orange dresses and our freshly curled wigs and weaves into a small little vehicle with inferior AC capabilities. When we arrived at the church, we weren’t allowed to sit inside so they set up some shitty white tent to shield us from the sun from hell while the girls sweat off their foundation. I swear it was one hundred degrees yesterday. The bride didn’t come until a full 30 minutes later, making us behind schedule by one hour.
And the church service. Oh my fucking god. Four pastors. One pastor to give an opening prayer, one pastor to wed them, one to give “announcements” that should take ten minutes top, and another to do the closing prayer
Tell me why each pastor gave a fucking sermon bordering on about forty five minutes to an hour on average. I was ready to slaughter. My feet were screaming from having to sit up and down and sit up and down. Then to add insult to injury, at the end of it all they passed around a basket for offerings. Fuck you.
And the fucking choir couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Singing at every interval. Telling us to stand up and sing with them for songs that seemed to stretch past time to the dark ages.
When we finally got out, a spectacular three hours behind schedule we had to drive straight to the reception where my death was further prolonged. It wasn’t as bad, but it was pretty bad including disorganization and having to change in the middle of a parking lot huddled behind a low brick wall on a walk way. I danced for one song with the bride, and we all had to form an aisle so she could take a seat on the high table with her new husband. We expected to be able to sit down after our long and endless loyalty to our bride, all 36 of us. But oh no. No seats for the bridal party. I swear, upon hearing this, one of the groom’s men was about to flip over a table and I was glad I was not the only one who tasted bullshit in the air.
My parents took pity on me and took us home early where I proceeded to fall asleep and wake up at midday the next day.
I told my dad that for my wedding, I was not going to have a Nigerian pastor, nor was I going to have a three hour long church service, everyone was going to have a fucking seat, and the food wouldn’t run out halfway through the service.
He told me not to worry. He and mom were adamant that any pastor that preached had an hour TOPS to wed me and my husband and ten minutes for any extraneous preaching. After that it was straight to the reception.
I liked that. I liked that a lot.