Title: My Arranged Marriage
Episode 1: The Day My Bride Brought Her Ex to Our Wedding
I always knew my family was chaotic, but I didn’t know they were diabolical until the day I walked into my own wedding and nearly fainted. Not because of cold feet — but because the bride, the woman I was supposed to marry, was sitting on the stage laughing with her ex-boyfriend, whom she brought along like a plus-one.
Yes, her ex. To our wedding.
Let me start from the beginning.
It began two months ago when Mama burst into my room like a hurricane dressed in Ankara and holy anointing.
"Obinna, your bachelorhood is a spiritual attack!"
She clutched her Bible and her phone, scrolling through WhatsApp pictures of potential wives like it was Tinder for African mothers.
I was 29, a civil engineer in Lagos, and deeply single—not because I couldn't find love, but because the last girl I loved used my rent money to buy a Brazilian wig and disappeared with a sugar daddy who sold building materials.
So, when Mama insisted on arranging a marriage, I laughed. Until Papa added his voice.
“If you don’t marry before July, forget your inheritance. We will donate your land to the church!”
July was two months away.
That was how I met Amaka.
Photos first. Then video calls. She was pretty. Soft-spoken. From Enugu. A nurse. And, according to her mother, a virgin. (My cousin Ugochi whispered, “Aunty, check that thing well. These days, even calculators reset.”)
I agreed to meet her. She smiled, giggled, and spoke gently. But something felt... rehearsed. Like she was playing a role.
Still, the wedding date was fixed. Invitations printed. Cow bought. Church booked. DJ paid. Mama danced every night to Flavour’s songs as if the wedding was her own.
And then the big day came.
The hall glittered with decorations. Guests arrived in gele and agbada. My friends teased me “Obinna, you go finally chop life!”
Then I saw her. Amaka. Dressed in white. Gorgeous. Smiling. Until I noticed the man sitting beside her, whispering in her ear and holding her hand.
I frowned.
“Who is that?” I asked my brother.
My brother squinted. “I think he came with the bride.”
“Came with the"
Before I could finish, Mama appeared beside me, all smiles and sweat. “You look handsome, my son. Now go and smile at your bride.”
“I will smile after I know who that guy is.”
Mama hissed and walked off.
So, I marched up to Amaka, heart racing. “Who is this?”
She blinked, calm. “Oh! Meet Chuka. My best friend. He’s like… family.”
Chuka stood, extended his hand, smiling like a goat that just chewed your exam script. “Nice to meet you, bro.”
Bro?
I ignored his hand. “Can we talk privately?”
Amaka sighed, dragged me aside, and said the thing that nearly made me remove my agbada and run home in boxers.
“I invited him because... well... he’s important to me. We dated for six years. He’s the one who taught me how to love. But my parents didn’t approve. So I had to settle for this... arrangement.”
I stood still, blinking.
“Settle?”
“Yes,” she said. “But you’re kind. You’ll understand.”
Ladies and gentlemen, I did not understand.
My uncle, who saw me shaking like a leaf, whispered, “Is it heartbreak or hunger? Should we bring you small jollof rice to calm your nerves?”
I wanted to run, but the hall was full, the gifts were stacked, and the caterers were serving. A pastor was waiting. A crowd was watching.
Then I remembered what my grandmother once said:
“If you must embarrass the devil, do it with boldness.”
So, I climbed the stage, grabbed the mic, and said:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for coming. But I just found out that I am not the main actor in this wedding. I am an extra.”
Gasps.
Chuka choked on his zobo. Amaka’s face turned pale. Mama tried to grab the mic, but I raised my hand dramatically.
“This wedding is cancelled. But don’t worry there’s plenty of food. Eat, drink, and take selfies. Just know that Obinna has left the chat!”
I walked out, head high, heart free. That night, I ate the wedding jollof alone in my boxers and watched Nollywood movies till 2 a.m.
A week later, I met Adaeze, my neighbor who had always lent me pepper without asking for it back. She knocked on my door with a plate of hot rice and a smile.
And guess what?
Episode 1: The Day My Bride Brought Her Ex to Our Wedding
I always knew my family was chaotic, but I didn’t know they were diabolical until the day I walked into my own wedding and nearly fainted. Not because of cold feet — but because the bride, the woman I was supposed to marry, was sitting on the stage laughing with her ex-boyfriend, whom she brought along like a plus-one.
Yes, her ex. To our wedding.
Let me start from the beginning.
It began two months ago when Mama burst into my room like a hurricane dressed in Ankara and holy anointing.
"Obinna, your bachelorhood is a spiritual attack!"
She clutched her Bible and her phone, scrolling through WhatsApp pictures of potential wives like it was Tinder for African mothers.
I was 29, a civil engineer in Lagos, and deeply single—not because I couldn't find love, but because the last girl I loved used my rent money to buy a Brazilian wig and disappeared with a sugar daddy who sold building materials.
So, when Mama insisted on arranging a marriage, I laughed. Until Papa added his voice.
“If you don’t marry before July, forget your inheritance. We will donate your land to the church!”
July was two months away.
That was how I met Amaka.
Photos first. Then video calls. She was pretty. Soft-spoken. From Enugu. A nurse. And, according to her mother, a virgin. (My cousin Ugochi whispered, “Aunty, check that thing well. These days, even calculators reset.”)
I agreed to meet her. She smiled, giggled, and spoke gently. But something felt... rehearsed. Like she was playing a role.
Still, the wedding date was fixed. Invitations printed. Cow bought. Church booked. DJ paid. Mama danced every night to Flavour’s songs as if the wedding was her own.
And then the big day came.
The hall glittered with decorations. Guests arrived in gele and agbada. My friends teased me “Obinna, you go finally chop life!”
Then I saw her. Amaka. Dressed in white. Gorgeous. Smiling. Until I noticed the man sitting beside her, whispering in her ear and holding her hand.
I frowned.
“Who is that?” I asked my brother.
My brother squinted. “I think he came with the bride.”
“Came with the"
Before I could finish, Mama appeared beside me, all smiles and sweat. “You look handsome, my son. Now go and smile at your bride.”
“I will smile after I know who that guy is.”
Mama hissed and walked off.
So, I marched up to Amaka, heart racing. “Who is this?”
She blinked, calm. “Oh! Meet Chuka. My best friend. He’s like… family.”
Chuka stood, extended his hand, smiling like a goat that just chewed your exam script. “Nice to meet you, bro.”
Bro?
I ignored his hand. “Can we talk privately?”
Amaka sighed, dragged me aside, and said the thing that nearly made me remove my agbada and run home in boxers.
“I invited him because... well... he’s important to me. We dated for six years. He’s the one who taught me how to love. But my parents didn’t approve. So I had to settle for this... arrangement.”
I stood still, blinking.
“Settle?”
“Yes,” she said. “But you’re kind. You’ll understand.”
Ladies and gentlemen, I did not understand.
My uncle, who saw me shaking like a leaf, whispered, “Is it heartbreak or hunger? Should we bring you small jollof rice to calm your nerves?”
I wanted to run, but the hall was full, the gifts were stacked, and the caterers were serving. A pastor was waiting. A crowd was watching.
Then I remembered what my grandmother once said:
“If you must embarrass the devil, do it with boldness.”
So, I climbed the stage, grabbed the mic, and said:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for coming. But I just found out that I am not the main actor in this wedding. I am an extra.”
Gasps.
Chuka choked on his zobo. Amaka’s face turned pale. Mama tried to grab the mic, but I raised my hand dramatically.
“This wedding is cancelled. But don’t worry there’s plenty of food. Eat, drink, and take selfies. Just know that Obinna has left the chat!”
I walked out, head high, heart free. That night, I ate the wedding jollof alone in my boxers and watched Nollywood movies till 2 a.m.
A week later, I met Adaeze, my neighbor who had always lent me pepper without asking for it back. She knocked on my door with a plate of hot rice and a smile.
And guess what?
Title: My Arranged Marriage
Episode 1: The Day My Bride Brought Her Ex to Our Wedding
I always knew my family was chaotic, but I didn’t know they were diabolical until the day I walked into my own wedding and nearly fainted. Not because of cold feet — but because the bride, the woman I was supposed to marry, was sitting on the stage laughing with her ex-boyfriend, whom she brought along like a plus-one.
Yes, her ex. To our wedding.
Let me start from the beginning.
It began two months ago when Mama burst into my room like a hurricane dressed in Ankara and holy anointing.
"Obinna, your bachelorhood is a spiritual attack!"
She clutched her Bible and her phone, scrolling through WhatsApp pictures of potential wives like it was Tinder for African mothers.
I was 29, a civil engineer in Lagos, and deeply single—not because I couldn't find love, but because the last girl I loved used my rent money to buy a Brazilian wig and disappeared with a sugar daddy who sold building materials.
So, when Mama insisted on arranging a marriage, I laughed. Until Papa added his voice.
“If you don’t marry before July, forget your inheritance. We will donate your land to the church!”
July was two months away.
That was how I met Amaka.
Photos first. Then video calls. She was pretty. Soft-spoken. From Enugu. A nurse. And, according to her mother, a virgin. (My cousin Ugochi whispered, “Aunty, check that thing well. These days, even calculators reset.”)
I agreed to meet her. She smiled, giggled, and spoke gently. But something felt... rehearsed. Like she was playing a role.
Still, the wedding date was fixed. Invitations printed. Cow bought. Church booked. DJ paid. Mama danced every night to Flavour’s songs as if the wedding was her own.
And then the big day came.
The hall glittered with decorations. Guests arrived in gele and agbada. My friends teased me “Obinna, you go finally chop life!”
Then I saw her. Amaka. Dressed in white. Gorgeous. Smiling. Until I noticed the man sitting beside her, whispering in her ear and holding her hand.
I frowned.
“Who is that?” I asked my brother.
My brother squinted. “I think he came with the bride.”
“Came with the"
Before I could finish, Mama appeared beside me, all smiles and sweat. “You look handsome, my son. Now go and smile at your bride.”
“I will smile after I know who that guy is.”
Mama hissed and walked off.
So, I marched up to Amaka, heart racing. “Who is this?”
She blinked, calm. “Oh! Meet Chuka. My best friend. He’s like… family.”
Chuka stood, extended his hand, smiling like a goat that just chewed your exam script. “Nice to meet you, bro.”
Bro?
I ignored his hand. “Can we talk privately?”
Amaka sighed, dragged me aside, and said the thing that nearly made me remove my agbada and run home in boxers.
“I invited him because... well... he’s important to me. We dated for six years. He’s the one who taught me how to love. But my parents didn’t approve. So I had to settle for this... arrangement.”
I stood still, blinking.
“Settle?”
“Yes,” she said. “But you’re kind. You’ll understand.”
Ladies and gentlemen, I did not understand.
My uncle, who saw me shaking like a leaf, whispered, “Is it heartbreak or hunger? Should we bring you small jollof rice to calm your nerves?”
I wanted to run, but the hall was full, the gifts were stacked, and the caterers were serving. A pastor was waiting. A crowd was watching.
Then I remembered what my grandmother once said:
“If you must embarrass the devil, do it with boldness.”
So, I climbed the stage, grabbed the mic, and said:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for coming. But I just found out that I am not the main actor in this wedding. I am an extra.”
Gasps.
Chuka choked on his zobo. Amaka’s face turned pale. Mama tried to grab the mic, but I raised my hand dramatically.
“This wedding is cancelled. But don’t worry there’s plenty of food. Eat, drink, and take selfies. Just know that Obinna has left the chat!”
I walked out, head high, heart free. That night, I ate the wedding jollof alone in my boxers and watched Nollywood movies till 2 a.m.
A week later, I met Adaeze, my neighbor who had always lent me pepper without asking for it back. She knocked on my door with a plate of hot rice and a smile.
And guess what?
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