Armed Wedding Crashers

ARMED WEDDING CRASHERS

“Hmmm!” I shuddered again. “These are perilous times.” Yes, it is a line in one of Shakespeare’s legendary plays.
After my experience of June the 9th, 2007, I don’t know exactly what my attitude to attending weddings their invitation cards bear my name would be like.
We all know that Lagos City’s traffic is second to none in the whole wide world. It is a man-hour killer. And one’s safety is not guaranteed most especially when one’s car window is wound down. The heat can be enervating most times as the temperature can sometimes be as high as 36 degrees Celsius. Knowing how the economy have gone stupid, it is not every resident that can afford brand new cars with air-conditioner and other trappings of luxury on wheels. Most prospering residents go for the affordable imported secondhand cars popularly called tokunbo. Monstrous traffic congestion to Lagos City residents who pride themselves as Lagosians affords them the opportunity and time to pause in their maddening haste to buy anything one can imagine - from toothbrush to electric kettle. For most Lagosians, daytime hours are never enough for them to achieve all their wishes. Therefore, they always would wound down their car window glasses for fresh air and make impulse purchases while in traffic.
So on this 9th day of June 2007, I made haste as I drove against traffic to get home in order to meet up with the wedding reception of my Masters’ class classmate. He hah insisted that since I wouldn’t make the church solemnization ceremony where he would tie the nuptials with his wife that I should endeavour to make the reception. This is so considering the fact that I work six hours on Saturdays to make ends meet. As the celebrant is someone I have a lot of respect for, I promise I’ll make the reception.
I quickly took a bath and picked my car key after putting on my brown 3-piece suit and a splash of cologne and left in haste for the venue of the wedding reception. On getting to the expressway leading to Murtala Mohammed International Airport, I noticed that the traffic had started building up. That was strange on a Saturday. Time was 2.35 p.m. With every progress made, the traffic became more unnerving. Within time my legs and joints began to ache me out of frequent use of the pedals. Yes my car is not automatic.
Eventually, I asked a mobile hawker what the cause of the traffic snarl was and he told me the president had just used the expressway some moments ago on his way back to the federal capital territory Abuja. Therefore, traffic was stopped for close to forty minutes against other road users. It became understandable to me. Whenever there is a little hitch, owing to the high density of car users in Lagos, traffic will snowball out of control of the traffic wardens.
To my disbelief, I spent close to an hour before I could get to the venue of the wedding reception on a journey of less than fifteen minutes.
Getting a space to pack my car took me ten minutes before I could secure a space. It was well attended an event, I noticed.
I could hardly figure out a recognizable face as I walked round looking for a place to sit down in the open arena. Eventually, I was offered a place to sit down by a beautiful lady who was sitting in company of four other males. I observed the wedding reception was about to be wrapped up. From the programme of order of events, I observed it was time for the couple’s dance. Thee were many gift items from guests packed behind the celebrants’ table.
In Nigeria, it is our tradition to spray celebrants of most occasions with naira notes despite the Central Bank’s campaign against this age-long tradition and threat of prosecution of its violators.
For over forty-five minutes, guests were on top of it. There were naira notes all around the newest dancing couple that they threaded on crisp naira notes.
To my chagrin, two minutes after the couple’s dance was brought to an end, a group of seven good-looking well-dressed men came out from under one of the canopies and walked up to the high table and released a volley of gunshots. The sight of such sophisticated weapons they wielded was enough to make many mortals faint.
The stampede was instantaneous. I ducked under the table when more gunshots were being released and crawled on all fours as I look for a way out of the wedding reception turned robbery scene. Emptied cartridges were falling all around me. Frightened guests were tripping and falling over themselves. The ladies fared worst. Some of them were running and screaming without knowing where to run to safety and ended up breaking their legs. The robbery incident lasted for over fifteen minutes without police coming to our rescue. The robbers left with the money and gift items presented to the couple in a stolen SUV of a guest.
There were many injured guests. Some were hit by bullet and taken to a nearby hospital for immediate medical attention. My friend had left the issue of security out of his plans and he paid dearly for it.
When I got to where my car was packed, I realized my car key was missing. I had to go back the way I came amidst the madness and thanked God when I stumbled on the bunch where it was buried into the ground by the feet of fleeing and frightened guests.
The couple was dumbfounded and shed such tears of agony, refusing to be consoled. I drove home shaking but thankful to God for saving my life.

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A Ghost At My Aunt's Wedding

WEDDING: EVEN A GHOST ATTENDED ONE

By Ugo Okeke

I have always hated the use of clichés in my writings but after this experience, I decided this is an exception. This real and true story is stranger than fiction.
I still remember with much trepidation this incident that took place over a year ago in the family of an extended relation. Actually, it was a wedding I stumbled on this fearsome tale.
My younger brother who stole a look at my title is already saying that I can sale my mother for the love of lucre. This is so because my relations made me promise not to tell the world knowing my pedigree as a writer and penchant for such. But after a year, I felt my readers deserve to read this true but strange happening in a wedding. You now know why I will not mention names here.
Now, the protagonist is my paternal aunty while the antagonist is her late husband.
This couple had left the shores of Nigeria in the wake of the 3 year Nigeria civil war where the Nigerian Government used the weapon of hunger to waste the lives of hundreds of thousands of Biafrans through the disease of kwashiorkor. Forgive me this slight digression down historical lane.
They traveled to London and took up resident permit and became British citizens after a couple of years in good old ever-cold London. My aunty was only 17years while the husband was 27 years old the time they wedded. His family according to the story had accepted to train him on one condition. And the condition was that he should get married to a good and well-trained home girl before he leave the country for a second degree in pediatrics.
Nobody heard anything unsavory about my aunty and her husband fro over twenty years. They were said to be sending money to relatives of whom my father was one of the biggest beneficiaries. In their thirty-fifth year, they came back to our town as the husband came from a community different from ours. There was much fanfare and celebration. That was when I was introduced to my aunty. But we noticed they came without their children. When we asked, my aunt’s husband prevaricated while my aunty made every effort to hide her discomfort, frustrations and deep-seethed anger over the topic. She kept eye-balling her husband.
I never knew any one of them except the photograph of my aunt of black and white background taken in her seventeenth birthday the week she left Nigeria for London with her husband.
Four year later, my aunty came back home at the age of 56 with a middle-aged man. She introduced him to the family after telling us that she had divorced her husband due to reasons she termed as irreconcilable difference and her frustrations with him for not doing much to help her have her own children through the artificial way. We felt sorry for her and bought her story. The new man in her life she told us is from Kenya. The customs of marriage were carried out within three days and they had a successful traditional wedding which was well-attended. For her second white wedding, she opted for a low key and private affair. Only family members were allowed.
Then came the 5th day of April 2006, we drove down to the biggest church on our community for the wedding. Everything went on well until the priest asked the routine question,
“Is there any one among you who have a reason this couple should not be joined together as husband and wife? Let such person speak up or forever remain silence.”
There was pin-drop silence among family members that were not up to twenty in the big church auditorium when we all heard,
“I have a reason.”
We all looked behind and saw nobody. But when my aunty looked back, she screamed,
“What are you doing here? You are dead!”
We were shocked by the evil revelation. We all took to our heels, the priest, and my aunt’s new husband inclusive when the ghost of my aunt’s late husband appeared at the altar and said…,
“She poisoned me to death so she can marry her lover of ten years because of my inability to father a child.” and disappeared.
When I looked back, my aunt was still lying where she had collapsed in an unconscious heap.
Today, she had gone back to London to live with her Kenyan husband and we heard they are expecting a baby.

For more, go to http://www.ugonoble.blogspot.com/

My Cousin’s Wedding Crashers
By Ugochukwu Okeke

This is a story I am not in a hurry to forget yet. On April the 7th 2007, I experienced what I never knew was possible. A trait I never knew has been in me was made manifest. I mean I am a cool guy who would never embarrass anybody to prove a point.
In the face of clear and present challenge, the real being in us is brought to fore. Cool or not, the fact remains one have to do what he has to do by following his instincts. I have always been proud of my reputation as a cool and responsible guy of thirty years of age. But do I have to look on while what would ruin my reputation is starring me in the face?
This was my dilemma before I took the bull by the horn. I never dreamt of coping with some smart-ass pilferers and pick-pocketing bunch of wedding crashers.
My paternal cousin had insisted that if he would have his wedding in the country Nigeria, it would have to be a five star event in a five star venue with all the society gossip magazines to cover the events both at the church solemnization ceremony and the wedding reception.
James never wanted to marry a Nigerian, but eventually, he bought our idea at the age of thirty-eight. An age when his mates’ wards have graduated from elementary school and his age mates are contemplating the pains and pleasures of seeing their wards through secondary school education. Never mind that, it’s an exaggeration. The fact is we marry early where I came from. It is almost a taboo and concern source of worry when a young man is not with a wife and children before he attains the age of thirty-five. So you can imagine our worries over the shame James’ attitude towards this tradition of ours have brought us.
Duties were delegated to every family member who wanted to be part of this 0ne-of-its-kind wedding by a member of our family in the absence of professional wedding planners. So we elected to handle every aspect of the wedding’s exigencies and leaving nothing to chance. Of course they were so demanding, but we gave our best for Cousin James.
The reception he said would be in a five star hotel on Victoria Island to ward off the problem of daredevil notoriety Lagos wedding crashers are known for.
The entire family members woke up and left for the solemnization event at the church while I woke up to the reality of the enormity of my assignment. I am the man in charge of supervising the staff of the security organization the security of guests to the wedding was contracted out to.
Family members had turned out in their numbers to give our brother who has been working with a drug company in the United States of America for over ten years the moral support he rightfully deserved. I was taken by the large turn out of friends and well-wishers who adorned their fine and expensive plumage of flamboyance which added colour to the occasion. I dropped some of them at the church and drove down to my duty post at the five star hotel venue of the reception.
My assigned responsibility of security came with it the nerve-wrecking task of trying to be everywhere at a time as I monitor the activities of the hotel staff who were handling their own aspect of preparations for the main event. I discovered to my anger that some of them were pilfering the South African imported apples they were washing, and carting away some of the bottles of assorted brands of wines that would dot the one hundred tables in the banquet hall of the five star hotel venue of the reception. In other to save them their job in the face of lack of it in the country, I assured them I would inform the hotel management of their less-than honorable sharp practices if they would return the stolen stuff. They thankfully complied.
As if this experience is not nightmarish enough, I was informed in the middle of the reception that wedding crashers had overrun the wedding reception. I felt scandalized and mad at the hotel management who had assured me of their ability to cope with the antics of professional wedding crashers. I begged and prayed for solution to this problem.
My fear evaporated when female guests started complaining out loud the theft and loss of their handsets and handbags. I had to worry out. The only idea that came to me was to embarrass anybody I suspected was not invited by the celebrants. That was also a huge problem. I couldn’t boast of knowing all the invited guests. With the security in toe, I put on my best smile and walked from table to table asking virtually every guest for his or her invitation card. Some of the less agreeable guests reacted angrily but I paid no attention.
Everybody was shocked when I recovered some of the stolen handsets, handbags and bottles of wines pilfered from the guests’ tables. The owners of the stolen valuable items were so thankful to me. I was able to fish out twelve well-dressed wedding crashers and thieves and handed them over to the hotel security that assured me they would hand them over to the police. I knew there were still more of them seated as guests but I felt my extreme decision had saved me the palpable ruination of my reputation.
It is better to ruffle some feathers and save the chicken than allow ants eat it up while alive.

Now, there's more to read on this blogsite. Keep a date with Ugonoble and u'll read other interesting things as well even on my xomba blogsite: http://www.xomba.com/referral/77778609.

Who Loves You?

It occured to me not quite long ago how difficult it is or has become for one to know who truly loves him. Now check out this statement of fact,

"You know whom loves you, but never know who loves you."

Now you see my dilemma and the situation in which most of us find ourselves. What must I do to find out who truly loves me and how to make that love stay for as long as it can outlive me?
I have tried out a lot of things but the only one that inspired me to share this story with you is the one that made me to show love to someone who never showed me love. The story is that at the end of the day, I won her over. All I did was to simply be patient with her and made her realize that my love for her was genuine and not more for the reason of having canal knowledge of her. I did not even go out of my way to buy her expensive gift items. All I did was always buy her things that are within my means and write her beautiful poems without my name on them.

The day I came out boldly to tell her I've been coming after her via my poems and flowers she went on her knees crying, and asked for my forgiveness. Today, she is a success on her own where love matters are concerned.

You believe that man, that lady is too way up high that you can't ever get to approach him\her, never worry. Try this regimen of mine by being persistent and patient.

Your reactions are welcome.

For my other interesting writings check me out @ www.xomba.com/referral/77778609.

For The Love of Blabbing

If you notice any changes in my attitude,
It is not because I have ceased to be
Nice,

I have only ceased to be foolish.

The only way to help me is this:

Work on your character
It is character that sustains
Every known ahievement.

Now you can be my friend again.
Laughs!!!


For my other interesting writings, go to www.xomba.com/referral/77778609

Some African Names and Their Meanings

Name Gender Tribe Meaning

Abiola Masculine Yoruba(Nigeria) Born in wealth
Ajiboye ,, ,, awaken in royalty
Adewumi ,, ,, I love the Crown
Babalola ,, ,, To the father be honour
Bisola Feminine ,, Born where there is wealth
Amarachi ,, Igbo(Nigerria) God's grace
Azubuike Masculine Igbo Support is strength
Chukwuemeka Masculine Igbo God has done marvelous thing
Chinonso Unisex Igbo God is near
Chetachi ,, Igbo Remeber God

The Glory of Friendship

Now I know that the glory of friendship is not in the
outstretched hand nor the kindly smile, nor the joy
of companionship. It is rather the spiritual inspiration
that comes to a friend when he discovers that someone
else believes in him and is willing to trust his friendship.
For all I care to know, true friendship can as well be likened
to a sound health, the value of it seldomly known until it is lost to the wind.


You can go to www.xomba.com/referral/7777/8609 for my other interesting writings. You'll be glad you did. Cheers.

Your Health Deserve Better Man!

A sore Achilles tendon is a warning to back off and rest up before you end up spending the next six months on crutches with a full rupture. When you first feel tenderness, ice the spot for close to fifteen minutes several times a day. Then try these massage, which increase bloodflow which enhances healing, says Pat Maning, a physical therapist at Allegheny General Hospital's sports-medicine program in Pittsburgh.

A. Place your thumb directly on the tender area and firmly rub back and forth horizontally, perpendicular to the tendon. Do it hard enough that you feel a little discomfort, but not pain. Do this for three to four minutes three or four times a week.

B. If the tenderness is along the side of the tendon, press a thumb and index finger on the spot and repeatedly push the skin about a half inch forward, toward the shin. Don't just slide the fingers over the skin.

C. If it hurts where the tendon meets the heel, use your index finger to massage the point. To prevent soreness, stretch regularly. Stand on one foot on a step, your heel hanging off, and slowly lower the heel until you feel the stretch. Hold for thirty seconds, and repeat five times with each foot.

Cheers!

Imbibe These Virtues

Smile always

Talk less

Worry Less

Expect little

Dream always

Trust considerably

Learn to give and

Make few good friends.

I can assure U, you'll live a

Blissful life here on earth.

The Do's and Don'ts of Life

Don't be too soft
For the world will lick you,

Don't be too hard
For the world will hate you,

Don't be too sweet
For the world will suck you,

Don't be too bitter
For the world will get rid of you,

Rather, be bitter, sweet and hard
And the world will love you
Forever!!

Giving Up Is Death (Motivational/Inspirational)

You have tried and failed on a project(s) for as many number of times as you are willing to count.
Now look at this story.
A man in the arid region of Nigeria lost his wife-the mother of his three young and tender children-to the cold hands of death(hunger/disease).
One day, he came back from his farm and met his children looking frail, farmished and rehydrated. He fed them with the last ration of the leftover. But in stead of them getting stronger, they all started throwing out in feverish conditions. He became confused and dejected. He looked upwards and down, but there was no helpful suggestion coming to him.
There was no water at home to give them.
"I am so weak from today's labour in the farm." He said.
The pitiable sight of his children made him pick a calabash and left home for the only source of water nearest to him. It was a six kilometers journey. But for the sake of his children, he was willing to sacrifice his strenght. He trekked the distance and climbed the mountainous hills to the stream. He fetchedd the water and drank some before he left for home.
At some point on his way home, he started feeling dizzy and fainty out of lack of food that he did not see his children sprawled out by the entrance door. His tired legs got trapped in the outstretched legs of one of his children and he fell. The calabash broke and the water spilled all over the room.
He shut his eye tight in fear and cursed under his breath. He lay on the floor, refusing to acknowledge his misfortune.
The battle to access his fate and ill fortune continued to battle within him until he heard his children laughing as they struggle to lick water off the surface of the floor. Some of the water had collected in a pool and they were spalshing the water all over their frail body. They were rejunevated.
The man was happy with knowing that his effort even in misfortune was able to resuscitate his children.


Lesson: Life's rewards appear at the end and not at the beginning of the journey. The catch is to keep trying.