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.

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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.

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