So apparently I had been living in the states too long and I had no idea that dancing at my wedding was supposed to be a battle between myself and the groom. Now I was blessed that I brought with me to my wedding in Nigeria, one of my friends, and she was a very good friend. I promised in my heart that I would owe her for life for making this journey with me and more importantly sneaking me shots of Jack Daniels to the marriage tent.
Everyone assumed she was keeping me hydrated with water and did not suspect that she was in fact loading me with drinks to ease my nerves. As I type I laugh. I was nervous about the fact that the rest of my friends were back in the States and that I would now be subject to the judging eyes of my Husbands friends and our families.
After I was feeling sufficiently loose. My new husband dragged me out onto the so called dance floor. And he begins to vex… now me I didn’t know what that meant but the wedding host said it severally and so I assumed the meaning. Now what I didn’t know was that I was supposed to be battling against him in this vexing match. Once we reached the floor my own future husband begins to vibrate with dance moves that I had never seen in all my years on earth. He dropped Low then swayed back up, he bent over and was winding back in fact I can’t even summarize nor document the way he shamed me on the dance floor.
I still want revenge till today. In retrospect I have questions, 1. Why didn’t he warn me? In my mind that is cheating, 2. If in fact I was supposed to be dropping it like it was hot how in the world was I expected to pick it back up wearing that tight wrappa?
Hmmm I smelled a set up. Looking back on my wedding day I realize how unhappy and boring I must have looked doing a 2 step dance when the event supposedly called for some serious dance moves to prove to the crowd that I was excited about our nuptials. In my defense I didn’t know. I thought it best to pretend like I was so Lady like.
I’m guessing that God was punishing me that day for pretending to be and Aje when in fact I’m really an agbero.
Forming never ends well.