It’s another Thursday for Thursday Chronicles, your weekly dose of laughter, reflection, and survival tales from the grand theatre called life in Nigeria. This week, we’re stepping into a world of lace, gele, and glitter, the place where love becomes a full-blown production and bank accounts quietly weep: the Nigerian wedding.
If you’ve ever attended one, then you know, it’s not just a ceremony. It’s an experience, a spectacle, a national sport powered by emotion, ego, and jollof rice. No one ever plans a “small wedding” in Nigeria. Even the simplest ceremonies end up with live bands, 300 uninvited guests, and an auntie who swears she raised the groom from childhood.
It all begins with the famous Aso-Ebi, that sacred cloth that turns friends into accountants. You’re told, “It’s just ₦25,000,” but by the time you buy the fabric, pay the tailor, and fix the inevitable “style correction,” you’ve spent enough to fund a short vacation. The irony? The more expensive your Aso-Ebi, the higher your chances of leaving the reception without food. It’s one of those Nigerian mysteries that science can’t explain.
Then comes the invitation. The card says 10 a.m. prompt, and you, the punctual, hopeful guest, show up at 10:15, thinking you’re late. Joke’s on you. The decorators are still inflating balloons, the MC is nowhere in sight, and the DJ is shouting “Testing, testing, one-two.” The couple? Still at the makeup studio, three hours away from “I do.” In Nigeria, “prompt” is not a time; it’s a prayer.
By the time the church service starts, the bride’s makeup has entered stage five of survival. The pastor delivers a sermon that sounds like a marriage seminar, quoting Proverbs, Corinthians, and sometimes local proverbs that sound suspiciously made up. Everyone is smiling, but secretly, all eyes are on the clock, and the clock is whispering, “It’s almost time for jollof.”
Ah, the reception. That’s where dignity goes to rest. The hall is decorated like a presidential inauguration, but beneath the glitter is quiet tension; everyone is waiting for food. You’ll see guests pretending to dance near the servers, strategically positioning themselves to “help distribute.” You’ll see aunties carrying takeaway packs like trophies. The DJ plays “Buga,” the MC shouts “Spray the couple!” and somewhere, someone’s gele has given up the fight. It’s beautiful chaos.
Then the money-spraying begins, Nigeria’s most beloved tradition. It’s a shower of naira and ego. One uncle starts with ₦100 notes, then another arrives with fresh ₦500s, and suddenly it’s a competition. The couple dances, the crowd cheers, and the air smells like mint and sweat. The little children become mini bankers, picking up stray notes for “safekeeping.” Everyone is happy, except your wallet.
When the older generation leaves, the real show begins. The after-party is a transformation. The DJ drops Burna Boy, ties come off, wigs loosen, and the atmosphere shifts from “holy matrimony” to “music festival.” The bride, now barefoot, is dancing like she just signed an international deal. The groom, drenched in sweat, is smiling like a man who survived war.
A few days later, you get the classic WhatsApp message: “Hi, dear! Thanks so much for coming. Please send your pictures, and don’t forget to tag us @TheTayoWedding.” You look at the message and sigh, you didn’t eat, you stood for hours, and yet you’re somehow the one being asked for pictures. But you smile, type “Congratulations again, dear,” and keep scrolling. Because deep down, you loved every bit of it.
Nigerian weddings are a perfect blend of stress and joy, chaos and coordination, noise and nostalgia. You’ll spend money you don’t have, wear clothes you can’t breathe in, and dance on an empty stomach, but you’ll also laugh, celebrate, and collect memories that last a lifetime. It’s loud, it’s dramatic, and it’s ours.
So, the next time you find yourself buying another Aso-Ebi or attending a wedding you barely got invited to, remember — you’re not just going for the food or the pictures. You’re going for the culture, the laughter, and that special kind of madness that only Nigerians can create.
That’s it for this week’s Thursday Chronicles, where love is loud, rice is spiritual, and every wedding is a blockbuster. Until next week, may your outfits fit perfectly, your plates be full, and your next wedding experience come with fewer expenses and more food.
