What if karma doesn’t slap your ex but hires you to shoot their wedding instead? Grab your popcorn—this one’s a blockbuster.

Act I: The Setup

It was a regular Wednesday, the kind where you mind your business, scroll through Instagram, and dodge the endless engagement announcements clogging your feed. Then my phone buzzed. Caller ID: “Amaka’s Sister.”

Cue the confusion. Amaka—my ex. The one who dumped me with the finesse of a NEPA power cut during the Champions League final. Her sister? We hadn’t spoken since she called me “just the boyfriend who eats too much suya.” So, why now?

Against every survival instinct, I picked up.

“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Chuka? Still doing photography?”

I froze. First off, I’d never taken photos for anything bigger than someone’s birthday cake. Secondly, this smelled fishy. The type of fish you only find at Oyingbo market during peak traffic.

Act II: The Trap Is Sprung

“Yeah, I’m still shooting,” I said cautiously, wondering where this was heading.
“Great! We need a photographer for my sister’s wedding. The last guy canceled.”

Wedding? Her sister? My brain short-circuited. Surely not Amaka. Not that sister. I cleared my throat.

“Which sister exactly?”
“You know na, Amaka! She told me to ask you. She said you’re amazing at capturing moments.”

Ah. Moments. Like the moment she dumped me for a dude with a Toyota Camry and a questionable beard? My hand gripped the phone tighter. My pride said, “Decline!” But my bank account whispered, “Relax o, this is December money.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. What’s the date?”

“Saturday.”

Two days. TWO DAYS?! I hung up, staring at my camera. You and I are about to enter enemy territory.

Act III: Enter the Lion’s Den

Saturday arrived faster than NEPA’s blackout after a big rainstorm. I walked into the venue, camera strapped like a soldier ready for battle. Amaka looked stunning—infuriatingly stunning. Her new boo? The Toyota Camry guy, smug as ever, wearing sunglasses indoors. Red flag energy.

Amaka spotted me and waved. “Chuka! You’re a lifesaver!”
I forced a smile. “Happy to help!” Meanwhile, my inner voice was screaming, “You’re not happy! You’re broke!”

The ceremony was chaos from the start. The priest mispronounced the groom’s name, the flower girl fell asleep mid-aisle, and an auntie in the back kept yelling, “Eh! Is this love or what?”

But it was the reception that unlocked peak drama.

Act IV: The Toast That Broke Me

During the toast, Amaka stood up, glass in hand. “I want to thank everyone who made today possible, especially Chuka. You’ve always been so dependable.”

DEPENDABLE?! I nearly dropped my camera. Was this girl seriously painting me as the backup generator of her love life? The crowd clapped, and I gave a stiff nod, internally plotting my villain origin story.

Then it got worse. The DJ announced the couple’s first dance song—our song. OURS! “African Queen” by 2Baba began playing, and I realized I was living a Nollywood script with no happy ending.

Act V: The Petty Photographer

At this point, I decided, If I’m going down, I’m going down legendary.

Every shot I took was petty perfection:

  • The groom mid-yawn during the vows? Captured.
  • Amaka tripping over her dress? Frame-worthy.
  • Auntie Nkechi stuffing jollof rice into her purse? Cinematic gold.

When they cut the cake, I zoomed in on the groom’s shaky hands. This marriage might survive the first dance, but can it survive shaky hands?

Act VI: The Grand Finale

As the event wound down, Amaka pulled me aside. “Chuka, I don’t know how to thank you. You saved the day!”
I smiled, finally in control. “No problem. Just pay me on time.”

As I packed my gear, I overheard the groom whisper, “Who’s this Chuka sef? He’s too familiar.”
Familiar ke? My guy, I’m the ghost of boyfriends past.

Lessons from the Camera Lens

  1. Life doesn’t always serve revenge on a hot plate. Sometimes, it’s cold, bitter, and comes with a cash payment.
  2. If your ex ever asks you to do anything for their wedding, triple your rate—it’s hazard pay.

Would I do it again? Maybe. Weddings are stressful, but nothing’s as satisfying as knowing the best photo in their album came from the person they thought they left behind.

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The “Oops!” Chronicles

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