A Nigerian Tale of Public Disgrace, Mic Drops, and Unforgivable Toasts

You know that moment when your soul exits your body, your ancestors abandon you, and you just KNOW you’ve made an irreversible mistake? Yeah, that was me, Gbenga the Unfortunate, on what should have been a beautiful wedding day.

Spoiler alert: It was beautiful… until I picked up the mic.

HOW I BECAME THE WEDDING’S VILLAIN

First, let’s get one thing straight: I had one job. As the groom’s childhood bestie and designated hype man, my only duty was to deliver a heartfelt, wholesome toast.

I had practiced. I had the perfect speech. The vibes were perfect. Jollof was jolloffing, the DJ was spinning bangers, and the couple was glowing. It was giving happily ever after.

Then, I opened my mouth. Biggest mistake of my life.

THE MOMENT THAT ENDED ME

Everything was going great. I was on a roll. People were laughing. The bride’s father was nodding approvingly. Then my spirit of oversabi kicked in.

I should have stopped. I should have put the mic down.

But no. I had to take a nostalgia trip.

“From the moment Tunde started dating Chioma—”

The hall fell silent.

The groom’s name? Tunde.

The bride’s name? NOT CHIOMA.

Omo.

My brain froze. My mouth kept moving. My spirit ran to go and beg God for mercy.

The bride’s eyes widened. The groom’s soul left his body like an Airtel SIM without NIN linkage.

The wedding MC let out an audible “AH!”

Somebody’s aunty whispered, “Is this how wickedness starts?”

THE AFTERMATH: AN ECLIPSE OF SHAME

The mic suddenly felt ten tons heavy. I tried to backtrack.

“Haha! No, no, I meant Sarah! Our beautiful bride, Sarah! Tunde has always loved Sarah—”

Too late. The damage was done.

Sarah’s face was giving Windows shutdown screen.

Tunde was sweating like he just entered Third Mainland traffic with no AC.

Then, the real horror began: Sarah’s mother stood up.

If you’ve ever seen a Yoruba woman remove her gele in slow motion, you know the devil is about to work overtime. She turned to face her husband.

“Did you hear that? Did you hear what this foolish boy just said?”

Her husband, a silent man with the facial expression of an unpaid salary, nodded.

Then Sarah’s younger brother cracked his knuckles.

Omo.

I turned to Tunde. He looked at me like a man whose obituary was about to be printed.

THE UNHOLY GROUP CHAT LEAK

If you think this story ended there, you underestimate the power of Nigerian wedding guests.

Within ten minutes, screenshots had entered the family WhatsApp group:

➡️ “Who is Chioma??”
➡️ “Somebody should explain before I take off my wig.”
➡️ “Sarah, my daughter, you cannot marry this man.”
➡️ “God will judge that best man.”

Then, Twitter got involved.

By the next morning, I was trending as #BestManOfShame.

Jumia posted: “Oga Gbenga, maybe a mic isn’t for you. But our discounts are.”

Airtel Nigeria tweeted: “No be you go cast Tunde.”

My own mother called me: “Gbenga, were you sent by the devil?”

I wanted to disappear. Relocate. Start life afresh. But Sarah had already unfollowed Tunde on Instagram.

THE FINAL NAIL IN THE COFFIN

Tunde’s wedding? Cancelled.

Sarah? Moved on.

Me? Permanently banned from giving speeches anywhere. Even at naming ceremonies.

If there’s one lesson you should take from this, it’s never mention an ex at a wedding. Ever. Even by mistake.

Or else? Your own wedding fit no even happen.

And please, if anyone sees me selling popcorn in Canada, face your front.

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Ultimate Cringe

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