Why I’ll Never Drink Smirnoff Again: I Fought a Gate in Front of My Crush, My Pastor’s Son & My Ex’s Sister — and the Gate Won.

It was my cousin’s “small” graduation party. Which, in Nigerian terms, means 47 people crammed into a BQ compound with one bluetooth speaker, three chairs, and zero dignity.

I didn’t even want to go. But my enemy (a.k.a. my crush) was going to be there. And my toxic trait? When I like somebody, I dress like I’ve already met their mother.

So there I was. Red halter neck. Jeans that said I squat sometimes. Lashes so long I was blinking in Morse code. I had one goal: make Adeolu look at me like I was a JAMB result and he was my proud Nigerian father.

Spoiler alert: Adeolu did not look at me. At all. But Smirnoff did.

Oh, and Adeolu came with his dad for some reason. Pastor Adeolu. The Holy Ghost was not prepared for what was about to happen.

Three bottles in, I became the Beyoncé of Surulere. I started freestyle dancing to Tekno like I was auditioning for Step Up: Surulere Edition. Someone shouted, “Give her space!” and I took that as divine permission to start breakdancing.

I cannot breakdance.

And then — God of Abraham — I spun, squatted, and tried to rise like I was being summoned by ancestral spirits. But physics and fake lashes had other plans. My right knee gave way. I fell. Onto the compound’s iron gate, which then fell too.

Let me be clear. The entire gate detached from its hinge like it had also had enough of this party.

Now I’m lying on the floor, half under a rusty gate, yelling “I’m fine! I’m fine!” while three people try to lift it off me like I’m a victim of structural collapse.

Guess who was standing directly across from me?

Adeolu.
His father — Pastor Adefarasin
And, as God would have it, my ex’s sister.

I considered faking a seizure just to reset the room.

The Aftermath

They said the fall looked like a scene from WWE SmackDown. The next morning, my knee was swollen, my lashes were missing, and my dignity had packed its load and relocated to Cotonou.

My enemies? Laughing.

The group chat was renamed “Gate Girl Chronicles.” Someone made a meme of me under the gate with the caption: “When life hits you and the gate joins.”

One guy started calling me “Transformer” because apparently I knocked it out like Optimus Prime.

At church that Sunday, Pastor Adeolu said:

“Let us pray against strange spirits of dance that destroy gates and destinies.”

Three people turned to look at me.

And just when I thought I’d survived the worst, Adeolu texted me. My heart skipped. Maybe, finally—

“Yo, do you have the video of your fall? My guys want to see it again 💀💀💀”

I counted the seconds he held my hand that night — eleven. That’s what girls like me do. We collect crumbs and call it romance.

Moral of the story?

Don’t impress men.
Don’t trust Smirnoff.
And if you see a loose gate at a party, respect yourself and go home.

But lowkey?

If Adeolu texted me again today,
I’d still reply.

Some gates, it seems,
take longer to close.

My Enemies Are Laughing

Some things are too shameful to say out loud, but we’ll say them anyway. This is where regrets, bad decisions, and spiritual Ls come to confess. Laugh now, cry later. Your enemies probably already saw it. Tap in.