It was November 2011, after my second semester examination. My bestfriend, Nelo, who was also my neighbour in school invited me for an owambe while we were in a bus headed to Lagos.

“Ehen...*” I regarded her with scepticism. “How do you know the people?”

“The bride is one of my friend’s sister’s neighbour’s daughter,” she shrugged as she turned the page of the travel novel she’d bought.

“I don't understand the relationship,” I couldn't hide my consternation. It was a tall, long relationship. I had to close my novel. I felt we were going to have a long conversation.

She sighed and spoke slowly like she were talking to a retard. “As in the girl, ehn, is a neighbour to my friend’s sister...” she cocked her head as she regarded me with incredulity. “You don't get?” I stared at her like I were trying to solve a conundrum. “Babe, you’re smart, now.” She made awkward hand gestures, “Like, the girl is-”

“I got you the first time,” I cut her off. “I’m just surprised that you want us to go even when you don't know the girl personally.”

“Haba,” she nudged me with her shoulder. “As if the girl will be inspecting the people that she knows and doesn’t know. She’s be busy getting married. There will be fun o...” She went on and on giving me a description of the wedding we were to attend as if she were in the Owambe Planning Committee. I learnt that the wedding was billed to take place at Ikeja, Lagos. We agreed to meet up at Tipper Garage in Ketu. From there, we’d take a bus going to Ikeja.

A week to the owambe, Nelo and I went shopping. We told ourselves we were going to look divalicious*. Nelo was a woman with a plan. Her plan was to land a boyfriend. That was my plan, too. But, I wasn’t desperate. At that point in my life, sans boyfriend wasn’t so cool. You know how some teenagers are- we crave for romantic relationships. I’m tempted to write about Erik Erikson’s Psychosocial theory.

On the day of the owambe, I was dressed to the nines- all black everything. With my black gown, black pumps, black clutch, and my black sunglasses, one would think I was going for a funeral. Black is my happy colour. In my LBD, I was feeling like Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Nelo was on point; she didn't fall my hand.* She wore a midnight blue gown that had a plunging neckline. Her cleavage was in my face. I leered at them to make her self-conscious while we were in the bus going to Ikeja.

We got to the event’s hall feeling super-super fly like divas. In fact, Beyonce had nothing on us that day. We looked stunning and we knew it. If we were in a movie, Beyonce’s Diva would have been the soundtrack playing while we got into the hall. It would have been Flawless. But, the song wasn’t out at the time.

A polite usher led us to a corner of the hall. As we sat, Nelo’s eyes lit up like a child who’d seen a shinny toy. I squinted my eyes at her to decipher what got her giddy.

“Guuuuuyyyyys,” she drawled with bass in her voice. It was like she was talking in D major. For the first time, I took in my surrounding to see what was making her feel this strange happiness.

O Father! The guys! They were Greek-gods gorgeous! Triple G. They reminded me of Michelangelo's David. I almost drooled. In that moment, I knew I was going to “connect” with one of the dashing and dapper dudes. You think only men objectify women? Think again. Women objectify men, too. Societal expectations prevent us from acting lecherous and lewd towards men we find attractive. But, some women don't mind. They go for what they want. All that plenty courage.

Thirty minutes into the owambe, the ushers started distributing plates of hot food. From where I sat, I could see the steam. They’d ask someone what he or she wanted. It was like a la carte.

However, something caught my attention. The ushers paid attention to only those that wore aso-ebis. Those of us wearing other things asides from the wedding uniform were the last to get food. How were we going to explain that we didn't have our aso-ebi’s because we were in school at the time they sold it? We should have just gone to that wedding reception with our school ID cards dangling on our necks.

After a while, another thing dawned on me. Most of the dudes at the owambe weren’t “engaging” with us gals. They seemed engrossed with... themselves. What could they have been talking about? Many things were racing through my mind. For a second, my mind went to Funke Akindele’s movie, Jenifa. There was a party Jenifa gatecrashed. This was in to be seen as a bigz gehls*. In the end, it turned out to be a party organised by cult members. I watched trepidation crawl up my spine.

Nelo and I noticed the dudes were not just conversational, they were also touchy-feely with themselves. At a table, one dude with well-groomed beards leaned in to say something into another dude’s ear...

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Faith crisis in adolescence in the light of Erick Ericksons psychological theory
http://www.bravoprojecthelp.com/philosophy/faith-crisis-in-adolescence-in-the-light-of-erick-ericksons-psychological-theory/

Following this story. You might want to see this..
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFLRZKhd4iQ