They were all staring. Waiting. Watching. Nkechi knew that she was the centre of attraction owing to the way they stared at her, though they had come for something of her own. The church was not decorated as she expected, she wanted the whole place to be decorated in the same way it was in the old, dusty photograph of her mother’s wedding day, she picked up in her rusty Akpatti the week before: balloons here and there, decorated with straps that suited their different colours, and a fine white silk linen placed on the altar. It was her wedding day, the day she had been waiting for.

            The church was silent at first, starting from the time she walked in through the aisle, one hand transfixed on the bouquet she held, her other arm chained to her father’s as they walked. The silence was not the type where guests invited; turned their heads around at the sound of Felix Mendelssohn’s Wedding March to see how beautiful the bride is; to know what type of wedding dress she wears and estimate the price of it just to clear their doubts of whether they came to the wedding ceremony of a struggling family, the silence was clear, very obvious, because, Ikemma, her husband to be wasn’t there yet.

            Aunties had started talking. It feared her greatly because they made it so obvious that they were talking about her. One would stare at her for a while, then face the other who sat beside her, whispering and probably making assumptions of why Ikemma wasn’t there yet. The priest was greatly agitated at first when he noticed that the groom was yet to arrive. He waited and waited at first, until it had passed the time for a normal wedding mass celebration. He was pushed by his anger to call off the mass but calmed down when Maazi Okoro, Nkechi’s father cornered him towards one of the hidden corners of the church, and handed him a bunch of Naira notes.

            Nkechi felt afraid; she wanted to cry, but crying would raise the congregation’s thoughts on her husband’s absence. She simply stared at the now smiling priest and went to sit in an empty pew as the congregation stared at her, some angered by the fact they had been sitting there for about 2 hours, some happy that they had made it to the wedding of a big Chief’s daughter – “Rice and Stew Very Plenty”. She chose not to sit with any of her family members or friends because she was not ready to start answering the silly questions they would throw at her – “why is he not here, ahbi he don comot hand for marriage”; “E be like say the husband don leave her for another woman”.

            Nkechi was strong-willed; she had always been told this by many, her friends and ex-boyfriends. She didn’t understand why many called her a strong-willed lady, perhaps because of the way she acted normally in situations that would ordinarily make another woman breakdown. Her ex-boyfriend, Chima, the one she dated before meeting Ikemma always teased her saying she was a man sometimes. Chima, the son of a rich Accountant, the one with whom she met in a club, and flattered by his words, decided to go in with him on a Monday before she caught him cheating on her. She could not hold her tears any longer, it started as a tickling sensation in her throat at first before it became a burning one. The tears, warmed by anger, fear and anxiety began to flow, hotly down her cheeks. She did not want to blame Ikenna for the tears, she would feel bad about it, instead she blamed herself for remembering the memories she shared with Chima and her past ex-boyfriends. She wished her mum was there to cuddle her, as she always did. Her mum was with the people who were preparing the meals for the wedding, ndi n’esi nri, she didn’t want a situation where one or two delinquents would hoard pieces of dry meats in plastic bags. Nkechi sobbed silently.

            She could sense the presence of her friends in a distance, watching her. She knew that they wanted to comfort her, but they didn’t know how to. She needed someone to touch her dearly and tell her those words, things will be fine. Finally, her father sat beside her, gently moved her closer to his side, and in a casual tone said, “All will be fine, ogadimma”. Suddenly, an unusual rage grew within her, the type that made one want to tear apart one’s dress and run around naked. Ogadimma, ogadimma, and yet she had dated ten men, aborted three unborn kids, suffered endless heartbreaks, fought syphilis after an encounter with her first boyfriend, all these for the sake of love, and now left on the wedding altar by a man who proposed to her. She wanted to slap him. Her father was a casual man, he just wanted peace, udo. But pondering on those words made her angrier because it reminded her of the different churches she attended then when she was looking for a spouse, you are getting old, go to a church, let them pray for you, they told her. Her friend, Ngozika invited her to her church on a particular day, “We have a service dedicated to those searching for a life partner”, she said. Nkechi loved the service, not because of what was preached, but owing to the fact that a week after the service, she met Chima. And when Chima cheated on her, she met the church’s priestess for counselling and guidance, and was instructed by the self-acclaimed priestess to give “tithes” to her church. Nkechi gave them all she had: her savings, her salary, etc. but no miracle was forthcoming. She stopped going to the church.

            She had stopped crying. She didn’t know why. All these experiences for the sake of finding a life partner just wanted to make her commit suicide. Her phone buzzed suddenly, she stared at the screen, it was Ikemma calling.