A Four-Part Comedy

EPISODE FOUR: COORDINATOR BY FORCE

By the time the wedding was drawing to a close, I had accepted two things.

One, I was not going to enjoy this wedding in peace.

And Two, Aunty Sade believed that every problem at the venue could be solved by calling my name.

I finally managed to get another plate of food, and this time, I guarded it like a woman protecting her inheritance.

No phone calls.

No errands.

No helping anybody.

Just me and my bowl of hot Amala. I mean I wasn’t about to leave Ibadan without tasting one.

I had barely taken three mouthfuls when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I froze.

Please, not again.

I turned slowly.

It was the bride’s mother.

“My daughter, thank you so much for today.”

I opened my mouth to explain that I had done absolutely nothing officially.

She continued before I could speak.

“You were so helpful. You helped us sort out the photographer’s phone, entertained everybody, and even helped us find the groom’s uncle.”

I blinked.

When did finding a missing uncle become part of my CV?

“Thank you, ma,” I managed.

She smiled and pressed a small envelope into my hand.

“Please, take this. It’s just a little something to appreciate your help.”

I stared at the envelope.

My brain began to work overtime.

Was this appreciation? Compensation? A reward for surviving the day?

Or was this how people accidentally entered the events industry?

“Thank you, ma,” I repeated, because I was raised properly.

She nodded towards the stage, where Bisi was still busy attending to the final arrangements.

“Do you do event coordination professionally?”

I nearly swallowed my tongue.

“Me? No, ma!”

“Oh! You were so active today. Anyone would think perhaps you worked with the coordinator.”

“No, ma. I’m just a guest, I came with my cousin.”

She looked genuinely impressed.

She laughed.

“Well, you certainly made yourself useful today. Please, give me your number. If we need help with an event in the future, we can contact you.”

I smiled politely while my soul almost left my body.

“Thank you ma, but I really don’t do event planning.”

“Okay, my daughter. No problem.”

She walked away, leaving me with the envelope and a fresh reason to start avoiding weddings.

I looked down at the envelope again.

Should I return it?

Would returning it require an explanation?

Would the explanation lead to another assignment?

No.

I had suffered enough.

I tucked it into my bag and decided that whatever happened next was between God and the people who had mistaken my helpfulness for a career.

Before I could take another bite of my food, MC Busybody’s voice filled the venue again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, before we bring today’s celebration to a close, let us appreciate our very own woman in burgundy!”

The crowd cheered.

I closed my eyes.

This man again.

“Please, Kemi, come forward!”

I looked at Femi.

He was already laughing.

“I hope you know,” I told him, “that if I faint on that stage, you will explain to my mother why.”

He stood up.

“Don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

“Femi, if you help me one more time today, I will personally introduce you to the ancestors.”

He laughed harder.

With the dignity of a woman who had suffered enough, I walked to the stage.

MC Busybody handed me the microphone.

“Please, say a few words!”

A few words?

At this point, I had a whole speech prepared. Not because I wanted to speak, but because apparently, nobody was going to let me leave without addressing the nation.

I cleared my throat.

“Good evening, everybody.”

The guests responded enthusiastically.

“First of all, congratulations to the bride and groom. May your home be filled with love, laughter, peace, enough money and wisdom to settle misunderstandings without involving the extended family.”

The crowd nodded in agreement.

“Thank you to both families for today. Thank you to the caterers for the food, the DJ for the music, the ushers for their hard work, and everybody who contributed to making this day beautiful.”

I paused.

“And a very special thank you to Bisi, the actual event coordinator, who has been doing the real work while some of us have been moving around with absolutely no job description.”

The crowd burst into laughter.

Bisi raised her hands in appreciation.

“Bisi, well done. You deserve a medal or at least a very long holiday.”

More laughter.

“And finally, I want to announce that, after approximately six hours in this industry, I am officially retiring from event management.”

The guests cheered.

“Please, do not call me for bookings. I do not have a business card. I do not have a team. I do not even have the emotional capacity.”

MC Busybody collected the microphone from me, still laughing.

I walked back to my seat feeling victorious.

I had survived.

I had eaten.

I had collected an envelope.

And, most importantly, I was going home.

Or so I thought.

The Journey Home

The moment we settled into the car for the journey home, I brought out my phone and sent Tola a message.

Congratulations again, my dear. Your wedding was beautiful. But next time, please warn your guests if attending comes with an unofficial job description. lol

Her reply came almost immediately.

Lol…Kemi, you were too much today! I don’t know whether to thank you or apologise for the extra duties you accidentally signed up for.

I stared at the screen.

Extra duties indeed.

I had come to celebrate her marriage, not launch a career.

Femi leaned over to read my message.

“See? You enjoyed yourself.”

I turned to him slowly.

“Femi, if you speak to me before I get home, I will ask the driver to drop you at the next bus stop.”

He sat back, still grinning.

I opened my bag to check that my phone was there, and my fingers brushed against the envelope.

I brought it out and stared at it.

Six hours.

One microphone.

Several errands.

One missing uncle.

A stolen samosa.

And an envelope I had never expected to collect.

I shook my head.

I had gone to a wedding as a guest and returned home with a reputation I did not apply for.

And the worst part?

I had collected the envelope.

Now, if anybody asked whether I had worked at that wedding, I had evidence that could be used against me.

Because apparently, once you wear burgundy to a wedding, you are no longer a guest.

You are a wedding coordinator.

THE END.