I wrote this a long time ago when I still had that spunk, the spunk of a yet-to-be-married, childless, and hopeless man. I read this now and I chuckle. Hope you do too. Something lighthearted to start the week. Enjoy.

Chidi

Wedding planning has got to be the most angst-filled and unnecessarily dramatic experience a couple can go through. Well, that is assuming the groom even makes the call to be involved. According to the United Nations Wedding Education Department, UNWed, 99% of grooms just show up for the wedding, follow directions and call it a day…which is the smart way to go. Me? Chidi Afulezi? Come on, now. What makes you think I would do the smart thing? Or do what everyone else does? I am in that 1% of grooms who had to be actively involved. Oga Product Management Guru. Engaging in all the craziness. The scams. The spats. Getting absorbed in the underbelly of a process and industry that has sacrileged a sacrament that should be filled with joy, but is infused with an undercurrent of raw and Helsinki Accords level emotions.

To guard against and negate said emotions, I adopted a sentence, a theme, a mantra, a fashi, that fully captured and vocalized my thoughts and opinions when shared with an unwitting wedding scammer…I mean, vendor:

PLEASE (ABEG) I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS NONSENSE!

So Chidi, yes, exactly what does that mean? What are the underlying passions, reasonings, rationalizations, and deductions that qualify and ratify this declaration? (see, that’s what happens when you study Mathematics in college, you start sounding like Thomas Webster or his uncle-in-law William Thesaurus).

Ok…that made no sense.

Ah, I see what you did there, Chidi. No sense. Touche. Carry on.

Thank you.

For one, this particular statement was designed, developed, and unleashed on civilization by the understated (that is sarcasm) and vocally acrobatic (that is an understatement) people of Nigeria. A common and widely deployed line of linguistic weaponry, it gives the declarer the go-ahead to literally wash away all of his/her issues.

And sins.

First, the time issue. You don’t have any. You are letting folks know your time is valuable. Then comes the fact that nonsense is being thrown at you and you are irked by the fact that your valuable time is being occupied by nonsense. If you happen to have time saved in the bank or the time-saving fintech app, it is not for this nonsense.

So for instance, if you were told by your boss to write a report and build a financial business model that would help her convince the CEO that the company could make gazillions by developing the new super gizmo, the Naija thing to say is, “Madam, I don’t have time for this nonsense.” Just like a priest administering self-confession, you have, in essence, absolved yourself of all duties/concerns.

Would you get fired? Absolutely. Thrown out the window like Eddie Murphy on his first day in Beverly Hills. But at least you didn’t have time for all that financial model nonsense.

Now, I have tagged along to pretty much most of the meetings that TheNgozi scheduled with the various vendors who will help with the wedding. If you have ever planned a wedding, then you understand nothing makes any sense. The eye watering price of the bride’s dress is sense deprived—a dress that she will wear only once in her lifetime, may not even wear for more than an hour if she is a Bey wannabe and changes her dress at least twelve times during the concert…I mean ceremonies. Seating arrangements? Hahahaha…hahahahaha. Never do this, I say do like Southwest Airlines and make it a free for all, honestly. Knowing who to put where and why and when without starting a nuclear holocaust is like trying to play Russian Roulette and chess at the same time. Just nonsense. Here’s another nonsensical thing: do we choose chiavari chairs vs infinity chairs? Or crossback vs bentwood cafe chairs? “And sir, Chiavaris are $10 a head, crossbacks are $12”. What? My friend, sit down. A chair is a chair. Total nonsense.

No time for that nonsense o.

Being the scatter head that I am, whenever TheNgozi asks me to roll with her, I always initiate negotiations to define and lock down the terms under which I would tag along. You know, like I get five percent more control of the DVR remote control for picking out the tuxedos for myself and the guys. Or an extra piece of goat meat in the next bowl of Ofe Owerri soup for visiting the Reverend who will be conducting our ceremony. I mean, stuff that a groom has no real business being a part of, abi? As a calm and collected TheNgozi humors me and plays along, I would continue to make outrageous requests that could encourage her to drop me as a tag-along. Which never happened. But one sunny, clear, and rainy day she dropped the bomb. I was in the middle of explaining why I was convinced having a caterer was a scam, unless I was given more unfettered access to the pint of Ben and Jerrys, when she looked me dead in the eye and said:

“Chidi, I swear I don’t have time for this nonsense, this man!”

Wait, what in the…?

I knew marriage meant sharing everything, but my mantras too? Damn, is there anything I get to keep for myself?