My friend Miriam lost her mum this Sunday. So we her friends converged at her house in Karu, Abuja to mourn with her and keep her company. A grieving house is a magnet for phony characters. Some people come to cry, some come for the food, some come for the stories, and others come to gossip. There is always drama brewing in a corner, tension mounting in the air, and aimless chatter. I was sitting in a corner minding my business, when my attention drifted to the threesome sitting in front of me.
This queer company consisted of my friend’s neighbour, her friend and her cousin. Her cousin seemed to be chairing the little party with a story, and I listened. They called her the Boss Lady. Boss Lady was a tomboyish character full of exaggerated tales and gesture. She said she once attended a wedding in Mubi, where the bride stabbed her. I didn’t know when I asked her how. She looked at me and smiled, “I was just standing talking to the bride when she used a pen to stab me all over my neck, I was speechless so I stood at arms akimbo and watched as blood spilled from all over my neck.”
I was stupefied and overwhelmed with shock as she continued to narrate her hideous tale. Boss Lady told us that she quickly reached for her phone and called some of her friends that belonged to the infamous Sambisa boys, and told them to come and accost the bride at her wedding for stabbing her. Immediately after the call, she went home, showered, changed, and came back to face the bride. Her sister who was among the bridesmaid left her seat and started dismantling the wedding decorations. When some of Boss Lady’s friends heard she had called the Sambisa boys to come, they begged her to call them off before she Initiates them into a blood bath.
Boss Lady thought about her actions, as reasoning permeated through her anger and gave clarity. She then agreed to call off her hounds. Later on she got distracted and told us how her mum wants her to get married and get out of the house, but that she won’t take none of it. She told her mum that, “If it is a baby you want, just give me 9 months, if you want premature I can deliver in 7 months. If not, then let me be.” I was appalled but didn’t say anything. I kept thinking about her unfinished tale of the angry bride who stabbed her for no reason, so I urged her to continue.
She looked at me hard and smiled. She acted like she was going to finish up the story, but then she apologised and said, “sometimes I mix up fact and fiction. I have a hard time differentiating between reality and the movies I have seen. If you want me to make up the ending part, I can. But I can also tell you a new story.” I smiled then stood up quietly and left the bunch. I wasn’t about about to let myself get hoodwinked with plenty dose of ridiculousness.