Friday was very stressful; I closed from work around 6:30 p.m. and went to the market near my street to get some fresh food items to prepare soup for dinner. While preparing Banga soup, I heard a knock on my door.
"Who's there? I'm coming!" My hands were occupied, so I had to answer from the kitchen.
"That food smells too much. I want to eat!" A masculine voice responded. I tried to figure out who it might be but couldn't. I washed my hands and walked up to the door.
"Haaa! Ghenero, it's you. Good evening, brother."
"Evening, bro. See the way you're making the whole neighbourhood salivate with your food." We shook hands and walked a bit away from my door for fresher air.
"So what's up? What are you doing in this area at this time?" I asked, checking the clock on my phone, seeing that it's 7:24 p.m.
"I have a birthday party in this lounge, and I want us to go together." He pointed at the busy, noisy lounge a few inches away from the block of my compound.
"Me? Birthday party for whom I don't know? No, na!" I quickly declined because I find it very hard to attend a party I wasn't directly invited to.
"Chill, bro, it's me taking you out. Don't be scared. I just want you to leave your room tonight." He patted me on the shoulder, and it was as if a voodoo was used; I had a change of mind immediately.
"Okay, wait for me." I went inside, turned off the gas, and left my soup half-cooked. I went to the bathroom and had a quick shower without soap, just water. I came out, dressed in jeans with one of my favourite red polos.
"Let's go." I tapped him on the shoulder where he was seated outside, lost in sight, looking at half-dressed ladies rushing to the lounge.
"So quick? That's so sharp of you." He was full of surprise when he saw me standing beside him, all ready for the party.
We moved, and within a minute, we found ourselves inside the lounge. At the entrance, we stood in the corner as he picked up his phone to call his people to know which sector to locate them because the lounge is so big and filled with people walking to and fro.
"You mean VIP? Okay, I'm going there!" I heard him shouting on the call due to loud music interfering with his ears. He dropped the call, and we walked upstairs to the VIP section of the lounge. All this while, the fear of VIP and the expenses that come with it was fighting in my head with a single prayer to God, pleading with Him to save me from any financial embarrassment.
We got there, a not-so-large hall, very dark with red and blue lights flashing rotatively every few seconds. The music there was so loud, and the MC was hyping some of the rich guys in the area. Meanwhile, the air was circulated by marijuana smoke, even when it was inscribed at every corner of the building, "No smoking of marijuana." I guess that only happens when money is not involved.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome, One of the guys welcomed us and offered us a seat. I sat down and began to examine everywhere, trying to see if I knew a familiar face, but no, all the faces looked so strange.
"Okay, the party is about to start. Who's going to lead us in prayer?" The MC walked down from his stand and began to look at our faces to pick an innocent face for prayer.
"Ohhh! Usher! It's you! Lead us in prayer." The MC stretched the microphone toward me. I was so surprised; he knew me as an usher in my church and felt I was the most innocent in the gathering.
Still confused, contemplating whether to collect the microphone or not, suddenly, the people began to clap, hailing, "Come on, pastor! Come on, Pastor!" The hailing got me surprised, and questions like "Am I looking like a pastor? Am I dressed in a pastor's outfit?" began to clash with my brain. With no option, I collected the microphone and made a very casual prayer, the type that I was sure didn't leave the building, not to talk of ascending to heaven.
A clap from the audience followed as I finished the prayer and handed over the microphone to the MC.
A party like that doesn't have any formal procedure. The MC ushered out the celebrant to dance while the people sprayed her with countless notes of naira currency.
Meanwhile, I was seated and observing everywhere because I'm not the dancing type. The table was filled with all manners of drinks and I couldn't take any because they're all alcoholic.
"Hello, please bring me Malta Guinness; I don't take these." I tapped on the lady supplying drinks to the table, politely telling her I don't drink alcohol.
She looked at me unpleased, winked at me, and left shouting, "All the non-alcoholic drinks are exhausted; you will have to take those!"
I looked at the table again; it's filled with countless bottles of alcohol, which I'm not a fan of. I swallowed saliva, picked up my phone, and began to press while I waited for them to dance, drink, and get tired before we could go home.