Prior to this day, nobody has ever asked me to be their chief bridesmaid, flower girl, lady of honour or Asoebi aunty. I believed that this delicate role was reserved for the fair, tall, beautiful and fine girls with correct shape. Not for a clumsy orobo like me.
Top most on my bucketlist at that time was to be someone’s assistant bride on their big day.
An opportunity finally landed inside my skirt when my mum’s colleague daughter wanted to marry her heartthrob on the 25th of July 2015.
I was in school in Ibadan and the wedding was to hold in Ekiti state. It wasn’t even comfortable for me to attend because we were writing our first semester exam for 400 level but we all know Abigael will not allow such a golden opportunity to just go like that.
I sent my measurements to the tailor, my mum paid for the dress and accessories as her own way of supporting my dreams and ambitions. I saved up enough money for my Tfare and was waiting for the glorious day that I will finally have the opportunity to be a bridesmaid.
The only thing I almost forgot to buy was a shoe and purse to slay the day. I told my friend Uche Francisca Ozoike-Ikeche to follow me to the market to get a killer shoe to support my dreams. We went to Dugbe market in Ibadan and we began the search for a peng shoe.
I didn’t like the shoes I was seeing. I wanted a tall shoe with killer heels that can be measured in inches.
My friend was worried about my choice of the tallest high heel available. She asked if I could lift myself with the heels and as usual na…I shook my big head in the affirmative. She let me have my way and we bought the shoe and went back to the hostel.
It was when I tried to practice with the shoe, that I discovered that wearing heels is different from marching around in flat shoe. Instead of walking straight, I was bending like a wall gecko and shaking like a leaf during a storm. My walking steps were irregular and my roommates said I was walking like someone tied a log of wood to my waist. They honestly tried to teach me, but my legs were just too stiff for their flexibility lessons.
On the day of the wedding, my mum was worried about me because I was just frowning up and down like I had an unresolved issue with the bride. I didn’t even understand how it was doing me, what was on my mind was how I will carry the shoe on my legs into the church without creating a scene or disgracing my family.
When it was time for the bride to enter the church, we the bridesmaid were asked to line up at her back at the entrance of the church. I couldn’t stand straight on the heels and my legs started vibrating seriously. I held the wall at first but I had to move when the others started walking majestically like they were on a beauty pageant runway.
I wanted to mimic their confidence and put all that my roommates taught me into practice. That was how my village people pushed me and I stepped on my gown…the next thing I noticed was that I was flat on the floor. My legs forcefully removed from the shoe and were just hanging apart without an owner. I couldn’t even cry.
I said sorry to the men that came to carry me up from the ground. They didn’t deserve such stress on such a good day. They helped me to dust my body and I still had to march into the church. I borrowed myself sense and used the chairs on the side as my support system. I was walking like I had hunch back while my legs wobbled in fear to the altar. Still eheeeen, my stubborn legs still flipped three times as I adopted a snail’s speed to my seat even though I didn’t fall to the ground.
After the church wedding, I had to collect my mother’s slippers after I fell to the ground like four times while we were snapping pictures.
I painfully limped to my exam hall on Monday. I couldn’t tell anyone what accident happened to my legs during the weekend.
I never had the boldness to wear that pangolo shoe again till date. Beauty must be some serious pain reserved for the strong. That’s why I am not a preacher of high heels. Once beaten, shy forever is my identity.