The Julius' Shindig

Yewande was waiting impatiently for me to get dressed. She was seated on the couch, dressed in her owambe finery and clutching her iPhone15 Pro Max like a lethal weapon.

I ignored her.

But from the corner of my eye, I noticed that a scowl of irritation marred her beautiful face as she turned to stare pointedly at me.

I pretended not to notice.

Then she spoke, her voice caustic and irritable all at once.

“Kelly, this is what I don’t like. Sebi you see how long it’s taking you just to draw your brows and do your stupid make-up? And to worsen everything, you’re not even dressed for a party that started over an hour ago!”

I got up and made my way into the bedroom without a word. Responding to her was only going to make my reticence at the whole idea of this party seem petty. I had given my word that I would accompany her, and she was h£ll-bent on making sure I kept it, barring death or fatal injury.

The party in question was the 50th birthday celebration of Yewande’s ex-boyfriend and bonafide @ssh0le! I couldn’t understand why she would want to celebrate with a man who had used her for years, made her go through six abortions AND dumped her eventually. Why would any sane woman celebrate a man like Julius, especially if he had treated them like dirt? If I were the one, Julius would be the celebratory meal for fish in the Ethiope River!

Then again, I am not Yewande.

At the back seat of the ubiquitous Lekki Suzuki Uber, I sat beside my friend and her ginormous gele, trying not to zone out as I pondered her obsession with Julius. I couldn’t understand it. Julius was a stumpy, rotund man with an over-bloated ego and a penchant for loud, boastful rants about how he made good out of nothing. I’ll admit he does have a boyishly handsome face, but I could swear his ‘plumbing equipment’ was below the average size. Yewande had drunkenly made reference to that particular part of his anatomy five years ago when they had broke up, but has since denied it. I often wondered what the attraction was for her.

Yewande was a beautiful buxom Ijebu belle with the most gorgeous, dreamy eyes I had ever seen. Her eyes were framed by incredibly long lashes, and her rosebud lips were just perfect for her face. She was indeed beautiful. Annoyingly, these were her least attractive features. At the very top was her @ss. Yewande had an @ss that could effortlessly put Lagos BBL surgeons to shame. The fact that she had a very flat stomach was a huge bonus to her figure. The girl was blessed physically. She was a ‘beauty nightmare’ within our small caucus of friends. Our secret consolation was that her self-esteem was nonexistent, and her ‘bulb upstairs’ was not too bright. Other than that, she was almost flawless. I teased her often that she would make a perfect trophy wife.

The event center where the party was scheduled to be held was packed with the latest automobiles, causing a mini-debacle at the entrance gates for the likes of us who arrived late and in taxis. We were made to walk all the way to the hall because almost every car that wasn't a Mercedes, Range Rover, Lamborghini, or their likes was regarded as an uber and ubers were unofficially not allowed into the parking lot. Talk about borrowed automobile classism! Yewande and I had to get out of our Uber and totter all the way to the hall, in heels that were threatening to cripple us. My mood wasn’t bolstered by this simple exercise, and I almost cursed out loud in anger when we entered the venue and almost choked on the potpourri of designer perfumes, Arabian ouds, and slight whiffs of body odor. The unholy mix threatened instant asphyxiation.

I was at a party I wasn’t enthused to be at, with people I wasn’t prepared to meet or like.

Sensing that I was about to erupt, Yewande led me to a partially filled table, grabbed two glasses of white wine from a passing waiter, and handed them to me.

Joy! I gulped in gratitude and threw her a look of temporary truce.

Surprisingly, what I presumed to be ordinary ‘party white wine’ turned out to be champagne. I had swallowed a glass and a half without decorum. Wow. They were serving champagne-on-the-go at Julius’ party. This would definitely add to his boasting repertoire!

I made Yewande go in search of more champagne and small chops while I settled in and looked around. I noted the usual sea of faces. Lagos big boys, standing in small clusters, acting disinterested but scanning the scene for fresh female bait. Lagos big girls drift by, cackling mirthlessly, blowing forced and fake air kisses, and acting friendly. They all had the same Mac caked-up faces with spidery lashes and Brazilian/Peruvian wigs that made them look “other worldly”. So many “suspect” designer purses and Louboutins could be spotted; grotesque-looking BBLs in the usual tight-fitting corset outfits, embellished by one-pound jewelry… oh, and the accents. Let’s not forget the fake, indescribable accents.

"Where the h£ll was Yewande and the d@mned champagne?" I wondered irritably. I needed booze to absorb the ostentatious humdrum around me.

“I hear his wife is really slim even after having three kids in quick succession”, Yewande announced as she placed two glasses of champagne before me. She beckoned to a passing usher and made orders for food and small chops before squatting down next to me to gossip.

“I also hear she favors diamonds and has never flown economy class in her life. Some women and fake life sha. One would think Julius was a multimillionaire with the kind of sakanmaje lifestyle that she lives,” she concluded, her voice tinged with envy.

The bitter wistfulness in her tone was not lost on me. I tried hard not to express my thinly veiled disdain, which was threatening to jump out, but I held on tight to my calm facade as I listened to her drone on about how perfect and happy she and Julius had been before this intruder of a woman came to shatter their world five years ago. I wondered if all the slaps and blows she received from Julius during the course of their relationship were part of their ‘perfect happy times’ together. Who knows? She could secretly be into sadomasochism.

Yewande made several trips to God-knows-where (I suspect she was trying to attract the birthday boy’s attention) and returned with more tales of Madam Julius from sources unknown. I wasn’t in the least bit interested. Having realized that she couldn’t get me on the same page, she disappeared yet again and this time, didn’t return for quite a while. Great! I was stuck with strange ladies who had joined our table and whose aim at the party was not hard to miss, going by the way their eyes roved anytime an agbada-clad individual walked past.

There were several agbada-clad politicians in attendance, hence the outpour of Lekki big girls. The competition for these men in agbada was real! The Lekki big girls could not hide their hustle and near desperation, and it was highkey sad to watch. Yewande was still missing, so I tried to keep busy and stay upbeat by drinking several glasses of white wine since the champagne bearers had suddenly disappeared. I was getting drunk, knowing a b@stard headache was going to finish me this night, but it was either the booze or trying to make conversation with the ladies on my now crowded table. Guess which option I took…duh!

I busied myself with ordering food and managed to wolf down a steaming plate of Chinese rice, a plate of jollof rice, and two servings of small chops, all in a bid to ward off the headache that had built a mansion in my head. I ignored the curious gaze of the other occupants of my table and focused on people watching and bobbing my head to the music playing.

The party progressed into a full-fledged owambe with Segun Johnson at the stands, belting out his popular Igara Chicken classic song. Everyone was dancing, well, almost everyone. My behind was firmly planted on my seat because I couldn’t trust myself to stand straight. I bobbed my head to the music while eyeballing a guy who obviously seemed as disinterested in this whole charade as I was. We exchanged smiles, and I felt myself warm towards him in a way only drunk, single, matronly-looking women do at parties. I was about to get my flirt on when Yewande appeared suddenly, panting like an excited puppy. My head buzzed at the suddenness of her arrival and the fact that she had interrupted my ‘Flirt-action’.

“Kelly, I finally met her!” she announced in glee.

“Huh? Met who???” I asked, my buzzing head trying to make sense of her excitement.

“Madam Julius! Julius’ wife. He actually introduced us,” came her excited response.

“Oh well…”, I thought morosely as I braced myself to hear Yewande's gist about Julius and his madam.

“I was talking to Julius and some of his friends when his wife came over, ‘forming busy’, as per the assistant celebrant. She was in full nuisance mode, interrupting our discussion, all because she wanted to be noticed. Such an insecure woman!

“But she doesn’t have to ‘form busy’ when she’s the celebrant's wife, na. It's her job to move around and ensure that the guests are taken care of,” I said snidely, trying hard not to make sudden moves because I could feel my ears buzzing. Champagne and white wine combo has to be the worst!

Yewande wasn’t pleased with my tone or the fact that I interrupted her gist. Nonetheless, she continued.

“Anyway sha, she was draped in diamonds and expensive Swiss lace and speaking 'fone' through her nose like one…”

“…Is she fine?” I interrupted again.

“Are you drunk?” came Yewande’s caustic response.

My tipsy self was hurt by her retort, but I took that as a cue to shut up and listen. After a brief glare in my direction, she continued.

“She’s not all that fine sef; it's just that she’s slim. I never figured Julius would end up with a slim woman. He’s always been drawn to buxom babes”.

Her sore point was noted. I knew instinctively that she was going to hit the gym after this party. ‘Yewande was beyond pathetic,’ I thought as I struggled to keep my head steady and not exhibit my drunkenness.

“Maybe she’s fat in her ‘Southern garden’ I said in drunken mirth, chortling at my own comedic ingenuity. Yewande wasn’t impressed.

The party dragged, and Yewande’s disappearing act continued. I had had enough. I was drunk and sleepy. Most of the politicians had gone, taking a few lucky ladies with them. The unlucky castaways remained, vying for attention amongst the few big boys and tech boys left at the party. Some social media influencers and streamers had mounted sentry around the booze source and turned the area into a small fraternity gathering.

The sudden burst of argument coming from the high table section caught my attention, but I shrugged nonchalantly, surmising that some miscreant had found his way in and was being challenged by security. It wasn’t until I saw one of the ladies from the table pointing at me and saying something inaudible against the drone of music that I suspected something was off. The lady approached me with disdain etched on her face.

“Your friend is making a fool of herself. Better go and get her before security throws her out,” the lady said in barely concealed scorn. My confusion was evident as I stared back at her through my drunken haze, trying to comprehend her words.

“Your friend… the beautiful lady with the big @ss, has gotten into a fight with the celebrant’s wife”, another lady added. The import of her words sank in slowly. Good grief!

My drunkenness evaporated as I sprang to my feet and made my way towards the area of the fracas. I got there in time to see Yewande, sans her gele, being told to leave by two burly men in black suits while several big girls were trying to calm down a lady who looked like a wasp in shiny lace. Julius, whom I suspected was the reason for this brouhaha, was smoking a cigarette by a corner and pretending to listen to his friends and three big bosomed ladies who were acting as ‘quarrel intermediaries’. Yewande spotted me and started to talk loudly.

“Imagine o, Kelly? This useless woman called me a husband snatcher. Isn’t she the husband snatcher?? Where was she when Julius was a struggling lawyer???”

Above and beyond Yewande’s loud rantings, I stared hard at the wasp. Her eyes were red, and the veins in her neck stood like rail tracks. Her teardrop diamond earrings glowed in the night light, casting a blinding white light with flashes of rainbow colors on her pinched face. Waspy noticed me pleading with the men in black, and the insults, initially meant for Yewande, somehow managed to engulf me as well.

“Desperate prostitutes. See them? They couldn’t even hold themselves in check. Your attempt at getting my husband has failed. Get these things out of here! I want them… both of them, out!” Waspy pointed at Yewande and me.

We were escorted to our table to get our bags and Yewande’s gele, (which had mysteriously appeared at the table) and shown the way out. The men in black were not playing. As we left, I realized that all eyes were now on us. Some were glaring at us for daring to ruin the party; some were tattling disparagingly, while others just gave us dirty looks, the kind one gives to two-bit hookers. Even Segun Johnson managed to ad-lib his song to involve us! My shame knew no bounds. Meanwhile, Yewande was beside me, insisting that she had to speak to Julius and clear the air before we left.

I was mortified. I grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip and practically dragged her towards the exit when Julius’ loud boastful voice echoed loudly…

“Imagine how that one came to disrupt my birthday. I only gave her an invite because she was disturbing me with phone calls and texts…Some ladies don’t know when to give up.”

I was livid as I turned to Yewande. She had told me Julius was the one who insisted she come to his party. Now I hear the boastful midget bleating a different tune.

“Yewande, I hope you’re happy now? Julius this, Julius that… See the humiliation you’ve brought upon us? See where your lack of self-esteem has pushed you to do? Sebi you want to speak with him? Oya go ahead. Exhibit your desperation to him, his friends, and his wasp of a wife. Maybe it will help you find closure!”

Yewande’s face crumpled, and her mouth shook with threatened sobs. I gave her a look that spoke volumes and stormed out of the party hall, almost tripping over my heels. I yanked off the d@mned shoes and stomped away, bare feet, leaving Yewande to make her painful choice… To speak with Julius or follow me home with what little dignity she had left.

…Her choice was predictable.

Thank God I’m not Yewande!

THE END.