Why didn’t anyone tell me that in order to find a husband all I had to do was join the sanitation department at church? Why did they let me spend my late twenties hopping from wedding to wedding, winning the prize for being the overall best in being a bridesmaid, confetti lady and aso-ebi girl kakiri in the hopes of meeting an eligible groomsman or guest who would be the one?

Why did they let me join all the dating apps available on Play Store and App Store? Please don’t tell them at church I said this.

Why did they let me waste my money (my pocket still cries at the thought of the aso-ebi I bought for Jumoke’s wedding?), my time (I’m resisting the urge to say ‘thunder fire all the time-wasters on those apps’), and my energy (catching bouquet is not for the weak o)?

I could have just stayed in church and joined the sanitation department jejely. What I was looking for in Sokoto is apparently in my ṣokoto.

Pastor Timilehin announces, “Ahnahn, this is the ninth wedding from the Sanitation department this year.”

Tenth actually, sir.

“Church, celebrate the Lord.”

The congregation hoots and cheers and claps. I join them, counting all the sanitation department weddings over the years.

Ọmọ, na them dey marry pass o. Why didn’t I see it all this while?

“This just goes to show that if you take care of the Lord’s house, the Lord will take care of all that concerns you,” Pastor Timi says before going on to announce the wedding details.

My eyes fix themselves on the shy bride-to-be and the grinning groom-to-be. They are not that fantastic look-wise.

But they are getting married, a voice says in my head. You wey fine, wetin you get?

Heaving a sigh, I make the decision that will end my husband-hunting dilemma once and for all—I will join the sanitation department

***

“You want to join the sanitation department?” Brother Titus asks, looking at me from my raw donor Vietnamese bone straight to my Adphia Couture blazer dress and red Christian Louboutin pointed-toe pumps.

No doubt Brother Chipped Tooth is thinking I don’t belong in the sanitation department. My lips spread in a wide smile as I stifle the urge to grimace at Brother Chipped Tooth’s broken central incisor. I just found out his name is actually Brother Titus, not Chipped Tooth as I’ve always referred to him in my head.

“Yes, sir,” I add, throwing in a generous sir to sway and butter him up.

“Are you sure?”

I nod again. “The Holy Spirit laid it upon my heart.”

Liar liar, pants on fire, the voice in my head cackles.

“Ehen?” Brother Titus adds. “Sanitation department work is hard o. Are you sure you don’t want to go and pray about your leading again?”

Which kain enemy of progress is this? Is it not to just sweep and mop? What is so hard about it?

I spread my lips wider to stifle my growing irritation.

“I’m sure, sir. The conviction is strong?”

REALLY?

God, please, the violent taketh it by force, and I am taking my husband by force. All is fair in love and husband hunting.

A round sister in a peplum, Ankara blouse that reminds me of that Fela song about a tailor who sews like a carpenter, walks up to us.

Na swegbe o, na swegbe, the voice in my head finishes off the refrain.

I can’t blame it. Because what on earth is this monstrous blouse with a sleeve joining that starts too far from the shoulder? I’m not sure if the fabric forming the peplum is gathered or pleated. It looks like the tailor couldn’t make up their mind, and the darts on the blouse? Lord, have mercy. The sister smiles at us before taking a huge bite of her egg roll and chews as she asks Brother Titus what is going on.

“She wants to join the sanitation department.”

The sister’s eyes twinkle with amusement and her lips twitch with a smile she suppresses quickly.

“Sister…”

“Mo,” I supply.

Brother Titus frowns. “Mo?”

“MoromoOluwa,” I finish.

“I want you to pray about it for one week. If you are still convinced the Lord wants you to serve in the sanitation department, I will enrol you in our training class.”

“Brother T, if she is convinced, let her start the class now, nau. We need new members,” Sister A-Carpenter-Sewed-My-Blouse says.

Brother Titus shakes his head. “Sister Happiness, I know we need more hands, but what we really need are committed hands who are fully convinced this is the department for them to grow and serve God.”

Sister Happiness nods and continues eating her egg roll, a sad and horrifying sight I hope to never see again.

“Okay, sir,” I tell Brother Titus just so I can get away from the masticating woman who reminds me of a garbage truck sucking up refuse.

I thank them and smile at Brother Titus’s wish that I have a pleasant week. I will join the sanitation department whether they like it or not. My husband is just a department away.

***

“Pekele, pekele.”

Those are the first words out of my mouth as I glance through the forty-page training module Brother Titus sent me as an attachment on WhatsApp.

“E pass mopping and sweeping?” I ask myself as I scroll through the e-document.

Apparently, e pass. There’s a chapter on dressing and the infographic on short nails makes me burst into laughter.

“You and who is sporting short nails?”

Scoffing, I continue scrolling and the subheading “Comfortable Shoes” jumps at me like it sprang out from a jack-in-the-box.

Tell me you want me to wear ugly shoes without telling me you want me to wear ugly shoes. Heck no!

I continue scrolling.

Washing Toilets.

“Ehn?!”

I jerk up in my bed and read the entire paragraph underneath the garish subheading.

Stationed at the toilets… cleaning in real-time…handing out sanitary towels… disposing of sanitary towels… assisting children in the restroom… thorough washing on Saturdays.

“Excuse me?” I yell at my phone.

Just the thought of helping a child clean up after himself makes me shudder and turn off my phone. 

“Uhn-uhn. A whole me? Odindin tech sis. No! I can’t do that!”

Shebi na you dey find husband, the voice in my head says.

Sitting in my bed, weighing my options, I can’t help but wonder if this is worth it. Sure, being in the sanitation department had proven uber successful in helping people find life partners. It had a track record. I had tried it my way for years, and I had nothing to show for it. Yet, cleaning toilets? Short nails? Can I handle all that because I want man?

HE THAT PUTTETH HIS HANDS TO THE PLOUGH AND LOOKETH BACK IS NOT FIT FOR THE KINGDOM OF GOD.

I don’t know where that Bible verse came from, but it makes sense to me immediately. If I back out now from the Sanitation Department because it is light years away from my comfort zone, do I really deserve a husband?

Don’t worry. You will have an interesting story to tell when you eventually find the husband, a voice says in my head.

I can already picture our We Heart Naija Weddings blog post, complete with the swoony pictures and a cheesy slash embarrassing meet cute.

It will be worth it. I will finish what I started. I will join the sanitation department and get my husband.

***

Maybe I should have joined the sanitation department in the dry season. Because my shoulder aches from the number of times I have mopped this floor today, wiping all the dirty footprints the ladies have trailed in and the dripping from their umbrellas.

The mop is full of liquid, and I do the most disgusting thing ever—squeeze it out with my hands. Sure, I’m wearing gloves. Everyone in the Sanitation Department wears gloves, but still…Ewwwww! 

Pastor Joshua’s voice echoes through the restroom, powerful and convicting as he shares his sermon on humility. I can barely pay attention, not with the pattering of the raindrops on the roof, the rushing of water as toilets flush, the tap filling up the water reservoir, and the muttering of the ladies talking as they wait in the queue.

“Sisters, please hurry up. There is a queue outside,” Sister Rebecca, the assigned hurrier says, and her voice overshadows the Bluetooth speaker playing the sermon.

How is this woman not in the army?

The queue moves as some ladies leave the stalls. Just as I’m about to sit from a bout of mopping, more ladies flock into the restroom.

Sighing, I resume mopping with a fresh mop, and my mind evaluates the whole sanitation department drama. 

I think it’s paying off. Last week, a fine guy collected my number. We’ve been talking, and he’s my spec. He’s tall with pecs and broad shoulders, Yoruba, works in an investment bank (squeals in power couple), and he’s charming. I like where things are headed. I think he might ask me out this week. I’m not sure, but I’m hoping.

If Tade and I work out, this mopping the floor one million times will be worth it. Smiling as the choir sings an old chorus to lead the church through the offering session I reach for my phone and transfer my offering into the church’s bank account.

Swaying my hips to Sonnie Badu’s Ese Baba, I mop the floor with renewed vigour. My husband is on the horizon.

***

My phone blares with CAIN’s I’m So Blessed (Remix), and I turn on my bed to check if it’s Tade calling to tell me that he’s changed his mind and he thinks we’re compatible. Sniffling, I answer the call, despite the fact it is a strange number. It could be Tade using another line.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Sister Mo. This is Brother Titus. Good afternoon. I hope you’re good. We haven’t seen you today. Are you not coming for sanitation?”.

I cut the call and kiss my teeth.

“Sanitation ko, sanitation ni. All the sanitation that I’ve been doing, what do I have to show for it?”

Tears slip out of my eyes as my mind darts back to Tade. How can we not be compatible?

He’s Yoruba, I’m Yoruba. He’s a Christian, I’m a Christian. He’s with the welfare department at his church, and I’m with the sanitation department. Does that not look like a match made by God Himself?

I reach for my phone and read his text again.

Hi, Mo. I’m sorry to do this in a text, but I know you have a teleconference that’ll run through the whole of today, and I don’t want to distract you. Um, I’ve been praying and reflecting on a lot of things and our conversations in the past. Like I said, I don’t want to waste your time or mine. I’ve realised that we aren’t compatible. We want different things.

“What different things? I ask out loud.

We are both career-oriented. We both love God. And we both have the same values. What different things is he talking about? I’ve been trying to reach Tade, but he’s been declining my calls and texting me to respect his decision, regardless of how hard it is.

I type a message in the chat box after scrolling past the green river of my unreplied messages.

Tade, please, let’s talk this out.

I read the words over and over before deleting them. They sound desperate.

As if the thirty-something messages you left him already are not screaming desperation, the voice in my head says.

Shuddering, I select all the messages and hit delete for everyone.

But what if you could have changed his mind, another voice says.

“What’s with the opposing views? Can’t you make up your mind?” I yell at myself.

My phone vibrates and I gasp. Tade?

Nope. It’s a text from Brother Titus.

I think my network is bad. The call got disconnected.
Sister Mo, are you not coming for sanitation today?

No, I type.

What if God is testing you to see your commitment? Maybe if you go, God will see how devoted you are and make Tade come back, the voice in my head advises.

Tough choice. I delete the word and type instead that I have a personal emergency and I will be running late.
Ignoring his message asking if I’m okay, I get dressed in pair of knee-length joggers and an old black t-shirt. I wrap a silk scarf over my cornrows and slip my feet into a pair of Crocs before heading to church.

***

At church, sanitation is well underway. The rug in the main auditorium is being vacuumed, the altar is being mopped, and—my least favourite part—the restrooms are already being cleaned. I’m happy and angry at the same time. Why did Brother Titus call me if I’m not needed?

Sister Happiness walks up to me, and it takes everything in me not to retch in disgust. She’s eating puff puff this time—Father in heaven, have mercy on me—and she’s chewing and speaking at the same time again

“Chister Mo. How are you? she greets before swallowing audibly and taking a swig of the Coca-Cola tucked in her armpit.

For the love of all things good, does this lady have no etiquette? She gasps with her mouth wide, staring at the bottle of Coke as though the refreshment is something novel. She belches and apologises with a simpy smile

“Brother Titus told me you had a personal emergency. Hope no problem.”

“No. We thank God,” I say, ignoring the curiosity in her eyes. “Is there any work left for me to do?”

Sister Happiness looks around before shaking her head. “No.”

“Can I go then?”

“No o. We have a prayer meeting after sanitation. Didn’t you see it on the group chat?”

Prayer for what? I want to ask. For the toilets not to clog? Or what?

But I don’t say any of these. I simply nod and try to make myself useful. After cleaning is done and we catch a few moments of rest, the prayer meeting begins in earnest.

Brother Titus explains that the prayer meeting is something God laid on his heart. He wants us to pray for ourselves and for the service, but before the prayer begins, he gives a short charge from Galatians 5.

“All the law is fulfilled in one commandment. Love your neighbour as yourself,” Brother Titus says. “I’ve noticed we do not love each other in this Sanitation Department. We aren’t patient with one another. We do not forbear one another. And if we can’t learn to be patient with one another, how can we learn to be patient with the rest of the church as we clean up after them.”

He pauses and stares at the faces of everyone in the circle, and I can’t help but wonder where he’s going with this sermon.

“Last week, something happened and when I got wind of it, I was really ashamed.”

Last week? My mind flashes back to the incident between me and Sister Alero. The annoying lady spilt water on my Hermes Birkin and Gianvito Rossi pumps. When I confronted her, she had the effrontery and temerity to tell me I should not have kept my shoes and bag there.

You can trust that I changed it for her.

“We need to be patient with each other. Some of us are temperamental and take to insulting our brethren and—”

“Abeg, abeg, abeg. If you want to talk to me, talk to me direct, don’t go through the corners,” I snap.

All eyes turn to me, but I’m not going to pretend to be a saint in front of these people. I’m too mad to care about their opinions of me.

“Sister Mo?” Brother Titus calls, but I pretend not to hear him.

“Brother Chipped Tooth, abeg! Let me hear word.”

Scandalised gasps fill the air and wide eyes stare at me.

“She spilled dirty toilet water on my Gianvito Rossi shoes. Gianvito Rossi! Do you know how much those satin pumps cost? Ehn? Now, you decided to waste my precious time in this lousy excuse for gossipping you call a prayer meeting.” I kiss my teeth and pick up my car keys and phone from the vacant chair beside me.

“I don’t blame you. I blame myself.”

I stand to leave, and Sister Happiness calls my name. “Sister Mo, don’t behave like this. Don’t act like you’re not regenerated.”

I scoff and stare at her. Her lips are still oily from the puff puff, and for the first time since I arrived, I take in her outfit—a Fendu (not Fendi) t-shirt and a pair of jeans that look like they’ve been dyed too many times to hide their fading.

If not for God, will this ill-mannered, ugly fatso have the effrontery to talk to me?

I kiss my teeth again and storm out of the church premises.

“Nonsense set of human beings,” I yell in my car, referring to Brother Titus, Sister Happiness, Tade, and Sister Alero.

In fact, I don’t blame them. God, it’s you I blame. If You had given me a husband, would I have joined the Sanitation Department?

My blazing anger is now directed at God, and I fume all the way home. Still angry, I exit the Sanitation Department group chat and block Brother Titus, Sister Happiness, and Tade on WhatsApp. I’m about to order some food when my phone chimes with a reminder to pick out what to wear to church tomorrow.

Kissing my teeth, I turn off the reminder. I’m not going to church. God doesn’t deserve it. After I finish placing my food order, I laze on my bed, trying to busy my mind with something to distract me from the guilt I feel for deciding to shenk church. I’ve never been absent from church my entire life. And that’s another reason I’m so angry. Why can’t God give me a husband?

The thought is on my mind till my food arrives. I catch up on a series while I eat, and the flimsy Nollywood comedy helps me forget my pain.

***

The next morning, my conscience doesn’t let me rest. I’m blaming it on the home training my mother instilled in me. I’m not comfortable sitting at home on a Sunday morning, so I get dressed and head out to church. And the first person I bump into while parking is Brother Titus.

“Good morning, Sister Mo,” he greets with a smile.

Why is he greeting me? To guilt trip me? All these holier-than-thou people!

I ignore his greeting and the nudge in my chest telling me to apologise. Why do I have to apologise? I WON’T apologise! 

The nudge persists, especially when I see Sister Happiness. I ignore it and try to focus on the sermon centred on humility. As Pastor Joshua preaches, I wonder if I am proud or haughty. I don’t think I am, but something in my chest says I am. I ignore it and tune out the rest of the service. I was better off staying at home.

I leave church as soon as the grace is over and head straight to my car. As I’m driving, my phone rings, and guess who is calling…

Brother Titus.

Kissing my teeth, I cut the calls over and over, but he still doesn’t get the memo. Fuming and raging mad, I run a stop sign and I’m about to hit a little girl crossing the road. Swerving to avoid hitting her, I run straight into the road divider.

The next thing I see is black.

***

Beeping is all I hear when I open my eyes. My chest hurts, I can’t move my neck, and my body feels so stiff.

“What happened?” I want to say, but I end up coughing instead.

“Praise the Lord!” a voice that sounds an awful lot like Sister Happiness’ says, and a nurse stands over me, asking me my name and what year it is.

I answer all her questions before a doctor walks into the room. He explains to me that I suffered whiplash, a mild concussion and broke a rib and an arm during my accident. He tells me to thank my stars the bystanders at the scene were kind enough to bring me to a hospital and call the last person on my call log, who settled my bills.

Brother Titus settled my bills? Why?

The nurse sedates me shortly after the doctor’s visit before I can bring myself to say a word to Sister Happiness.
Every day, Sister Happiness comes to check on me. Brother Titus too. I offer to repay him, but he refuses saying that we are brothers and sisters in Christ. This makes me feel even more guilty for the way I treated them. My guilt is worse when the nurses tell me that Brother Titus and Sister Happiness never left my side while I was unconscious.

Unable to bear my guilt any longer, I apologise to them one Friday evening.

“I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you,” I tell them.

“It’s all forgiven, sis,” Sister Happiness says with a wide grin.

***

Sister Happiness nurses me back to health. She moves in with me after I am discharged from the hospital, and she is so patient with me that I feel even more guilty. I would never be patient with her if our situations were reserved.

“Why are you so kind to me?” I ask one evening when my umpteenth attempt to wear a gown without Happiness’ help fails.

“Because the One I follow says I am to love all.”

“I haven’t given you a reason to love me,” I point out.

“Jesus said, ‘They shall know you are mine by your love’. If I can’t love you warts and all, how can I claim to love God or even love those who are without? I love you, Sister Mo. I love your singing voice and your fashion sense. I love your energy and how you manage to dance during sanitation. Mostly, I love you because you are my sister.”

Her words bring me to tears. I can’t believe she managed to notice these little things about me.

“Don’t cry,” she says before pulling me into a hug.

***

Over the next few weeks, I learn what unconditional love is while living with Happiness or Happy, as I call her now. This does not mean she does not vex me, but I’ve learned to correct her with love and teach her little etiquette. I found out she grew up around boys and lost her mom when she was ten. And her tailor, the one I thought was a swegbe is actually her younger brother who was born with only one arm, and he had only been learning to sew for three weeks at the time.

Happy is sweet, kind, a good cook, and an avid fan of Call of Duty just like I am. We spend many late nights talking—girl talk, something I haven’t been able to do since my bestie of seven years stole my boyfriend when I was in 200 level. She tells me about the brother from church who broke her heart when he told her in really uncouth words that she was too fat to attract any man.

Her weight is from her PCOS and Happy doesn’t try acting like a lady because she’s convinced no guy will ever want her. It takes everything in me not to press for the guy’s identity, so I can give him a serious dressing down. I’m turning a new leaf, so rather than focus on hurting the guy with my words, I choose to build Happy up with them instead.

“Happy, you’re beautiful and wonderfully made. And there are tons of guys who will be attracted to you.”

“Na so,” Happy scoffs. “Look, Mo, I’m not bothered about it. I don’t even care about marriage anymore. All I want to focus on is my business.”

I tell her all about my older brother, Jimi, who has only ever been attracted to plus-size women and show her a picture of him and my SIL, Emem, who is a lot bigger than Happy. The picture of Emem and Jimi from their recent vacation to the Bahamas fills Happy with hope that there might be a guy for her, or at least, that’s what I see in her eyes.

***

I’m officially back at work when I get a text from Happy.

Babes, I have gist!!!

Three exclamation points from Happy means the gist is hot like amala fresh from the pot and juicy like ponmo that has soaked omi-obe.

Smiling, I shoot her a text back.

I’m still at work. I’ll call you when I’m leaving.

Happy sends a KK, and I can barely focus on anything other than the hot gist Happy has for me. A few hours later, as I’m driving out of my office parking lot, I dial Happy’s number, so the gist rundown can commence.

“Oya, let me have it,” I say once Happy answers.

Happy giggles. “You too like gist.”

“And I’m not apologising for it,” I tease.

Happy giggles again before telling me how her dispatch service failed her and she had to take an Uber to deliver the scrunchies and other hair accessories a customer ordered. She was tired but went anyway. At the address, she met her customer and dropped off the purchase.

“So what now happened nau?” I chime in.

“I’m getting there nau! Anyway, my phone died as I was trying to book an Uber back home. That’s how I went back to my customer’s house, begging her to let me use her charger to boost my phone. Luckily, she let me in. And that’s when I met this guy.”

“Oh, now the story is getting interesting.”

Happy laughs. “He’s so fine. Anyway, the lady, my customer, is his sister. He was like, ‘so you’re the one taking all my money?’ I didn’t know what to say, so I just laughed. We sha got talking. He’s a doctor, and do you know he attends our church?”

“Ehen?” I scan my database of eligible men from church for a fine doctor, but I come up empty.

“Yeah. He sha collected my number and he paid for my cab. I don’t know if I’m overthinking and reading meaning to a simple, friendly conversation, but I feel like there was something there.”

“Awwn. That’s totally fine. We’ll just pray about it and leave it all to God. If it’s His will, He’ll make it happen seamlessly.”

***

Like play, like play, Happy and Ebube started dating and six months later, he proposed. I was ecstatic when Ebube called me to help him put together a surprise proposal. If there’s anyone I’d like Happy to end up with, it’s Ebube. He’s patient, kind, GODFEARING (not an Igbo Ninja) and he’s head over heels in love with Happy. That’s all I could have ever prayed for Happy.

Happy and I planned the wedding with help from Ebube’s baby sister, Chidera. When Happy asks me to be her maid of honour, I’m beyond honoured. Everything is going well till the wedding rehearsal when I meet Ebube’s best man for the first time.

Guess who it is.

Tade.

The sight of him sends my composure flying out the window. All I can recall is the text he sent me and how he brutally cut me off. I don’t want to make the rehearsal dinner about me, but I can barely function and remember all the cues the wedding planner gave me for the ceremony. While we’re having dinner, Happy walks up to me and asks why I’m looking pale.

“Olutade is Tade,” I wheeze, trying to avoid his eyes, which have been trained on me since Ebube introduced us.

“Oh my god. Mo, are you okay? Do you want to go home?”

“No. You only get married once and I don’t even care anymore. I shouldn’t let him ruin my mood or your rehearsal dinner.”

Shoving all my emotions aside, I try hard to enjoy the delicious meal and try harder to avoid Tade’s gaze. Soon, it’s time for the best man’s speech, and Tade steps ups to the makeshift dance floor and talks about love and how he wishes Ebube and Happy a marriage built on God and a love that endures all. The rehearsal dinner comes to an end an hour later, and I rush to the event hall restroom before heading up to my room.

***

When I make it up to my room, Tade is standing outside my door. He offers me a small smile that looks penitent. I want to run into his arms, and I also want to wash him. Taking a deep breath, I ask myself WWJD, like Happiness taught me and decide to offer Tade grace.

“Hi, Tade. Good evening,” I greet and fiddle with my clutch, trying to find my key card and avoid his soulful eyes.

“Hi, Mo. How are you?” he asks with his voice full of a timbre that makes my insides flutter.

“I’m good. Does Ebube need something?” I ask because I don’t want to believe he’s here to make small talk or apologise for his rude behaviour.

“No. I actually wanted to see you. To apologise.”

The word ‘apologise’ peels back the plaster I laid over my broken heart and angst, pain and anger leak out of it like pus.

“Wo, Tade. I have to wake up super early tomorrow, so just consider your apology accepted and leave me alone.”

My words come out weaker than I intended. Tears rush to my eyes and I blink them back furiously, so I don’t show how much his ghosting me hurt me.

“Mo, I’m really sorry.”

Sniffling, I dab the corners of my eyes. “Tade, it’s fine actually. We want different things and it’s okay. You don’t have to apologise for ending things because you thought we wouldn’t work out. You might have been right and—”

“No. I didn’t break up with you because we wouldn’t have worked out.”

My brows furrow. I hope this guy does not want to twist the story because I’m not sure my hot blood will be able to think WWJD if he does.”

“Tade, you said—”

“I lied.”

I’m really confused and a part of me is beginning to get irritated.

“So, what happened?”

Tade takes a deep breath before telling me how his best friend’s sister attends my church and told him just how proud, rude and insulting she had seen me be to Sister Alero and how I must have been hiding my real colours around him.

“Seeing you here today and your relationship with Happiness, the way you respect the servers and staff show me there was no truth in her accusation.”

Understanding dawns on me and my anger fizzles out. I want to hide under the new me and make out everything his friend’s sister said to be a lie, but that would be another lie.

“There was actually truth in her words. I did all she said I did and worse. All I can tell you is that I’ve changed. God and the love from my brethren has changed me.”

Tade begs me to give him another chance. I want to, but something in me resists. If he could break up with me based on an accusation, without giving me the benefit of the doubt or letting me tell my side of the story, then he doesn’t deserve me.

“I’m sorry I can’t,” I say.

“You’re not seeing anyone, right? Ebube told me you aren’t,” Tade says.

I’m not sure whether to be angry or happy he had to ask Ebube about me.

“My decision isn’t based on my dating status. It’s just…I don’t feel like you’re the kind of guy I need.”

“MoromoOluwa, jo nau. Give me another chance,” he says. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

The way he calls my name weakens my insides and I want to do small shakara before taking him back, but something within me resists it, telling me not to take him back.

“Tade, please, you asked me to respect your decision then. I’m not saying this to do my own back, but I need you to respect my decision. Good night, Tade.”

I unlock my door and walk in, leaving Tade out in the hallway, calling my name. I lean against the door, wondering if it’s my village people controlling me or if I’m doing the right thing.

When I eventually remember I’m leaning against the door like some heroine from a cheap attempt at copying a classic romcom, I walk to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

I toss and turn on the bed.

Am I making the biggest mistake of my life? What if Tade is “the one”? What if I lose him and I end up as that single old woman people use as a case study on why girls shouldn’t be too picky?

I think about the restraint I felt in me. It felt like the inward witness Pastor Charles preached about while teaching about how God leads His children. Or am I just being spooky?

“God, I don’t know if this is You leading me or I’m just making up voices in my head. Please help me make the right decision,” I whisper into the air before forcing myself to count sheep.

***

I didn’t get any sleep till around 3 AM. Thankfully, Ebube and Happy’s ceremony is an evening wedding. I sleep in till about 9 before getting ready to start my maid of honour duties. When I make it up to the room Happy is sharing with her cousin, Letitia, Happy is pacing and her forehead is crumpled up in her signature worry face. She runs to me and hugs her as soon as she turns around to see me.

“Mo, tell me I’m not making a mistake,” Happy wheezes.

I’m lost. “Mistake about?”

“Getting married. What if Ebube realises that I’m not worth it? What if he falls out of love with me? What if he realises I’m not who he wants?”

“Where is this coming from?” I ask.

Happy sobs. “I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking! And I’m scared.”

The makeup artist and hairstylist in the room stare at us.

I pull her into a hug and reassure her just how much Ebube loves her. I spy the videographer recording, but I decide to focus on Happy. A couple of moments later, she is confident and calm enough to continue her hair and makeup. The make up artist is already baking Happy’s face when someone knocks on the door. I go to answer it and it’s a team carrying in flowers and gifts from Ebube to Happy. The room is awwwning and this-is-so-cuteing. Happy fawns over the necklace and earring set he got her. As she unboxes all the gift, she becomes teary eyed. As if that is not enough, Ebube includes a letter that reduces Happy to tears.

At this point, if the makeup artist decides to pack up and leave, I won’t blame her. After drying the tears, we get Happy back in her chair and finish her makeup.

***

The ceremony is hitch free and beautiful. The vow exchange made me tear up and the sermon the minister preaches on love and marriage makes me re-evaluate and wonder if I am indeed ready for marriage. I mean, I am physically, financially. But am I spiritually ready for what it means to be one with someone? Do I know how to love someone else the way 1 Corinthians 13 admonishes? As I find myself unable to answer these questions, I only pray under my breath for God to help me.

The reception is fun galore with a compere that had many games lined up. Ebube’s family handled the food and their caterer is on point because there is more than enough delicious food. I keep telling myself I’ll stop after this, but the waiters bring in more finger foods and courses and I find myself trying and tasting everything that passes me.

I spy Tade talking with some other lady and while a part of me is disappointed, another is grateful we didn’t work out. Drawing my attention away from them, I focus on matchmaking game the compere is leading.

***

Six Months Later

The last six months since Happy’s wedding have been filled with a lot of growth for me. For one, I’ve rediscovered myself in Christ. I’m more confident of my identity in Christ, something I didn’t even realise was a problem. I enjoy serving my brothers and sisters in Christ by cleaning up after them. I won’t lie, sometimes, people can be absolutely disgusting and frustrating, but I’ve learned to control myself and take my grievances to God in prayer.

Another important thing that’s happened is that I’ve become friends with my department members. Not all of them, but I have more friends now—actual friends—thsn I did before the sanitation department happened to me.

Funny thing, I’m not the only one who joined the sanitation department because of a life partner. I was shocked when I found out at a love feast, but somehow God has used our selfish ulterior motives to bring us closer to Him, an uncanny ability that I’m always in awe of.

If you’re expecting that I met someone, unfortunately, I haven’t. Honestly, I’m bothered about it sometimes, but I’ve learned to relax and trust in God’s timing and goodness. He makes all things beautiful in His time and He is a good Father.