19/04/2025
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JUST WHEN THE GAME WAS SWEET
Written by Mukhtar Yusuf Galadinchi
He had never looked this sharp in a while.
Tobe walked into the wedding dinner venue with the kind of confidence that could part a crowd. Dressed in a pristine burgundy senator outfit lined with gold embroidery, matching black loafers, and a wristwatch that glinted with every movement, he didn’t come to play — he came to represent. Beard lined like a geometry compass passed through it. Perfume? Something imported that whispers wealth.
Family introductions, photo moments, light banter with cousins — everything was calm.
Until she walked in.
Adaora.
She didn’t just step into the hall. She arrived. Wearing a flowing emerald green gown that danced with the light, her presence stole breaths before she even reached her seat. The pearls around her neck shimmered with every graceful step, and her smile? The type that breaks hearts gently.
Tobe noticed.
At first, he tried to resist the urge. He looked, looked away. Then looked again. He even pretended to sip his drink, just to get a third glance. But Adaora was magnetic — the kind of woman that made you straighten your back, fix your collar, and say a small prayer.
For a few minutes, he just watched her, analyzing the crowd around her like he was about to play a chess move.
What’s the approach? How do I open? What if she doesn’t respond? What if she’s married?
He played it over and over in his head. Then… courage rose.
He stood up, adjusted his outfit, ran his hand over his neatly shaved beard, and walked towards her table — slow, calculated, with that mix of charm and uncertainty.
“Hi,” he said with a smile, “I’ve been trying to figure out all evening what’s shining brighter — the chandelier above us… or your smile.”
Adaora paused. She looked him up and down. Then smiled politely. “That's a new one,” she replied.
He chuckled. “Good. I like being original.”
She folded her arms playfully. “So, what brings you here? You don’t look like you’re part of the groom’s family.”
And that was it. The ice broke.
Their conversation flowed effortlessly. They joked about the late food, the way the MC was mispronouncing names, the “reusable” wedding souvenirs, and the aunties who always danced like they owned the party.
Tobe had her laughing. She leaned in as he spoke. They even shared one of those mutual eye contact and laugh at the same time moments.
It was going well.
Too well.
Until...
“TOBE!!”
He froze.
From behind him came a voice that could shake tables and possibly small countries. He didn’t need to turn — he knew that voice. His mother.
She emerged from the crowd like destiny with a mission. Wrapper tied with serious commitment, headscarf perfectly knotted, and in her hand — a black nylon bag.
“Tobe, come and hold your dinner! This is your jollof and two pieces of meat. I told the servers not to forget you. Hold it before I forget!”
She placed the nylon bag squarely in his hand and walked off like she’d just dropped a mic.
Silence.
Tobe turned slowly back to Adaora, who was now pressing her lips together, trying so hard not to laugh. A waiter two tables away was already giggling. Someone coughed behind him — probably covering laughter. The music hadn’t even stopped, but this was now the main performance.
He stood there — fine man, smooth talker, classy aura — holding sweaty nylon rice like a toddler after school.
Adaora tilted her head with a grin. “Well… looks like your mummy really loves you.”
Tobe smiled sheepishly. He had no comeback. Nothing. Defeated by a black nylon.
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