When the time came for me to get married, I already had the whole thing planned out, including the people that would help me create my perfect day. What I didn’t know was that planning a Nigerian wedding is NOTHING like what I had expected. I know you have questions, so let me explain.

The moment Dayo slid that ring on my finger, it was as if someone had waved a checkered flag in front of my face because I was off like a race car driver (read all about our crazy proposal story here). I pulled out my secret wedding planning book that had every single detail of our upcoming wedding  (I had been hiding the book from Dayo so he wouldn’t know I was a complete psychopath). I picked up a million and one wedding magazines and started my wedding Pinterest boards.

It was about to go down *in my best Kevin Hart voice*.

While I was waist deep in floral arrangements and interviewing caterers, Dayo told me that his father insisted on hosting an engagement ceremony. In the Nigerian culture, the engagement ceremony is often times more important than the actual traditional wedding. Dayo warned me that the planning could get a little crazy and maybe we should just pass, but it was so important to his father that I didn’t have the heart to say no. His dad assured us that this would be a small event just to make sure we honor the traditions of their culture. Besides, I’m always down for a party (click here to read all about how I made a fool of myself at Dayo’s cousin’s engagement ceremony).

The next week, Dayo’s father asked us to come over for a small meeting to discuss the details of the engagement ceremony. When we arrived, a woman I didn’t recognize answered the door.

Dayo: Auntie!

Auntie? I had never seen this woman before. However, Nigerians have more aunties, uncles and siblings than you will ever met in your entire life, so I figured it was just a family member I had never met before.

She smiled at Dayo and then re-adjusted her focus on me.

Woman: Ahhh. Hello. You must be the bride.

Me: Um, Yes. Hello. *nervous laugh*

Woman: Follow me to your wedding dreamland.

Me: *under my breath* …what the f-

Me to Dayo: So that’s your father’s sister?

Dayo: No. Never met her before.

Side note: In the Nigerian culture, if you don’t know an older woman’s name, you call them Auntie just to be safe. In my experience, and with my terrible memory, this trick has come in handy on multiple occasions.

”Auntie” had transformed the entire living room with mounds of white tulle, feathers and sparkles. 4 mini tables were set up with different place settings in various colors and heavily covered in rhinestone. I had no clue what this was about.

She led us to the dining room so we could discuss the details of what I thought was just a small get together, but again, I was wrong.

I thought this meeting would just involve Dayo’s father, Dayo, the planner and myself. To my surprise, every single one of Dayo’s actual aunts and uncles were sitting around the dining room table. Bright, colorful fabrics lined the tabletop and I was offered a glass of Merlot which I gladly took.

Dayo’s Dad: Ah Katryce. Welcome. We are so happy that you all are here. And I see you’ve met the event planner.

“Auntie” smiled and waved.

Dayo’s Dad: Let’s begin. We are inviting 400 guests, so we have a lot to discuss.

Excuse me? 400 guests? Where?

We were there for 7 hours. I kid you not. Discussing not only the colors that Dayo and I would wear, but the colors the immediate family, extended family and special guests would wear as well. We chose the floral arrangements, the invitations, the caterer and the table settings.  At this meeting, I also learned that I was supposed to wear three different dresses during the ceremony but I opted for just two.

More and more, this felt less like the small engagement party I had assumed it was going to be and more like the actual wedding. And on top of everything, I agreed to make my own cake. The engagement ceremony was to take place one week before my actual wedding ceremony!!! Yeah. Jesus take the wheel.

Side note- Little known fact. I went to culinary school and used to run a cake business from home. The business ended when I was tired of dealing with people who wanted a $1000 cake but only wanted to pay $20. Girl Bye.

Wait – let’s hit rewind because I left out an important part of the meeting. My mom showed up about 3 hours into the meeting and started up with her typical Jacqui shenanigans.  You see, she is a VERY proud Mexican woman and although she loved and admired the Nigerian traditions, she was not about to sit back and allow our culture to be pushed aside. She insisted that we heavily incorporate Mexico into the engagement ceremony.  I mean a full blown Mariachi band, traditional Mexican attire, tamales and giant flowers in everyone’s hair. Oh and did I mention that she wanted her husband, my step-dad to play his violin with the Mariachi band and my aunt (who’s a professional dancer) to have a special performance. My engagement ceremony was turning into a damn circus.

My father-in-law cherishes family and values tradition, so he happily obliged to her requests. The only thing he asked of her was that after wearing her Mexican attire, she change into a Nigerian ensemble. Her exact words  were, “ABSOLUTELY! I love a good costume change!” Folks. Welcome to the Jacqui show.

Side note- My father-in-law also asked me to ask my dad if he would like to wear a traditional Nigerian outfit. My dad responded with a simple, “I’m black. I’ll wear a tie.” My dad’s not one for the theatrics.

Since I was so focused on planning our wedding ceremony, I took a step back and allowed my in-laws to take the lead on the engagement ceremony. This went pretty smoothly until it was time for me to pick my fabric for my dresses. You see I am a very simple person. I don’t like sequins, I don’t like jewels and I don’t like beading. I also only like nude/neutral colors. This was a big no-no to my in-laws as bling and color is a huge part of their culture. However, I was not willing to bend on this. After months of deliberation, my in-laws finally realized I wasn’t going to break. So I settled on a traditional red in honor of my Mexican roots and ivory for my Nigerian attire. I got my “boring” fabric and I loved it.

The week of our engagement ceremony, I barely even got to see Dayo.  While his parents had him running errands for our upcoming engagement ceremony, I was running errands for our wedding that was going to take place the following week. I had to pick family up from multiple airports, go to a million and one fittings, find wedding shoes and finalize a million and one other small details for BOTH ceremonies. Let’s not forget that I also had to bake a cake that fed 400+ guests the night before the ceremony. I’m getting anxiety all over again just thinking about it.

By the grace of God, I made it to the day of the ceremony without running away and joining a convent. I woke up early that morning to enjoy a little peace before things got chaotic. That peace and quiet only lasted a good 20 minutes before the house was full of hairspray, curling irons and women walking around looking for eyelash glue.

I tend to be overly dramatic and anxious on a regular basis. However, I am oddly calm in hectic surroundings. I wasn’t scheduled to have my hair and makeup done until we arrived at the ceremony venue, so while everyone else got all dolled up, I sat quietly in the corner, sipping on hot coffee and watching the show. Once everyone was done, we hopped in the car to make our way to the venue.

I wrongfully assumed that the venue would be empty aside from the event planner and her staff. To my surprise, when I walked in all of Dayo’s brothers and cousins were there dropping off giant cases of booze. Let me tell you now that the most awkward thing ever is walking into your place of celebration, your bridesmaids are all glammed to the gawds and you look like Charlize Theron in Monster. I bee-lined it to the dressing room and slammed the door behind me. Thankfully, the most incredible make-up artist EVER, Toshia, was already set-up and waiting for me. Let the slay begin.

About an hour later, the dressing room is packed with my bridesmaids, mom, aunts, grandma and my mom’s whole glam squad (my mom is a top hair stylist/colorist in the U.S. So yeah, she’s got a squad). Everyone was getting zipped into their dresses,  getting their flowers pinned in their hair and finishing touches on their makeup. The ceremony was supposed to start in about 5 minutes, but there was one problem- Dayo and the his groomsmen were nowhere to be found.

My face shows how irritated I was.

All of the sudden we heard a bunch of hustle and bustle next door in the groom’s dressing room. I sent a few bridesmaid spies next door to see what all the commotion was about. Three minutes later, my sisters came back and reported  that my soon to be husband and EACH of his FOURTEEN groomsmen were shit-faced drunk. I was furious. I wasn’t even mad about the fact that they were wasted. I was pissed that was 4 o’clock in the afternoon and not one person had offered me a damn drink! I sent Zari  back over to the guy’s room to get some booze. They sent her back with a bottle of Hennessy that was less than half way full. What a bunch of assholes.

The bottle was enough to give myself and all of the bridesmaids one shot. That shot got me through the next two hours I spent inside the dressing room waiting to be summoned to come out. You see, because I was so focused on the American wedding, I didn’t ask many questions regarding the engagement ceremony. So I missed the part  about the bride not coming out until the second half of the ceremony.

The wait felt like forever. A big part of the ceremony is the introduction of the families. Each side of the bride and groom’s families are announced and came out to their preferred music/entertainment. My in-laws came out to Nigerian drummers and singers. My extra-ass mom and her family were introduced to the guests with a mariachi band, salsa dancing and a Flamenco performance by my Aunt. This was no longer a ceremony, it was a Broadway production. It was only supposed to be a five-minute introduction, but my family danced out there for well over 20 minutes. Thank GOD I wasn’t out there to witness the Rodriguez show.

For those of you wondering, my dad and his side of the family did not participate in the Mexican Hat Dance. 1. Because they’re not Mexican so that would be a little awkward. 2. The Davis’ are low key and like to play it cool. They snuck in through the side entrance and made their way to their seats.

Next it was Dayo’s turn to go out. I ran over to a back curtain to take a peek at my future husband and by the fluidity in his dance movements, I knew he was pretty fucked up. Dayo is more of a two-step kind of guy and the man I saw out there was pop-lockin and droppin. Don’t get me started on his boozy groomsmen. It was a mess. Regardless, they all looked so nice and my soon-to-be husband was lookin’ like a damn snack- okkuuuurrrr. He wore ivory and gold while the groomsman wore this pretty shade of teal. His choice of entrance music? Wizkid. Wizkid is like the Drake of Nigeria. And Dayo’s drunk ass was feeling every bit of that song.

By the time it was my turn to go, it was nearly 8pm. The event started at 4pm. I was pissed TF off, but relieved that it was finally time for me and my girls to go out. My first dress was very Mexican inspired and oddly resembled the emoji of the woman dancing in the red dress. My bridesmaids wore off the shoulder, deep teal dresses that came knee length. I stood at the curtain, waiting to come out and took a deep breath. I just knew when they opened the curtains, my guests would be taken aback by me and my beautiful bridesmaids.

OKKKKUUUUURRRR

Welp. Joke was on me. Cause by the time we walked out, all my guests were drunk. Loose off the Goose drunk. I mean what did I expect? They had already been drinking for the last four hours and we had a whole hell of a lot of booze. At this point of the ceremony it is basically the presentation of the bride but I had to wear a vail because the big reveal happens when I wear the traditional Nigerian clothing. So I walked to the middle of the floor to Daddy Yanke (the Latino Lil’ Wayne) and we danced while all of Dayo’s family showered me in cash. The cash made the whole 4 hour wait not so bad and motivated me to shake my shoulders in the most Mexican way I knew possible.

[embedyt] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KssdqHMHaa8[/embedyt]

I was then guided off the stage back to the dressing room for my next change. I didn’t even get to say a word to Dayo! All this work for a dress everyone was only going to see for just 5 minutes? On top of everything I was hungry, sober, hot and irritated. But on the plus side- I was about $600 richer.

My sisters helped me take off my dress, but before I changed into the next dress, I demanded a drink. Ok. A couple of drinks. Even though everyone was waiting for me, it was my turn to have a little fun. So me, my sisters and a few of my bridesmaids took shots, on shots, on shots. I got dressed in my gown, got my Gele tied, my sisters got theirs tied and we were ready for part 2.

This time when we walked out, we came out to my favorite WizKid song. And we were lit AF. We were poppin’ and shakin; and shakin and poppin’ all over the dance floor. The DJ loved it so much that he didn’t stop at one song, he played two more! Thank God I was buzzed and couldn’t feel my feet.

The next hour was a lot of praying and kneeling and words of affirmation and more praying. It was all very beautiful but I was secretly hoping that things would wrap tf up. FINALLY, after about 45 minutes of prayer in Yoruba dialect that I did not understand at all, they said “you may now kiss the bride”. THANK YOU JESUS! Even though Drunko Skunko could barely find my lips due to his beer goggles, we kissed and the party was ready to start!

Everything after that point was pretty much a blur. I just remember them joining me and Dayo’s hands, playing Juvenile “Back That Ass Up” (that’s when my black side came out) and then waking up in my bed, with my dress halfway off, one shoe on and Dayo asleep in the bathroom near the toilet. Based on the pictures I saw the next day, everything was beautiful! (Scroll down if you want to see more pics!)

End all be all, the small, intimate engagement ceremony was everything but small and intimate. And you know what? I wouldn’t go back and change a thing. Nigeria is rich in traditional culture and celebration and I’m proud to say the I too am now an “Auntie” lol.

Make sure you tune in next week when I share the story of my actual wedding and my bridesmaids-zillas!

The post My Big Fat Nigerian Wedding- When Mexico and Nigeria Collide appeared first on The Funny Momma.

Now it was time for the white wedding. We left Nigeria to head to Johannesburg, South Africa on New Year’s Eve. A lot of family that was supposed to be flying with us were not granted visas in time for the wedding, so it was pretty empty flight. We boarded the flight at 11 pm. I was a little bummed because I was going to be on a plane for the New Year; not throwing back tequila shots and downing frozen grapes with my sisters like I normally do. However, my frown got turned upside down when the most incredible flight attendant in the world, Fernando, started passing out free bottles of vodka and wine. Did we just become best friends? YUP!

When we arrived at the airport, the first thing I noticed was all of the Safari advertisements. I am a big time animal lover, so I basically I had just walked into a dream. What I saw next confirmed that I was indeed in heaven- a ten–foot-tall elephant statue in the airport lobby. Hold the f*ckin’ phone. Ya’ll got elephants? I am COMPLETELY obsessed with all things elephants and my biggest dream in the entire world was to touch one. So, naturally, I made it my mission to do so.

Side note: I once asked Dayo to buy me an elephant for my birthday, he laughed and walked away. We’ve had marital problems ever since.

At this point, all I knew about South Africa was Nelson Mandela, the abolishment of apartheid and the Disney Channel original movie, The Color of Friendship (PS – That was my shit).  It’s safe to say I had no idea what I was getting myself in to. But I kept an open mind because I had just been pleasantly surprised in Nigeria and was hoping to be equally enlightened in South Africa as well.

Let me start by stating that Johannesburg is gorgeous. The first word that comes to mind is pristine because it is like the cleanest place I’ve ever been. The roads/landscaping/buildings are meticulously well-kept and most buildings, at least in Johannesburg, are all surrounded by tall gates. At the time that we visited, most people were on holiday, so the streets were pretty much empty and gave off a 28 Days Later/Zombie apocalypse vibe. Personally, I prefer a less crowded area, so this was just fine with me.

For the white wedding you can wear any attire you choose. No pointy boob outfits to worry about this time! *wipes forehead* (click here to read all about my pointy boob dress) I had purchased a cute little dress back home and was set.

The wedding was the next day so we had some time to kill. We went to eat at an incredible restaurant inside of this beautiful, luxury hotel. When we walked in we were the only black people there. There were plenty of other races (Middle Eastern, Asian, White), but other than the wait staff, we were the only black people. When we walked in to be seated the waiters looked astonished to see us. We also were not seated near the other groups of people- they sat us off to the corner. Normally, I would’ve totally made it a point to address the issue. However, my fear of being arrested in a foreign country made me sit my little happy ass down.

You know how the black people were acting on the movie Get Out when the family was hosting that barbecue? That’s how the waiters were. One waiter accidentally knocked my coffee over (so a bit spilled out on the table) and she freaked out. I assured her that it was no problem at all, but she was so overwhelmed that someone else came and took over for her until she got herself together. It was bizarre. 

The brunch buffet had a ton of South African dishes. Coiled shaped sausage called Boerewors and this minced meat dish that was topped with a thick cream and dried fruits were one of their premiere dishes. I bypassed all the unknown items and went straight to the bacon (sometimes you just gotta stick to what you know). Although I try to be adventurous when it comes to food, I hadn’t had anything close to American food in a week, so I had to indulge.

When we had finished our meals, my father-in-law took care of the bill and left a 20% tip like we are accustomed to in the States. The bill was $125, so the tip was around $25.  When the waiter came to get his tip, tears came to his eyes and he shook my father-in-law’s hand. He ran over to the other waiters to show them the tip and they all gasped and hugged him. When I saw how grateful he was for the tip, I took $15 over to the girl that spilled the tea. She lost it big time. You never know how you can positively impact someone’s life. $15 may be chump change to me, but obviously it meant way more than that to her.

Side note- Everywhere else in Johannesburg was lovely. It was only this one establishment that gave off weird vibes.

The day of the wedding went so much smoother than the day of the engagement ceremony. The wedding didn’t take place until the evening, so we decided to kill time at a nearby mall. Inside the mall I found a hair salon and had a woman from Zimbabwe straighten my hair. When I was seated and began speaking, everyone noticed I was American and gathered around me. They asked a ton of questions about America-  our music, our food, the culture. You know, good questions to get a better idea of the American life. Then, it was time for me to ask a question and you know what my ignorant ass said? “Have you guys ever seen the Disney Channel Original Movie, The Color of Friendship?” Oh Lord. I have got to do better.

If you haven’t seen it, you haven’t yet lived life!

After I was done at the salon, we still had a couple of hours, so we headed over to the Mandela house. The actual house Nelson Mandela lived in. I had done a whopping four elementary school reports on Mandela, so I knew a thing or two about this great human being. It was surreal to be walking in the same halls as this incredible man. A lot of his original home items were still there including his bed and a few letters his wife wrote him. I will forever be grateful for that experience.

Let’s fast forward to the wedding.  The wedding was smaller than the engagement ceremony, but just as gorgeous. The wedding ceremony tends to be smaller and more intimate because only immediate family and very close friends are invited. It was a wonderful event, the bride looked stunning and the food and drinks were everything. By the end of the night, I was exhausted and thought we would be heading home. We were visiting the safari the next day, after all.

Dayo hates this pic but I look pretty damn cute. And my shoes were FIYAH!

I was wrong. We left the wedding, got in our car and the driver took us to a hotel. We entered the hotel and walked down a flight of steps.  The further we went, the louder the music got. When we got to the bottom of the stairwell I saw a bouncer, a money collector and a coat check. We were at a club. Welp… there goes my good night’s rest.

When we got inside, they took us to a private area in the back. We had around 30 people in our entourage, so we fit the space pretty nicely.  I headed over to the bar, in typical Katryce fashion, but was stopped by Dayo. “My cousin already ordered drinks for everyone,” he said. I really had my heart set on a Titos and Cranberry, but I held out and waited for the drinks. All of the sudden a woman comes out blowing a giant whistle with multiple bottles of Hennessey on a cart. Each bottle was open and had a straw inside. Dear, God. This man had purchased everyone their own bottle of Hennessey. I then noticed there was one lone bottle of tequila adorned with a straw as well. That bottle was handed to me. I guess because I am half-Mexican he assumed I would prefer Patron. He was right.

I do love tequila.

About 25 minutes into the dancing and partying, I’m pretty fucked up as I’m sure you can imagine.  I’m stumbling everywhere, dancing all over the place, and just make a damn fool of myself. I had to pee, so I stumbled to bathroom. I brushed against a girl washing her hands and said “excuse me.” She looks at me and says, “Wait. Are you American?” Next thing I know, she and I are sitting on the floor of the restroom sharing stories about our childhood and our favorite foods. Every time a friend of hers would come in looking for her she would say “Guys! She’s American!” and I would respond with “Have you guys ever seen the Disney Channel Original Movie, The Color of Friendship?” *sigh*

I finally headed back over to the party, but I decided to bring my new besties with me. I gave them Patron shots, took selfies, and we danced on tables. If you didn’t know us, you would think that we had known each other our entire lives. It was everything! Dayo tried to get me off the table (he’s the mayor of Snoozeville), but his family members told him he was being a buzz kill so he chilled. I KNEW he would beef me over this in the morning, but I didn’t give a shit. Besides, this is the first time since Dayo and I had met that he had seen me this drunk (click here to read about how we met), so I got a pass.  

The next morning, I got up early to take a shower and get dressed. The  night before I somehow remembered  to drink hella water and scarf down a ton of bread, so I wasn’t really hungover. I brushed my teeth and started the shower. Thank God I tested the water before I got in, because it was scorching hot. Dayo woke up pissed at me because I got too drunk around his family. Mind you, the whole group of us were pretty shit faced, so I didn’t see the harm.  Rather than feed into him, I just kept my cool and pretended I didn’t notice him while I got dressed. Besides, we were about to go on a safari, so I couldn’t give two fucks about the night before.

Let me explain why this next part of the story is so important. My husband is like the coolest man in America and walks very slowly to ensure that he doesn’t misstep, trip and fall. In the 7+ years we’ve been together, I’ve only seen him stumble/fall once. And it took place in South Africa.

And it was glorious.

Dayo turned on the shower and proceeded to brush his teeth while waiting for the water to warm up. I’m now sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the bathroom and putting lotion my legs. Before Dayo got in the shower, he looked at me with a face of pure irritation and stepped into the shower. 1.5 seconds later Dayo yells “FUUUCCKKKK!”, kicks the shower door open, trips over the shower ledge and slides across the bathroom floor. Butt ass naked. This bozo didn’t check the water temperature before he got in.

To make matters worse, he tried to stand up quickly and to play it off, but he lost his balance on the wet floor, wiggled around like a fish out of water for about 10 seconds and landed again on his bare ass. It was literally the funniest thing I had ever seen in my entire life, but since he was already mad at me, I attempted to hold back my laughter in fear that laughing would take this beef to a whole new level. Besides, I hadn’t even checked to see if he was ok.

I took a deep breath and tried to think of something sad to calm the terrible case of the giggles I felt brewing in my stomach. I stood up and slowly walked over to him. I had all intentions of making sure he was okay, but when he stood up and started massaging his ass cheek, I lost it big time. I was in tears. He tried to be mad, but he  started laughing too. We sat on the bathroom floor that morning laughing for 30 minutes about how he had just bust his ass- literally.

From the moment I saw the elephant statue in the airport, I pestered everyone about seeing elephants. That was my only request for this portion of the trip. Problem was, the elephant reserve was on the other side of South Africa.  Oh and everyone wanted to see the lions, so I was outvoted. I cried. No guys, I literally cried. All my life I have wanted to touch an elephant and just be in the presence of one. This was the closest I would ever be to making my dream come true and it wasn’t going to happen. I was devastated.

I finally got over it. My overall love of animals pushed past my devastation. I was going to be able to see some pretty incredible creatures up close after all. The same creatures I would spend hours watching on National Geographic and the Discovery Channel as a child. So even though I was royally bummed, I considered it a win.

Funny thing about seeing animals on TV and then actually seeing them in person is that from the safety of your own home, lions and cheetahs are actually pretty cute. But as we were driving from our hotel to the Safari, my brain got to thinking. I started to remember how fast they are, how vicious they are, and how brutal they are. Is this the smartest thing for me to do? Will I really make it out alive? Am I really willing to risk my life? It was too late to back out now. We had already purchased tickets for the VIP package, which included petting lions. Dead man walking.

I always imagined that if I ever went on a safari, I would be riding in a RV and wearing one of those khaki, floppy hats, with a white tank and some cute ass cargo pants. You know. Jurassic Park style. But all I had with me was some running shorts, flip-flops, and a hair tie.

I was doomed.

Oh and there was no Safari car, no gated windows, no tour guide. It’s just us (me, Dayo, his parents and siblings), in our rental car with a shitload of wild animals. As we pulled off one of the employees of the Safari yells “watch out for the ostrich! He’s a mean one!” Real comforting, lady. I kept my cool even though I was pretty convinced I was going to be mauled by a warthog or hyena.

So we’re driving through these beautiful pastures and hills and would you guess which animal we see first? The mother fucking ostrich. If you’ve never seen an ostrich in person, lucky you. This is the first time in my adult life that I literally almost shit myself. He was just standing there, on the side of the road like he was trying to hitch a ride. He was taller than our car and just watched us as we drove by. I knew ostriches could run very quickly, have extremely sharp talons and that a kick from one of these bad boys could end your life. While everyone was scooting to that side of the car to take pictures, I sat on the other side and minded my mother fucking business. NO WAY I was dying at the hands (or feet) of a damn bird.  

Along the road we saw warthogs, meerkats, and giraffes. It was incredible. Then we came upon a separate area that had a long line of cars waiting to enter. As we inched closer to the gate, we saw a sign that read “Please keep your windows rolled up.” All I could hear was Kevin Harts voice saying “It’s about to go down.” We entered through the gates and before you know it, there are giant lionesses and one big ass lion just chilling right by the pathway.

Because I have the best luck in the world, when we stopped to take pictures, the lions decided to walk directly to our car. Out of all the cars out here, they come up to ours. Great. This is how I die. Death by lion. Everyone else was squealing in delight meanwhile, I’m checking the back door and the path behind it to better my odds of surviving this epic mauling that was about to take place. I would use the others as bait. Including my soon-to-be husband. Thankfully the lions just looked in the car and walked away. I took a deep sigh of relief and was ready to move on.

At the end of the safari ride, you go through what I like to call a Ring of Death. It was filled with fully grown cheetahs and baby lions. I figured that since I had just dodged death, being so close to the adult lions, that this should be a walk in the park. I am such an idiot.

At the Ring of Death, you’re allowed to touch one of the cheetahs. However I just did not feel right petting a grown cheetah that could literally kill me in less than two seconds. So I headed over to the lion cubs. I use the term cub for lack of better word because normally “cub” refers to a baby, which is normally much smaller than the parents but these mofo’s were bigger than me. Didn’t matter. These four cubs were so damn cute. I just had to do it.  

Out of the four, there was one that was just calmly laying on the ground. He was just chilling out, maxin’ and relaxing all cool, so I figured he was the safest bet. The other three were playing around and acting a fool. I wasn’t going to fuck with that. Now that I think about it, he probably wasn’t my safest bet. I know how I react when I am trying to take a nap and someone bugs me. So if that lion was anything like me, he would’ve flipped the fuck out. Well, thankfully, he didn’t maul my face off. He just laid there calmly and let me rub his belly. It was an animal lover’s dream.

Since petting the lion cubs went so well, I decided I would brave the cheetah exhibit. I didn’t want to look back and say I never did touch a cheetah when I had the chance. So I put on my big girl panties and I went in the cheetah cage. I was terrified.

The cheetah was laying on a very low branch of a tree with his back turned to me. I kind of crept up on him, which was pretty stupid. Mind you, the whole time I’m wearing flip-flops. So if at any point this thing wanted Mexican for dinner, I was a goner. And, if by any chance, I were to make it to the gate, I would be electrocuted because these were electric fences surrounding the area . Basically I was doomed for failure if this guy attacked.

The trainer told me to squat down very low and slowly- which I did. He specifically told me not to touch his belly or get close to his paws. All of the precautions made me shake terribly.  I stuck my hand out and very slowly and started rubbing the back of his head. He seemed cool with it, so I was cool with it. But I got a little too comfortable and my bag brushed up against his paw. He lifted his head slowly and looked me dead in the eyes. I don’t speak cheetah, but I knew exactly what he was saying to me. “Bitch, I will eat you.” Welp. That was enough for me. It was time to pack it up and go.

We boarded the plane to go home later that evening. It was bittersweet, because although I absolutely loved my experience in Africa,  I missed my family, especially my baby boy, so very much. When I actually got home and told my family of my adventures, I was not greeted with words of excitement or joy. Every single one of my family members ignored everything about my trip and responded with “Are you fucking crazy? You pet a fucking cheetah?!?!?”

Well ladies and gents…that is the finale of my amazing trip to Africa! I cannot wait to go back. I promise I’ll share the stories of my next adventure.

The post That One Time I Went to South Africa- Lions, Patron Bottles and Boiling Hot Showers appeared first on The Funny Momma.

OK. I hope you’re ready to laugh your ass off. Let’s do this!

The day of the wedding ceremony I had so much to do. First things first, I had to fix my disaster of a dress . Thankfully, Dayo’s cousin had a seamstress that could fit me in. When she saw the dress, she did this lip smacking thing that a lot of Nigerians do when they think something is ridiculous or they’re irritated. I’ve seen my father-in-law do it one too many times, so I was well aware of the fact that she thought I looked like an idiot. Me too, Sis. Me too.

As if I wasn’t humiliated enough, she  called in a few friends to look at the hack job and laugh too. After she was done putting my mess of an ensemble on front street, she agreed to fix my dress. She couldn’t promise a miracle, but she did say she could make it work. That was good enough for me.

While the seamstress was  working on my dress, I got very hungry. Dayo’s cousin, Bode, insisted that I try this traditional Nigerian street dish called Suya. Suya is skewered beef that is smothered in spices and barbecued. Normally I would consider myself a pretty adventurous eater, as I make it a point to try everything at least once. But when we pulled up to this little rinky-dink cart in a random back alley and the guy cooking the food had all of two teeth and a lazy eye; I was pretty skeptical. We ordered four servings of Suya; one for Bode, one for me, one for Dayo and  one for his father.

I hesitantly brought the beef to my mouth. The moment it hit my lips the clouds parted and the heavens shined upon me. It was the most delicious thing I’d  ever tasted in my life. The beef was spicy, tender, salty and just straight up bomb. I finished mine, then finished Dayo’s. Then ate his fathers. It wasn’t my finest hour, but it was just so good I couldn’t help myself.

We got back to Bode’s house and it was time for makeup. Normally, I am pretty good at doing my own makeup. However the Nigerian make-up scene is like no other and I wasn’t about to be  lookin’ basic AF in my drugstore makeup. Bode’s wife, Uche, had a makeup artist that was willing to do my makeup as well. Even though I had never seen the makeup artist’s work, Uche was always killing the game, so I knew she would only have the best.

I walked downstairs to meet the makeup artist and was totally taken aback by this woman. She was AT LEAST 6 feet tall, had glowing, chocolate skin and her eyebrows could cut a bitch. She was the  definition of slay. I smiled at her with a goofy, overeager smile. She never smiled back. She just glanced at me for a second, took a deep breath and told me to sit. Dear, God. I had already irritated this woman and I hadn’t even opened up my mouth yet.

I sat in the chair and she went at it. She didn’t even ask me what I wanted done. She just started slathering my face with this and that, using all different kinds of brushes and liners.  I didn’t know what was going on, I  just knew here was glitter everywhere. I had absolutely no clue what I was about to look like, but when she passed me the mirror I was shocked. Who was this queen with radiant skin, contoured cheeks and fleeky-ass eyebrows staring back at me?! This woman was an artist and my face was now a masterpiece.

I see you, Sis.

It was time for my gele. A gele is the Nigerian head wrap. It’s a stiff piece of fabric that is wrapped around your head and secured with pins. It turns out looking like a beautiful fabric crown and I could not wait to get mine! Even though I had been to multiple Nigerian events at this point, this was the first time I was actually wearing the gele. I was cheesing from ear to ear and the make-up artist was just looking at me like I was a weirdo.

She took out this thick gel and shellacked my forehead, sideburns and naps in the back. I was pretty lubed up. I passed her my fabric and she started ferociously wrapping my skull. With every tightly laid swoop, she motioned me to hold it in place.  My head wobbled from side to side, as I attempted to withstand the pure force this woman was using to apply this thing. She then took her knee and put it in the back of my chair to steady herself as she tied the whole thing together. My ears were pinned down and the glue-like gel she applied had the wrap secured to what felt like my brain. My eyeballs were practically squeezing out of the sockets and my eyebrows where pulled back so tight that I just looked hella surprised.

She then said “Here’s some Advil. You’ll need it for the headache.”

“What heada-?“ …before I could get the words out, my head started pounding. This was pure torture and the actual definition of the saying “Pain is Beauty”. It was so painful, but it was important for me to  show Dayo and his family that I respected and admired their culture. Even if that meant squeezing my head like a tube of toothpaste.

I finally got my dress back and it fit pretty nicely. It wasn’t quite what I originally envisioned and the nipples were still pointy AF, but it was a vast improvement. I threw it on and we were on our way.

Dayo went ahead of me because he was actually in the wedding party, so I rode with Uche to the venue. When we walked in the lobby of the hotel, cameras swarmed around her. I tried to keep up as best as I could in my strappy, five-inch stilettos, but the sea of paparazzi carried her away. There were well over 2000 people attending this wedding and I couldn’t find anyone I recognized. I was just standing there, my ears purple from my gele, my feet swollen from trying to keep up with Uche, and my eyes frantically searching for one of the 10 people I actually knew.

The decor was absolutely breathtaking. There were flowers everywhere, everything was encrusted in jewels and the outfits were incredible. The greatest thing about having to get your outfits made for Nigerian events is that you will never have to worry about bumping into someone wearing the same outfit. People were wearing long dresses, short dresses, jumpsuits, wraps and more. Even though everyone wore the same fabric or color, everyone looked so unique. Then there was me –  looking like a goofball in my ill- fitting dress that made me look like I was trying to smuggle ice cream cones in the building.

Don’t get me started on the bride. She looked like a dream. Mayowa, you killed it.

While I was taking in all this beauty, I was still secretly panicking because I couldn’t find anyone I knew. It didn’t help that I couldn’t see a thing over the 4-foot table settings on each table. And what I could see beyond that was blocked by endless sea of bedazzled geles. I awkwardly walked around the wedding for an hour looking for a familiar face. My feet were dead at this point, so I looked like I had one too many glasses of wine and I was getting odd stares from everyone. A table of very nice women welcomed me to sit with them because they could clearly tell I was lost as shit.

I had just about given up and accepted the fact that I would never see my family again, until I heard “Katryce! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” It was Dayo’s brother, Moyo! He rescued me and took me over to Dayo’s parents,  who were sitting just four tables ahead of me. I’m an idiot.

I plopped down at the table and took the liberty of pouring myself a glass from  the open bottle of wine. I didn’t even ask if it belonged to anyone. I just poured myself a glass and took it to the head. My feet were so done and I couldn’t wait to loosen the straps and let my dogs out. But I never got the chance because Dayo’s dad started introducing me to everyone.  This meant more walking, more bowing and more bunions. Then we took what felt like a million family pictures. By this point, all the other women had pulled cute little flat sandals out of their purses.   Clearly  I missed the “bring comfy shoes” memo.

When I finally got to sit down…

When I finally got a chance to sit, I was completely exhausted. I hadn’t eaten, my feet looked like something from  the Nutty Professor and I had lost feeling in my ears and the right side of my brain. I had to take this gele off! Problem was, I was sweating bullets under there, so when I actually removed the gele, I looked like I was in the Soul Glow commercial from Coming to America. It was a damn mess and I was so embarrassed. So I just poured another glass of wine.

By the grace of God, Dayo’s mom had an extra pair of flats and I couldn’t get them on my feet fast enough. We were seated right next to the stage and the music was everything. On stage was one of the greatest Nigerian musicians, King Sunny Ade. Everyone was up dancing and having a good time, but I decided to keep it safe and clap gracefully from my seat. Don’t get me wrong, I know how to move, but Nigerian dancing is an art in itself and I hadn’t mastered it yet. I wasn’t about to get up and make a fool of myself. Again.

Dayo’s dad had other plans. I could see him on the stage whispering something to King Sunny Ade and then he smiled at me. Dear, God. Please tell me he didn’t do what I just think he did. Before I could sneak away and hide in the bathroom I hear “KATRYCE! KATRYCE! KATRYCE!” King Sunny Ade was incorporating my name into his song and signaling me to join him on the stage! I wanted to slide out of my chair, on to the floor and under the table. Take me now, Lord.

I stumbled up on stage, spiky boobs, sweaty hair and all. He grabbed my hand and started to dance. At this point, I was already at the most embarrassing level I could reach,  so I succumbed and started to dance. He was a pretty big deal after all and I wanted to make sure I had a story to tell my grandchildren one day. I started out with very modest two-step, but about 30 seconds in to the dance- that wine kicked in and I lost control. I was no longer Katryce. I was Beyoncé.

I was swinging my head back and forth and throwing my hips side to side like I was using an invisible hula hoop. My shoulders were shaking so hard, it probably looked like I was having a seizure. But you couldn’t tell me nothin’. I was killin the game in my mind and Dayo’s family didn’t help because they just keep egging me on. They really are the best.

By the end of the night, I was passed out at the table because my body had enough. I had partied for hours with no food in my stomach and had way too many glasses of wine. When Dayo came to tell me it was time to go, the only words I could mutter were “Suya. I. Need. More. Suya.” And my baby, although very irritated, found me some Suya at 3 am in Lagos.

Side-note: I couldn’t keep up then but now I can hang. I always pack extra shoes, eat a little before each event, wear my hair in a tight bun under my gele and take Advil before I even get the gele tied. Oh AND I have learned the art of Nigerian dancing. I’m no Whiz Kid background dancer, but I can keep up. I consider myself a pro now and my in-laws call me an honorable Nigerian. *takes bow*

We spent the next five days in Nigeria trying local cuisine, attending more parties than I could count and shopping for little trinkets to take home to the kids. I had an absolute blast. I could go on forever about how much fun I had in Nigeria, but my trip did not end in Lagos. In the Nigerian culture you actual celebrate the union of marriage twice. Once in the traditional Nigerian engagement ceremony and then in the manor that most Americans recognize- the white wedding. That portion of the celebration was taking place in Johannesburg, South Africa, so it was time to leave my beloved Nigeria.

Although I was so sad to leave Nigeria, I was very excited for what was to come. Make sure you subscribe below to be the first to know what happened when I went to South Africa! I’ll be posting all about it next week!

The post That One Time I Went to Nigeria Part 2 appeared first on The Funny Momma.

I’ve been afraid to travel overseas my entire life. Prior to the experience that I’m about to share, the farthest I had ever traveled was Canada (on a high school trip) and a family trip to Tijuana, Mexico which is basically just an extension of California. You see, I’ve watched a lot of “Locked Up Abroad” in my day and who can forget that Sex and The City movie where Samantha got arrested in Dubai for exposing her shoulders! I had absolutely no desire to travel outside of the country because I was almost positive that I was going to be arrested if I did. I have a hard enough time following the rules in this country. How could I be expected to go somewhere else and follow theirs? No, thank you.

Ever since the first year we started dating, Dayo (my then boyfriend, now husband) tried to convince me to travel with him to Nigeria. Every time, I politely declined. Although I wanted to meet his family, my fear of traveling overseas held me back. After inviting me a third time, Dayo had enough. His cousin was getting married in Nigeria AND South Africa. He insisted that I go with him and wasn’t backing off. Finally, I caved, put my big girl panties on and agreed to go.

Dayo’s dad was ESTATIC and ready to dunk me head first in Nigerian traditions. In Nigeria, for most events (especially weddings), specific fabrics are assigned to specific guests. That way, when you attend the event, you will know who is who i.e. parents of the couple, immediate family, extended family, general guests and more.  Since I was new to the Nigerian fashion game, when I was given my fabric, I found some random dress-maker to complete my ensemble and she botched the whole thing. My dress had pointy tits and boxy hips. Basically, I looked like Cruela on top and Sponge Bob on the bottom.

It was a shit show and I had no time to get it fixed.

Two days before I went to Nigeria, I did an entire video will just in case things went south on my trip and I was indeed kidnapped or arrested as I feared so much. I sent the video to my older sister Bonnie and it revealed that everything  I had should go to my son, CJ. I should mention that “everything I had” was absolutely nothing. I had no assets, hella hospital bills and my bank account had -$17 in it. So I was basically leaving CJ my debt. Poor kid. In my defense, I did have a pretty sweet collection of *NSYNC and Spice Girl memorabilia that I’m sure he could’ve sold on eBay to bring that $-17 right up to an even balance. 

The night before our flight my dad insisted that Dayo and I meet him in the parking lot of a nearby mall. A little background on my dad:

-He was a heavily decorated Air Force officer and policeman when he was younger.  

-He’s very mysterious and always talking in code

-He always has at least 10 pockets in whatever he is wearing that are always full of gadgets and gizmos that could save a person’s life or take it away.

You know the dad from Taken? That’s my dad in a nutshell. My sisters and I are convinced that he’s a spy or an assassin.

Anyway, when we arrived at the parking lot, he gave me $1000 in cash, a universal credit card, a contraption the size of a Tic Tac container that would turn into an inflatable raft upon opening, a giant straw that could purify any water source, a universal phone, and a bright yellow walkie-talkie. I know you guys are going to think I’m making this next part up, but I swear to God this really happened.

As he passed me the walkie-talkie, he says to me very seriously “Katryce, if you are ever in trouble, press this red button and say that you need help. Within five minutes a group of men are going to arrive via helicopter and get you.” He then glanced at Dayo and said “there’s only enough room in the helicopter for one.”

It was a quiet ride home.

The next morning, I almost shit myself. I couldn’t believe I was leaving the country. I had done some research on the Nigerian and South African laws just to make sure there was nothing crazy I could do that would get me arrested when we got there. I was so nervous that I almost got off the plane before take-off. That was until I found out Dayo’s father started a tab for us and we could order as many of those mini bottles of alcohol as we wanted. I can’t remember things exactly, but I’m pretty sure I did the electric slide as I walked off the plane when we landed. I was pretty wasted.

When we landed in Lagos, we were greeted by a gentleman who came to expedite our customs/baggage process. He walked us through the airport and told us that our bags were already in the car.  When we walked outside, three black SUV’s were waiting for us with armed guards surrounding the vehicles.

Now on the outside I looked calm, cool and collected, but my inside voice was telling me to pull out that damn walkie talkie and call for help!

Dayo: “I may have forgotten to mention that my family is very politically involved, so this is basically like secret service.”

Me: *mumbling through my teeth while smiling as to not alert his family of the fact that I was about to murder him* “We’ve been dating for three years. How could you forget to mention that little fact?!?”

Dayo: “I knew if I told you that, you wouldn’t come. It’s all good. If anything now you know you really have nothing to worry about. We’re completely safe and protected.”

Dear God. Help me.

On the ride, I had to sit behind a guard who was holding a giant AK-47. Just my luck.  Even though I was scared shitless, I couldn’t help but take in everything around me.

There were only two types of cars on the road. Extremely expensive ones (Range Rovers, BMW’s, Porsches etc.) or brightly colored vans that were straight out of the 1970’s. Car lanes are not a thing in Nigeria. It’s just one giant road and people “getting in where they fit in”. I literally saw about three cars nick the sides of other cars and no one even stopped. Seeing as though I am the Fender Bender Queen, I was really starting to feel at home.

Everything was so colorful! Everyone was wearing vibrant colors and carrying baskets of plantains and yams on top of their elaborate head wraps. In the middle of some streets you would see groups of children playing soccer in sandals, kicking up clouds of red dust. Women had their babies tightly secured to their backs with thick, patterned wraps. It was beautiful.

In this particular area of Lagos, the people didn’t have much money. But if it’s one thing Nigerians are masters at, it’s hustling. There were fruit stands on every corner and little boys running up to the car to sell you sugar cane and spicy plantain chips. Guys were pulling massive carts filled with brilliantly colored fabrics and women would flock around them to pick from their vivid collection. I kid you not, a man came up to the car with an old sewing machine from like the 1920’s and tried to sell it to me. Honestly, he was so persuasive that if it wasn’t for the fact that I had nowhere to store it, I would’ve bought that thang.

After about an hour and a half of riding in traffic, we crossed over a long bridge that put us in a totally different environment. We were still in Lagos, but it looked drastically different. Most of the roads were paved, there were fewer people on the streets and we were surrounded by ginormous mansions that were guarded by 10ft tall gates. It literally looked like we were in Beverly Hills. We had arrived in Victoria Islands, a city in Lagos where a lot of Dayo’s family lived.  It was absolutely gorgeous.

Now it was time to meet the family and man, did he have A LOT of family. I’ve never met so many aunties, uncles, cousins, sisters and brothers in my entire life. Oh and I should mention that every time you greet an elder, you have to do this curtsy/bow combo. By the end of the night I felt like I had just left an intense Zumba class.

At every family members’ home we went to, they had at the very least a chef, chauffeur and butler. I was trying to play it cool, but on the inside I felt like Halle Berry in B.A.P.S.

After meeting countless family members, we finally called it a night. The wedding was taking place the next day and we had so much to do! Overall, my first impression of Nigeria was that I absolutely loved it and couldn’t wait for the wedding. Little did I know, the next day would not go as smoothly as the first.

CLICK HERE TO READ PART 2

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