Aunty Claudette brought me here because she said she knows Aunty O.
That is what we all call her, ‘Aunty O’. She says she prefers it and we pretend to agree with her.
Even though we know that she calls herself ‘O’ because she has rebranded her entire soul and has refused to call herself her original Edo name.
It is one of those long names that by the time you’re done calling, your tongue becomes twisted and your jaw aches from pronouncing too many consonants.
Aunty O is not yet here. But we are all waiting, all dressed up and waiting for Aunty O to make her grand entrance.
Because you see, Aunty O believes she is one of the arch angels and trumpets should precede her arrival.
I am not saying she believes she is like Christ because that would be blasphemy and I know I am sometimes a Ho and a terrible sinner but I still give Christ His space.
See? I even spelt ‘His’ with a capital ‘H.’
While we are waiting, Aunty Claudette is stuffing herself with the spring rolls and puff puff from the small chops in her hands.
She likes to pretend the puff puff isn’t fattening and that her stomach isn’t bulging in the sequined dress she is wearing.
I like to pretend with her.
‘O and this her serenren,’ Aunty Claudette begins to say, puff puff hindering her from making a coherent statement.
‘She don’t know the rest of us have house abi?’ she hisses and downs the puff puff with a glass of pale liquid. I don’t say anything.
Aunty Claudette and I are here because we need Aunty O to give me a role in her upcoming movie.
Actually, we’re here to celebrate Aunty O’s daughter’s pre-wedding. And the success of her last movie. Something Aunty Claudette and I had varying opinions about on our way to this event.
‘They said it is big in Jamaica.’
‘But movie critics said it was bad and I heard whispers in the Industry that the money it reportedly made was exaggerated.’
‘Don’t let the devil whisper your destiny away, Boma.’
It had been the end of that conversation.
But because Aunty O says she makes money and you become an automatic star when you appear in her movie, I have come to tap into her overflowing Nollywood blessing.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, Ms O!’ the MC announces. He is one of those Instagram comedians turned MC. Like the others, his ‘jokes’ can only be 15 seconds long no matter how hard he tries to stretch it but he likes to think he’s funny and talented. So, we pretend that he is.
I wish I was like Aunt O though. Her cheeks don’t move because of too much botox. And if I were like her, nobody would know if I was laughing at a joke or simply unmoved, because either way, my expression wouldn’t change.
Oh please don’t act like you don’t agree. It’s like your face being in a permanent mannequin challenge – it just doesn’t unfreeze.
When I appear in Aunty O’s next box office hit, I would ask for her Doctor’s number.
The crowd has burst into a cheer now and people are clapping so loud, it is beginning to feel like an earthquake is about to happen.
Aunty O emerges. She is wearing a sparkly bodycon and she looks like the Moji character from the Nollywood classic, Yemi My Lover.
Her hair is pulled so tightly into a bun, it seems like the roots will soon fall off and she’d run the risk of looking like all those Asians in Chinese movies that have hair that begin from the middle of their heads.
There’s a noticeable bump in her dress that is at least two sizes smaller and it is clearly not an indication of a bun in the oven but the last time someone called her out, she launched a campaign called ‘#ShameNoWoman’sTummy’ and wouldn’t let us rest for months.
‘Thank you all for coming for this celebration. It is also my 45th tomorrow so this is triple celebration!’
The crowd cheers. Aunty O isn’t 45 by the way. Her declaration of 45 years is at least a 10-year-old lie.
But we pretend with her.
Aunty O declares the party open and begins to sway her hips to the music coming from a live band.
I sight her butt and wonder when she would tell the world that she’s been lying about it for months now.
Aunty O’s butt is fake and bigger than three people’s heads joined together. I don’t have a problem with other people’s butts, I just find it funny that Aunty O says hers isn’t fake when it’s clearly fake.
But because she went on a social media campaign and dragged the American-claimed-to-be-born but South-African-accent-carrying media personality by the edges months back after the latter had insisted her ass is fake, we have all learnt to see it as real.
Aunty O turns and shakes her ass in a worrying attempt at twerking. The ass is gigantic, her skinny body making it seem like someone put ‘stick sweet’ in an horizontal line; skinny all the way then has a huge bump as an ass.
Weird but true.
Aunty O suddenly stops dancing and excuses herself. Aunty Claudette grabs my arm and tells me that’s my opportunity.
‘Go inside and talk to her now.’
‘Hian, but she will still come out na. why not just wait?’ I ask, confused.
‘Well, what if she doesn’t recognize me in the midst of all these people?’
I frown, ‘But I thought you said you know her.’
‘My friend knows somebody who knows her.’
My mouth is wide open at this point.
‘And I got invites for this thing through my ex-husband’s cousin who knows someone that knows her.’
Note that if my mouth could open wider, this would be the moment for it. But it cannot. So I just stand there, dumbstruck.
Aunty Claudette shoves me towards the entrance through which Aunty O disappeared minutes before. The pre wedding party/pre birthday party/film celebration party is at its peak at this time and so, no one notices as Aunty Claudette pushes me inside.
I go down a long corridor before I see a door slightly open. I can hear Aunty O’s voice or shrieks as it were.
She’s shrieking. I want to turn back but my legs won’t move. Especially when I hear a male voice shouting at her.
Someone has the nerve to shout at Aunty O? Who?
I push the door open and there, standing in front of a bearded man with a sculpted face is Aunty O.
Her ass is bare, her dress pulled all the way up. But that is not what is responsible for my shock, what is responsible is Aunty O’s ass which is now close to her knees.
‘That is why I told you to wear that tight dress so it holds it.’
‘But that’s what I did and it fell anyway.’
‘Did you use the medical glue…’
“My cheeks!”
My eyes follow Aunty O’s hands as it settles on her face, her cheeks are on the way down to her jaw.
It’s the last fall I see before I blank out and slip into unconsciousness.
This post first appeared on TNS.
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