The sound of gángan and bàtá conversed in rhythms older than memory. Each beat announced joy, tradition, and promise. Women in matching aso-ebi moved like a river of colour gold, wrappers hugging their waists, gele stacked proudly on their heads.
At the altar, the groom stood patiently, waiting for his bride.
When Sarah finally appeared, walking into the church with her father, a quiet murmur swept through the hall. Her white gown flowed gently around her, simple yet elegant. Smiles flashed from every corner of the church as she took each careful step forward.
Her to-be husband could hardly breathe. He was in awe of how beautiful she looked. Then Sarah stopped.
Her father leaned closer. “What is it?” he whispered. Sarah didn’t answer.
Fear crept across her face as she slowly looked around the hall. Her eyes met her groom’s—still gazing at her, still smiling. The music softened. The smiles faded.
No one was prepared for what happened next.
Sarah let the bouquet slip from her hands. It hit the floor softly. Then she turned and ran.
Gasps filled the church—oos and ahs colliding with confusion and shock—as she bolted past the pews and out of the church doors, disappearing from the very place meant to seal her forever with her husband.
The frantic search for the bride began immediately. Phones rang endlessly as people stepped in and out of the church, scanning the surroundings. Guests grew restless, clustering into small groups, whispers and speculation spreading like wildfire.
The groom was the most unsettled. He paced back and forth, scratching his head in frustration, his eyes darting toward the church doors every few seconds, hoping—praying—she would walk back in.
Dunni, Sarah’s close friend, stood quietly at the edge of the chaos. She had an idea where Sarah might be. Without drawing attention, she slipped out of the church, got into her car, and drove off.
It wasn’t far.
A small clearing filled with tall trees and scattered rocks. Just as she suspected, Sarah was there. She sat on one of the rocks, her gown gathered around her, her shoulders slumped. She looked up sharply when she saw Dunni approaching, surprise flashing across her face.
“How did you find me?” Sarah asked.
Dunni exhaled softly. “This is literally where you come whenever you want to be alone. So… it wasn’t hard.”
Sarah looked away. “I couldn’t do it.”
Dunni stepped closer. “Why?”
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Sarah’s voice trembled. “What if I don’t become the woman he prayed for? What if I don’t give birth to children? What if he regrets marrying me? What if—”
“Stop,” Dunni interrupted gently but firmly. “Stop right there.” Sarah looked up.
“What are you saying, Sarah? Why are you allowing these voices into your head? God has not given you the spirit of fear.”
“But—”
“No,” Dunni said. “Don’t give the devil the wheel of your mind. Resist him. God never said those things about you—so why are you saying them to yourself, huh?” Sarah swallowed.
“You are what he prayed for,” Dunni continued softly. “You will give birth to your children. That is what God has said about you, and that is what matters.”
She paused, then added, “Your identity in Christ is more important than any voices in your head. Okay?”
Silence hung between them.
Then Sarah nodded slowly. “I realize that now.” Her voice cracked. “Thank you, Dunni. I’m really grateful.”
Dunni smiled. “Thank God.” She stretched out her hand.
“So… can we go now? Your groom is waiting.”
Sarah’s heart echoed with the words she would never forget: God has not given me the spirit of fear.
She lifted her head.
“And Sarah,” the officiant asked gently, “do you take Martin Ajibade to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
With a steady smile and joy flooding her heart, she answered,
“I do.”
