Our drinks arrived along with small plates of gizzard, fried shrimp, pieces of liver, samosas and spring rolls, and Chidi was right, I did like the drink. No other guests joined us at our table and ours remained one of the few at the back of the room that was occupied.

The bride and groom and twelve pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen arrived a few minutes later, and Sarfoa and the rest of the kids went to shoot bubbles over them. Chidi and I couldn’t get a good view of them from where we were seated.

The ceremony started shortly afterwards. The chiefs were then introduced. The M.C. of the event had to be interrupted many times as people refused to get up to be acknowledged until they were addressed by their full titles but he made it funny and rather than make people out to be pompous and self-important he just made it fun.

Eventually, when all the important people had been introduced and acknowledged and the chairman of the event accepted to chair the ceremony, the eating began.

Being at the back had its advantages. We were one of the first tables called to the buffet. There was just too much to choose from. I ignored the fufu, banku, kenkey, tuo zaafi and all the various soups. I had a bit of aprapransa with crab, some potato salad, some grilled pork and grilled tilapia, some waakye and some stir-fried vegetable rice and lots of shitɔ.

Sarfoa had some jollof, two pieces of fried chicken, spaghetti, some coleslaw, some kelewele, some couscous and three sticks of beef khebab. Chidi had some moin moin, one piece of akara and a small portion of stewed goat meat.

Kwabena Kwabena, Efya and two cultural troupes provided the entertainment while we ate.

Sarfoa and I went back for more food. Dessert was even better than the main meal. There were different types of cakes and pies and all manner of pastries, a chocolate fountain, different biscuits, huge bowls that just had toffees, chocolate, lollipops, popcorn and endless trays of fresh fruit and different flavours of ice-cream. There was even a cotton candy machine at the other corner of the hall.

I was sorry I’d stuffed myself with the main meal. I tried to taste a bit of everything, but I had no room. My abdomen felt like it would burst at any moment. Chidi, however, had no such problem, he heaped two plates with cake and pies and sat down to have his main meal.

We watched as the bride and groom came to the centre of the room to cut their ten-tiered wedding cake. The bride and groom had their first dance to Ed Sheeran’s ‘Thinking out Loud’. I had to crane my neck to watch.

I turned back before their dance was over to find Chidi staring at me. The second dance was between the bride and her father. The waiters brought pieces of the wedding cake on trays and we each took a piece. The cake was just too rich. I couldn’t eat another bite.

The M.C. asked the D.J. to play ‘Thinking out Loud’ again and this time he opened the dance floor to everyone.

Chidi got up and held out his hand to me.

“I can’t dance,” I said.

“I’ll show you.”

“I won’t make a fool of myself in front of all these people.”

“We’ll just dance here, by the table. Come on you’re wasting the song.”

So I got up and true to his word we stood right by the table. It was stiff and awkward the first few moments but when I realised that dancing was just going to be swaying in tandem with him to the music, I relaxed.

I’d have given anything to know what he was thinking right then so I looked up into his face and became transfixed; I couldn’t tear my eyes away. There was an intensity in his eyes I hadn’t seen before and it left me feeling unsettled.

All at once I was aware of him. Aware of his smell, his breath blowing gently on my cheek, his left arm around my back, his right holding my hand, his heart beating even faster than mine and so hard that I could feel it.

“I’m going to the washroom,” Sarfoa said and broke the spell.

I nodded. I couldn’t trust myself to speak.

“You smell like her,” he whispered against my ear.

“Who?” I asked.

“My mother. She always used cocoa butter. She would have liked you.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Mom would have liked Chidi too. The song finally ended but we just stood there.

“Can I . . . may I kiss you?”

I’d barely finished nodding before I felt his lips on mine. I could taste the chocolate from the cake he’d eaten.

It was nothing like the actors and actresses did on the Mexican telenovelas. It didn’t even last a minute. I didn’t know if it was a good kiss or a bad kiss, all I knew was that I liked it very much and it was officially now the best moment of my life—my entire life, not just my life after Ntiriwa died but the entire seventeen years I’d been alive.

My first kiss by a Nigerian boy no less, I was changing right before my very own eyes. He kissed me again, this time on my forehead.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

He didn’t let go of my hand even when we were seated. He kept stroking the back of my hand with his thumb.

If Sarfoa noticed when she came back to the table she didn’t say anything. We watched the dancing until the M.C. called ten men and ten women—all friends of the couple—to pop champagne.

Sarfoa asked if she could pop the one on our table. Chidi let go my hand with some reluctance (or maybe it was just my imagination), gave her the non-alchoholic wine on the table and showed her what to do. She shook the bottle so hard that when it popped, half of the drink spilled down her dress.

We drank the toast the best man proposed and once again the floor was opened for dancing.

My phone beeped. It was Dad saying he was just leaving Sunyani. He’d be home in about two hours. I looked at the time and was surprised to find it was past 8 p.m.

“It’s past 8. We have school tomorrow. We should go.”

Sarfoa took the camera, Chidi took his backpack and the tripod and we headed for the door. I detoured to the gift table, got an envelope and put the twenty cedi note Dad had given me for the taxi into it. It definitely wouldn’t make a difference to the couple but I wanted to thank them. I’d had such a great time.

As I handed the envelope over, one of the custodians of the gift table handed me a gift bag. There was a bottle of non-alcoholic wine, a pack of handkerchiefs, a box of chocolates, a mug and two scented candles, all of which bore the couple’s name and the date of their wedding. The twenty cedi note wouldn’t even pay for half of the items in that bag.