Posts in category: Wedding Night Gist

by Aisha Abdullahi

If anybody had told me that Egusi soup, yes, ordinary soup, would nearly end my marriage before it even began, I would have slapped them with a hot fufu ball. But alas, here I am, telling my own tale.

My name is Aisha Abdullahi, born and raised in Kano, a proud Arewa girl with a stubborn streak and a love for spicy food that could wake the dead. My husband, Farouk, is from Kogi, and while I adore him like the jollof I pretend I know how to cook, I had no idea our biggest cultural clash would happen in bed… with soup. 😩

Let me take you back.

💍 The Wedding Wahala

Our wedding was everything I prayed for. The Kayan Lefe, the colors, the food, the music, everything was perfect. My mother kept saying,

“Aisha, make sure you respect your husband. First night is spiritual o!”

Farouk and I didn’t exactly court traditionally. It was a mix of modern texting, sneaky glances at family functions, and that one time he bought me suya and I knew, this one is husband material.

So, when we finally got married after a slightly dramatic family approval process (my aunt swore he looked like he had secret children), I was relieved.

But nothing prepared me for our first night.

🍲 It Started with Egusi

So, we got to our hotel suite in Abuja. Beautiful place, flowers everywhere, AC colder than Sani Abacha’s handshake. The plan was to rest, eat, and do… you know, the do 😏.

But me, I was hungry. Famished. I hadn’t eaten much at the reception because of makeup, hugs, and being spun around by my cousins like a merry-go-round.

I turned to Farouk and said,

“Baby, where’s the food?”

He smiled like the proud new husband he was and said,

“I ordered your favorite, Egusi soup with pounded yam.”

Pause.

My smile faded. “Egusi?”

“Yes na! You said you liked Egusi when we went to that Bukka joint near Zaria Road.”

I blinked.

“Farouk, that Egusi had bitterleaf inside. Not this bland one.”
“So? Soup na soup, babe. Calm down.”

😤 Enter the Drama

Now, before you judge me, understand something. In my family, first impressions matter, especially when it comes to food. I had packed a special pot of Miyan Kuka with spicy dried fish and tuwo, and my plan was to surprise him. But he beat me to it with Egusi without pepper.

One spoon in, and I lost it.

“Farouk, you call this Egusi? This watery thing? You married me and brought this as bride price?”

He laughed. He LAUGHED.

“So now you’re rating my food choices? You wey no sabi even make tea?”

My eye twitched. I dropped the spoon.

“So you’re calling me useless in the kitchen on our wedding night?”
“I’m just saying, oya sorry na, but you’re overreacting.”

BOOM.

That’s how the shouting started. In a five-star hotel room. On our wedding night. Over soup.

🙄 Things Escalated Fast

He called his mother.

Yes. He called his MOTHER.

“Mama, Aisha is crying because of Egusi soup.”

I heard her ask from the other end,

“Is it that watery one your aunty makes? That thing dey cause problem since 2002!”

That’s how I knew my mother-in-law was a real one.

But still, the embarrassment nearly swallowed me. Me, Aisha. Cried on my wedding night not because of passion, but because of pepperless Egusi.

🛏️ The Aftermath

That night, we both slept on opposite ends of the bed. The silence was louder than a generator in Kano heat. 😤

The next morning, he woke up early, left the hotel, and came back with a steaming bowl of Miyan Taushe, two boiled eggs, and an apology.

“I may not get your taste right all the time,” he said, “but I’ll keep trying, because I want to learn your love language. Even if it’s in soup form.”

I cried again, but this time for a different reason.

😂 Our Inside Joke

Now, three years later, every time we argue, he brings up that Egusi night.

“At least I didn’t serve you bland soup today o!”

Sometimes, he’ll randomly whisper in my ear,

“Egusi dey kitchen, abeg no vex.”

We’ve come a long way. I’ve learned to eat his version of Egusi without vomiting. He now knows the difference between “soup” and “offense.”

💡 Final Lesson

Dear new couples, you see that first night? Don’t let food disgrace you. 😭
Marriage is not just about love. It’s also about patience, understanding, and knowing that sometimes, war can start from soup. 🥣

Also, marry someone who can laugh with you when you fight over nonsense. Because in the end, it’s not the Egusi, it’s the effort.

Would I do it all over again?
Yes. But next time, I’ll carry my own cooler of soup. 😏

Ladies and gentlemen… gather round. It’s finally time for me to spill my wedding night lashing story, aka how my most anticipated night turned into a glorified sleepover 😭.

You see, for me, the wedding night was a BIG deal, one of those fantasies I’d been cooking since university days. My girls and I would sit in hostel rooms gossiping about it like it was our final year project. I had plans, my people. Serious plans. Headstands, reverse cowgirl, snake-in-the-monkey-shadow, ALL the styles in the book. Sleep? For what? That night was supposed to be my debut in the Married Women Association of Wild Things.

Fast-forward to D-day, the traditional rites, prayers, welcome party, leg washing, and even a “you’re now a wife” mini sermon from the aunties. My excitement was peaking. After everything, I took a nice hot shower, rubbed small shea butter on my thighs (you know now 😅), wore that short silky red nightwear I ordered from Instagram, and waited for my new oga.

Then… boom, Baba hit me with a long praise and worship session. I thought it was a short thanksgiving. My people, he entered real fire prayer mode. I was nodding off by the time he started praying for “our generations unborn.” 😩

After what felt like a crossover night, we both laid on the bed. My eyes lit up, thinking, “Finally, it’s showtime!” We started whispering sweet nothings, throwing around promises and subtle hints. I was giving green light o. That’s how my husband said, “You know we can’t do anything tonight, right?”

Wait, what??

Sir, excuse me? Come again?

He was serious. “We’re too tired,” he added. “Let’s just cuddle and kiss.”

At this point, my spirit had left the room. But I said, okay, let’s at least lock lips, let something happen so I don’t cry in my sleep. We started kissing, slow, soft… sleepy kisses.

Next thing I know, I wake up.

MORNING.

Same position.

We legit slept off while kissing. 😭💀

That was my almighty wedding night. No sex. No gbenshing. Just a glorified cuddle session and wasted lingerie.

To make matters worse, we didn’t even do the do until five days later. Yes, you heard right. FIVE! That thing pain me ehn. I almost sent him back to his village.

And it didn’t even end there…

Let me take you back a bit.

When we picked the wedding date, I checked my period tracking app, and lo and behold, my red visitor was scheduled to arrive on my wedding day.

My chest. 😭

I panicked. Begged hubby-to-be to help me “pour something inside” so I could take contraceptives and scatter the cycle. Oga refused, claiming we must stay holy till the altar. I respected his holiness, but deep down, I knew Mr. Red would disgrace me.

He did.

Woke up on the wedding day by 4:30 AM. Took my bath, drank one full pure water on an empty stomach — my friend swore it would help me not feel pressed all day. Bad idea. An hour later, while the makeup artist was still blending my brows, cramps came like a thief in the night. Hot, fiery, thunderbolt cramps.

Ran to the toilet like someone chasing destiny, and there it was, Mr. Red.

He didn’t even knock. Just entered.

I was devastated.

As the whole glam squad tried to keep me looking pretty, I was there fighting to not curl into fetal position from the pain. Every 10 minutes I whispered to my chief bridesmaid:
“Babe, check my gown. Am I stained?”
She’d whisper back: “You’re good. Smile!”
Smile ko, smile ni.

After the wedding, we had to travel 4 hours to my husband’s base. 4 hours of bumpy roads, cramps, and pad changing in uncomfortable restrooms. Romantic, innit?

So imagine reaching the house that night — exhausted, drained, with cramps still dancing zanku in my womb, only for husband to pull out a Bible and start worship 🙃

Ladies and gentlemen, that was my wedding night.

Not what I planned, but it was ours — raw, real, imperfectly perfect.

And when we finally did the do five days later?
Let’s just say… it was worth the wait. 😏

Now, whenever people ask me, “How was your wedding night?”
I smile and say, “We slept. Together. Literally.”

Moral of the story?
If you think wedding night will be like Nollywood, with roses, scented candles, and acrobatics — just know real life has plot twists.

But love… love finds a way. Even if it delays by five days. 😅