Cash Daddy was not in a hurry. He took slow steps towards the couple while one of his otimkpu followed, carrying a small Ghana-must-go bag in one hand. Apparently, the Ghanaian economic immigrants had needed lots of the waterproof check bags when the Nigerian government sent them packing sometime in the eighties. Rather than pasting the naira, dollar, and pound notes individually on their foreheads, the dark-suited otimkpu handed Cash Daddy bundle after bundle. Cash Daddy ripped the paper bands off each bundle and split it into three, then flung each portion into the air nonchalantly, allowing the notes to shower down upon the couple in an avalanche.

The hall fell silent with fascination.

‘Disgusting,’ a disenchanted voice close to my ears hissed softly.

I turned sideways. One of the bridesmaids, the one sitting closest to me, had turned her seat towards the dance floor and was frowning violently at the show. I was turning away when something struck me. I swung my head back for a second look. The girl was quite pretty. Her skin glowed flawless ebony. She looked innocent, too. I must have turned to look at her at least five more times during that dance.

The last time I turned, she was already looking at me.

‘Hello,’ she said.

‘Hi,’ I replied and faced front, feeling like an idiot.

‘Are you here on behalf of the bride or the groom?’ she asked the side of my head.

I turned.

‘The groom.’

There was an awkward pause.

‘My name is Merit. What’s yours?’

‘I’m Kingsley. Pleased to meet you.’

We shook briefly. Her palms tasted nice.

‘Kingsley? That’s quite an interesting name. Is it Igbo or English?’

I thought that to be a very dumb question. Nevertheless, I indulged her. After all, who was I to complain when I stank so badly at small talk?

‘It’s English.’

‘So how come I hardly ever see anybody who’s not Igbo bearing the name?’

‘Errr…’

‘One of my cousins who grew up in America said all the people she met in America called Kingsley were Igbo. She said she kept asking people what the name meant in Igbo without knowing it was actually English. You, have you ever met or heard of any non-Nigerian called Kingsley?’

I laughed. The girl was right. I also had never encountered any non-Nigerian, any non-Igbo, whose name was Kingsley. We seemed to have hijacked the name.

‘There’re quite a few names like that,’ she continued. ‘Like Innocent… like Goodluck… like Merit.’

Both of us laughed at the same time. I wanted to add ‘Boniface’ to the list but restrained myself.

‘Maybe they’re Engli-Igbo,’ I said.

She laughed at my dry joke!

This girl was really sweet. She was of medium height, slightly chubby, and had a fringe of hair which gave her a juvenile look that contrasted sharply with her voluptuous figure. She wore a peach flower in her hair. It matched her orange ball gown. While she spoke, she leaned slightly towards me and stared confidently into my face. Her voice was confident, too, and she gesticulated graciously when emphasising a point.

Merit proceeded with a running commentary on everything that was going on in the hall. She commented on the way people were going for third and fourth helpings and the way some people should have known that they were too fat to be eating so much; on the way the guests were laughing too loudly and the way nobody was listening to the bride’s father’s speech; on the way the elderly people were frowning disapprovingly at the young people’s fashion sense each time any of the young people walked past them.

Wit came easily to Merit, like money from America. I found myself laughing a number of times. Camille and her crew were excellent in unprintable ways, but none of them had ever captured me with such humour.

‘How do you know Nwaeze?’ Merit asked suddenly.

The question was so out of the blue that I was taken aback. It took me a long moment to remember that she was referring to Protocol Officer.

‘We both… He… He works for my uncle,’ I stammered. For some reason, I was ashamed of the truth.

‘Cash Daddy is your uncle?’

‘My mother’s younger brother.’

‘No wonder.’ She sighed, apparently with relief. ‘All the while, I’ve been wondering how someone like you knew Nwaeze. So what do you do?’

‘What do I do?’

‘Where do you work?’

‘Oh, I do my own thing. I’m into contracts and investments.’

‘Where-?’

‘How do you know Nkechi?’ I asked, shifting the spotlight from me.

‘Nkechi and I were best friends when we were ten. Even though we attended different universities, somehow we managed to keep in touch over the years.’

‘Merit.’ One of the other bridesmaids tapped her. ‘Let’s go.’

Merit stood.

‘Are you leaving?’ I asked, alarmed.

‘Not yet. We’re going to distribute souvenirs. I’ll be back.’

She strutted off with the other bridesmaids. I noticed that Cash Daddy had left. Soon, the bridesmaids were going from table to table with huge sacks, distributing plastic bowls and buckets. There were also jugs and trays and mugs, and towels and notebooks and calendars. The souvenirs had smiling faces of Protocol Officer and Wife plastered on them, with names of the family members or friends who had donated these gifts. All of us at the CIA had contributed towards the notebooks and calendars.

Merit skipped several tables and hurried round to mine. She gave me two of each item in her sack and hurried off again.

Long after my colleagues at the special tables had left, Merit reappeared. The peach flower was missing from her hair. Her fringe was standing on end.

‘Have you people finished?’ I asked.

‘Can you imagine?’ she sulked. ‘These people wanted to tear off my dress just because of souvenirs. Some people had up to ten trays in their hands, yet they were scrambling for more.’

‘At least, when they get back home, they’ll have something to boast with to those who didn’t bother coming for the wedding.’

She laughed.

‘You’re so funny,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I just came to tell you that I’m leaving. All of us bridesmaids have to accompany Nkechi to her husband’s house. They’re expecting more guests there.’

I stared. I knew what I wanted to say but did not know how to. Truly, shy men suffer a serious disadvantage in this world.

‘Take care,’ she said and turned to leave.

‘Merit.’

She turned back.

I was starting to feel like an idiot again. I forced the words out of my mouth.

‘Is it OK for me to give you my number so you can call me sometime?’

She shrugged.

‘OK.’

Delighted, I fished in my wallet for a complimentary card. My fingers had just caught one when I came to my senses. This girl might see beyond the Investment Coordinator of Bon Bonny Capital Investments appellation on my complimentary card to the real situation of things. She was smart.

‘Sorry, I don’t have any of my cards here,’ I said. ‘I’ll just write down the number.’

I tore a sheet from one of the souvenir notebooks and scribbled. She took it from me and looked at it.

‘Talk to you soon,’ she said and smiled, then sashayed away.