Congratulations! You Made It Through The Day

I find Mandatory Events really stressful. Or maybe I’m just lazy. A Mandatory Event is – as the name implies - an event you *have* to attend; one that comes with an attached threat - ‘or else’. Or else what?

Or else:
a) You will be fired from your job
b) You will lose the love of the person who invited you
c) You won’t get that contract/promotion/business deal you want
d) No one will attend any of *your* events
e) You will never hear the end of it

I believe I can afford to pull a no-show at Category E Mandatory Events, and I often do. A lifetime of apologies and repentant text messages is a small price to pay for a relaxing weekend at home. But Categories A to D are the ones I dare not miss though to be honest I am usually very reluctant to go anywhere beyond the kitchen. Why can’t I just stay in my traffic-free home and read??

I always leave the planning til the very last minute and end up harassed and frustrated after the rush to find and wrap a present, assemble the right outfit and show up on time.

I have no idea why I do this; maybe on a subconscious level I’m hoping for a last minute miracle that will save me from attending the Mandatory Event.

***

When a friend’s child turned one, we (her group of girlfriends) agreed to meet up at her place. This was a Category B/D/E Mega Mandatory Event.

In typical Naija style the adults' party would take place in the house while outside, under canopies and balloons the kids would be fed, (jollof rice) frightened (by unfriendly clowns) and forced to play musical chairs.
On the day of ‘the event’ I lazed about in bed until it became apparent that no miracle was forthcoming. My friends kept calling, asking “what’s up?” “what time will you be there?” “you’re still in BED?” so I reluctantly put down my weekend treat - a mindless magazine and ferrero rocher chocolates - dragged myself out of bed and complained my way to GRA to find a mandatory gift.

After wandering around Mothercare for a while I realised that I was wasting my time in the socks and bib section. The child was a year old, not a month old.

I tried to think back thirty-odd years; could I remember what I wanted when I turned one? Of course not, this was just another delay tactic.

What to buy? What to buy? I need a personal shopper. I need a personal assistant. I need to make pots of money so I can afford a personal assistant to do my shopping.

I concentrated on the task at hand and came up with - clothes! You can never go wrong with clothes. Pink for a girl, blue for a boy, abi? It doesn’t really matter what type of clothes, just buy something with buttons or zips, armholes, leg holes (extra points if it has a collar) and you’re done.

I left Mothercare with some pretty pink clothes and the realisation that it’s just not the right place to meet single men.

Popped into another shop to check if they had wrapping paper and, just by the way, (only because they were so prominently displayed) picked up some more ferrero rocher.
They had a card section and a very limited selection of wrapping paper on display. One had ‘CONGRATULATIONS!’ printed boldly on it, with ‘on your wedding’ in small print under it, like an after thought.
Another had ‘Happy Anniversary!’ and a third had “Congratulations on your Silver Jubilee.’ As far as I knew, my friend’s one year old wasn’t married so I moved on.

The only other options were a hideous silver sheet that looked like foil and purple recycled paper with ‘Congratulations!’ slices of cake and dancing elephants on it.

Were the elephants being congratulated? Or were we, the buyers, being congratulated for buying wrapping paper with elephants on it? Who was congratulating who, and why?

And why was there all this congratulatory wrapping paper in one shop anyways? I thought as Nigerians we had agreed (at the National Conference) to reserve our extreme love of congratulatory messages for the pages of newspapers. Now someone had decided to extend it to wrapping paper. It was irritating.

“Don’t you have birthday wrapping paper?” I asked.

“Eh?” the sales girl replied.

“Don’t you have wrapping paper with ‘Happy Birthday’ on it?”

“Is finish”

I looked at the rubbish paper on display and muttered “Where did they get this stuff from?” to which she replied “Is from overs. Is the one my madam bought las’ time she travel. But we’re especting new stock next week.”

Ah, perhaps I could persuade my friend to reschedule her child’s birthday til the following week, while I waited for the new stock of wrapping paper?

I had an hour to go til the party started and I still had to get home, shower, choose an outfit, get dressed, change my mind about the outfit, throw a fit….I bought the damn paper; elephants, slices of cake and all, and left.

At home my mum asked why I bought congratulatory wrapping paper.

“You noticed?” I asked.

“Of course I noticed - it says ‘Congratulations!’ all over it”

“I’m congratulating her on turning one. It’s not easy now, abi?”

“You’re late for the party.”

“I’m late for the party.’ My mum knows me too well.

I felt twas necessary to point out something very important “The good thing is, the paper has cake on it. That ties in to the birthday theme.”

My mum agreed then pointed out the elephants. “Do they tie in to the theme?”

There are disadvantages to being born into a family that over-analyses things; you develop slightly neurotic tendencies.

I left my mum to wrap the present and rushed to get ready, thinking about the inappropriate wrapping paper as I showered.

* * *

Surprise, surprise, I was actually the first in our group of friends to arrive at the Mega Mandatory Event.

I sat in the living room, holding tightly onto my present - after all I’d been through to get it, the celebrant’s mum had to see it first and acknowledge that it was from me. God forbid she should think I was the one who gave her child the set of plastic spoons.

Another friend arrived with a huge box wrapped in colourful paper.

“Lemme see your wrapping paper” I said, and compared hers to mine. It had “Happy Birthday!” on it. I told her about my experience at the shop and we laughed about all the horrible wrapping paper available in Lagos and how I was stuck with the one I bought.

“At least it has cake on it” I pointed out “And I’m sort of congratulating her for turning one.”

I had no explanation for the dancing elephants.

It was ridiculous; I had developed a complex over wrapping paper.

Everytime someone walked past with a present, I stretched my neck to check if it had ‘Happy Birthday’ on it.

“No one’s going to notice.” My friend reassured me.

The celebrant toddled over, smiled and tried to grab her present from me. I smiled back and resisted. After all I’d been through to get it, her mum…etc

Our other friends arrived, we hugged each other tightly, greeted each other loudly, complimented each other on our outfits; “nice top!” “lovely shoes!” “I want your jeans!” and all the while I paid as much attention to the clowns, balloons and ‘Happy Birthday!’ inscriptions on their wrapping paper as I did to what we were saying.

I noticed that a couple of other friends also held on to their gifts; one even leaned over and, smiling at the celebrant who was trying to snatch the present out of her hand, said “no honey, not until your mummy sees it.”

Finally the celebrant’s mum emerged and we handed our presents over one by one, saying:

“I hope she likes it” (translation: I hope *you* like it)

“I hope it’s her size” (translation: Look, you know I don’t have kids yet, I did my best to figure out her size)

And when it was my turn, “Turning one is a milestone, I just had to congratulate her on it.”