“I see people getting married in movies and you watch them for entertainment, so why can’t you just attend one for entertainment?”
Owotade countered. Fair enough. Adediran was there too, although she wasn’t playing a major part this time . Owotade and Okanlawon told me they had to do some errands for the wedding. I asked if I could tag along.We got into Okanlawon’s car and, judging by the frantic way both guys began making calls, I ascertained that they were in the middle of a logistical nightmare. It turns out that planning a fake wedding is just as stressful as planning a real one.
A young man stood chatting with a young woman in the parking lot. Mebo, 21, was Ethiopian and had never been to a Nigerian wedding. I asked her what she was expecting. “I don’t know, Afrobeats?” she said with a trailing laugh. She had come with Tenioluwa, 20, who was Nigerian and heard about the event via TikTok. “I’m a college student so it’s usually just study, study, so I came out to have a good time,” he said.
It was 9:47 p.m. when the “bride’s” family finally made their entrance, dancing into the venue just like all important people at Nigerian weddings do. The hall became a sea of cellphone camera flashes as people rose from their seats, ready to film their “I Went to a Fake African Wedding” TikToks.Then the groomsmen danced in, followed by the groom, a 24-year-old Nigerian from New Jersey named Silas Johnson.
With the bride and groom now united, dancing and the spraying of dollar bills began. Spraying is perhaps the most iconic aspect of a Nigerian wedding. It’s considered a blessing, and it’s also most definitely a flex. Just before midnight, the bride and groom danced back into the hall after an outfit change, Deegbe looking resplendent in a purple and gold form-fitting ankara dress and festive horsetail, and Johnson in a white agbada that he promptly had his groomsmen pull off so he could execute some exuberant dance moves.Maame Ama Deegbe and Silas Johnson, who played the fake bride and groom, at the Maryland wedding.