The soft and insistent rolling of the drums welcomed in the newest couple in town as they paraded the hall, dancing, to the admiration of the cheering crowd. The talking drums blasted as they continued dancing en route to their exquisitely decorated seats.
Another form of jubilation broke out upon her entrance, the master of ceremony's voice booming across the speakers as a thunderous applause echoed through the space, turning it into an exhilarating moment.
And then, a woman in delicately designed aso-ebi lace waltzed into the reception hall.
"Who is that?" One of the guests asked in awe.
"Bukky Buknor, the Asoebi Queen," replied one of the guests, adjusting her gele.
As soon as the band spotted the lady, the lead singer grabbed the mic and let out a huge roar: "The Asoebi Queen has arrived! Let's give her something to groove to!"
Bukola entered the hall like the dawn after the darkness of the night. Her signature gele, headgear, was elegantly folded into the classical shape of a hand fan. Her lace twinkled while she walked through the hall, shining under the light. The fabric hugged her plump figure while the coral beads jingled around her neck and wrists.
The crowd turned, their faces lighting up with recognition and joy. phones were raised, camera lights sparked, everyone wanted to capture her as soon as her feet started their slow, deliberate moves. She was a queen ruling her court the moment her body rolled with the music, her waist moving in crazy circles, her shoulders pulsing in rhythm, the world around her flew bundles of different currencies in the air like rain—for her titillating dance moves. As dancers surged to join her, she was the life of the party and way too good at what she does. She was the centre of attraction.
The hall erupted into claps, chants, ululations and for that moment, she was no longer just a guest, she was the rhythm and the heartbeat of the ceremony, the queen who cast her spell on everyone present.
"Bukky, you have stolen the show in this wedding today!" shouted Titilayo, her friend, laughing as they both danced. "Even the bride is jealous!"
Bukky spun, revolving, gyrating her waist with glorious ease and modern fire, her gele shooting like royalty.
"Titi baby, "it is not for nothing that they call me the queen! But let the bride shine, today, I am here only as her chief hype woman!"
The crowd cheered as she led a dancing train around the newlyweds with sprinkling of currency notes into the air like confetti. It formed a mound around the couple.
The command Bukky had over space, as soon as she stepped her foot into a thousand hall was unmatched. Drumming on the floor, her heel made a sound; her gele rose high like that of a crowned head while her lace shimmered under golden lights. Wherever there was a party, from Lagos to Enugu, to Abuja, her name echoed before her arrival. Asoebi Queen—the woman whose dance could electrify a crowd, whose presence caused members to know that the celebration had truly begun.
The women ululated around her with their asoebi fabrics and their laughter tinkled like bells while men clapped and cheered. She led dance trains, lifted spirits, and scattered joy like petals on the floor and then the guests sprayed notes of different currencies like water.
But she was a different Bukky the next morning. She had grown up in an orphanage home, abandoned by the roadside but picked up by some Good Samaritan. Sickly, she was nurtured back to health, educated and was given the choice to follow her heart — fashion designing. Then she vowed to give back to the abandoned, as much as she had received.
She was no mere figure of glamour.
She slowly got up that morning, still wrapped in a simple ankara fabric with bare feet on cool cement floor, in her workshop. Here she is no dancing queen but architect of dreams, crowding the workshop with young women and girls from every nook and cranny of the city and far away villages- teaching them how to stitch, cut, and create with their beautiful hands. She had a mission; to empower as many as possible, of the abandoned, the downtrodden, the forgotten. And this she carried out with so much passion.
Bukky's reputation in the parties was deliberate, each of the asoebis she created was made by these girls, every fabric she draped was a walking advertisement for her, a beacon ready to draw clients to her workshop. The society ladies came after each party, seeking her for their special occasions with requests for the best designs, which she always delivered. But every contract helped raise others, each payment went into, funding another girl's school fees, buying machines, and increasing the reach of her craft. She was turning every celebration into an opportunity.
So from hall to hall, from city to city, she stole the show. Dressed in the most elegant designs, she stepped in like the dawn glowing brightly.
Later, as she stood on the stage to lead the last dance, microphone in hand, she spoke emotionally about her dreams.
"I was brought up an orphan, by people who cared, each step you see me do on this dance floor is an act of paying it forward, it is a step for every girl I train, girls given hope in a world that has rejected them. So tucked deep in my heart is an even greater dream, a fashion academy that would rise like a beacon, where girls from every corner of Nigeria would come, not just to learn sewing but to master the entrepreneurial art as well."
Applauses punctuated her speech.
"So In our academy, we don't just stitch clothes, but futures and destinies. The dancing and slaying funds my empire.
I want to appreciate every woman here wearing my signature asoebi, continue to shine bright, may your dance floor be wide and may your joy never end!"
The next day, contracts began to roll in.
All images are AI generated.
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