Page 19 of Endgame

ARIELLA

‘Mason family?’ A tall woman with a sharp bob under her headset, holding a tablet and dressed head to toe in black, opens our car door as we pull up to London’s affectionately nicknamed Walkie-Talkie building. We get out of the chauffeur-driven car Isszy’s father sent for Daddy, Mommy, Gigi and me.

‘Yes?’ Daddy says, unsure about what’s going on.

‘This way please.’

The lady quickly leads us past the long queue outside, straight to some private lifts at the side of the building. As soon as one arrives, she holds the door open for us to step inside.

‘Platinum VIP in Indigo lift,’ she says into her headset, then she hits a button and exits the cabin.

‘Have a lovely evening,’ she says to us.

When we arrive and the doors open at the top floor, it is clear that this ‘intimate evening’ didn’t refer to the guestlist. There are already hundreds of people here. The host who meets us when we step out of the lift whisks us quickly to one of the restaurants that has been reserved exclusively for family members. We can see most of the venue from the restaurant and it is very clear that the entire roof garden, thirty-five floors above London’s streets, has been hired for the event. Looking through the glass walls ofthe restaurant, I count fifteen beautifully constructed, rustic and colourful food stations, evenly spaced out over the floor. From here, I can see that each station is dedicated to a specific type of Nigerian, British or American dish, with a chef cooking live or assembling the final plates at each one. The two hosts assigned to each station are explaining the dishes to interested guests, as an order manager from the side of the station sends food out on waiters’ trays to the rest of the guests in the space. There are also six large cocktail bars, two representing each country. The busy mixologists are speedily fulfilling drink orders for the patient waiting staff, while the flair bartenders chat with guests and keep them entertained. The live, upbeat music ties the party together, making it feel more like a carnival than a casual dinner.

‘Wow. A good number of MPs are here.’ Daddy points through the glass wall to a cluster of gentlemen talking in the main space.

‘…and senators from WashingtonDC too,’ Gigi says, adding her finger to the glass.

All Isszy has ever told us about her family is that her father owns his own business. We’ve moved on to spotting members of the House of Lords and congressional appointees we recognise, when a bubbly waitress joins us.

‘Good evening, I’m Angela and I’ll be looking after you tonight,’ she says, beaming. ‘This space will be your sanctuary for the evening and here are your menus.’ She hands one to each of us. ‘You can order any food or drink you would like through me or from the tablet on your table. If you’d like to explore, detailed maps of all the food and drink stations tonight are on the other side of your menus. The suya, jollof rice, chapman and palm wine cocktail stations are extremely popular. If you need me, please hit “Call” on the tablet and I will be right with you. In the meantime, can I get you anything?’

‘Yes! We’ll take a selection of everything from the popular stations please?’ Gigi immediately requests.

‘And a couple of bottles of water, please,’ Mommy says, giving Gigi a pointed look.

‘Dahlia!’ we hear from behind us.

‘Aderonke!’ Mummy responds, getting up to give Isszy’s mother a hug. She is a beautifully curvy, elegant woman with a big smile and a warm energy. Her dress is loose but perfectly tailored, with a bold African print. She looks bright and glorious in comparison to the solid and nude colours Mommy, Gigi and I are wearing.

‘Good evening, Ma.’ Isszy’s mother curtseys deferentially as she greets Gigi. Her arms are outstretched with her palms open, inviting Gigi to place her palms on hers. She does. There is something so beautiful and humbling about this exchange that it makes me feel like this is less about Isszy and Zachary’s marriage, and more about our families merging.

‘Hugh, Olawale is somewhere down there. I will ask someone to get him for you. He has been looking forward to your arrival with some enthusiasm.’

‘Oh no, there is no need,’ Daddy protests. He’s not a big fan of attention and I can already tell that all of this is a little too much for him.

‘Please. He will be very upset if he isn’t told that you have arrived.’ She gives him a smile that is difficult to resist.

‘Thank you for your generosity, Aderonke, I will go down there and find him.’ Daddy gets up to leave the restaurant before Isszy’s mother insists again.

‘You must be Ariella.’ She comes for me next, and envelops me in her loving arms.

‘Good evening, Aunty,’ I respond, as Isszy suggested I do as a sign of respect. I bend my knees into a small curtsey and bow my head slightly. Nigerians are open, warm and lovingpeople. Formality, politeness and a deep respect for age and life experience runs through their veins. While some cultures may chase youth, according to Isszy the wisdom one acquires as one gets older is what is truly cherished in Nigerian culture.

‘Good evening, my dear. Now please, Dahlia, Grandma…’

I see Gigi’s face fill with shock and devastation at being called Grandma. I do everything I can to stop the laughter from erupting. Mommy isn’t so successful and Gigi throws her a dirty look.

‘Aderonke, we refer to her as Gigi. You are our family now, we’d be delighted if you would do the same.’

‘Thank you, Dahlia. Please, if you don’t mind coming with me, I would love to introduce you to my mother. She arrived last night.’

The three of us go over to meet Isszy’s grandmother. She is a quiet woman who exudes an indescribable calm and knowing from where she is sitting, between other female relatives. When I see that Mommy and Gigi are enjoying themselves with Isszy’s family, I excuse myself to find a quiet space, but it proves impossible. Everyone is happy, chatty and unafraid to introduce themselves. After I’ve had a third person ask me why I’m sitting alone and if I’m enjoying the evening, I decide that it will be better to find a different kind of quiet space.

Hey Jas, are you here yet?

Yes, where are you?

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