Post by Collins Maduabuchi Idoko (@Maduabuchii)

Let me tell you about Uncle Sule and the shoe that disappeared at a wedding.

Uncle Sule is not a dancer. Everybody in the family knows this. He dances like a man who is negotiating with the ground. But at his daughter's wedding last Saturday, the music was too good and the praise singers called his name. Uncle Sule stood up, adjusted his agbada, and entered the dance floor like a man going to war.

For ten minutes, he was the star of the party. He spun. He clapped. He pointed at the band. The crowd cheered louder with every move. Then, right in the middle of his best spin, one of his shoes flew off his foot, sailed over two tables, and landed inside a big pot of jollof rice.

The whole hall went quiet. Uncle Sule stopped dancing. He looked down at one bare foot, then at the pot, then back at his foot, as if the shoe had betrayed him in public.

The caterer rushed forward with a spoon. She fished out the shoe, wiped it with a serviette, and presented it to him like a trophy. Uncle Sule collected it with great dignity, put it back on, and announced to the hall, "The shoe wanted to taste the rice before me. Next time, it will stay at home."

Then he sat down and refused to dance again. Till today, whenever music starts at a family event, Uncle Sule removes his shoes first and says, "I dance barefoot now. My shoes cannot be trusted at parties."

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