Ileya has never been my thing.
No shade to the celebration or the rams that gave their lives, but growing up without a family meant those big festive holidays always felt distant. Something you see in Nollywood films or hear your classmates gist about. I’d spend most holidays scrolling through my phone, trying not to feel left out of the joy I couldn’t relate to.
So when my guy Kareem invited me to his family’s Ileya celebration this year, I was… skeptical.
“Come now,” he said. “You’ll chop meat. Plus, my mum said I must bring you.”
And you know how Nigerian mums can be, when they talk like this, it’s no longer a request.
So I pulled up in my simplest native wear, mentally ready for a plate of jollof, some awkward small talk, and maybe two or three “So what are you doing now?” questions. What I wasn’t ready for… was her.
Zainab.
Kareem’s cousin, who just got back from Abuja. The girl is pretty like five people, full dimple, silver hoops, and a sharp mouth hotter than Yoruba pepper soup.
Our first conversation started with “Abeg, hold this onion,” while handing me a bowl like we grew up in the same house. “You look like someone who just came here to chop meat and pose.”
Excuse me?
I didn’t know whether to laugh or defend my honour.
“Is that how you people treat guests?” I asked.
She just raised an eyebrow and grinned. “You don’t look like a guest. You look like someone who needs help.”
And just like that, something clicked.
We spent the next few hours chatting like we’d always known each other. We argued about the ideal colour of fried plantain (she claimed mine was burnt, I still say it was golden brown perfection). We stole pieces of ram meat from the kitchen cooler like rebellious cousins. We teamed up to dodge aunties dropping unsolicited marriage hints. And at some point, without even realising it, we slipped into our little world inside the noisy family compound.
There was this moment where she tied a napkin around my neck and fed me grilled ram like I was royalty. Five minutes later, she was laughing at how I still managed to stain my kaftan with pepper sauce.
I’ve never felt so dragged and adored at the same time.
Then someone started playing Fuji music. I was already making my escape to a quiet corner when she caught my arm.
“You better come and show us your Lagos boy moves,” she said, pulling me into the centre of the compound.
I tried. I promise I tried. It was giving more “confused choreography” than actual rhythm, but she laughed the whole time. Not the mocking kind of laugh, it was the kind that makes your heart warm. The kind that says, “You’re ridiculous, but I like you anyway.”
As the sun began to set and the compound mellowed, we found ourselves outside, on two faded plastic chairs, sharing puff-puff and stories from our childhoods. I told her how Ileya never really meant anything to me, how growing up without family made days like this feel more like reminders than celebrations.
It was such a small thing to say, but my heart did a backflip.
I didn’t expect anything grand to come out of the day. Honestly, I just came for jollof and vibes. But life has a funny way of serving love with your grilled meat.
She got quiet for a moment. Then she nudged me.
“Well, welcome to this chaos,” she said. “You’re officially adopted.”
It was such a small thing to say, but the way my heart reacted? E choke.
I didn’t come looking for anything that day. I came for jollof and maybe a takeaway pack. But somehow, life has a funny way of serving love with your grilled meat.
So no, Ileya isn’t just about the ram anymore.
Sometimes, the ram brings people together.
And if all goes well, maybe by next Ileya, I won’t just be the guy she tied a napkin around.
I’ll be the guy who found family, love, and by some miracle, found her.
And this time, I’m not letting go.
P.S.: I still maintain my plantain was perfectly fried. Anyone who disagrees can argue with their keyboard.
P.P.S.: If this story made your heart smile… imagine sharing moments like this with someone special. That’s what Lovebox is all about: curated experiences and thoughtful gifts that help you say “I see you,” “I cherish you,” and “You matter to me.”
Whether it’s Ileya, a random Tuesday, or a soft “just because,” Lovebox helps you show up for love.
You can still order your Ileya Packages today, and bring a little mush into someone’s day.
Leave a Comment