BY RITA OYIBOKA
Once upon a time, precisely six months ago, a wedding in Warri had everything that dreams are made of: love, lace, laughter, and a bridesmaid with suspiciously too much energy. The couple, Nicole and Kelvin, tied the knot in a lavish ceremony featuring over 150 aseobi girls (allegedly). Guests danced, drinks flowed, and Elohor (aka “Shenkess”), the chief bridesmaid, hailed her best friend and the new husband with such gusto. Fast forward to October 2025, and that same wedding has now become a full-blown internet spectacle, a case study in betrayal, revenge, and the tragic overconfidence of people who record their sins in high definition.
It began, as these things often do, with a phone. Nicole, in what was supposed to be a routine scroll through her husband’s gallery, stumbled upon the digital equivalent of a thunderbolt: explicit videos of her darling Kelvin locked in compromising gymnastics with none other than her best friend, Elohor. The same Elohor who had been shouting “my best friend dey marry!” at the wedding now had the whole world screaming for very different reasons.
According to social media’s ever-vigilant detectives (who apparently never sleep nor mind their business), the affair didn’t start after the wedding; it may have been simmering long before the “I do.” Word on the grapevine is that Elohor even tagged along for the honeymoon. While Nicole was busy basking in newlywed bliss, her best friend was allegedly busy rewriting the job description of “maid of honour.” But of course, allegedly, allegedly, allegedly. The only thing not up for debate is that cheating did happen. Telegram has the receipts.
The betrayal was cinematic, and naturally, so was the reaction. Nicole, in a fit of fury or perhaps poetic justice, decided that if Kelvin’s sins could be captured on camera, they might as well go public. And just like that, the internet received a fresh scandal to chew on, one that made Warri trend for all the wrong reasons.
Kelvin’s antics didn’t end with his bedroom cinematography. He had reportedly called Elohor names like olosho (meaning prostitute) and even claimed she “smelled,” probably to divert suspicion. A classic move, insult the woman you’re secretly sleeping with and hope no one connects the dots. Unfortunately for Kelvin, the dots were not only connected but posted, shared, and screenshotted across the country.
Social media went wild. The keyboard kingdom turned into moral courts, gossip blogs became judges, and every user with a phone became a philosopher. Some condemned Kelvin for his treachery, others dragged Elohor for violating the sacred “girl code,” and a few questioned why people insist on recording private moments in the first place.
“As a man wey dey run parole, why you go dey video yourself dey knack?” one exasperated user asked, a question worthy of inscription on the gates of every cheating couple’s house.
But before anyone could canonise Nicole as a wounded saint, the internet struck again. In an unbelievable twist that could only happen in Nigeria’s digital circus, another explicit video surfaced, this time featuring Nicole herself with another man. The woman who had set out to expose infidelity ended up with her own moral laundry hung out to dry. Her video was reportedly even “clearer”.
Now, the story spiralled from a love triangle to a full-blown quadrilateral of chaos. Everyone was guilty; everyone was embarrassed; and the internet was entertained.
Some commentators joked that the Warri wives were beginning to form a new “sisterhood of shared husbands. Others, perhaps more serious-minded, used the opportunity to reflect on what modern relationships have become: transactional, impulsive, immoral and dangerously dependent on gadgets.
Beyond the humour and hypocrisy, this scandal exposes deeper social truths. First, the decay of loyalty and discretion in an age where people trade privacy for clout. The ease with which couples now weaponise personal recordings in moments of rage is alarming.
Revenge porn has become a twisted form of self-expression, one that ruins lives and reputations faster than it takes to upload a file. Nicole may have thought she was teaching her husband a lesson, but in the end, she too became part of the syllabus.
Secondly, it shows the fragility of modern friendships and relationships. Elohor’s betrayal was not just a moral failure; it was a collapse of trust between women who likely shared everything. Kelvin and Nicole’s own relationship wasn’t exactly built on a solid moral compass either; both reportedly cheated on each other as if infidelity were part of their marriage vows or relationship commitments. And back to the friend, the irony of her dancing joyfully beside the bride, while privately dancing with the groom, is enough to make Shakespeare weep.
And finally, it forces us to ask uncomfortable questions about the spectacle of morality on social media. Why do we treat scandal like sport and shame like entertainment? Perhaps because, in the digital marketplace of outrage, moral superiority is the cheapest form of currency. Everyone wants to look righteous, until it’s their own private chat that leaks.
In the end, this Warri wedding that started with a promise of “forever” has become a tragicomedy of modern love, messy, public, and painfully entertaining. My only comfort is that, for once, no gender has the moral high ground; everyone took an L. Men can’t shout “women are the problem,” and women can’t scream “men are scum.” This scandal is an equal-opportunity embarrassment. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time we all looked in the mirror and asked; How did love, loyalty, and common sense become so outdated?
So here’s the moral, if we can call it that: if you must cheat, don’t record it. If you must record it, don’t save it on your phone. And if you must save it, for heaven’s sake, don’t marry someone who knows your password.
