Handling Wedding Emergencies: What to Do When the Groom Doesn’t Show Up

So I’m an event planner, and trust me, I’ve seen it all—bridezillas, caterers forgetting the jollof, DJs ghosting last minute, even drunk uncles giving 45-minute speeches about nothing. But this wedding? This one did me dirty.

It started out like any dream wedding should—an elegant garden setting in Lekki, 300 guests, soft jazz during cocktail hour, and enough white flowers to make heaven jealous.

The bride, Ifeoma, was sweet and chill, which is rare in Lagos wedding culture. The groom, Kene, seemed like the type who drinks green tea and journals—calm, collected, always smiling.

We’d been planning this event for six months. I curated the mood board, built a Pinterest-worthy theme, and handpicked every vendor. By 1 PM that day, the venue was perfection.

Sunlight glowed through sheer white canopies. The cake stood tall like a five-tiered skyscraper of love. Guests were sipping champagne and taking selfies by the flower wall. My walkie-talkie was blowing up, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

By 2:20 PM, it was time.

The bride was already in the bridal suite upstairs, makeup flawless, dress zipped, edges laid. I went to check on the groom… but he wasn’t in the groom’s suite.

“Maybe he stepped out for a phone call,” I told myself. I wasn’t worried.

Until 10 minutes passed.

Then 20.

Then I got a call from one of the groomsmen:

“We can’t find Kene.”

I thought it was a prank. But when I entered the parking lot and saw that his car was gone, my heart dropped. The groom had disappeared—an hour before the vows.

Now, I’ve dealt with wedding nerves before. I’ve calmed brides crying because their nail polish chipped. But this? This was a full-blown missing groom situation.

I panicked—professionally.

I called his phone. Switched off.

Called his best man. No clue.

I had two options:

Tell the bride and ruin her forever.

Buy time and pray he was just running late or lost.

I went with option 2.

I told the DJ to loop the instrumental. Told the MC to stretch the program. Told the caterers to keep the small chops flowing. Lagos people don’t care as long as there’s food and music.

Then, 40 minutes later, I got a call from an unknown number.

“Hello? I’m sorry. I… I can’t do it,” the voice said.

It was Kene.

He was crying. Said he couldn’t explain it. Said he loved her, but something about that day felt wrong in his gut. Said he was somewhere in Yaba trying to think straight.

I didn’t yell. I didn’t beg. I just said, “You need to talk to her. Now.”

He said okay.

I walked up to Ifeoma. I didn’t lie. I just said, “He’s not here yet. But he’s okay.”

She stared at me. Silent. Then she said, “So it’s happening to me too?”

Turns out her sister had been jilted years before—same timing, different man. She always joked about it never being her story. But now… it was.

She didn’t cry.

She stood up, took off her heels, and said, “Tell the guests. Make it fun. Let them eat, dance. We move.”

And we did.

We turned the wedding into a celebration of her. She gave a toast. Played her favorite songs. Danced with her father and cousins like she was at her own birthday party. She even fed the cake to herself.

That night, the guests left saying, “Best wedding ever.”

Me? I was still shaken.

But Ifeoma? She became the most graceful non-bride I’ve ever met.

Three months later, I saw on Instagram that she started a bridal wear business called “Unwedded Grace.”

Kene later wrote her a public apology. It went viral. She didn’t respond.

And me?

I booked three new weddings from people who attended hers.

Because apparently, I plan unforgettable events—even when the groom bounces.