Sister of the Groom Speech: What to Say at Your Brother's Wedding

Good evening, everyone. For those who haven’t met me yet, I’m Adaeze, Chidi’s big sister. I’m four years older, which means for most of his childhood, I got to boss him around. It’s a job I took very seriously, and honestly, one I’m a little reluctant to give up.

Growing up, our mom worked night shifts at the hospital in Houston, so after school, it was my job to keep Chidi fed, out of trouble, and away from the microwave—usually in that order. He followed me everywhere. I made him play “school” with me, and since he was my only student, he got detention a lot. He never complained; he just wanted to know if detention came with snacks. Honestly, that sums up Chidi well: he’s patient, easygoing, and always looking for the bright side—or at least, the snack table.

One of my favorite memories is from when I was sixteen and my date canceled the day before prom. Chidi was twelve. He spent his whole allowance buying me a grocery store corsage and asked if he could be my date “so the dress doesn’t go to waste.” Mom drove us to Whataburger—me in my prom dress, Chidi in his best shirt—and we ate burgers in the car under the dome light. I think I peaked that night. Since then, every time something went wrong, Chidi managed to make it better, usually with a joke and, if I was lucky, fries.

Chidi’s always been gentle and quietly funny, the person everyone calls when something needs fixing or if you need to know which cousin’s birthday is next. He owns more tools than shoes, and I think he’s proud of that.

When I met Hannah, it was at our family Christmas. She hadn’t made jollof rice before, but she offered to help Mom and took notes the whole time on her phone. That impressed Mom, but what really got the family’s attention was when she beat Uncle Emeka at Scrabble after dinner. He’s been our family champion since… honestly, forever. Afterward, Mom pulled me aside and said, “This one is clever. Tell your brother not to be slow.” Chidi took the hint, thankfully.

Hannah, I grew up the only girl, and I’ve waited a long time for a sister. I couldn’t have asked for a better one. You keep Chidi on his toes, and I love how you two balance each other. You plan everything—right down to labeled spice jars—and Chidi brings calm and fun to all your plans. I’ve seen how he waits for you at the finish line, coffee in hand, after your Saturday 5Ks. That’s love, and that’s partnership.

I want to thank Karen and Doug for such a warm welcome dinner, and our aunties and uncles who came all the way from Lagos. It means the world to have everyone here. And I know our grandmother, Nne, is smiling down tonight—she always said Chidi would find someone strong enough to keep up with him. She would have adored you, Hannah.

My wish for you both is something I learned from our parents, who share the best part of their day with each other every night before bed. I hope you keep that habit, through all the ordinary and extraordinary days you’ll share.

(Raise your glass) To Chidi and Hannah—may your days be filled with laughter, good coffee, and the kind of love that’s always waiting at the finish line. Cheers!

Hello everyone, I’m Ellie, Ross’s little sister—the one who still gets a “home safe?” text from him after any night out, even though we live ten minutes apart in Glasgow. I’m here to embarrass him with just enough childhood stories to keep him humble in front of his new in-laws.

Let’s start with the infamous red Fiat. Ross drove me to sixth form every morning, and because the passenger door only opened from the outside, he had to get out and let me in like some sort of grumpy teenage chauffeur. He claims this was character-building. I think it was just an elaborate sibling power move.

Speaking of Ross’s unique approach to life, here’s a classic: When I was nine, he offered to teach me to ride a bike down the hill behind our house in Paisley. He demonstrated everything except how to stop. I went headfirst into Mrs Duncan’s hedge. Ross was so racked with guilt he gave me his entire Easter egg stash and carried my school bag for a month. That’s vintage Ross—competitive, a bit hopeless with instructions, but soft at heart.

Then Aisha arrived on the scene. I met her at my birthday drinks. Within ten minutes she’d beaten Ross at pool, mocked his shirt, and offered to drive everyone home. I texted Mum from the loos: “He’s punching.” If you know Aisha, you know I was right.

Now, as a couple, Aisha keeps Ross on time, and he keeps her fed. He’s even learned to cook her mum’s biryani, almost correctly. They only argue about the thermostat, which I hear is marriage at its healthiest.

Thank you to Aisha’s parents, Farah and Imran, for the incredible mehndi night, and to everyone who traveled from London to be here. Aisha, after years of being stuck with just Ross, I’m delighted to have a sister who can put him in his place with a pool cue.

Ross, let Aisha pick the music in the car. And both of you—never stop being the last ones on the dance floor.

(Raise your glass) To Aisha and Ross, may your lives be full of laughter, good food, and doors that always open from the inside. Cheers!