Two years ago, I gave a speech at my older brother Kunle's wedding reception in Abuja. As the youngest sibling, I was asked to speak on behalf of the family, which in our culture is quite an honour. There were about four hundred guests in a large event hall, which made it rather terrifying.
The speech was about four minutes long. I started with a funny story from our childhood, when Kunle tried to cook jollof rice for our parents' anniversary and set off the smoke alarm, and the whole hall laughed, which helped enormously. Then I talked about what kind of brother he'd been to me: protective, patient, and the person who taught me to ride a bicycle. Finally, I welcomed his wife, Ada, into the family, and I said a few words in Igbo to her parents, which they seemed to appreciate.
Before the speech, I was a nervous wreck. I'd rewritten it about ten times and practised in front of my bathroom mirror every night for a week. On the day, I couldn't eat anything, and when the master of ceremonies called my name, my legs felt like jelly. But once that first laugh came, I relaxed, and I even made eye contact with a few people.
Afterwards, I felt a huge rush of relief and happiness. My brother hugged me and said it was the best gift I could have given him. Several guests came up and asked if I was a professional speaker, which was flattering. Since then, I've been less nervous about speaking in public at work as well.