There’s something about getting your hair done that feels like both a necessity and an event. You don’t just go to weave your hair—you go with expectations, patience, and a bit of courage, especially when you know your hair might have its own plans.
Today, my friend and I had planned to get our hair done. It wasn’t anything too complicated—just a regular weaving session—but little did we know how much of an experience it would turn into. Since we were both using the same hairdresser, we had to take turns. I went first while she sat and waited, watching everything unfold.
Now, I know my hair. I know its texture, its attitude, and the way it sometimes refuses to cooperate. But today, I discovered something new: my head is spongy. Or at least, that’s how the hairdresser described it.
The Journey to the Salon
The day started normally. My friend and I had planned to leave at a certain time, but as usual, there were delays. Getting ready wasn’t necessarily the problem; it was just that time has a funny way of slipping away when you think you have it under control.
By the time we finally set out, I was already preparing myself for a long session. I’ve had my hair done enough times to know that it’s never just "sit down and finish quickly." No matter how simple the style is, there’s always something—waiting for your turn, the hairdresser taking breaks, adjusting the hair, or dealing with other customers coming in and asking, "Aunty, how far? You never finish?"
When we got there, the salon was as expected—not too crowded, but not empty either. The hairdresser was ready for me, and my friend found a place to sit, prepared for what might be a long wait.
The Weaving Begins
I settled in, and the hairdresser got to work. The moment she touched my hair, she paused. I noticed it, but I pretended not to. Then she ran her fingers through my hair again, this time with a little more effort.
"Your hair is really spongy."
I had to process it for a moment.
Spongy? Like a kitchen sponge? Like a mattress? Like what exactly.
Now, my hair is not painful to work with. No matter how hard someone’s hands are, I don’t feel much pain when my hair is being done. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy for the person handling it. And today, I could tell the hairdresser was dealing with something she wasn’t used to.
She would grip a section, start weaving, and somehow the hair would just… bounce back. It wasn’t stiff, it wasn’t loose—it was just spongy. And that meant she had to put in extra effort to make the weaving hold properly. 
Meanwhile, my friend was still waiting. She had to go after me, which meant she was watching the entire process unfold, probably wondering how long it was going to take before she even got her turn.
She had nowhere else to be, so she was patient, but I could tell she was analyzing every part of what was happening. Every now and then, I’d glance at her, and she’d just smirk or shake her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she was witnessing.
At one point, I said, "You’re lucky I’m going first, so at least you’ll know what to expect."
She just laughed and replied, "If your own is like this, I don’t even know what mine will be like."
The hairdresser was trying her best. She was adjusting her technique, using different methods to make sure the weaving stayed in place. She even stepped back at one point, looked at my hair, and sighed.
"This your hair get strong mind o."
I just laughed. I couldn’t argue. My hair was what it was, and there was nothing I could do to change it.
After a while, she found a way to work with it. The weaving started coming together, and I could see the progress. and the style was finally starting to take shape.
After what felt like an eternity , she finally finished. I looked in the mirror, and despite all the struggle, the result was beautiful. The weaving was neat, my hair looked fresh, and for all the effort that had gone into it, I had to admit—it was worth it.
I turned to my friend, expecting her to say something about how nice it looked. Instead, she just shook her head and said, "So after all that wahala, your hair is stil.
Now it was her turn to sit down and go through her own session, her own session, while I got to sit back and watch. I was done with my part, and now, it was time to enjoy the satisfaction of being the one waiting instead of the one struggling.
What was supposed to be a simple hair appointment turned into an experience .At the end of the day, my hair was done, my friend got her turn, and we both walked out looking and feeling fresh.
Now, excuse me while I go and admire my hair in the mirror for the next hour.👯♂️⏏️🤙