I was only 7 when I would run to Mama Aminu’s shop to braid one of her mannequins.
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I would sneak out of the house after school when I was certain that my mother was trying to lull my younger brother to sleep and my dad was away at work.
Mama Aminu was a smiley woman with a chubby face. I had never seen any part of her body except her hands and face because she was always in a full length hijab and black socks but she was an amazing woman. She treated me like the daughter she didn't have.
Whenever I showed up at her shop, I went straight to her doll heads and began to weave or twist, depending on the style of braids I thought the dolls needed.
Sometimes, Mama Aminu would walk over to where I was bent over a doll and correct what I was braiding,
“Make the braids tighter, like this” she would then collect the part of hair from me and show how it should be done. Whenever I got it, she would press me tightly against her side and say “Well Done!” and I would grin contentedly.
Whenever I learnt a new style, I would rush home to replicate it on the doll I had pestered my father to get me for my 6th birthday. Most of it was gone, arms, limbs and torso, but the head and its hair were still very much intact.
My mom would watch me change the hairstyle of the doll every evening and shake her head.
“If that doll could talk, it would beg you to never touch its head again” she would say and we would both laugh about it.
I kept going to Mama Aminu’s shop till she moved out a year later. I, however, did not stop braiding.
I would plead with my older sister to allow me weave cornrows whenever she wanted to change her hairstyle but her reply remained “ I'm not your doll”
I got the chance to braid an actual person's hair 3 years after I started learning.
I was in school a few minutes before it was time for the general assembly. My friend, Rita, came in with her natural hair packed together into a bun. I knew that we were not allowed to come into school without the recommended hairstyle so I walked up to her to ask what the problem was.
“My mother was sick this weekend and couldn't do my hair,” she said sadly.
“I'm sorry to hear that. Will you let me weave it for you?”
I saw the look of uncertainty on her face but my gaze did not waver. 5 minutes later, she was seated on a chair in front of me and I was using a pen to divide lines on her hair, weaving as smoothly as I could.
I couldn't finish the entire weaving before assembly time but it was good enough for her to get only a scolding and not the usual 5 strokes on the palm which was usually given to defaulters.
Later during the long break, I was able to complete the weaving and I could tell how excited she was.
“Wow Treasure, so you weave hair?” my class teacher, aunty Blessing asked. I nodded beaming with smiles. “Keep it up. If you practice often, you'll get perfect at it”
I took Aunty Blessing’s advice to heart because at every opportunity I got, I offered to weave someone's hair.
I had always braided for free especially since it was for my friends and loved ones, until I had to start braiding to survive.
It was the second semester of my second year in the University. My rent had expired and since I didn't have a place to stay or the money to get a place immediately, I pleaded with one of my coursemates to let me squat with her till I could get my own place.
We were not allowed to cook our food in the hostel so every single thing we ate or drank was bought. I almost couldn't keep up.
I was thinking of ways which I could get money to feed when my roommate suddenly said something that brought an excellent idea to mind.
“I wish I could just get someone to wash and weave my hair in this hostel. The sun is too much”
And that was how I began.
From cornrows first, then eventually, braids.
I still get calls from some of the girls whose hairs I braided in the hostel but being that I moved out to a distant location, I can no longer braid their hair except they come to me.
I wouldn't have dreamed that a childhood passion, learned in innocence, would grow up to help me so much in the future.
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