PIXIE
"You can like to remove my head; what do you think?" Anoma winced and shot me a stern look. It's one thing to complain, and it's another thing to complain while someone is doing you a favor. But I did not answer her. That is our weekly ritual, I help her with her hair, and she insults me any time the comb drags tangled hair. On days when she is tired of complaining, she sighs, she hisses, and she curses under her breath.
Yet, every Saturday, she leans on my door, not coming and not going out, stretching her bag filled with combs, products, and oils. I love it here; sometimes, we sit in silence with her head between my thighs as I part her hair and apply oils to her scalp. Apart from the occasional groaning, those evenings are usually encapsulated with music and scented candles.
"If you stress me, I'll leave you and your hair alone." I protested. I always do. The first day I helped with her hair, she swore I was out to get her. "My village people decided to use you to take me out, I see," she would complain anytime I combed her hair too hard or did something I wasn't supposed to, like using the leave-in conditioner instead of regular conditioner.
"You can go to the saloon, boss, or you can allow me to work my magic," I replied her every time, and she would laugh a little too much most times, but it reverberated through the room and caused my stomach to flutter.
Well, like any other person, I resorted to watching youtube videos, from how to wash hair to products to use. It wasn't long before I started using the natural girls' lingo, and Anoma decided that going to the salon or doing wash day by herself was a total waste of time. I mean, why expend so much energy when your boyfriend can do it?
"Okay, sorry, but be careful. Don't be pulling my hair like you want to put on the gen." She picked the book she laid on the floor before she complained. "I'm going to try to be more careful," I said as I raised her head towards me and kissed her forehead. She smiled with contempt and returned to her book. I couldn't tell if her hair had grown since last week, but I know it had grown from when I started; that was before the world went into lockdown. It's been two years now.
"I remember when you looked like a goat when we packed your hair. Now, look at you bragging with inches." I braided the hair on the right side of her head. "The hair that I'm getting tired of, I'll soon relax it," she giggled.
"If you are trying to push my buttons, it's not working." I paused for a minute to access the look on her face. I couldn't tell if she was joking or being serious. But she has said this a million times; I know not to take her words as true, yet, somewhere deep inside, I was curious to see if she meant it.
"If I want to push your buttons, I don't need to try." She pulled on the hair on my leg. Anoma knows I get infuriated when she does that, but she does it anyway.
"People have lost their fingers for less?" I warned.
"And people have gone to prison for less. This one is bigger than the rest, o." She inspected her hair with the mirror that sat on her lap all evening while she pointed at the hair I had just braided.
"I can't remember saying I was done." I picked up a comb to loosen the braid before completing the other side of her head.
"I think I want to name my hair; she's too pretty not to have a name." She looked into the mirror again, ensuring I did a good job. I was killing it if you ask me, but Anoma likes everything done to perfection, so there I was, having every inch of my work scrutinized.
"You can name it MC Oluomo since that is your spirit animal, and you are such a thug." I started to laugh because I could bet her expression was that of disbelief without seeing her face. She pinched my left thigh as a sign of rebellion, but that only made me laugh more. She pinched harder, and I laughed harder until the pain became unbearable.
"Okay, okay, okay, sorry. What name do you have in mind?"
"I want to name her Ginger, but that is the name of my dead dog." Well, she had spoken about dying her hair red for a while, so it makes sense to want to name her ginger, but then no one wants to remember their dead dog. We were back to square one.
"Okay, what other name do you have in mind?"
"Azul"
"Like the Tequila?" I looked at her to confirm. You are not going to tell anyone, especially in Nigeria, that you named your hair Azul and they do not look at you funny.
"No, like blue, Olorunfemi, like blue."
"Then just go with blue. But your head is going to be red any time soon, so I don't think so" I examined her hair and admired the work of my hands.
"What about Roja?"
"Like a bribe?" For a moment, it's like she forgot she lived in Nigeria because why is she coming up with these names?
"But, but it's Spanish for red."
"And it is Nigerian for a bribe. I'm done."
"You know, most days I like you; today is not one of them." She looked me dead in the eye and walked away to the bathroom. I followed behind her.
"Okay, what about Rico?" I suggested.
"Mi Cabello no es un niño," she hovered her fingers around her hair while looking at me like I killed her dog.
"In English, please." I tried learning Spanish, I honestly tried, but languages and I aren't friends. So if it was not Yoruba, she needed to revert to English.
"My hair is not a boy. Rico is a boy's name, Olorunfemi."
"How about Pixie? The name is cute, but it's not helplessly delicate." Her eyes lit at the sound of the name, I could tell she liked it, but immediately she noticed how excited she was, Anoma concealed it.
"Hmm, that is actually a nice idea. Sometimes you can be reasonable; other times, you make me want to scratch my eyeballs." She smiled at me and pecked my cheeks.
"So we are going with that?"
"I'll think about it."
"Sounds like a plan to me." I walked out of the bathroom and headed to my bed, I was tired, and Chelsea was about to start their match.
"Olorunfemi." She leaned on the bathroom door like she does whenever she wanted to ask for something.
"Yes, boss." I looked in her direction.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For always helping me out with Pixie, you are such an annoying goat you want me to spell it out again."
She disappeared into the bathroom, closed the door, and I smiled. I love that goat to pieces.
