You succumb to your mother’s pressure and step out to plait your hair. As soon as you step out, the sun rays get into your eyes and as you look down, the dust has found its way to your feet. You do not like harmattan – not one bit. You especially do not like to spend it in the dusty rural area you grew up in, which your mother refused leave. You always wondered why, despite offering her accommodation on the Island multiple times and even finally offering to move her to your place at Magodo. You continue in your thoughts as you take one step after the other to the hairdresser’s shop, but you walk faster. 

You know your mother wanted you out of the house to greet people. You on the other hand, did not want people to know that you had arrived almost three weeks ago, at night too - like a thief.

You think you might be lost until you hear the sound of a local children’s song on the phone. You open the curtain of the tiny shop and wonder why they are asking children to “dance like butterflies” but this little boy loves it so much, he could as well become a butterfly. 

You continue to stare at him and smile, suddenly you hear your name. 

“Nike, is that you?”

“Yes, Kemi.”

You did not expect the hug that followed. It made you feel elated and guilty.

“It has been so long. You came to make your hair?” 

“Yes.” 

You sit on the chair she cleaned, you can tell she feels a bit tensed up. It is natural, you think. You were high school best friends but after your scholarship you left this little town for the U.S, then the U.K before moving back to Nigeria 2 years ago. She on the other hand never left the town, did not exceed her high school diploma and even got married two years ago. Now she has a baby boy.  

As she continues with your hair, you sense that she wants to say something but does not. You don’t ask. Instead, you look at that little boy and how troublesome he is. Never letting her rest. He reminds you of why you don’t want children anyway. 

“Mummy I want to watch cartoom” 

You want to correct him but you don’t. Children are such work, you don’t want them. You never did - until your doctor told you two years ago that you can’t. You realized what it means be choiceless… to be powerless. You simply went in for a full body check up, nothing was wrong with you but you like to be aware of the state of your body. You went in to the hospital casually but came out of it with life changing news. 

Why it hurt you so much, you didn't understand. For someone who never wanted children, you were very damaged. You fell into depression and you saw life through a different lens. You have healed a lot more since then but the pain never fully went away. 

As Kemi finished making your hair you look into the mirror and you look so beautiful. Wigs are good but this might be better. 

“How much?” 

“pay 800” she said reluctantly. 

She thinks she billed you. You pull out a total of 5k and hand it over to her. You both smile and you leave. 

As you make your way back to your mother’s house you realized what drove you here in harmattan of all periods. 

You wanted to be reminded that you are better than some others, not from a place of arrogance, rather from the desperation that came with not having choices - a feeling that is rather new to you.