I think that picture just gave it away, but I'll still spell it out.
You see, if you ever had the
misfortune privilege of going to the market in Nigeria (or elsewhere for that matter) to get your hair braided as a child, then you're familiar with the scene I am about to describe.
No, it doesn't matter
what hairstyle you actually ended up doing or whether you chose to do
didi (french braids) or weaving. The process was the same. I already hinted at it
here, but here it is in its full glory:
Your mother or father or relative dropped you off at the market and told the hairstylist what style to braid your hair into. Or maybe you got to decide. Or maybe your school already called the hairstyle for you for that week. Doesn't matter. Same result, i.e. you have to get your hair done.
The hair stylist, who was a market woman, not just because she was literally in the market, but also because she probably also sold other items at her stall in addition to braiding hair, agreed, and if there was no one there before you, she would point to an
apoti (small stool).
Now, I shall rant about the apoti. Don't worry, I'll still rant about the
one thing nobody misses in a bit. But let's dwell on the apoti for a bit, shall we? Good.
