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The Happy Hair Hub, Eastleigh (2025)

13/11/2025

WHEN THE GODS CHOOSE LOVE – Episode 2: The Wrath of the River.

That morning, the people of Eziala woke to the roar of the Omu River.
The water that once sang softly by the rocks now growled like a beast. 🤥

It had left its path, swallowing farmlands, fish traps, and the narrow footpath women used to fetch water.
The old women said they had never seen such anger.
Even the birds 🦅 did not sing that day.

At the village square, the gong of Ogbuefi Nnanna, the town crier, echoed across the air.
“Let every man and woman of Eziala gather! The goddess of Omu has spoken!”

By the time the people assembled, the sky had turned gray like mourning cloth.
Children clung to their mothers, and even the warriors stood in silence. 🤫

Then came the high priest 🫥, Dibia Okorie, walking slowly, his eyes red with sleeplessness.
He lifted his staff and spoke in a trembling voice.
“My people… the river spirit is angry. She says her daughter, Amaka, has been defiled by a mortal man.”

A sharp cry rose from the crowd.
Women covered their mouths; men exchanged fearful glances.
Amaka’s father fell to his knees, tears rolling down his face.
“What have we done, great one? Who touched her?”
The priest’s cowries rattled as he threw them on the ground.
He closed his eyes, muttered incantations, then pointed slowly toward the blacksmith’s compound.
“Obi, son of Okonkwo. The gods say he is the one.”

A gasp spread like wind.
Even the wind stopped for a moment.
Obi, who had been standing among the men, stepped forward.
His heart pounded, but he did not bow.
“Dibia, I touched no one without love,” he said.
“I went to the shrine myself. I spoke to Ani, the earth goddess. I begged for a sign, and a white dove came to me. Does that sound like a curse?”
The priest’s face darkened.
“Foolish boy! Do you think the gods talk to you because you are handsome? You have brought death to our land!”

Will Obi pay for his love? Will he be sacrificed to the gods to appease them? How will this turn for The Happy Hair HubWatch out for the next episode. @

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The Happy Hair Hub

12/11/2025

“When the gods Choose Love” series.

(A story that happened in Eziala village— where love is not only a feeling, but a test of fate.)

EPISODE 1 – The Girl from the Stream

The village of Eziala sat gently between three hills and the Omu River, where the morning mist rose like smoke from the mouths of ancestors. It was a quiet place — full of laughter, gossip, and the songs of women pounding yam in the evenings.

Every heart in Eziala knew its rhythm — except Obi’s.
Obi was the only son of Okonkwo the blacksmith, strong, tall, and stubborn like a goat that refused to leave the yam barn. His father used to say, “Obi, the gods gave you hands to forge iron, not to chase shadows.”
But Obi’s heart had chosen a shadow — the daughter of a fisherman, Amaka.

Amaka was beauty in her raw form — skin like fresh palm fruit, laughter that carried over the water when she fetched from the Omu River. The elders said she was born on a full moon, and the goddess of the stream had marked her.
The problem?

The chief priest, Dibia Okorie, had already declared that Amaka was “the river’s child” — chosen for the annual Omu Festival.
She was not to marry any man, except one chosen through divination.
And the gods, as the people believed, had not chosen Obi.

One harmattan evening, Obi walked to the stream after the last c**k crow, ignoring his mother’s warning.
“Obi, you want to fetch water in the dark? You know the stream has ears!”
He smiled. “Mama, it’s not the water I’m going for.”

When he got there, the moonlight poured like palm oil over the river. Amaka was there, alone, washing her wrapper.
“Amaka,” he called softly.

She turned sharply. “Obi! What are you doing here? You want the goddess to strike both of us?”
Obi laughed quietly. “If the goddess can love, she’ll understand me.”

She sighed. “You’re stubborn, Obi. Even the spirits know it.”
He moved closer, his voice trembling. “Amaka, since the day you carried that water pot on your head and smiled at me by mistake, I’ve not known peace. Even my dreams carry your voice.”

She smiled faintly, then turned away. “The gods won’t let it happen. You know the priest already said I belong to the river.”
“Then let me fetch from that river too,” Obi whispered.

The night wind blew softly, and somewhere deep in the forest, a flute sounded — long and lonely.
Amaka looked at him with eyes full of tears. “Obi, what you want can cost us everything.”
Days turned to weeks. Rumors began to spread that the goddess had appeared in the priest’s dream, warning that a man was “trying to steal her daughter.”
The chief priest called a meeting in the village square.

“My people,” he said, holding a kola nut in his wrinkled hand, “there is a stubborn heart among us. If this continues, calamity will fall on Eziala.”
People looked around nervously, whispering.
Obi stood in the crowd, his jaw tight. He knew they were talking about him.

He wanted to speak, to tell them that love wasn’t rebellion. But in Eziala, when the gods speak, the living must bow.
That night, Amaka’s father warned her never to see Obi again.
“Do you want to bring curse to this family? The gods can take their child if she disobeys!”
Amaka cried all night. Even the crickets went silent, as if the whole village pitied her.
Two nights later, Obi went again — this time with a decision heavier than his heart.

He would ask the gods themselves.
He walked barefoot to the shrine of Ani, the earth goddess. He knelt before her clay figure, pouring libation of palm wine.
“Great mother of the land,” he said, “they say love is your gift. If what I feel for Amaka is evil, then strike me now. But if it is pure, show me a sign.”

The wind rose suddenly, sweeping the calabash from his hand.
A white dove flew from the roof of the shrine and landed on the ground before him, cooing softly.

To Obi, that was a sign.
He left the shrine smiling, not knowing that the gods sometimes test before they bless.
The next morning, the river overflowed its banks for the first time in thirty years.

The priest ran into the square shouting, “The goddess is angry! Someone has touched what is forbidden!”
And before the sun could set, Amaka’s name was on every lip in Eziala.

💭 To be continued...

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12/11/2025

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The Happy Hair Hub

12/11/2025

THE MINISTER AND THE SOLDIER – “Respect Has No Rank”

The Abuja sun doesn’t play fair.
By 11 a.m., it had turned the Gaduwa air into gold dust.
A convoy of black SUVs rolled to a stop beside a half-cleared piece of land — the kind that still smelt of new bulldozer tracks and old ownership fights.

From the lead car stepped the FCT Minister, Chief Nyesom Wike, his face sharp like a man with a mission.
He was there to inspect a piece of land the government said was being “illegally developed.”

But before his team could even breathe, four soldiers in camouflage appeared, rifles slung, faces blank as the desert.
Their leader, a young major, raised his hand.
“Sir, you can’t proceed beyond this point.”
Wike turned, eyebrows lifting.
“And who gave you that order?”
“Sir, this land belongs to a retired officer. We’re under instruction to guard it.”
The air shifted. Reporters’ cameras blinked red lights. Civil staff whispered.

The tension was thicker than harmattan fog.
Wike took a slow step forward.
“My friend,” he said, voice calm but firm, “this is Abuja — not a barracks. Even the military obeys civil law. Show me your documents.”
The major stood still, lips tight.
“Sir, I can’t—”
“Then stand aside!” Wike snapped.
“Because you are a soldier doesn’t mean you own the land!”
For a moment, no one moved.
Even the wind paused to listen.

Then, slowly, the soldiers stepped back, unsure whether to salute or argue.
And Wike’s convoy entered the land.
Later that day, the video hit social media.
Everyone had an opinion.
Some said the minister was right — that civil authority must stand tall.

Others said the soldier was just following orders, doing his duty.
But one thing was clear: both men represented two faces of power — one political, one disciplined — and between them stood the fragile thing called respect.

A week later, during a meeting at the Secretariat, a young journalist asked Wike,
“Sir, what lesson do you think Nigerians should learn from that encounter?”

He smiled faintly.
“Simple. Whether you wear agbada or uniform, you must know where your power ends.
Respect is not about position. It’s about knowing your boundary.”

That night, Abuja was quiet.
But the story of the Minister and the Soldier spread — not because of the clash,
but because it reminded everyone that authority without humility is noise.
And discipline without wisdom is danger.

💭 Moral of the Story:
Respect everyone — from the man in suit to the man in uniform.
Power doesn’t make you right; character does. 🇳🇬.

Na just story I Dey tell oooo. Soldier no Dey appologies, the same way wike no Dey say sorry 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂.

What do you really think.? Who was at fault? Could this have been handled differently?

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12/11/2025

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The Happy Hair Hub

11/11/2025

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The Happy Hair Hub

11/11/2025

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11/11/2025

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The Happy Hair Hub

11/11/2025

THE CURSE OF UMUNNEORA (Part 1 – The Woman They Condemned)

My children , gather here let men
Long before the white man’s road reached the East, there was a proud village called Umunneora — a land blessed with palm trees, yam barns, and warriors who feared no battle.
But that same land became a shadow of itself, all because of one woman — Nwakaego, daughter of Ogbuefi Udenyi.

Nwakaego was beautiful and kind, the type whose laughter could soften even the hardest heart. She was married to Obidike, a great hunter known for his bravery and pride.
But trouble began the day Obidike went into the forest and never returned.

For seven market weeks, the men searched the thick forests of Ajofia, but they found only his broken spear near the river bank.
The elders said, “The spirits have claimed him.”
In grief and confusion, Nwakaego shaved her hair and mourned as custom demanded.
But before her tears could dry, whispers began to crawl through the village like night snakes.
“Maybe she knows what happened to him,” they said.

“Maybe she was unfaithful.”
Even the elders, blinded by fear of the unknown, began to see her as a woman who carried bad luck.

One morning, the town crier’s gong echoed through Umunneora:
“All men and women of the land, gather at the village square!”

They said the gods demanded truth — and that Nwakaego must prove her innocence before the shrine of Ani, the earth goddess.

She was led to the square, barefoot, her wrapper tied weakly around her waist. The women wept, but no one dared to speak.
The high priest, Dibia Mbe, stood with red clay on his forehead.

“If you are innocent, may Ani bless you. But if you lie, may the earth swallow you.”
Nwakaego knelt and swore by her late husband’s spirit,
“I am innocent. I loved Obidike with all my heart.”
But as she touched the sacred staff, lightning cracked in the sky, and a wind tore through the square.

The people screamed — a sign, they said, that the gods had spoken.
Even though it was just a storm, fear ruled reason.
They tied her and dragged her toward the evil forest, saying she must not live among the pure.

Sometimes, the gods are silent — but men still speak on their behalf. What’s next?

Keeping reading The Happy Hair Hub
Check out for part 2

11/11/2025

The Housemaid’s Secret Baby (Part 2)

After the shouting that morning, peace left our compound completely.
Every time Mutiat passed, people whispered. Some hissed. Some pitied her. But the one thing everyone wanted to know was — who got her pregnant?

Mama Ronke became a shadow of herself. She stopped smiling. Every evening, she’d sit on the verandah with her arms folded, watching Mutiat like a hawk.
“Don’t think I won’t find out,” she’d say.
But the strange thing was how soft Baba Ronke became towards Mutiat.

Normally, he barely noticed her existence — just greeted her once in a while. But lately, he’d bring her small food from work: meat pie, malt, sometimes even fruit.
“Pregnant women need to eat well,” he said when Mama Ronke asked.l

At first, she didn’t suspect anything. She thought he was just being kind. But Lagos women are not fools. One night, she went through his phone while he was sleeping — and found a message from Mutiat:
“Thank you, sir. I’ll keep my promise. Nobody will know.”
The next morning, the house was quiet, too quiet. Then suddenly — gbam!
A loud slap broke the silence.
“Who is the father of this child?!” Mama Ronke screamed. “Tell me the truth now!”
Tears ran down Mutiat’s face. “Ma, please... I want can’t say.”
She fell on her knees, holding her belly, shaking.
That was the day people began to suspect that the matter wasn’t between gate men or neighbors at all — the real secret was sitting right inside that house.

“E don red! 😳 You think you know who the father is? Wait for Part 3 — the truth will shock you.”

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The Happy Hair Hub

10/11/2025

The Housemaid’s Secret Baby (Part 1)

They said secrets don’t last forever—but in our compound, secrets lived, breathed, and even grew inside people’s bellies.
When Mutiat came to Lagos from Ibadan, she was just 19. Small, quiet girl. The kind that always looked down when you spoke to her. My aunt, Mama Ronke, employed her as a housemaid—just to help around the house and look after little Ronke while she was at work.
At first, nobody noticed her much. She woke early, swept, cooked, smiled when spoken to, and minded her business. Even the neighbors liked her.

Then one morning, everything changed.
Mama Ronke came out shouting, wrapper barely tied, voice shaking like thunder. “Who made my housegirl pregnant?! Who?!”
The compound scattered. People rushed out—one leg inside slippers, one outside—everyone asking questions. Mutiat was sitting on the floor, crying. Her belly was already showing a little.
When Mama Ronke asked her who was responsible, she just kept quiet. Eyes red, face swollen, but mouth sealed.

Rumors started flying. Some said it was the gate man, others whispered it was one of the neighbors. Some even said maybe it was a church member.
But the way she held her silence—it was strange. Like she was protecting someone she shouldn’t be protecting.

That night, I overheard her crying in the backyard. She said softly, “God, please don’t let him deny me.”
That was the first time I realized—this secret might be bigger than we all think.

What happened next shocked everyone …………..

Watch out for Part 2………💕💕💕💕💕💕

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Checkout this beautiful knotless braids

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