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Prime Minister Ataga, Abuja (2026)

21/04/2026

*BARBER BY FORCE*
*(The Graduate Barber)*
*EPISODE 8*

Chukwudi tied the nylon carefully and pushed it under his small wooden table. He stood up slowly, dusting his hands like he had just finished a normal task, but his heart was beating faster than usual. The shop suddenly felt quieter, almost like the walls were watching him.

Nothing looked different. But everything had changed. He picked up his clipper and switched it on, just to distract himself.

The familiar buzzing sound filled the room, but instead of calming him, it made his thoughts louder. He kept glancing at the nylon bag like it might move on its own.
“Na so e dey start?” he muttered.

The rest of that day passed slowly. Two more customers came, and each time, Chukwudi worked carefully, paying more attention to the hair than the haircut.

He made sure every strand dropped where he could gather it later. One customer even noticed. “Guy, why you dey look ground like say you lose money?” the man asked.

Chukwudi forced a laugh. “Nothing, I just dey check my work.”

When night came, he closed the shop earlier than usual. He locked the door, looked around to be sure nobody was watching, then quickly carried the nylon and tucked it inside his bag. His steps were faster than normal as he headed home.

Inside the compound, chaos was already waiting. Two women were shouting at each other near the tap. “I tell you say no touch my bucket!” one screamed.

“Is your bucket made of gold? ” the other fired back.

Chukwudi shook his head as he passed.
“Everyday na so so wahala for this compound” he muttered.

Suddenly, a child ran past him crying loudly. “Mummy! Tunde beat me!”

Before anyone could react, another child came chasing after him with a stick.
“I go beat you again!”

Within seconds, both mothers entered the scene. “Why you dey beat my pikin, I born am for you?!”

“Your pikin no get home training” the other mother fired back.

Chukwudi didn’t wait. He just quietly slipped into his room. Inside, he locked the door and brought out the nylon. He stared at it for a long time. “This thing… fit really change my life?” he asked himself.
There was no answer.

He pushed it under his bed and lay down.
But sleep did not come easily. His mind kept racing. Thinking. Doubting. Imagining.

“What if nothing happens?”
“What if dem just dey use me?”
He turned on his side. Then the other side.
Then another thought came. “What if e works?” That one kept him awake longer.

The next morning, he woke up early and rushed to his shop. For the first time in a long while, he was eager to open. He sat down. Waited. One hour passed. No customer. Two hours. Still nothing.

By afternoon, only one small boy came to barb. “Uncle, my mummy say make you reduce am,” the boy said. Chukwudi sighed. “Sit down.” After the haircut, the boy brought out a crumpled note.
“My mummy say na this money make I give you.” Chukwudi looked at the money.
It was too small. He almost complained.
But then he remembered. He collected it quietly. “No problem.”
After the boy left, he bent down and carefully packed the hair again. More gently this time. More intentionally.

Days passed. Nothing changed. No sudden money. No miracle alert. No strange favor. Just the same struggle.

Chukwudi began to get restless.
“This thing no dey work or what?” he complained one evening.

He sat in his shop, staring at the growing number of nylon bags he had hidden. Each one filled with hair. Each one holding expectation. But nothing was happening.

That evening, Kunle visited him.
“Guy, you don dey busy these days o,” Kunle said, sitting down. Chukwudi forced a smile. “Na the hustle.” Kunle looked around. “Hustle wey no dey bring customer?” he laughed. Chukwudi didn’t laugh. Kunle noticed.

“Guy, you dey okay?” he asked. Chukwudi nodded quickly. “I dey fine.” But he wasn’t.

That night, the landlord struck again.
Everybody was outside when he started shouting. “End of the month don reach! Anybody wey never pay rent, I go lock your room!”

Chukwudi’s heart dropped immediately.
The landlord pointed directly at him.
“You! Graduate Barber! I dey talk to you!”
People turned to look. “Two days!” the landlord shouted. “If I no see your money, carry your load comot for my house!”
Laughter broke out from one corner.

“Barber by force go soon turn homeless by force,” someone whispered.

Chukwudi clenched his fist.

That night, he couldn’t take it anymore.
He picked up his phone. Called the old man. “Sir… I don start the work,” he said.

There was a short silence. “And?” the old man asked. Chukwudi swallowed.
“Nothing dey happen.”

The old man chuckled softly.
“You think say riches dey come like Indomie?” he said. Chukwudi frowned.

“You must be patient,” the man continued.
“What you are doing… is planting.”

Chukwudi sat up. “Soon… you will harvest.”
The call ended. But instead of feeling better… Chukwudi felt deeper inside.
That word stayed in his head. “Harvest.”

The next day, something small happened.
A well-dressed man entered his shop.
“Can you barb?” the man asked. Chukwudi nodded quickly. “Yes sir!” The man sat.
The haircut went smoothly. Very smoothly.
When he finished, the man stood up, looked in the mirror, and smiled. “Good job.” Then he brought out money. Big money. Chukwudi’s eyes widened.
“Keep the change,” the man said casually.
And walked out.

Chukwudi stood there. Frozen. He looked at the money again. Then again.
“This one no be normal,” he whispered.
Slowly… A smile spread across his face.
Not wide. Not loud. But deep. Very deep.

He bent down. Packed the hair again. This time… With excitement.

👉 To be continued in Episode 9

👉 Please SHARE this story to motivate me to write more episodes

20/04/2026

Omah lay or Davido Who sing pass

20/04/2026

Omah lay or Davido Who fine pass

20/04/2026

*BARBER BY FORCE*
*(The Graduate Barber)*
*EPISODE 7*

The leader continued calmly. “Every day, people sit on your chair.” Chukwudi listened carefully now. “They trust you. They relax. They leave something behind.”

A pause.

“Something valuable.” Chukwudi’s heart began to beat faster. The leader looked directly into his eyes. “Their hair.”
Chukwudi blinked. Once. Twice.
“We harvest from what they leave behind to make you rich,” the leader continued.

Chukwudi’s throat went dry.
“We take from their glory… and transfer it to you.” The room felt smaller. Hotter. “And you,” the leader said calmly, “will become very rich"

No one spoke. Chukwudi stood there, frozen. Everything suddenly made sense.
The words. The hints. The journey. His chest tightened.

“This is what you meant…” he said slowly.
The old man beside him said nothing.
The leader leaned forward slightly.
“This is the opportunity in front of you.”

Chukwudi looked around the room.
At the men. At the silence. At the weight of everything. “I…” he started. Then stopped.
His voice came out softer. “I need to think.”
The room remained still. Then the leader nodded slowly. “Good.” “Go and think.”

Chukwudi turned slowly and walked out.
His legs felt weak. But he kept moving.
Outside, the air hit him differently. He inhaled deeply. Like someone who had been underwater.

On the drive back, nobody spoke.
Chukwudi just stared outside. Lost. Confused. Afraid.

When he got home, the compound noise had returned. But this time… It didn’t matter. He entered his room quietly and sat on his bed. Then he spoke out loud.
“I cannot do this.” He shook his head.
“No… I cannot.” But even as he said it…
His mind was not at peace. Because somewhere deep inside him… The struggle had just begun.

He stood up slowly and began pacing around his room. Back and forth. Back and forth. Each step felt heavy, like his legs were carrying more than just his body.

“What if I’m making a mistake?” he asked himself. The question hung in the air, unanswered. Then another voice replied inside him. “What if this is your only chance?” He stopped moving. That one hit deeper.

His mother’s weak voice echoed in his memory, and his chest tightened immediately. The thought of losing her because of money he didn’t have made his stomach turn. He shook his head slowly.
“I no get any other choice,” he whispered.

Two days later, His phone vibrated again.
Another message. “Be ready tomorrow. Same junction. 6am.” No greeting. No explanation. Just instruction again.

Chukwudi stared at the message for a long time before dropping the phone on the bed. He sat down beside it and rubbed his face with both hands, dragging them down slowly like he was trying to wipe away his problems.

Sleep did not come easily that night.
When it finally came, it was restless and uncomfortable, filled with strange dreams he could not fully remember. He kept waking up, checking the time, and turning again.

By 5am, he gave up. He stood up quietly, wore his clothes, and stepped outside.

The compound was still dark, but a few people were already awake, preparing for their daily hustle. Nobody paid attention to him, and for once, he was grateful.

As he walked out, Kunle’s door opened.
“Guy, where you dey go this early?” Kunle asked, stretching. Chukwudi forced a small smile. “Work,” he replied. Kunle laughed. “Work ke? This early? You don finally hammer?” Chukwudi shook his head and kept walking.

“If only you know,” he muttered under his breath.

At the junction, the old man was already there again. Same spot. Same calm posture.

This time, Chukwudi did not hesitate.
He walked straight to the car and entered without waiting to be told. The old man nodded slightly. “That’s good,” he said.

The journey felt shorter this time.
Not because the distance had changed, but because Chukwudi’s mind was too occupied to measure time. His thoughts were loud, scattered, and heavy.

When they arrived at the same compound, his chest tightened again. But this time…
He didn’t stop. He followed the old man inside. The room looked the same. Dim light. Quiet men. Heavy silence.

The leader was already seated. Waiting.
When Chukwudi entered, all eyes turned to him again. But this time, he did not look away. “I believe you have thought about it,” the leader said calmly. Chukwudi nodded.
“I have.” “And?” There was a pause. A deep one. Then Chukwudi spoke. “I’m ready.”

The room remained silent, but something in the atmosphere shifted. Like a door had just been opened. The leader studied him carefully. Long enough to make him uncomfortable. “Are you sure?” he asked.
Chukwudi swallowed. Then nodded again.
“Yes.”

The leader leaned back slowly.
“Good.” One of the men stepped forward again, holding a small calabash. He placed it gently on the ground between them.

Chukwudi’s eyes followed the movement.
His breathing became slower. “This is not a game,” the leader said. Chukwudi nodded. “I know.” “You will do exactly as you are told.” “Yes.” “You will not question the process.” Chukwudi hesitated briefly.
Then nodded. “Yes.”

The leader’s voice became firmer.
“And you will not turn back.” That one stayed longer in the air. Chukwudi felt it.
Deeply. But then he remembered his mother. The landlord. The hunger. And he nodded again. “Yes.”

The leader gave a slight smile. Not warm.
Not friendly. Just satisfied. “Then your journey begins.” Chukwudi exhaled slowly.
Like he had just signed something invisible. Instructions followed. Clear.
Simple. Dangerous.

He was to continue his work as a barber.
Nothing must change outwardly. But every hair he cut… Must be collected. Every strand. Every piece. He must not throw anything away again. Everything must be brought. Chukwudi listened quietly.

His mind was absorbing everything, even though part of him still felt disconnected from reality. When they were done, the old man led him out again.

Outside, the air felt colder. Even though the sun was rising. On the drive back, Chukwudi did not speak. He just stared ahead.

When he reached his shop later that day, everything looked the same. But it did not feel the same. The chair. The mirror. The floor. Everything had a new meaning now.

Around noon, his first customer came.
“Boss, low cut,” the man said casually.
Chukwudi nodded. “Sit down.”

As he began cutting the man’s hair, his hands felt slightly different. Not shaky.
Not weak. Just… aware. Every strand that fell to the ground… He noticed it. Every movement… Felt intentional.

When he finished, the customer stood up, paid, and left without any idea what had changed. Chukwudi stood there alone.
Looking at the hair on the floor. Slowly…
He bent down. And began to gather it.
Carefully. Quietly. Deliberately.

And as he packed the hair into a nylon… A small smile appeared on his face. Not joy. Something else. Something darker.

👉 To be continued in Episode 8

👉 Please SHARE this story to motivate me to write more episodes

20/04/2026

*BARBER BY FORCE*
*(The Graduate Barber)*
*EPISODE 6*

The last week of the month came like a warning. Not loud. But serious. Chukwudi counted his money that morning. The result was depressing. Very depressing.
He sighed and rubbed his face.

“This thing no funny again,” he said quietly.
Business had not improved. Food was becoming a luxury. Hope was reducing daily.

At the shop, nothing changed. Customers came, asked for price, and left. Some didn’t even ask. They just looked and kept moving. Chukwudi leaned back on his chair and laughed bitterly. “Even poverty get levels,” he said.

That afternoon, the landlord came.
“Chukwudi!” He stood up immediately.
“Yes sir.” “You know this is end of the month.” “Yes sir.” “I hope you are preparing your rent.” Chukwudi swallowed. “Sir… I’m trying.” The landlord looked at him for a few seconds. Then spoke slowly. “By month end, if I don’t see my money…”
He paused. “You will pack out.”

Chukwudi nodded slowly. “Yes sir.” The landlord walked away like he had just delivered judgment. That evening, Chukwudi didn’t go straight home.
He sat in his shop long after closing.
Thinking. The number was still in his pocket. He touched it. But didn’t bring it out.

“I no go rush enter something wey I no understand,” he said to himself. When he got home, the compound was unusually quiet. Too quiet. He entered his room and sat down. Then his phone rang. Unknown number. He hesitated. Then picked. “Hello?” The voice that answered was familiar. From the village. “Chukwudi… it’s your sister.” His body stiffened. “What happened?” There was a pause. Then the words came. “Mama is very sick.” Silence.
“They said we need money for treatment… urgently.”

Chukwudi’s throat went dry. “How much?”
The amount she mentioned made his head spin. “I don’t have it,” he whispered. “We don’t know what to do,” she said, her voice breaking. The call ended. Chukwudi sat there. Frozen. Everything hit him at once.
Rent. Hunger. Failure. Now this. He laughed softly. But there was no humor in it..

“God… this one don pass me.” He stood up and started pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. Then he stopped. Slowly… He reached into his pocket. And brought out the paper. He stared at the number again.
This time… It felt different. Not curiosity.
Not confusion. Pressure. He sat down slowly. Holding the paper tightly.

“I said I won’t do it,” he whispered. But his mother’s voice echoed in his head. He closed his eyes. Tightly. Minutes passed.
Then suddenly… He stood up. Picked his phone. And dialed the number. It rang once. Twice. Then the man answered.

“I’ve been expecting your call,” the old man said calmly. Chukwudi swallowed. “I’m ready.” Silence. Then the man spoke.
“Good.” And just like that… Chukwudi stepped into something he could no longer control.

Chukwudi did not sleep after that call.
He lay on his bed, eyes wide open, staring into the darkness like someone waiting for something to happen. Every small sound in the compound felt louder than usual, and even the ticking of time seemed heavier. His mind refused to rest. He kept replaying his own voice. “I’m ready.”

The words sounded strange now, like they came from someone else. He swallowed hard and turned to face the wall, but the feeling in his chest did not go away.

By early morning, he stood up slowly.
His body felt weak, but not from sickness.
From fear. He wore his clothes quietly and stepped outside. The compound was just waking up, but for once, there was no shouting, no fighting, no noise. Even Kunle was not outside, and that alone felt suspicious.

As he walked out of the compound, his phone vibrated. A message. “Be at the junction by 7am.” No name. No greeting.
Just instruction.

Chukwudi stared at the message for a few seconds before putting the phone back into his pocket. His legs felt heavy, but he kept walking, like something was pulling him forward.

At the junction, the old man was already there. Standing beside a black car. Waiting. He did not wave. He did not smile.
He just looked at Chukwudi like someone who already knew the outcome of everything.

“You came,” the man said calmly. Chukwudi nodded slowly. “I said I would.”
The man opened the car door. “Enter.”
Chukwudi hesitated for a brief moment.
Just one moment. Then he entered.
The drive was long. Too long. They left the busy roads of Lagos and moved into quieter areas, where buildings became fewer and trees became more.
Chukwudi looked outside, trying to recognize something. Anything. But everything felt unfamiliar.

“Where are we going?” he finally asked.
The old man did not look at him. “To where your answers are.” That response did not bring comfort. If anything, it made things worse. The car eventually stopped in front of a large, isolated compound. The gate was tall. Old. And slightly open. Chukwudi’s chest tightened. “This place…” he whispered. The old man stepped out of the car. “Come down.” Chukwudi followed slowly.

Every step felt heavier than the last. Inside the compound, the air felt different. Quiet.
Too quiet. Even the wind seemed careful.

They walked through a narrow path until they reached a building at the center.
It looked ordinary. But something about it was not. The old man stopped at the entrance and turned to Chukwudi.
“Before you enter… think well.” Chukwudi swallowed. “I’ve already decided.” The man nodded slowly. “Good.” They stepped inside. The room was dimly lit. Not dark, but not bright either.

Just enough light to see shapes and faces.
A few men were already inside. Seated.
Quiet. Watching. Chukwudi felt their eyes on him immediately. Heavy. Judging. At the center sat one man. Older. Calmer.
Different.

His presence alone filled the room. He didn’t speak immediately. He just looked at Chukwudi like he was reading him.

“Is this the one?” the man finally asked.
The old man nodded. “Yes.” The room fell into silence again. Then the leader leaned forward slightly. “What do you want?”

The question was simple. But the weight behind it was not. Chukwudi hesitated.
Then spoke. “I want money.” The leader nodded slowly. “Everybody does.”

Chukwudi swallowed and added, “I want to change my life.” The leader’s eyes remained fixed on him. “Are you ready to do what it takes?” Chukwudi paused.

Just for a moment. Then he nodded.
“Yes.” The leader leaned back. “Good.”
He gestured slightly, and one of the men stepped forward. “You are a barber right”
the leader said. Chukwudi nodded.
“Yes.”

The leader smiled faintly. “Then your path is already clear.” Chukwudi frowned slightly. He didn’t understand.

👉 To be continued in Episode 7

👉 Please SHARE this story to motivate me to write more episodes

20/04/2026

*BARBER BY FORCE*
*(The Graduate Barber)*
*EPISODE 4*

The day Chukwudi got his freedom felt like the day heaven finally remembered his name. For two solid years, he had worked under Razor Blade Emeka like a man paying for sins he didn’t commit.

From sweeping hair to washing clippers, from insulting customers in his mind to smiling at them in real life—he endured everything. So when Emeka finally stood in front of him and said, “Chukwudi… you don try. It’s time,” Chukwudi almost cried.

A week later, Emeka helped him set up a small barbing shop along a quiet street.
Nothing fancy. Just one mirror, two chairs, one clipper, one small generator, and a signboard that read:

“CHUKWUDI CLASSIC BARBING SALON – WE GIVE YOU CONFIDENCE”

Chukwudi stood in front of it that morning, hands on his waist, smiling like a man that just bought a land in Lekki. “Finally,” he whispered. “I don arrive.” By 8:00am, he was fully ready. Clean shirt. Clipper charged. Chair positioned. Mirror cleaned three times. He sat down… waiting. 9:00am. No customer. 10:30am. Still nothing. By 12:00pm, only one goat had passed in front of his shop… and even that one didn’t stop.

Chukwudi leaned back in his chair. “This business go grow,” he told himself. From nowhere, a man passed and peeped inside. Hope rose. The man kept walking.
Hope died. Finally, around 2:00pm, his first customer came. A small boy. “Uncle, how much you dey barb hair?” “₦2,000,” Chukwudi said confidently. The boy frowned. “You go collect ₦500.”

Chukwudi blinked. “For haircut?” The boy nodded. “That’s my budget.” Chukwudi looked at the sky. “God… na test be this?”
He ended up collecting ₦800. “Start from somewhere,” he muttered.

That night, when he got home, compound drama was waiting like usual. “YOU THINK THIS HOUSE IS A HOTEL?!” The landlord’s voice shook the entire compound. Chukwudi didn’t even need to ask—he already knew the victim. Kunle. Kunle stood in front of his room, scratching his head like a man caught in spiritual confusion. “Oga Landlord, I no understand—” “You don’t understand WHAT?!” the landlord shouted.

“Every day, new girl! Morning girl! Night girl! Afternoon girl!” The entire compound gathered. One woman whispered, “Even me wey be woman, I never see this kind rotation.” The landlord pointed at Kunle like he was accusing him of national crime. “My house is not a hotel! If you want to run hotel, go and build your own!”

Kunle tried to defend himself. “Oga, na my cousins—” “ALL OF THEM?!” The compound exploded in laughter. Chukwudi stood at one corner, tired but amused.

“At least… my own no reach this level,” he said quietly. Just as that drama ended…
Another one started. “I KNOW YOU TOOK IT!” A woman’s voice rang out. Everyone turned. Mama Bisi stood in the middle of the compound, holding her wrapper tight.
“My pant is missing! Dem want use my pant go buy benz” Silence. Then chaos.

“I kept it here on the drying rope, Now it’s gone!” She pointed randomly. “You! You passed here yesterday!”

The accused woman gasped. “Me?! God forbid!” wetin I want use those your dirty pant wey be like rag wey dem dey use take clean dog nose do?

Before anybody knew what was happening, two women were already shouting at each other. Then pushing.
Then pulling wrapper. Then— “Leave me!”
“You’re a thief!” “I will slap you!”
Suddenly, children started fighting nearby.

Two small boys rolled on the floor. “My biscuit!” “You ate it!” “I will beat you!”
Next thing— Their mothers joined. “Don’t touch my child!” “Train your son!”
“Your whole family is useless!”

Chukwudi looked around. Landlord shouting. Women fighting. Children rolling.
Generator roaring. He sighed deeply.

“This life… no balance.”

The next morning, he returned to his shop.
Same routine. Same silence. Same suffering. Sometimes one customer.
Sometimes none. Sometimes people would come, sit, ask price… and leave.

Depression started entering slowly. Like smoke. Quiet. Dangerous.

One afternoon, he sat down alone, staring at his empty shop. Sweat on his face. Hunger in his stomach. Silence in his business. Then she walked in. A young lady. Simple. Beautiful. Calm.

“Good afternoon,” she said softly.
Chukwudi adjusted himself quickly. “Good afternoon, madam.” “I want to dye my hair.”
Business. Finally. As he worked on her hair, they started talking.
Her name was Ada. She was friendly.
Funny. Easy to talk to.

“Business is slow?” she asked.
Chukwudi laughed dryly. “Slow ke? E never even start.” She smiled. “It will get better.”

From that day, she started coming often.
Not always for hair. Sometimes just to sit.
To talk. To laugh. Before Chukwudi knew what was happening… He had fallen for her.

One evening, as they sat outside the shop, Ada looked at him. “You’re a good person,” she said. Chukwudi smiled shyly. “Na so dem dey talk.” That was how it started.
Love entered quietly. But life… Was still not smiling. Days turned into weeks. Business was still dry. Money was still low. Pressure was increasing. Then one evening… Ada came looking different. Dressed well. Hair shining. Phone looking expensive. Chukwudi smiled. “You’re looking fine today.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”Something felt off. “I need to talk to you,” she said.
Chukwudi’s heart dropped. “I can’t continue like this,” she said gently.
“Like what?” he asked. She hesitated. Then said it. “I’ve met someone.” Silence.
“He’s stable… he can take care of me.”

Chukwudi felt like someone pressed pause on his life. “I tried,” she said. “But… I can’t suffer.” She stood up slowly. “I’m sorry.” And she left. Chukwudi didn’t move.
Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe properly. Just sat there.

That night, compound noise didn’t matter.
Generator didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Eyes open. Heart heavy. “God… wetin I do? Who I offend wey no want forgive me”

The next day, he went to the shop again.
Sat down. Empty. Quiet. Broken. That was when the old man entered. An elderly Yoruba man. Calm. Quiet. Strange presence. He sat down. “Skin cut,” he said.

As Chukwudi worked silently, the old man watched him through the mirror. Carefully.
Like someone studying something deeper.

“You’re not happy,” the man said.
Chukwudi forced a smile. “I’m fine, sir.”
The man chuckled. “No… you’re not.”
Silence. Then the man leaned slightly forward. And said quietly: “In this Lagos… hard work is not enough.” Chukwudi paused. The man continued: “Some people… know other ways.” Chukwudi looked at him through the mirror. Confused. Curious. Tired. The old man smiled slightly. A smile that didn’t feel normal. “We will talk… another day.”

And just like that… He stood up and left.
Chukwudi stood there. Frozen. Thinking.
Outside, life continued as normal. But inside him… Something had shifted.

👉 To be continued in Episode 5

👉 Please SHARE this story to motivate me to write more episodes

20/04/2026

*BARBER BY FORCE*
*(The Graduate Barber)*
*EPISODE 3*

Chukwudi woke up that morning feeling like a slightly improved human being.
Not fully successful yet… but no longer a complete disaster.

At least now, when he held a clipper, his hand didn’t shake like NEPA light. He sat up on his bed, stretched his body, and nodded to himself.

“Chukwudi… you don dey become somebody.” From outside, Kunle’s generator responded immediately.
“BRRRRRRRRRRRRR!”

Chukwudi froze. “…almost somebody,” he corrected. At the shop, business was already moving. Emeka was busy with a customer, arguing and cutting hair at the same time.

A story by Jb Da Silva Usman

“I tell you say Arsenal no get future!” he said, shaping someone’s hairline with dangerous confidence. The customer shouted, “Focus on my head first!”

Chukwudi entered quietly and picked up a broom. One customer noticed him. “Ah Graduate! No map today abeg!”
Chukwudi smiled. “Today na premium service.” “God go help us,” the man replied.

Around late morning, peace was still managing. No fight. No drama. No stubborn customer.

Chukwudi even started feeling suspicious.
“This calmness… e no normal,” he whispered. And like every Nigerian story…
Trouble arrived immediately. The door opened, and a young couple walked in.
A guy and a lady.

The guy looked fresh, confident, and slightly proud. The lady looked beautiful, well-dressed, and observant — the kind of person that notices everything. They sat down together.

“Oga, I want sharp haircut,” the guy said. “Make I look correct.” The girl added, smiling, “Yes o, make him fine well well.”

Chukwudi stepped forward. “I go handle am.” Emeka looked at him. “Are you sure?”
Chukwudi nodded confidently. “Oga, trust me.” That was mistake number one. The guy sat down, still chatting with his girlfriend.

“After this, we go go that place wey I tell you,” he said. The girl nodded. “Just look good first. No disgrace me.” Chukwudi swallowed. Pressure had entered. He began carefully. Slow. Focused. Trying to impress both the customer and the girlfriend.

At first, everything was going well. Very well. Too well. Then the girlfriend said something that changed everything.

“Babe… I like that hairstyle,” she said, pointing to a poster on the wall.
Chukwudi looked. The style was complicated. Very complicated. The kind of haircut that requires experience, confidence… and prayer.

The guy nodded. “Yes! That one. Give me that style.” Chukwudi paused. His spirit quietly said, Don’t do it. But his mouth said, “No problem.” That was mistake number two.

He started adjusting the haircut to match the picture. Slowly. Carefully. But halfway through… things started going wrong.
The lines were not aligning. The fade was not fading properly. The shape began to look… questionable. Chukwudi stepped back briefly. Something was off. Very off.
He tried to correct it. It became worse.
Inside his head, panic started.

“Ah… this one don spoil small.” He tried to fix it again. Now it had fully spoiled..The guy was still pressing his phone, unaware.
The girl was watching closely. Very closely. Then she frowned.
“Wait… what is happening there?”

Chukwudi froze. “Nothing, madam… just adjusting.” She stood up. Walked closer.
Looked at the mirror. Then her eyes widened. “Babe…” The guy looked up. “What?” “Look your head.” He turned slowly. Saw himself. Silence.

The shop became quiet. Even the generator reduced volume like it didn’t want to be involved. “My brother…” the guy said slowly, “…wetin be this?” Chukwudi swallowed. “I… I dey blend am.” “Blend wetin?!”

The guy stood up immediately. “THIS ONE NO BE BLENDING! THIS ONE NA CONFUSION!” The girl stepped back, shaking her head.

“I told you to go to a good place!” The guy turned. “So this is my fault now?!” “You’re the one that agreed!”

“You said you liked the style!” “I didn’t say let him destroy your life!” Argument had started between boyfriend and girlfriend. Inside barbershop. Because of haircut.

Chukwudi tried to speak. “Sir, if you sit down, I fit adjust—” “Adjust WHAT?!” the guy shouted. “Na new head you wan give me?!”

Other Customers started reacting. One man whispered, “This one don turn relationship issue.” Another said, “Graduate don cause breakup today.”
The girl crossed her arms. “I’m not going out with you like this.” The guy stared at her. “So because of hair, you’re embarrassing me?” “Look at yourself!”
“You think I did this on purpose?!”

Chukwudi just stood there, holding clipper like evidence. Regret was heavy on his chest. Emeka finally stepped in. “Everybody calm down!” He looked at the guy. “Sit down. I go fix am.”

After serious effort, skill, and near miracle, Emeka managed to correct the haircut into something manageable. Not perfect. But presentable. The guy looked at the mirror again. Silence. He touched his head.
“It’s better,” he said quietly.

The girl looked at him. Then shook her head. “I’m still annoyed.” The guy sighed. “Let’s go.” As they were leaving, the guy turned back and looked at Chukwudi.
“My brother… next time, if you no sabi something… no do am.”

Chukwudi nodded slowly. “Yes sir.”

Once they left… The shop exploded in laughter. “Graduate!!!” one customer shouted. “You don scatter relationship!”
Another added, “Imagine person break up because of haircut!” Even Emeka laughed.

“Today you don upgrade… from map of Africa to love crisis.” Chukwudi sat down quietly.

Later that evening, he walked home slowly.
Thinking. Processing. Suffering. When he reached compound, Mama Bisi was waiting. “Chukwudi! I saw something in the afternoon!” He blinked. “What again, mama?” “I saw two people arguing!”
He nodded tiredly. “Yes mama… na me cause am.”

She gasped. “Ah! Spiritual attack!” Before he could respond… Kunle’s generator started. “BRRRRRRRRRRRRR!” Chukwudi looked at the sky. “God… you’re really enjoying this.” Then landlord voice entered.
“CHUKWUDI!” He didn’t even turn. “I know, sir… rent.”

That night, he lay on his bed again.
Tired. Frustrated. But somehow… Still standing. He smiled weakly. “Today… I almost end relationship.” Then he closed his eyes. Because one thing was clear:
Tomorrow… Another problem was waiting.

👉 To be continued in Episode 4

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