SHORT STORY: Call Me Goddess.

It all started with a trending hairstyle.

Not from any salon, though,the style I made myself. I’ve been so used to braiding my own hair that I hardly go to the salon. After rocking cornrows for so long and wearing my worn-out wigs, I decided to change my look. That Saturday, I wanted something new, something trending, a hairstyle called Goddess Braids.

Also, my scalp needed a break from wigs, and my spirit needed something that felt... fresh.

So, I sat in front of my mirror, sectioned my hair carefully, and let my Bluetooth speaker play in the background. I took my time.

By the time I finished, it was evening. My arms and body ached, but I looked at the reflection staring back at me and smiled. The braids were sleek, neatly parted, and stretched past my shoulders down to my butt. I did a great job indeed.

The edges? Neatly laid. The hairstyle was effortlessly queenly.

My mom peeped into my room to check if I was done. She’s always the first to compliment me whenever I do my hair.

“Wow, Nne, this hairstyle is so beautiful. What’s it called?”

I grinned. “Thanks, Mom. It’s called Goddess Braids.”

“It fits you, but isn’t this length too long for you to carry? Soon now, you will loosen it again,” she said, already sounding like a typical Nigerian mom.

“Mummy, no oo,” I said, still smiling in the mirror.

I didn’t think much of my new look. Not until the next day, Sunday.

There’s this guy in our estate. He lives down the street. Tall, slim, and dark, always looking like he’s on his way somewhere important. I knew him by face and the occasional nods and glances, either from his car or while walking. We’d never really spoken, but you know how Abuja estates are, people notice people. You just know the face if they live around.

He had noticed me.

He worked in town, I guessed, always dressed smart, always walking with that Monday-is-already-calling-me energy. I, on the other hand, worked in sales. My days were filled with pitching products, chasing moving targets, and navigating managers who thought pressure equaled performance. But I carried it well. I had to.

Anyway, I was at the small mart down the road within the estate. I just wanted to buy bread and a bottle of drink. I usually have cravings after dinner.

The heat that evening had no mercy, and I was hot. I wore a singlet and shorts, my braids falling back like little ropes of pride.

I didn’t know he was at the mart too, probably to get something, until I turned and caught him staring at me.

He didn’t look away.

Instead, he smiled slightly and walked closer. “Hi, I'm Uzor” he said. “You live around here, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, Kugbo Crescent.”

He smiled again. “Same here. I’ve seen you around.”

I wasn’t expecting the conversation, but it wasn’t unwelcome either.

“I like your hair,” he added, eyes resting briefly on the braids. “What’s it called?”

I almost laughed. “You’re asking like you know about hairstyles”

He chuckled. “Just curious.”

“Goddess Braids,” I said simply.

He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Goddess?” Then he nodded, like the name made perfect sense. “It’s beautiful. It fits you”

“Thank you,” I said, blushing slightly.

He asked for my number.

I didn’t think much of the moment, just small talk with a neighbor. But from that day on, he never called me anything else. Maybe because he didn't know my name.

Three days later, I got a WhatsApp text:

"Hey Goddess."

“Wahala,” I muttered. “Must be Uzor. Which kin Goddess name is this?” I said with slight irritation.

The next time he saw me, it was evening. I was walking back into the estate from work with shopping bags, I had branched at the market to pick a few things.

“Need help, Goddess?” he asked.

He’d been walking behind me all along. He stepped forward and took two bags before I could protest.

I rolled my eyes. “So you’ve fully given me a nickname now.”

He grinned. “You named it. I’m just respecting it. Plus, I kinda love the name.”

From there, it became a thing.

Texts that read: You good, Goddess?

Running into him and hearing: Goddess, Like the my birth name is insignificant.

Even once, he sent me shawarma through a dispatch rider on a random Saturday. The note said: A Goddess must be craving something, I guess.

At first, I laughed it off, very thoughtful. Abuja men are far from romantic. They’ll call you anything just to whine you. Today it’s Baby Boo or My love, tomorrow it's  Empress of the Galaxy.

But Uzor was different. He wasn’t flashy.

He wasn’t overfamiliar. He didn’t even try to "chyke" me like that. He was just... present. Observant. Kind, in a way that felt rare.

I found out he worked at a tech firm in Town, Web dev or something. Long hours, lots of structure. Yet, he always made time to call me Goddess.

We didn’t talk often.

But I started to look forward to our random meetings, sometimes by the gate, at the mart, once even at the car wash where we both ended up waiting for our cars to be scrubbed down.

Our conversations grew from “How was your day?” to “What’s your dream outside work?”

We started chatting a bit more. A few calls.

When we did talk, it felt... magnetic.

One night, he walked me home after an impromptu gist session at a lounge just down our street.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for months,” he said.

I blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve seen you around. I just didn’t know how to approach you without sounding like all those guys who start with ‘Hey, fine girl.’”

I laughed. “So instead, you waited till I made a hairstyle and used it as your opportunity.”

He smiled. “It only comes once. Best decision I made.”

That was it.

But, It wasn’t about the braids anymore.

He called me Goddess even on days when I looked like a mess. No makeup. No fancy hairdo. Just all-back cornrows. Even on days my nose was sniffing from crying over work stress to him. He said it on days I was burnt out, chasing sales, and nothing was working. He said it when I was snappy, tired, and moody. And the way he said it? Like it wasn’t a compliment. Like it was a fact.

I started to feel it too.

We became very close. Not like friends though... something else. A dynamic I can’t quite describe.

It wasn’t about the hairstyle. It was the way I picked myself up every morning and faced the world head-on. The way he saw me and supported me. God bless the day I dared to create something with my hands, even if it was just a braid style.

So now, whenever I sit in front of my mirror, parting my hair with patience. I remember that moment. I remember Uzor asking for the name of my hairstyle. I remember him saying it like it meant more. And maybe it did. Because he still calls me Goddess, even with other styles or when I wear a wig.

Maybe all it takes is one person to see something in you that you forgot was there. One person to say: “You look like a Goddess”, and mean it, even when you don’t feel like one.

It takes one person to see you. 

And now, I walk a little taller. Not because Uzor calls me Goddess. Because I now see me, Who was already a Goddess, long before anybody named me one.

©DeeOn  

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