The day I spent ₦48,000 on a wig and my mother's voice still lives in my head rent free

Two years ago I was in Yaba, walking past that row of hair vendors near Tejuosho. One of them held up this bone straight wig and said "Aunty, this one is giving celebrity." I didn't even ask the price. I just entered.

₦48,000. That was my whole December freelance money. I paid. No receipt, no nothing. Just transfer and carry nylon.

Got home, installed it, took 47 selfies. Posted the best one. Then my mother called.

"Chi-Chi, I saw your picture. Is that new hair? How much?"

I lied. Said ₦15k.

She went quiet. Then she said "Okay. Send me the vendor's number. I want to buy one for your cousin's wedding."

My chest. Omi.

I had to fake a number. Then she called it and it was a barbing salon in Surulere. She called me back and said "So you're now lying to your mother over hair?"

I cried. Not because she caught me. Because she wasn't even angry. She just said "The money is yours. But don't let Lagos make you ashamed of your own choices."

That wig is still in my closet. I don't even wear it anymore. But I kept it. As evidence.