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Hello, my fellow Békéès. It’s so good to have you here. Today, I’m taking you on a journey, and I hope you feel even a fraction of what I feel while waiting for your favorite hair oil to become the bottle that eventually reaches your hands.
People think making hair oil begins when I pour oils into a bottle.
No.
It begins with waiting.
The kind of waiting that feels like everything could come to an end with a snap.
One little mistake and everything is gone.
Just like that.
A little rain.
A little moisture.
One overlooked detail.
Thousands of naira… wasted.
Just like that.
The day I decide I’m ready to harvest my herbs always begins the same way. I wake up early with a strong urge to go back to bed. I don’t. Instead, I walk into my garden.
Lemongrass comes first because it’s the easiest to rinse, cut, and spread out to dry.
Then comes the neem.
I climb onto a ladder, carefully clipping the branches as they fall softly to the ground, already imagining them becoming a bottle of Békéè Ayurvedic Hair Oil.
“How cool,” I think to myself, staring in awe.
Then fear interrupts.
What if I leave them outside and it rains?
Fear for a future that may never happen has always been one of my favorite routes of thought.
So I answer myself.
What will be, will be.
Que sera, sera.
I wash the neem leaves and lay them beneath the sun, trusting the drying process to begin.
Then comes moringa.
The VIP of the day.
Sometimes I have to source it outside my garden, which makes me look like a moringa thief.
I’m not, by the way.
I search for it, peel it, wash it, and lay it out beside the others.
It’s much harder than I’m making it sound.
But when everything is finally arranged beautifully under the sun, I feel something quietly settle inside me.
Well done, I whisper to myself, patting my own back before finally taking myself to bed.
A sharp wind slams against my window.
My herbs!
I jump out of bed and run outside, convinced I’ve lost everything.
They’re gone.
For one terrifying second, my heart sinks.
Then I realize something beautiful.
My siblings had already brought them inside.
It is such a blessing to be surrounded by people who quietly protect your dream.
People who want you to grow.
People who celebrate your future before you’ve even arrived there.
I remember standing there, still breathing hard from running, feeling overwhelmingly grateful.
Sometimes love looks like someone saving your herbs before the rain arrives.
Then life happens.
The weeks stretch on.
Promises fail.
Heartbreak passes through.
Hospital visits happen.
Some days I barely have energy.
Other days I pour myself into branding, planning, researching, and dreaming about where Békéè could go next.
In between all of that, I keep flipping the herbs.
Turning them.
Watching them.
Making sure they’re drying exactly as they should.
Waiting becomes part of my routine.
Once the herbs are finally dry, the infusion begins.
This is my favorite part.
I marry those dried herbs with my other botanicals and oils.
Coconut oil.
Olive oil.
Palm kernel oil.
Fenugreek.
Cloves.
Black seed.
Watching them come together is almost magical.
The jar looks beautiful.
But beauty doesn’t silence fear.
Instead, new questions arrive.
Were the herbs dry enough?
Is there hidden moisture?
Were the cloves completely dry?
Will this batch turn out well?
Will anyone buy it?
That’s usually when I pause.
“God,” I pray, “calm my fears and anxiety. You will not allow me to fail. Guide me with Your righteous right hand.”
Maybe this is the hardest wait of all.
Not because nothing is happening.
But because everything is happening where you can’t yet see it.
Then my daily ritual begins.
Every day, I check the jars.
I smell them.
I check the lids.
I check everything.
Every three or four days, I gently turn the oil and watch its color deepen.
For three weeks, I witness transformation that can’t be rushed.
The herbs slowly surrender themselves to the oils.
The oils slowly become Békéè.
It’s fascinating.
Almost sacred.
That’s when I realized something.
Waiting isn’t wasted time.
Waiting is creation time.
It’s where quality is built.
It’s where care becomes visible.
It’s where ordinary ingredients become something someone will trust enough to massage into their scalp.
So don’t sell yourself short because you’re in a waiting season.
Sometimes the wait is exactly where something beautiful is being made.
And I promise you,
This wait is worth it.
Every bottle begins long before it reaches your hands.
It begins with herbs, patience, late nights, research, and the belief that healthy hair deserves intentional care.
Thank you for being part of this journey.
With love,
Onyinyechi
