Transcription
Means if your wig no fit bounce. No they announce. [laughter]
They had the expensive wigs, the iPhones, the expensive shoes, the fancy bags, the power. They had everything people admired. But what happens when one secret refuses to stay hidden and truth finally comes for the bodies of Okuru?
In the heart of the old land where the evening drums still echoed through the night, there stood a busy university town called Okul. It was a place where students were supposed to learn. But over time, books were forgotten. Slowly, quietly, knowledge stepped aside. Another crown became more important. The crown of beauty with shiny hair, money, status, and attention.
In Okuru, one thing mattered more than any lecturer's wisdom and how smart you were. They cared how you looked, what you wore, what you owned. The shine of long, expensive wigs. Yes, wigs. Long, soft, shiny bone straight wigs that suede like palm trees in the wind. Shoes sparkled under the sun. Fancy bags hung proudly on elbows like trophies. iPhones glowed day and night, lighting faces with messages, pictures, stories, and envy. The ladies who carried these things walked as if the ground itself respected them. People loved them. People envied them. Some people even feared them. Because in Okuru, beauty and attention had become a new god. And those who mastered it became its priest.
Among all the ladies of Okuru, three stood like queens. Their real names were Victoria, Priscilla, and Angelina. But those names no longer match the lives they lived. Somewhere between praise and pride, they dropped them. They became Vicki, Prissy, and Angie. On campus, nobody called them by their old names anymore. Everyone knew them by one title only, the baddies of Okuru.
When they walked, heads turned. When they stopped, eyes followed. Their footsteps sounded like music. Their presence shined. Wigs bounced perfectly. Shoes gleamed. Bags whispered money. iPhones never slept. And with every swish of their hair, wherever they went, their slogan followed them like a drum beat. "If your wig no feet bounce, no they announce." It echoed through hostel corridors. It rolled through lecture halls. It danced through cafeteria lines. Ladies whispered it with pain in their hearts. Young men shouted it in admiration.
To work with the baddies was to stand at the top of campus life. But nobody asked how did they pay for such an expensive life. How did they change wigs, iPhones, shoes, clothes, fancy bags like nothing? Their parents were not rich, yet their lifestyle swallowed more money than several semesters of school fees. Still, nobody dared challenge them. In Okuru, the baddies were not just hot babes. They were a storm, bright on the outside, hiding clouds inside. They ruled Okuru like lionesses guarding their land.
Every morning they would walk into classes, not with books, but with phones in hand and fancy bags sitting proudly on their shoulders. Their hair swayed with confidence. Whispers followed them everywhere. Some ladies hid their natural hair under cheap scarves, ashamed. Others tried to copy them with cheap wigs, fake bags, and cheap phones. But Vicki, Prissy, and Angie never stopped. Their wigs bounced like proud peacocks. Their phones blinked endlessly. Everything about them screamed power. Young men adored them. Some fought to carry their bags. Others argued over who would pay their food bills. Professors shook their heads. Even learning seemed to stop when the bodies walked in. They were not just students. They were a show, a carnival of glamour, making everyone else feel small. And their words followed them everywhere. "If your wig no fit bounce, no they announce," but inside they were proud and mean. They mocked ladies with short hair who couldn't afford expensive long wigs. They laughed at cheap phones, scoffed at one shoes. Anyone bareheaded, poorly dressed or unfashionable became a show. Their insults were laughter-coated stones leaving invisible wounds.
One day, a young lady named Nancy, quiet with no wealthy family, was brave. She had saved for 6 months, skipping food, doing laundry for rich campus students just to buy a small wig and a cheap phone. It was not a fancy wig, but it was the best she could buy. After class one afternoon, she gathered courage. She approached the bodies and whispered, "Sisters, I admire you. Please let me walk with you." Her voice was soft. Her eyes hopeful, but the bodies laughed so loud it drew a crowd. Vicki flipped her wig and sneered. "Not this one you bring." She looked Nancy up and down. "If your wig no feet bounce, no they announce. Even my host cleaner get better phone than this." The students laughed. Nancy froze, her face burning. She ran away leaving her pride, hope and dignity behind while the baddies walked on chanting louder than before. "If your wig no feet bounce know they announce," but the gods of Okuru were watching. Every insult, every chant, every shame was being remembered.
That night while the bad sat in their hostel brushing their wigs and talking about young men, Nancy cried in her small room. She had no family, no friends, only tears. She prayed, "Spirits of my ancestors, if I am nothing because my wig does not bounce, take me away. But if pride is a sin, let the truth about these bodies be shown." The wind shifted, the moon hid behind clouds. An owl hooted three times. It felt like the land heard her prayer.
The bodies had a secret. At night they were not Vicki, Prissy and Angie. They went to clubs in a nearby town to buy wigs that cost a lot. They danced for rich men. Every dawn they returned to campus with new wigs, new perfumes, and new lies. Nobody knew, but Janet, a new campus student, had arrived two weeks ago. She had seen them before, the same ladies from her old town dancing for men with money. "They think wigs can hide shame, but I will show everyone the truth," she whispered to herself. Janet was different. She had no wig, no fancy bag, no iPhone. Her hair was naturally beautiful, her clothes simple. Many laughed at her, but she didn't care. She had seen real life and new glitter can turn to dust. When she saw Nancy get shamed, something grew in her heart. She said, "I will teach them a big lesson. They have a throne of wigs, but I will set fire to it."
That night, she followed the baddies. They changed clothes at the hostel gate, took taxis to the club, thinking nobody could see, but Janet was like a silent hunter. Shadow to shadow, she followed. In the neon lights of the next town, she saw everything. She watched them in the club, dancing for men, laughing as money passed into their hands. Every wig bounce, every fancy bag, every iPhone flash was caught on her small phone. When she came back to campus, she didn't sleep. She made a plan. "Tomorrow the wigs will stop bouncing," she whispered.
The next morning, the sun shone over Okuru. Compass students gathered under Mango trees. Janet clapped her hands loudly. "My fellow students, gather here. There is something you must see." Curiosity was stronger than lectures. One by one, students circled her until the crowd thickened. Even the wig buddies with heads high and wigs bouncing approached. "What nonsense is this?" Angie hissed. Janet smiled. "Truth." She raised her phone and pressed play. The video showed the ladies in the club dancing for money. Wigs weighed. iPhones flashed. Fancy bags lay on the floor. Men stuffed notes into their hands. The crowd gasped. Students murmured. Some jered. Some covered faces in shame. The body's glamour cracked like dropped clay. "Frauds," a young man shouted. "Shameless," a lady's part. "See where the bouncing wigs come from." Vicki, Prissy, and Angie froze. Knees weak. Pride shriveled. For the first time, wigs hung heavy. Their pride broke.
Janet turned to them. "You built a throne of lies. Every wig, every phone, every shoe bought with shame will one day fall." The crowd erupted. Stones of insult flew. The baddies ran, trying to cover their heads. Shame clung deeper than stones. But the city whispered. "The baddies have fallen."
News spread fast in Okul. By evening, everyone knew the secret. The weak baddies, once queens, were now laughed at. Young men who used to carry their bags now mocked them. Ladies they had teased whispered. "If your wig no fit bounce no they announce," turning their slogan into a joke.
At home the shame was heavy. Their parents had been proud thinking their daughters were stars. But when they heard the truth they cried. Some locked their doors. Others ran to the university dragging the ladies home. Victoria's mother tore her clothes in grief. "So this is the price of your long hair and fancy things." Piss's father slapped her so hard the wig flew off. Angelina's uncle spat at her feet, calling her an outcast. Their parents smashed their iPhones, took all the wigs and fancy bags and burned them, saying they could never use such things again.
But shame sticks like smoke. That night, the three sat by the stream crying and angry. "They took our wigs and bags, but not our pride," Victoria said. "Janet has destroyed us," Prissy added. "We must leave or we are finished," Angelina said. So they snuck into their parents' rooms, stole hidden money, and ran away. The campers slept, but the road to the city waited, a road full of promises and curses.
The city welcomed them with noise. Horns honked, markets buzzed, lights flashed, and men's eyes followed them. They rented a tiny one room apartment with 10 other ladies. The ceiling leaked, the wall peeled. Rats sang at night, but the ladies did not care. They saved every coin for wigs, iPhones, and fancy bags. Within weeks, their heads again held crowns of weeks. Neighbors mocked them. "These ones were st but by wigs though," mocked the ladies chanted proudly. "If your wig no fit bounce no they announce," but wigs and bags need money to keep looking rich. They went deeper into nightclubs dancing for men with fat pockets. They traded laughter, touch and dignity for cash. With the money, they bought expensive, longer, silkier, glossier wigs, iPhones, and fancy bags. The city clapped for them in daylight, but the spirits of the night watch silently.
One evening, they heard of a rich Alhaji looking for entertainment. He wanted three ladies and would pay a fortune. The wig buddies saw their chance. "We can buy wigs that sweep the ground," Vickiy's eyes glistened. "We can be queens again," Pissy cheered. "This alhaji will change our destiny," Angie said. They dressed like goddesses that night. Wigs glowing, dresses tight. They entered the hotel. Alhaji sat like a king, rings sparkling, belly round. He welcomed them with laughter and promises. The night was long. They gave him laughter, songs, and pleasures. By dawn he left, leaving a mountain of cash on the table. They screamed with joy, "We are reborn."
The next day, they bought the newest wigs, luxurious, bouncing high. Even the wind clapped in MV latest iPhones and fancy bags. They paraded through the city, flaunting their glory. Once again, they felt unstoppable.
But three moons later, the first sign appeared. Angie woke with an itch on her scalp. She scratched, but it grew worse. By morning, worms crawled under her wig, falling on her shoulders. She screamed until neighbors gathered. "Evil spirits," someone shouted. "Wig from the grave!" another cried. Vicki and Prissy rushed to comfort her, but horror sees them when they checked themselves. Maggots were crawling under their wigs, too. They ripped off the wigs, but the worm stayed on their skin. A foul smell rose, chasing even the bravest neighbor away. No doctor could help. Priests prayed. Prophets shouted. Herist boiled roots. Nothing worked. The city mocked them. "See the wig baddies. Their wigs no longer bounce. Their slogan should be, 'If your wig feet crawl, no day at all.'"
They sold their precious wigs, iPhones, shoes, and bags to pay for cures. But the worms remained. Their beauty roted. Their glory melted. The cause of vanity had come to collect its price. The wig bodies became wanderers of shame. No hostel would house them. Neighbors avoided them. People sang mocking songs. Adults spat in disgust. Their once proud faces hid undertone scarves. Their once bouncing wigs were gone, replaced by bald heads marked with sauce. They remembered Nancy, the lady they mocked, and their hearts twisted with regret. They remembered Janet, whose truth had unmasked them. But saying sorry was too late, for pride had long hardened their hearts.
They gathered secretly at the old city bridge. The river flowed like sorrow. They sat in silence, worms crawling, smell heavy. "We traded our dignity for wigs, iPhones, and fancy bags," Vicki wept. "We mocked others, but now the world mocks us," Preimon. "Maybe the gods have turned our slogan against us," Angie whispered. And as they sat there, broken, a deep voice rose from the river, deep ancient, carrying the power of the ancestors. "Women of vanity," the voice thundered. "You crowned your heads with lies. You woripped wigs, iPhones, clothes, shoes, and bags instead of wisdom. And so your beauty has become [music] worms. Until the day you learn humility, your curse shall remain." They trembled, for they knew the truth. They were no longer queens of luxurious life. They were prisoners of pride.
The baddies could no longer walk in by day. They became creatures of the night, covering their heads with scarves. They searched for healers who would not chase them away. They went to prophets who sprinkled oil that burned their source, herbalists who buried them in mud, and doctors who shook their heads in pity. Yet the worms remained. Word of their trouble spread to their home villages. Parents who once loved them now locked gates in fear. "We have no daughters," they said. The ladies once adored were now cursed wanderers.
In desperation, they decided to go on a pilgrimage. Barefoot, they walked to sacred shrines carrying goats and chickens as gifts. But when they knelt before the priest, the answer was always the same. "The gods are not blind. What you plant is what you will harvest. No gift can wash away pride unless humility is learned." Their offerings roted, the worms multiplied, the road of shame stretched endlessly before them.
Despite their torment, the baddies refused to surrender fully. Their pride was stubborn. They wrapped headscarves tightly to hide their souls and tried to mix with people again. They begged for work, but nobody trusted them. They tried to rent rooms, but landlords chased them away. So they turned to what they knew, lying. They stole wigs from the market, put them on their saw heads, and went to nightclubs again. Under dim lights, they thought the world could not see the maggots that wriggled beneath. Men still came, blinded by desire. But the closer the men came, the quicker they pulled away. "Abomination," one shouted. "Rotten witches," another cried. The wig baddies were thrown out like dirty dogs. Their wigs were ripped, trampled, and burned. Once more, they sat in the dirt, their pride gone.
Far away in her hostel, Nancy dreamed a strange dream. She saw herself in a hole of mirrors. Each mirror reflected not her face, but the weak body's faces, crying, begging, crawling with worms. The voice whispered. "You prayed for justice and justice came. But mercy still waits. Will he give it?" Nancy woke scared. Her heart was troubled. Though the baddies had humiliated her, she did not feel joy at their suffering. She felt pity. She prayed, "Spirits of my ancestors, teach them humility. If they are sorry, let their curse end." Unseen by her, the wind carried her prayer across the city to the weak bodies. A faint comed them, though they did not know why.
Janet too watched from afar. She had exposed their lies and initially smiled at their downfall. But as days turned to weeks, her smile faded. She saw them crawling like shadows, pride broken. "I wanted to shame them," she confessed to herself. "But I did not wish for their destruction." Her conscience bit her. Though she had unveiled their sins, she realized she too carried pride. "Perhaps I too must learn humility," she whispered. Thus both Nancy and Janet began to carry seeds of compassion while the weak baddies swallowed in the mud of their arrogance.
The curse had not only their bodies but their bellies. Hunger followed them like a hyena. With no work, no wigs, no iPhones, no fancy bags, their money disappeared. They scavenged dust bins, fought straight dogs for scraps, drank rain water to survive. Once a lady passed by with a newborn straight wig, iPhone in hand, fancy bag swinging. Their hearts twisted with envy. "If your wig no feet bounce, no announce," Vicki muttered weekly. But now the slogan sounded like a sad song. A bouncing wig was useless on a head full of worms. People laughed at them.
One night, too weak to walk further, they collapsed beside the river that flowed through the city. The moon shone on the water, and in the ripples appeared the faces of women who had lived before, queens and mothers who were wisdom, not weeks. The river spoke. "Your beauty was a gift, but you made it a weapon. You mocked the poor, tricked the innocent, and loved false crowns. Now you wear the crown of worms. If you want freedom, wash not your heads, but your hearts." The bodies cried. The river's words pierced their souls. Yet pride still lingered, but a little humility began to grow.
The next day, a small crowd found them lying by the riverbank. They laughed, singing jokes about bouncing wigs. But one gentle soul stepped closer and offered roasted yam. "Take aunties," the voice said. The body stared, shocked. No one had shown them kindness in months. They took the food with shaking hands. For the first time, they bowed their heads in thanks. Tears mixed with the worms on their cheeks. It was a small act, but it broke the hard rock of their pride. Something began to shift. The first sign of humility.
Whispers spread through Okuru that the bodies were broken. Some said they had died. Others said they had become beggars. But one day, everyone was shocked. Victoria, Priscilla, and Angelina returned barefoot, bald with saws on their heads. They walked straight into Okour University and knelt. Compass students gathered expecting arrogance. But instead, the ladies cried aloud. "We were wrong. We mocked you. We woripped wigs, iPhones, shoes, and fancy bags instead of wisdom. Forgive us." Gas filled the air. Some spat in anger, others whispered in pity. Nancy stepped forward, tears in her eyes. "Stand," she said softly. "The curse has humbled you. If your hearts are truly changed, let us not hurt you more." Her words touched the crowd. For the first time, mercy outweighed mockery.
At Nancy's request, the elders of Okuru gathered. They listened to the bad's confession. After a long silence, the oldest elder spoke. "Pride was your poison and shame your cure. But even poison can give way to healing if the lesson is learned." The ladies were led to the river. They were stripped of rags and washed with herbs. The elders prayed, calling on the spirits of ancestors to cleanse them. As the sun rose, the worms fell into the water and dissolved. The stench faded. Their souls began to close. Though their heads were bald, their hearts felt light. The curse was lifting.
When they came out of the river, the people of Okuru gasped. Not because their beauty returned, but because humility shone brighter than any wig, iPhone or fancy bag. The wig baddies were no more. They were simply Victoria, Priscilla, and Angelina again, daughters, sisters, and women reborn. They stood before the crowd and declared, "Our new crown is wisdom, not weeks. Our new slogan is this. If your heart no feet shine, no they combine." The crowd cheered. Even in their brokenness, the ladies had found a new strength. The strength of truth.
No longer chasing wigs, iPhones, shoes, or fancy bags, the ladies began to serve. They taught young women how to braid natural hair, care for their scalps without shame, and value dignity over vanity. They shared their story in host, reminding students "Do not mock others for what they lack. Pride eats faster than hunger." Slowly respect returned. Not the shallow kind of "look at my wig" respect, but deep respect for changed hearts.
Janet who had exposed them spoke before the campus students. She confessed, "I exposed their lies, but I too had pride. I wanted victory, not justice. Now I see we must correct with love not mockery." Her humility touched many. Even the baddies embraced her thanking her for forcing them to face the truth.
As for Nancy, the lady once mocked for her small wig. Her kindness became her crown. She became the true queen of Akuru. Elders blessed her. "You had no fancy wig, no expensive phone, but your heart was straight. You are the true queen." Opportunities open for her. Scholarships, friendship, and honor. Humility always plants seeds that grow at the right time.
The story of the bad spread across towns. Elders used it to teach the younger generation. "Do not measure a woman by her wig, iPhone, shoes, or fancy bag. Measure by the strength of her heart." And whenever people fought over wigs in the market, someone would whisper. "Remember the baddies?" And silence would follow like rain after thunder.
In the end, Victoria, Priscilla, and Angelina walked quietly through Okoro, no longer drawing eyes with bouncing wigs, shiny phones, expensive shoes, or swinging fancy bags. People still recognize them. Their story stayed on campus like a shadow and a warning. Everyone remembered how wigs once ruled their lives. How phones, clothes, shoes, and bags became crowns and how pride pushed them into darkness. No one needed to explain the lesson anymore. Okuru itself had learned it. The truth remained. It was never the wig, the phone, expensive shoes, or the fancy bag that gave value. It was the heart. >> [bell]