I am ONIDIRI

Every day, I step into my workspace with expectation. Not just to work, but to receive the person God is sending my way. And they always come—sometimes with questions, sometimes simply to sit in my chair. What I have learned is this: no one comes by accident.I do not see clients. I see daughters and sons, sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers. I see dreamers carrying silent prayers, unspoken fears, and hidden strength.There is something powerful about hair. The moment it is touched, something shifts. A new style can change the way a woman sees herself, the way she carries her head, the way she remembers who she is. In the middle of braiding, styling, and laughter, stories begin to pour out—stories of healing and struggle, motherhood and family, hope and the future.And somewhere in those moments, I realized something sacred was happening. This chair became more than a chair. It became a safe space. A place where destinies are shaped, where prayers are whispered, where hearts are seen and heard.This is more than hair.This is healing.This is counsel.This is self-esteem restored.Here, identity is renewed and purpose is reshaped.So many stories remain untold. So many voices are still waiting to be heard. Through this work—and through this book—I share that hair is not just a skill or a service. It is a divine calling.Because every crown comes with a story.This is her crown.This is her story.This is her glory.Thank you.

A copy of my book can be found on Amazon with this link

https://a.co/d/7Uyj3w8

https://a.co/d/7Uyj3w8

coconut spiced potato rice with bacon and dill

When the Pot Begins to SpeakThere is something sacred about standing over a pot as it begins to simmer. The oil warms, the spices awaken, and suddenly the kitchen feels like an altar—quiet, expectant, alive with purpose.This rice begins slowly. Cumin and star anise bloom in oil, reminding me that God often releases fragrance before fullness. What looks small in the beginning carries depth when given time. The onions soften, the garlic releases its voice, and the potatoes—once firm and unyielding—begin to yield. Not because they were forced, but because they were surrounded by warmth.I think about how our lives are seasoned the same way. A little heat. A little patience. A careful balance of bitterness and sweetness. Even the unexpected—like bacon bits or a hint of ginger-miso honey—finds its place. Nothing is wasted in the hands of a wise Creator.As the rice absorbs the broth, it teaches me trust. It does not rush. It does not resist. It receives what it needs and becomes whole. And when it is finally ready, it rests—because even after the work is done, rest is still holy.Topped with a sunny-side egg, its golden center breaking open like grace, this meal becomes a reminder: nourishment is not only physical. God feeds us in layers—through food, through waiting, through small moments of care we give to ourselves and others.May every pot you stir remind you that you are being tended to, even when you cannot see it. And may your table always be a place of warmth, gratitude, and quiet worship.