the hair-day story
Crown Day
It's hair day. Warm oil, the comb, a song Mum's been humming since before your child was born. There's the bit that pulls — and the bit where she says “hold on for me.” And then: the mirror. The moment they see what was being built the whole time. Not “that looks nice.” A crown. The kind you grow.
watch the mirror ↺
after this book, they…
✶ sits through the comb like royalty
✶ stares at the mirror grinning
✶ asks for hair day
scroll — the book turns its own pages
Saturday morning came in slow and golden, the way it always did in Ayo's house.
No alarm. No rushing. Just the sun leaning through the curtains like it had nowhere else to be.
Ayo knew what day it was before her feet touched the floor.
She could already hear Mum in the other room, humming.
page one
Then came the comb. Not the wide one — the other one.
Ayo squeezed her eyes tighter. Her fingers found the edge of the chair and held on.
“I know,” said Mum, her voice low and steady. “I know it pulls. Hold on for me.”
“Your hair is holding on to everything it's been through. That's why we're gentle when we ask it to let go.”
the comb
And then Ayo saw her.
Not in the room. In the mirror.
A woman — no, a queen — sitting on red earth under a sky that didn't end. Gold on her wrists. Her fingers moved through hair like music.
She looked up. Right at Ayo.
And she smiled — wide and warm and proud. Like a queen looking at another queen.
the world between
Every page after this one has your child in it.
Put your child in it
drawn from your photo →
made theirs, page by page
The hero looks like your child — because it is your child
their name
on the cover, in the story, said out loud
their face & hair
skin tone, hairstyle, the lot — from your photo
their people
who walks beside them: Dad, Mum, Grandma…
their heritage
the food, the fabric, the world between