The Bite Magazine - Spring/Summer 2026 - Issue 39

bitetheatre affair, discovered only after he left on tour, led to a baby who looked nothing like her husband. What followed was violence, accusations of witchcraft, and a community that turned its back when she dared to leave. She scraped to- gether what she could to flee to America, but securing a visa proved difficult. “It takes me eight times because they don’t want to give visas to Africans.” The quiet breaks when Michelle and Ndidi return with lunch. Ndidi launches into a pitch‑perfect reenactment of a Nollywood scene, switching voices with comic brilliance. The shop howls with laughter, and suddenly her past as a Nollywood actor makes perfect sense. She explains how she’d finally earned her own chair at her old salon before it burned down. “My mother always said, ‘If you have skilful hands, they will always be full of money.’” Vanessa’s hair is now finished, and Aminata wakes her. She apologises for sleeping through the entire appointment, explaining she’s been working night shifts at the hospital for two months. For a moment, they bond over the cha- os of night work until Aminata absentmindedly uses the wrong finishing product and Vanessa snaps back into her prickly self. Aminata is visibly relieved to see her go, and we all know why. Olu, the jewellery hawker (Demmy Ladipo), breezes in, flirting shamelessly with Ndidi, who matches him beat for beat. Radia (Renee Bailey) arrives tomake an appointment, glued to her phone, and Marie stiffens. When Radia final- ly looks up, she calls Marie ‘Kelly’. Upon realising Marie works at the shop, she slips into smug superiority. “Yeah, I’m going to Milan for a few days as part of my internship (at Vanity Fair ), and I want to get my braids done.” Before he leaves, Olu gifts Ndidi something small, prompt- ing teasing from the others. Bea returns, still simmering, brushing off Michelle’s attempts to soothe her guilt before turning her irritation on Aminata. Renee Bailey reenters as a different customer, Sheila, gossiping loudly on her phone, and then James (Demmy Ladipo) arrives, dressed in diamante jeans, a loud shirt, and clutching a tiny potted plant he thinks counts as romance. The stylists roll their eyes in unison. He tries to win Am- inata back with excuses and charm, and somehow suc- ceeds, even coaxing money out of her. “She was just a friend. What you saw was just a hug. Nothing else.” Bea can’t resist insulting him, and James fires back with gossip that turns the air sour. The two older stylists snap at each other, and Aminata storms out. Scene five opens with the shop buzzing again. Bea is braid- ing Laneice’s (Dani Moseley) hair when Aminata bursts in, screaming with joy: she’s won $250 on a scratch card. The room erupts into dancing. Then, in a moment that stuns everyone, Jaja sweeps in wearing a wedding gown, joining the dancing as the women shower her with dollar bills. But her joy slips quickly into confession. She speaks of rising rents, impossible expectations, and the brutal truth behind her marriage for papers. She worries about Marie’s school demanding emigration documents from Senegal that she doesn’t have, about a country that takes from them but recoils when they ask for anything in return. Marie sits, tight-jawed, exhausted by the fear of exposure. Jaja doesn’t notice; she’s spiralling through her grief. When she finally leaves, Aminata brings out a drink so they can toast the woman who built the shop and gave them all a foothold. Scene six jumps to 9 pm, where Miriam finally finishes Jennifer’s hair. The shop cheers as she flexes her aching hands. Jennifer leaves, Ndidi apologises again to Bea, and heads out. Then Eric (Demmy Ladipo), a DVD hawker, ar- rives looking for Marie. Ndidi pops back in for her forgot- ten headphones, just in time to hear the news: Africans are being rounded up at the town hall, and Jaja is among them. Panic detonates. The women bombard Eric with questions as Marie spirals, terrified of being detained herself. They scramble for a plan: call the immigration lawyer, find out where Jaja has been taken, but Marie is shaking, imagining being sent back to a country she barely remembers. And then, unexpectedly, Bea softens. She offers Marie a place to stay, her voice warm and maternal in a way we’ve never seen. The audience exhales as one. As they close the shop, Bea speaks last, her tone gentler than ever. She re- minds Marie that she is loved, that Jaja is proud of her, that the women will fight for her mother and for her. To- morrow they will open the shop again, because this messy, loud, joyful, aching place is theirs. The performances were big, loud, and expressive. Clas- sic African storytelling with a tongue-in-cheek edge, yet the production never slipped into slapstick. It was a true dramedy, impressively capturing the humour and nuances of African hair shops, multigenerational diaspora women, and migrant life. Funny, yes, but also gently reflective. I was especially impressed by the hair and wigs team (Te- vae Humphrey & Cynthia De La Rosa). Watching styles progress in real time, particularly Jennifer’s micro braids, was brilliantly executed. Micro braids don’t take nine- ty minutes, so the illusion was remarkable. I also loved the energetic, choreographed scene transitions (credit to Movement Director Kloé Dean) and Paul Wills’s set de- sign, which genuinely felt like an African hair shop. My one small critique: adding the chaos of blowdrying Afro hair would have given the comedy an extra spark. Given the Lyric Hammersmith Theatre’s reputation for bold, story-driven work and nurturing new talent, the production’s quality, cultural depth, and packed auditori- um came as no surprise. It’s one of my favourite theatres, and I’ve already booked my next show. To check and book What’s On at this theatre, click or visit their website. https://lyric.co.uk/whats-on/shows