R-A-N-T - By Cabella

Really? Randomly experimenting on the multitude of ways to make my hair conform are no more my priority. Residing in the forefront of my brain are the pain and turture of relaxer creams. Relaxation was far from my mind when those jars popped open.

Attitude. Agonizing over whether my hair is straight or soft or curly enough is now in the past. Admittedly it took me years to shake off those thoughts. Affectionately loving my hair. And the beauty of it, and me, I no more doubt.

No way! No need to interrogate me about my hair choices. Neither you nor I have it all figured out. "Nice weave" I'll say to you and to me you'll say "Nice Fro". Now we can all have a nice day!

Time out. Trust me, I take a step back from all the stuff out there. To just care for me and my hair. Twists will do for now. Two weeks later, I'll try another ... or maybe the same hairstyle. This is no contest Darling! Teach yourself to chill and just simply do you.


Cabella

First Treasure by Cabella

I stroll over to the bed and smile at my Friend's wedding shoes and handbag. There are a few things scattered around the handbag: handkerchief, lip gloss, sample size perfume and a small card. I pick up the card and open it. I sit on the chair in the corner and smile.

Ogechi and I were assigned to carry out a transformation project at a small company. We met all the employees except one: Hamza. When Hamza was introduced to us, he shook our hands, briefly muttered something and walked away abruptly. I looked at Ogechi and arched an eye brow. Ogechi rolled her eyes and shook her head.

We spent time with the employees at their desks, shadowed them on their jobs and ate with them at their cafeteria. But our interactions with Hamza were always so awkward. One lunch time, Hamza came to our table and asked if he could sit down. We said yes and he did. He ate his lunch without saying a word to us. When he was done, he got up, looked at us, wished us a good day and left. I was sure he was playing a psycological game with us to wear us out and frustrate our work.

Hamza was a man of no words. So imagine our shock when he said "I respect that you keep your hair natural." Ogechi choked on her water and I fainted! Well ... Ogechi did choke on her water. We were having after work drinks and somehow got into the topic of hair. I am not sure how it got so heated but it did. Ogechi and I were the natural hair advocates and everyone else was not. Eyes were blazing, tempers were on the brink of exploding and voices were raised high. We were out-numbered and unless one of us was Rambo, it did not look like we would escape alive. Then Hamza took a sip of his drink and said "I respect that you keep your hair natural". That was when I fainted. 

I woke up in the cab taking us home. "What Hamza said was nice" I said to Ogechi. She hissed. "I am not sure why he behaves as if he is too much. He does not talk to anyone. Very snobbish" she finished. I thought about it. "Maybe you make him nervous" I suggested with a grin. "Me? Is it not two of us that go there? I beg, he is a snob!" Ogechi said as she turned to look out her window. I stared at the back of her head for a while. "You like him o!" I squealed. "Ogechi likes Hamza!" I started to sing. The cab driver let out a loud "Ha!" Ogechi glared at me but offered no denial. 

I had guessed there was something up when Ogechi started wearing lip gloss to work after we started the project. She made her hair once a month but now, it was every two weeks. She said she was on a "hair growth mission". I did not argue because I could not figure out why she was making all these changes. Now it was clear: my friend had a crush on Hamza. And Hamza's behaviour gave no indication that he was interested.

Six months had gone by and we were packing up to leave the small office we had been given for the project. Lunch was full of "thank yous" and "we'll miss you" from the staff we had worked with and grown to like. As always, Hamza was there and said nothing. As we packed up our laptops and other equipment, Hamza walked in. He nodded at me and walked over to Ogechi and handed her a card. She opened it and kept her head down for a while. She looked up at Hamza with the biggest smile I had ever seen on her face and said "Yes". I thought Homeboy did not just ask her to marry him! "I will not be able to go home and change" Ogechi said. Hamza smiled and said "You don't need to change. You are perfect as you are."

Eighteen months later, and for the first time, I see the card Hamza gave Ogechi that day. Ogechi walks out of the bathroom to put on her wedding dress. She has tiny diamond and silver pins in her hair and when she moves, they glitter. She looks perfect. I get up to help her into her dress. I pick up the card and hand it to her. She smiles exactly as big and as brightly as she did the day she first got it. "You kept it" I say. Ogechi runs her fingers over the card gently and holds it to her chest. "Yes I did" she answers.

This is what the card says:
Ogechi
You take my breath away
When you smile
You disarm me
Your confidence inspires me
And I see beauty in your hair
Please have dinner with me tonight
Adoringly, 
Hamza




Cabella

A Gift - By Cabella

My friend Ivie was laughing so hard tears streamed down her face. She is one person who laughs well at my jokes. I smiled and leaned over to hug her. Hospital beds can be so awkward for intimate moments. “Please get me my laptop” Ivie requested. I got her laptop and she shuffled to one side of the bed so that I could sit properly. She began to show me pictures of hairstyles. There must have been about fifty of them

When she was done I put the laptop away and looked at her. She had shown me pictures of herself with twist-outs and braid-outs. “Ivie, I thought we were going to pick out a wig?” I asked. “I know.” She started “I want my hair back and since that is not happening I want a wig that captures the way my hair was.” How do you tell someone fighting cancer that they are asking for too much? Surely two requests: to survive cancer and a wig are not too much.

Ivie had told us about her cancer after it was detected the second time. The first time it was detected she traveled and told us she was taking some time off. Taking time off from Lagos stress needed no further explanation. She was gone for a year. By the time she came back, she had lost some weight, cut her hair and seemed quite refreshed. 

Life went back to normal for Ivie and for a few years she was well.  Ivie called her close friends to her parents’ house in G.R.A Ikeja one weekend and told us she had cancer, again. Again? I remember staring at her and thinking that she was too nice, too kind, and too righteous to have cancer ... again. She did her best to give us the “don’t worry, I have fought this before and I will fight it again” speech. She was not convincing.

“The Ivie Cheer-leading Squad (TICS)” is what we called ourselves. We read all we could about the cancer our friend had. We took turns calling and visiting her daily.  Whatever she needed, we made sure she got it. Now she wanted a wig similar to her hair before her hair fell out because of treatment. “I am sure we can find something close enough to your hair Ivie” I reassured her even though I did not believe it.

I sent an email to TICS regarding Ivie’s request and waited to hear back. “I can donate my hair” one of the TICS wrote back. I had not even considered that! Three of us had long enough natural hair and donating our hair was a perfect idea.  The other members of TICS agreed to cut their hair in support. We searched for a company that makes human hair wigs for cancer patients. They had never done an “African-American” human hair wig before and they were excited too. We found out we needed a minimum of ten inches of hair. Some of us had to grow our hair some more before cutting.  On and on it went;  getting information, arranging how we would cut and send the hair to the wig maker, raising money for the wig because it was going to be a custom made order. We were excited and anxious. We prayed daily that our friend would not die but would recover and soon grow her own hair.

Courtesy: http://www.takepart.com/article/2011/09/01/cancer-survivor

 

Not all of us could present Ivie her wig. The other members of TICS dialed in via Skype. Ivie was awestruck. She could not say a word. We cried and laughed as she put on the wig. The wig fit her well. “Thank you” she whispered barely loud enough for us to hear. 

That was five years ago. Members of TICS hold a memorial service for Ivie every year. I am not sure how long it will last. Today only half of us are here. We share memories and look at pictures and pray for other women battling cancer. And we cut our natural hair every other year and send to the company that made Ivie’s wig. Surely two requests: to survive cancer and a wig are not too much to ask.

**Author’s Note: Characters and events are fictional. Any resemblance to actual characters or events is purely coincidence**

Cabella

Hair Nightmare - By Cabella

I fell out of bed because my phone alarm would not shut up even though I kept pressing the stop button. I spent about ten seconds on the floor cursing the phone. When I was done, I looked at the time. It was 8AM! I was late for work. I bumped my head on the chest of drawers as I tried to get up. Why was it so close? I paused, muttering to myself a little prayer "Oh God, please don't let it be one of 'those' Thursdays." Then like a bullet I got ready for work in record time - 30minutes. Don't worry I took my bath.

I had missed the company bus so it was going to be taxi today. I walked quickly to the main road to flag down a taxi. Finally one stopped and I negotiated the fare and got in. Before driving off, the driver asked "Madam shebi everything is okay?" I guess he had seen the lump on my head. "I am late for work" I answered as I dialed my work to say I was running late. "At least traffic would have cleared by now since it is 8:45AM" I consoled myself.

We hit Third Mainland bridge and the enemies of progress had set up camp! Gridlock. Go-slow. No movement. I wanted to cry. This could not be happening. I really wanted to cry. I honestly contemplated getting out of the taxi and taking a motorcycle. I reasoned that I should just stay in the taxi patiently since I had called work to say I was running late. Afterall, the bridge may be free in front. I was convinced so I relaxed a bit. I soon fell asleep.

Source: http://www.ugometrics.com/2011/09/new-wave-of-persistent-traffic-on-3rd.html

Traffic was flowing better when I woke up: not as fast as I would have preferred but it was moving. I noticed people looking and grinning at me as they drove by. I had been drooling as I slept so I embarrasingly wiped my mouth and face. Then I pressed the bump on my head hoping that the swelling would not be so noticeable. Even Mr. Taxi Driver kept glancing at me through the mirror. "Oga wetin?" I asked him. He looked away and kept driving.

I more or less jumped out of the taxi when I got to work. 11:15AM. Gosh! I was annoyed but I could not say with whom. I threw the money at the taxi driver and yelled "Thank you!" as I ran into the building. I had a presentation at 11:30AM so I did not have time to saunter in. I ran into my office with my colleague hot on my heels. "I know I am late. I am sorry. Thank God we finished and practised this presentation last night" I blurted as I got my laptop ready. "Cabella ..." my colleague started  but I cut him off "It is okay I will not be flustered. Let me just get to the meeting room and I'll be okay." My colleague stepped in front of me and blocked my way. "You are not going anywhere like this" he said sternly. He led me to the bathroom mirror in my office. I screamed! My hair was still in plaits tucked inside my hair net! I had left home like this? How?

I screamed again and I fell out of bed because my phone alarm would not shut up even though I kept pressing the stop button. I spent about ten seconds on the floor ... thank God it was only a nightmare!

Cabella

Church Membership Required - By Cabella

One Saturday a month, my Mommy and I go to the market together. She buys things for the house and I sneak in some items that I don't want to pay for myself. It is a great mother-daughter time in the hot, crowded, busy and sometimes smelly market. I cherish these Saturdays with Mommy.

I woke up because my Mommy called me to say she was waiting for me outside. I had overslept. I brushed my teeth, put on some "home clothes", packed my hair up in an afro puff and ran outside. No earrings and no make-up. On this particular Saturday, our rice customer had traveled and she had her cousin in charge of her shop. Madam Cousin informed us enthusiastically that our customer had traveled for summer. Rice retailing must be lucrative.

Painting from : http://www.artseaprovence.com/tag/market-in-nigeria/

Painting from : http://www.artseaprovence.com/tag/market-in-nigeria/

 Madam Cousin was quite an enthusiastic lady, I thought, as she gave my Mommy and I more attention than our customer usually does. I sat down for the usual pricing (bargaining) that buyers and sellers in Nigerian markets do. Mommy was reaching into her bag to count the money to pay for her purchase when her phone rang. She excused herself leaving me with Madam Cousin. "So you attend Deeper Life?" asked Madam Cousin. I was not sure she was talking to me so I looked around before answering. "Ehn?"

"It makes me so happy when I see young women like you taking their spiritual lives seriously and embracing modesty" she continued as she sort of stroked my arm. My natural hair, home clothes, no make up and earings were tell tale signs of my church affiliation. "I want my Mommy!" I muttered under my breath. She was still staring and smiling at me. For some reason, I felt that telling her my look of the day was as a result of over-sleeping and not deep Christian values would disappoint her. So I smiled back. 

Mommy returned in time to deliver me. I jumped off the chair and turned in the direction of escape (which really was anywhere away from Madam Cousin). Mommy was startled by the way I leaped off the chair and gave me a questioning look. I did not say anything. Payment was made and our purchases were given to us. As we left, Madam Cousin asked me "Will you be at the joint service at DLCC this weekend?" Really?! I turned to her and answered politely "Unfortunately I will not be able to attend. God bless Madam."
"What was she asking you?" Mommy asked me as we drove home. "Nothing. Minor case of mistaken church membership" I responded.

Cabella

Loving your hair begins at home - By Cabella

Once in a while I go to a hair salon to get my hair twisted or braided or styled. I don't do this often because it can be a hassle most of the times. So I prep my hair at home before embarking on the salon journey.

On one of those salon visit days, while sitting and getting my hair twisted, a little girl came in with her Mommy. The little girl was about eight years old. She waited patiently as her Mommy talked with the Salon Manager and then the Hairdresser. The Hairdresser got excited when she saw the little girl - I think she is a regular customer. I was beginning to think the little child was some sort of celebrity. I began to run through the child actors I had seen in my beloved Nollywood movies. I could not place her face. Ah music videos! Nothing. Never-the-less, I kept staring at the child 'codedly' through the mirror.

I could not believe my good fortune when the Hairdresser placed the little girl in the styling chair next to me. I too got kind of thrilled. I cannot say why. I was checking her out with side eye. She looked at me. Busted! I smiled. She smiled and said "Good afternoon Ma". And she is polite too! "Good afternoon my dear" I responded, realizing that I sounded older than my age. I smiled awkwardly and faced my front.

The little girl's Hairdresser came back and let down the child's hair. I almost choked on the juice I was drinking. The Hairdresser had let down lovely dredlocs that spiralled down to rest just below her shoulders. When the child had come in I thought that she had braids that had been wrapped into a bun. I coughed a few times until my Hairdresser swiftly moved me forward and hit my back twice. "Madam sofly o" she said as she gave me one last blow on the back. I glared at her, eyed her through the mirror and muttered "Break my back o".

The little girl had come in to get her locs re-twisted and palm rolled. She sat patiently and sipped on her canned Milo drink. I kept glancing at her as the Hairdresser worked on her hair. Part of me was checking to make sure the Hairdresser did not do anything "unacceptable" to the child's hair and the other part was just looking in admiration.

The little girl's locs were a little longer than this

That was the first time I was sad to leave the salon. When my hair was done, I turned to my Hairdresser and asked "Now now?" She did not even answer me. Rude girl! *Hiss* I paid for my hair and turned towards the little girl. I hesitated for a bit before walking up to her. "You have really lovely hair." I told her. I wanted her to be confident about that. "I know" she answered with the biggest smile ever. "Oh? How do you know?" I asked the child, amused and curious. She took a sip of her canned Milo drink, looked at me from the top of her straw and said "My Mommy and Daddy told me". Now what do you say after that?

Cabella

Church membership required - By Cabella

One Saturday a month, my Mommy and I go to the market together. She buys things for the house and I sneak in some items that I don't want to pay for myself. It is a great mother-daughter time in the hot, crowded, busy and sometimes smelly market. I cherish these Saturdays with Mommy.

I woke up because my Mommy called me to say she was waiting for me outside. I had overslept. I brushed my teeth, put on some "home clothes", packed my hair up in an afro puff and ran outside. No earrings and no make-up. On this particular Saturday, our rice customer had traveled and she had her cousin in charge of her shop. Madam Cousin informed us enthusiastically that our customer had traveled for summer. Rice retailing must be lucrative.

Painting from : http://www.artseaprovence.com/tag/market-in-nigeria/

 Madam Cousin was quite an enthusiastic lady, I thought, as she gave my Mommy and I more attention than our customer usually does. I sat down for the usual pricing (bargaining) that buyers and sellers in Nigerian markets do. Mommy was reaching into her bag to count the money to pay for her purchase when her phone rang. She excused herself leaving me with Madam Cousin. "So you attend Deeper Life?" asked Madam Cousin. I was not sure she was talking to me so I looked around before answering. "Ehn?"

"It makes me so happy when I see young women like you taking their spiritual lives seriously and embracing modesty" she continued as she sort of stroked my arm. My natural hair, home clothes, no make up and earings were tell tale signs of my church affiliation. "I want my Mommy!" I muttered under my breath. She was still staring and smiling at me. For some reason, I felt that telling her my look of the day was as a result of over-sleeping and not deep Christian values would disappoint her. So I smiled back. 

Mommy returned in time to deliver me. I jumped off the chair and turned in the direction of escape (which really was anywhere away from Madam Cousin). Mommy was startled by the way I leaped off the chair and gave me a questioning look. I did not say anything. Payment was made and our purchases were given to us. As we left, Madam Cousin asked me "Will you be at the joint service at DLCC this weekend?" Really?! I turned to her and answered politely "Unfortunately I will not be able to attend. God bless Madam."
"What was she asking you?" Mommy asked me as we drove home. "Nothing. Minor case of mistaken church membership" I responded.

Cabella

Don't diss the Fro - By Cabella

My dear friend, Jumai, invited me to join her, her husband, and his cousin for ice-cream and a movie. Jumai is not subtle so she said "Hubby's cousin is single and wants to get married so ..." and she went on to list his good qualities and how funny he is. Free ice-cream and a free movie with the man of Jumai's dreams for me is an offer that I could not refuse.

I was not sure how to carry my hair. I was torn between the two styles below: Free Afro or Afro-puff.

Finally I decided to go with the Free Afro style with a small hair pin at the side to hold back my hair a bit. I arrived at the ice-cream place and made my way to where my friends were sitting. Hugs for Jumai and her hubby and a warm handshake for the cousin (let's call him U.J). Very nice looking young man. "Jumai don try this time" I thought. We sat down and started chatting about stuff and getting to know each other.

We were all enjoying ourselves when U.J. turned to me and said "You know when you came in I thought 'Whoa to the Fro'!" We all chuckled and I took it as a compliment. U.J. continued. "I said to myself I better be nice to this lady. She may have hidden a knife in that Afro to stab me with if she does not like me!" I think U.J. was the only one who laughed. Jumai and her husband looked at me, half smiling and half terrified. I was not smiling. But Mr. U.J. The Comedian was on a roll. "We better sit in the last row for the movie so that Cabella's hair does not block the other people in the cinema." he said slapping the table and laughing louder.

 All I could hear was his I-am-so-funny-I-should-be-a-Comedian laugh. Jumai's husband tried to change the topic but U.J. was not having it. He reeled off another Afro joke and that was when I decided e don do. "Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom before we leave" I said as I frowned at everyone on the table. Jumai follwed me. "I am so sorry" she begged. "I hope your husband is talking to him o because ..." Jumai interrupted me "I know, I know. Sorry I beg. Just chill please and still come to the movie. Maybe he is nervous." I eyed Jumai.

By the time we got out of the bathroom, Jumai's husband and U.J. were waiting at the door to leave. Jumai's husband suggested I go with U.J. in his car. I shook my head but U.J. did not see me.  "Which way are we heading?" U.J. asked. "That way" I said pointing in the direction away from the cinema. "It is the Idiot's exit".

Cabella

It burns! It burns! - By Cabella

Aunty Baby (we call her Aunty B) came to visit my Mommy. I went to visit my Mommy too. I entered the house and after the pleasantries sat down with the ladies for some girl chatter. We talked about food (which I eat and love to cook), clothes (which I enjoy but hate to buy), men (of which I want one to marry) and of course hair (which I have a lot of and it is natural). My Mommy reminded Aunty B that I have not relaxed my hair in over 10 years. Aunty B seemed interested for the first time. Before now we had talked about natural hair and her response had always been constant and consistent: it ain't happening on MY head.

So when she started asking me questions about natural hair, naturally I was intrigued. "Aunty B how far? You never showed interest before" I chided. Aunty B said "You know as one grows older, one starts to look for ways to reduce stress" I guess relaxing one's hair falls under stress for my darling Aunty. I was not convinced though. My spidey senses were tingling and I sensed there was a story behind her sudden interest. I  prodded some more. "What happened? Are you thinking of cutting your hair? Shebi you just re-touched it?"

My Aunty hemmed and sighed. "My dear I just re-touched o" and then she sighed again. She was using this high pitched feel-sorry-for-me tone to talk. I had to talk to myself not to laugh. I had not even heard the story yet and I was amused! "Haba! What happened Aunty B?" I asked. Everyone likes a good story abi?

My Aunty B proceeded to narrate how she used a new relaxer that she heard is not so harsh on the hair. "They said it does not burn" Aunty informed me. She decided to do self application at home. She applied the cream and did some chores around the house. I could see where this story was going to end and it was not going to be a happy one! She continued. "Honestly I did not feel anything like discomfort or my hair peppering me. I had even forgotten that I had the thing in my hair and by the time I washed my hair ehn! The back of my hair fell out!"   Poor Aunty B ran to the nearest salon for help! After doing all they could, the Owner offered her some advice. "Madam, e be like say you go wait like 6 months before you relax this hair again o. Make e grow small". 

I imagine this is how her hair looks at the back

I was in shock. Aunty B tied her hair so I could not see the damage. I wanted to ask her to show me but decided that it was not a sharp idea. I kept staring as she shook her head and sighed. I promised to help her with her natural hair 'detour'. Who knows, the hair detour may be a better journey and she may decide to continue with it. Poor Aunty B!

Cabella

Grandpa dearest - By Cabella

I did not talk to my Grandpa much because he did not talk much. You know, the usual greetings and respectful pleasantries and not much more. When my folks informed me that Grandpa was going to live with us, I sort of freaked out in my mind! Since I really did not have much rapport with the Old Champion, I decided to prepare myself by making a list of possible topics of discussion. My parents said I was taking it too seriously. I thought that being prepared was a smarter strategy.

Grandpa came and it was awkward. Anytime I talked to him, he looked at me intently and nodded. He nodded at everyone. I was convinced that he was deaf.

I had been natural for about a year when Grandpa came to live with us and one day he called me. I did not respond. He called again and much louder than the first time. I peeped out of the kitchen. He motioned with his hand for me to come. I was hesitant at first, afterall wasn't he deaf. Then I reasoned that he may be deaf but not necessarily dumb.

I moved out of the kitchen cautiously and sat in the chair next to him. I stared at him inquisitively and then at the clock over his head. He leaned forward and whispered "You are the most beautiful grand-daughter I have you know?" I bet he says that to all his grand-daughters! I grinned my cutest grand-daughter grin. "Thank you Grandpa" I responded in a bit of a loud voice just in case. He looked at me quizically. I guess I was not loud enough. "It is true" he continued. I nodded my head. "So you don't have to dress like a boy!" he finished by leaning back in his chair.

Okaaay? What just happened? I thought this was leading up to a tender Grandpa and Grand-daughter moment. "Ehn?" I asked. "I know you are the only girl in this house but you don't have to look like your brothers" he argued. "I am the only girl child of my parents Grandpa, Mommy is a girl ... woman too" was my response. "I know! I know! But you don't have to look like a boy" he countered.

"How do I look like a boy?" I asked because I was not sure what he was talking about.

"Your hair. Your hair is like a boy's own and you don't comb it. It is jagga jagga and that is not the way girls should dress." he answered. Gbosai!

My Grandpa wasn't deaf. He was crazy!

"Oh Grandpa! That is the style. It is a twist-out. Shebi you people carried your hair like that in those days?" I responded to him.

Grandpa told me that they wore "combed" afros in his time and not this scattered hair that I was carrying all over the place. I was amused. "Okay sir, I will adjust" I promised him and I did adjust. I knew that I was not going to win this one so I went out and bought myself a few combs. What's a Grand-daughter to do? Whenever I carried an afro, I made sure it was combed for the Old Champion and things went right back to normal. I talked to him, he looked at me intently and nodded. Although I think he now nodded with a small smile in his eyes.

Cabella

HOW DID WE GET FROM SAYING I LOVE YOU – BY CABELLA

One of my cousins was celebrating his birthday and organized a low-key celebration at Elegushi beach in Lagos state. We were to bring our own food, chairs, games and drinks. He would bring the suya, music and invite the guests. Lagos can be hectic so any reason to relax was good enough for me.

 

The jolly greetings of friends were floating around when we arrived. I got there with another cousin and her husband. You don’t want to go to these things alone. We looked around, spotted the celebrant and made our way to him. Birthday Boy is a wanna be DJ so he tries to “spin his hits” anytime he can. I think anyone can do anything with an iPod and some software. He tells me that it is a genius that can do anything with an iPod and some software.

We said our greetings to Birthday Boy and he gave us the general gist of the agenda. “Find somewhere to park yourselves. Mingle, dance and have a good time you hear?” No time to acknowledge his instructions before he turned to greet someone else. “That’s our cue.” My cousin’s husband said and we made our way to some free parking space.

We put our chairs and coolers down. I announced to my crew that I was going to get my feet wet. “Don’t drown” my cousin instructed me. I smiled and continued my journey to the water. When I got there, I waited for a wave to come to me and a small one did. I could see another wave forming and I started moving back slowly as if we were playing tag. The wave tagged me. 

“Your hair smells nice today” I heard a voice say behind me. I turned around and he was smiling. I remember that smile. “You found her!” Birthday Boy yelled loud enough for the whole beach crowd, fish and crabs in the sea to hear. He nodded at me still smiling. “Long time” he said as he leaned forward to hug me. We hugged. “Yeah, been a while” I answered. It has been 3 years since we broke up. Is that “a while” or does it fall into the realm of “ages”? Why was he looking more handsome than I remember?

“You look well” he told me. I wish he had said that I was looking so good he was confused. “Thank you” I replied. “How now?” I asked. “I did not know you were in town. When did you come in from Calabar?” He was still smiling. I still remember that smile. “How would you know I am in town when we have not talked for 3 years?” was his response. He was right. After we broke up, I thought it would be best to keep some (a lot of) distance. He moved to Calabar and I remained in Lagos. 

For some reason he looked different and as we talked I could not quite figure it out. It was when he commented on my hair still being natural that it clicked. He had grown his hair out a bit and was carrying a bit of an afro. “You grew an afro?” I questioned accusingly. He nodded. When we dated, he did not mind my hair being natural; he just did not like me wearing it in its natural form. He preferred me in braids or weaves. He complained when I wore my hair in puffs or twist outs or afros. For some reason he was not comfortable with these hairstyles. He argued that they made me stand out (especially the afro) and that he did not think they were “neat” enough. I tried to convince him otherwise the best way I knew how but we always hit an impasse on the issue. 3 years later dude is rocking an afro.

“My fiancé (Ouch! I thought) has alopecia. The doctors say the best way to manage it is if she stops using relaxers. So she did and I am supporting her by growing an afro” Awwww how sweet I thought. Then I felt a little bit hurt that he did not do that for me when we dated.

“Is she here?” I asked. Not sure why though.

“No. she is in Calabar.” He replied.

We chatted a little more and I excused myself. I said something about me wanting to make sure the people I came with had not left me. Really Cabella?

“I understand" he responded. "I’ll see you around?” he asked.

“Take care” I replied. I turned and walked away. My preference would have been to run but beach sand makes that option difficult. As I walked away, I remembered the song by Great Big Sea that goes “How did we get from saying I love you to I’ll see you around someday?”  Check out the song below.

Cabella

A Painful Visit

I had planned to visit a friend and her family on a Saturday. I had a gift for her 12 month old son. I had not seen them for a while so I was looking forward to the visit. I arrived at their house in good time. Lagos traffic can be gracious sometimes on Saturdays. I think I hopped out of the car and skipped to the door. I pressed the doorbell and knocked on the door.

“We know you are here Cabella!” my friend yelled as she peeped through the open window. I made a face and stuck out my tongue. She opened the door and we hugged (or collided) and went through the excited pleasantries. While we were greeting, her husband came into the living room carrying their son in his arms. I greeted him just as warmly as I greeted his wife. I tried to carry their son but he pulled away. “That’s what happens when aunties stay away for so long” my girlfriend teased. I smiled and she winked. 

We sat down in the living room and started sharing stories and laughing. As we talked and laughed, I kept my eye on their little boy trying to find the right time to give him his present and carry him. Soon enough, he was seating on the floor by my feet. I leaned down and said “Hey there big boy I brought something for you. Come let give it to you”. I reached to carry him but he moved away. I tried again. The little boy pulled away again.

Not one to give up so easily, I got up and quickly scooped their son into my arms. I was feeling really successful. With my other hand, I picked up his gift. “See what aunty …” The little boy did not wait for me to finish my sentence or present his gift when he grabbed my hair tightly and pulled it. WTY!

Did he want to get down or did he really like my afro? I was not sure.

“What’s wrong? I brought you …” The little boy cut me short again with another tug of my hair. He pulled harder this time. I let out a muffled squeal as my eyes began to water. I was convinced he wanted to get down. 

Remember the scene in “The Incredibles” when the little baby, Jack Jack, grabbed the villain’s hair (Buddy / Syndrome) with both hands and pulled? Well that is the technique this little fighter used. He held on to both sides of my afro and pulled hard. I got the message loud and painfully clear! He wanted to get down. I dropped the gift on the floor. I started to use my free hand to pry this terror off my hair. He did not seem so cute anymore. He was not letting go. See trouble oh! The tug of war began. I tugged, he pulled. Why were his parents not helping me? They were laughing so hard, they had become useless in this situation. I finally got the monster boy off my hair. 

I slumped into the chair out of breath, bewildered at what just happened with my head throbbing. I looked at the boy I once thought was cute. Was that an evil grin on his face?

Cabella

Encounters of the Afro Puff kind - By Cabella

One Sunday I left home early enough to actually wait for service to start. It was a new experience for me and I was not quite sure where to look while I waited for service. I looked up, I looked around me, and I even looked at my phone hoping that someone would call. Gosh! I did not realize that waiting could cause such anxiety.

As I waited, a lady approached me and asked where I got my afro puff from. Since I was in church, I felt the strong urge to say “From the throne of heaven” but refrained. So I smiled appreciatively and said “It is my hair”.

“Ehen!” she exclaimed victoriously.

“I was debating within me whether the puff was your real hair or fake.” She said as she sat down beside me.

She continued “Wow! It is sooooooo shiny...” she drooled.

My head was expanding big time. I batted my eyelids subtly and replied “Thank you.” Head still swelling.

“Me, I cannot go natural o. My hair is too tough” she said as a matter of fact.

“Eya sorry.” I responded. She nodded in appreciation.

You see, a long time ago I would have gone into the lecture of how her hair is probably not as tough as she thinks and with the right products and techniques she would be able to achieve healthy, long and shiny hair.

Digression: For those who know Omozo, that lecture is exactly what she would have given the lady! (Wink)

“Can I touch it?” she asked positioning herself and leaning closer to me.

“Touch what?” I asked. As if I did not know!

“Your hair. Your puff. Can I touch it?” This time she was facing me her right hand lifting up slowly.

“I beg your pardon?” I retorted.

I wanted to be sure what she was asking because what I heard was this: “Can I poke your puff and pull it a bit too and ruin the shape you so laboriously worked on before coming to church this morning? Can I please?” I swear that is what I heard!

‘Emm … No, you may not touch my hair” I responded as politely as I could and with a smile too.

She looked kind of shocked.

“You mean I cannot touch your hair?” she asked.

“In other words,” I began “you cannot touch my hair”. I started to adjust my posture, turning my body away from her and facing the front of the room.

“Ah na wa oh!” the lady exclaimed as she got up slowly to leave. She looked at me incredulously.

I suspected she was about to say something more so I leaped up, shook her hand enthusiastically and with a big smile said “Thank you so so much for stopping by and for the kind compliments about my hair. Have a nice service and God bless you!”

Cabella

Of Afros and Keke NAPEP - By Cabella

Greetings of the evening!

It was an okay day today. You know the kind that just goes on with no major hiccups and all.





I decided to take a Keke NAPEP on Awolowo Road from Falomo to Sweet Sensation. Cheaper than a bike and I did not want to wear any of those "Shady afro wreaking" helmets the bike men give you. So o, I got into the back seat (last available seat) and the journey began. The driver of the Keke NAPEP started to swerve all over the place. I was wondering if it was "just my imagination ..". I kept quiet. More swerving. Ah! I decided to inquire of the driver.






"Excuse me Sir?"


Silence


I leaned closer. Perhaps he did not hear me.


"Excuse me"


More silence. Now other passengers were using side eye to look at me.


"OGA!"


"Yes Madam?"


"Why are you driving like this now? Swerving from left to right? Wetin sef?"
The driver did not answer immidiately. I was convinced he was contemplating his poor road behaviour and was preparing an apology.


"Emm ... if you commot your BIG HAIR Madam, I go fit see wetin dey my rear view mirror."


Huh?


The silence was mine.


I leaned back. I could see the sudden surge in texting or 'pinging' by other passengers.


"I beg, stop here for me please." I instructed the "Mr I am so witty" driver.


I paid my fare, put one leg out of the vehicle and pushed the driver's head as I said "Idiot! You dey craze"


Quickly moving out of the way, I looked to see him grinning.


"Bye! Bye! Our afro Queen!" he yelled as he drove off still swerving left and right.



Do those stupid vehicles even have rear view mirrors? *Hiiiiiiiiiissing*








Cabella

Welcome Cabella Hermoso

Hallo!

Hope you are having a fab week with life and of course your natural hair ;)

We are introducing a guest blogger to O'Naturals. Her name is Cabella Hermoso. She is natural, lives in Lagos Nigeria and ... I'll let you hear from her. Her responses are in brown.

Hi Cabella. Welcome to O'Naturals!

Thank you. I am glad to be joining you ladies.

Aww ... thanks. So tell us a little about you.

My name is Cabella Hermoso. The C in my name is pronounced with a K sound. I live in Lagos Nigeria. I am the second girl (and child) in a family of 3 children. I am a consultant in effective leadership. Whatever that means! I enjoy reading and traveling but I never do enough of both. I do more sleeping ...

How long have you been natural?

Let me count ... for 12 years. Wow! I did not realize it has been that long.

So why did you go natural?

Somebody at my university dared me. I was working at the library and had my permed hair cut into a bob. I did not like the cut at all and complained. So I guess he was tired of my whining and said "If you hate your hair that bad then I dare you to shave it off!" I came in the next day with a shaved head. In hindsight, he did not really dare me to go natural just to shave my hair off and I guess that was the trigger. As my hair grew, I auditioned for a part in a play at uni. The director offered me a different part (the leading role) because my "tight curls" were perfect for the character. I thought "For real? I can get things because of my natural hair?" So I kept my hair natural ever since.

What role was it?

Annie. Ha! Ha!

Do you still get things because of your naturally tight curls?

Not really. Sad. But I am okay with it now. (Smiling)

What are you going to be writing about?

You know it is nothing deep like that. I will be gisting the readers about my life, especially in Lagos and Nigeria, as it relates to my hair. That's mostly what it will be.

Okay, the truth is that you have told me about some outrageous experiences and that is why I asked you to consider writing for the blog.

Yeah, you are right. Like the time the woman in the store bought me TCB relaxer and ran out to give it to me in the parking lot! I was like "See me see nonsence!" She did not say a thing. She gave me the relaxer and looked at me somehow and went back into the store.

*Laughing* What did you do?

I went back into the store, told the cashier that the purchase was a mistake, got the refund, went to Mr. Biggs and gave the rest of the money to someone who needed it more than me!

How do you usually wear your hair?

You see sometimes, I think it is the way I wear my hair that is the wahala. I mostly wear some variation of an afro. A twist-out afro, a braid-out afro, an afro afro, a "this is not supposed to be an afro" afro.

So maybe you stand out?

Maybe? Don't you stand out when you go places with your natural hair?

I guess ... How often will you be blogging here?

You have graciously given me the weekend slot. That means I will be here weekly. And I appreciate the opportunity and swear on my big afro not to let you down.

There you have it. We hope that Cabella's contribution will be enjoyable to our readers. Be sure to send in your comments to her posts. Feel free to email her with suggestions at: cabella726@gmail.com.

You can also follow her on her twitter account: cabella726. Happy reading friends and

Keep it natural!

Omozo