My title was actually stolen from a rather poorly performed Canadian-Carribean series that use to be on television, because it just seemed to express exactly what I wanted. I know there is always a debate going on somewhere about the issue of African women and their hair, it is always a topic that attracts a lot of emotive sometimes downright angry responses. I am an African woman and when I was growing up, I couldn’t wait to be older so that I can have silky soft flowing chemicalised hair like my older female counterparts. For me it was the epitome of beauty, and at that time the vision of salon-finish curls on treated hair represented ultra chic. Sure enough when I grew just old enough off I went to subject my hair to the rigors of the chemical regime, relaxers, retouches, sets, blow drying etc. for 8 whole years out of my life. Rain was public enemy number 1 and don’t even dare talk to me about getting into the shower without layers of protective gear over my precious hair. I never liked weaves so for the most part I was either squirming as the potent sting of Dark and Lovely fried up my hair, or under the hood of a hairdryer covering my ears so that they are not scalded by the intense heat. This was a regular routine, and even when I was a struggling law student in Uni I always had some money to get my hair done up.
I will be honest and say that the initial push factors for stopping the treatment madness were that I was absolutely revolted by the smell of relaxers and the hairdryer was just sheer agony for me. So after 8 years of such hard work, I decided to embark on the transitioning journey. When my real hair reemerged something else happened to me. I felt liberated, I felt honest to myself. The one reason why I had never liked weaves is because I just don’t get how Caucasian looking hair is supposed to merge with the chocolate brown of my skin. I embraced my precious kinky hair and welcomed it with a fierceness that surprised even me. For a while I tried out dreadlocks, my conscience was clear with them because I knew there was nothing artificial about them, my hair never changed its structure and form. However I am back to my afro now, and I couldn’t be happier.
Don’t get me wrong, I do love looking great, I am as influenced by fashion trends as the next woman, but only to the extent of the clothes on my back, don’t mess with the fro! I am not trying to send out some desperate plea to be recognized as a black woman to whomever, but I am simply expressing the true me. This is the person I want to see when look in the mirror; this is the person who gives me confidence and self –assurance. I am not judgmental to my sisters who choose to wear their hair differently and when I compliment them on their hairstyles I am not faking, I am being sincere. It looks great on them but it is not for me. I am in love with the kink in my hair and contrary to one of my fav artist’s statement India Irie, I AM MY HAIR!
I sit down today in my dressing gown, occassionally peeping across at my newly born son and ponder. Am I today even half the person I set out to be? Granted some of the ideals I had in my thoughtful teens were mere flights of fancy but I did set some pretty solid foundations of who I hoped to be. Now 13 years later I wonder, true I know who I am today but if my 15year old self met me today would she recognise me? Would she approve of thejob that I seem to have settled myself into? Would she drool over the life partner I chose? Would she gaze and admire my maturen not so perfect body? Perhaps I set myself standards too high. Because relying on the hormone induced imagination of a teenager mighty not yield desired results. Instead today I critically look at myself through my mature 28year old eyes. I see a strong woman, a mother of two amazing boys, a wife to a wonderful man, a lawyer whose career is about to soar, whose body bears all the stretch marks and scars that tell the story of a life well lived.
i cant believe i am halfway through this pregnancy, it feels kinda surreal. 20 whole weeks of carrying a little somebody, and now the somebody is really making their presence felt, it feels like its party up in there most of the time. so state of mind: happy, content, excited. State of body: not so good, i always thought i was born to do this but eish its been more of a challenge than i anticipated. i wish my first one wasnt so smooth sailing ( no i dont really) but at least i would have been prepared for this one. still we soldier on!
little one is a bit of a globetrotter, was in Europe in December in the dead of winter, we are off again next week. hopefully the ice has thawed and it will be nicer!
P/s in case you hadnt noticed this one one lazy baby hence the absence from blogville. ((yawwwn))
Its been way too long since I came to blogville and I thought I would do a courtesy call, my page was feeling a bit neglected. It’s a new year, new adventures and new expectations. I am not sure exactly how I feel about 2011. Its almost as if I haven’t yet wrapped my head around the fact that we have entered a new year. It seems as if its just a page that we have turned in the calendar. And that scares the daylights out of me. I haven’t done the “obligatory” reflection on the previous year. I haven’t planned for the new year in any way. In fact for all I know I am still on holiday, that’s how blasé I am about the new year! Hmmm…
Not that there is nothing at all that is happening in my life, far from it. One of the most exciting ( read exhausting, scary yet wow) adventures of my life is happening. I am gonna be a mommy again! Ok I know my martenal instincts kicked in the moment I gave my first cry ( after all we ladies are already born with all our eggs intact and all isn’t it?), yet I cant help feeling a bit nervous about doing it twice over. My first baby was a surprise, and the pregnancy was smooth and niggle-free, even the birth was a surprise. (no wonder my son is so full of surprises). This time around I am not so sure, I spent the first three months feeling utterly horrible and wanting to sleep all the time. I know I am supposed to be all glowing and stuff, but stuff it this is hard work! I love my baby I really do and I think conception is one of the most amazing miracles, but I cant wait to love her from OUTSIDE my body!
So anyway I shall try and sit down and see if I can map a way forward for 2011, but truthfully speaking, from where I stand a week into the new year, looks like I am just gonna roll with it, for the most part. Maybe it’s the preggy hormones but darn it, its too much hard work trying to figure out what to do with the year.
Addiction: (Noun) The state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming
I never fancied myself to have an addict’s psyche, but I guess each one of us has that one thing which we don’t realize that we are obsessively drawn to. I am not even sure if mine is an addiction, but I have discovered something about myself that quite amused me. I am crazy about magazines. Now ordinarily this is a statement which would not raise even a single strand of eyebrow. 90% of the female population likes magazines. But for me, there is something about the smell and feel of a brand new magazine that gives me something akin to euphoria Euphoria: (noun) an exaggerated or abnormal sense of physical and emotional well-being not based on reality or truth, disproportionate to its cause,
I am absolutely happy when I open a new magazine and I settle down to its glossy gloriousness, and devour its witty pieces and beautiful pictures. I have certain magazines that I buy every single month, whether or not I have the money. In fact I should just subscribe to them and get it over with. My only challenge is even though the popular adage says opposites attract, I got married to a man with just as much insane love for magazines, the guy kind of course. So now we are faced with the possibility of having to dedicate a whole room as a magazine library. People tell me to give them away, I look at them with daggers in my eyes. I am not selfish but I just like to hold on to my babies, every so often I go back and re-read articles from four years back.
That’s just me, if this deserves a straight-jacket, bring it on!
I cant believe i am doing this but i am near desperate (lol thats a bit drammatic) but anyway if anyone passes through this page and sees this, please help me. i am looking for a song called RICH- BY BRENT JONES AND THE TP MOBB. please help i have been looking for it for years.
I am an African woman, a mother, a wife, a daughter, a friend, an aunt, a colleague, a sister and a nurturer. i embrace who i am and i express myself in the way i am. i love fiercely, people, life, love itself.