Where I come from (yes, I say that a LOT!), dogs often move around unattended and as such, are often treated with suspicion. If it’s a dog from your ‘line’ or the row of homes where you live, then you know what you’re dealing with. Either it’s the friendly dog from your friend’s house or the 'biting' dog that belongs to the home with the juiciest guavas and is therefore viewed with fear and distrust. Don’t get me wrong, we still taunted the 'biting' dog as we walked past, but you either had to be the fastest in the group in case it found a hole in the fence and you had to scarper, or you make sure that someone slower than you was between you and the fence holding the dog back. Dog’s from other ‘lines’ or emaliyinini are ALWAYS greeted with suspicion. You never know what you’re getting because it may just harmlessly trot past you, or it could be a rabid stray that will come for you! For me, alopecia is like a dog from emaliyinini and my journey with alopecia began when I was in Grade 6. I’ll never forget it for two reasons: 1. I had fainted at school and was terrified that I would forever be known as the “fainting girl” 2. The subsequent investigation of my head for bumps resulted in the discovery of “the spot patch” Sounds harmless, doesn’t it? A spot is something small – nothing to fear at all, right? Not if it’s alopecia. A spot-sized bald patch is like taking a walk down the road to your friend’s house, relaxed, enjoying your surroundings and feeling quite content about life. Then out of the corner of your eye, you see a dog. But is it from your line or not? As children we were taught that a good sign that a dog is rabid is if it’s foaming at the mouth. But that involves watching as it gets closer to see if you have to leg it! And with alopecia, you’re always spotting dogs from emaliyinini so you’re on edge because you know it's a dog, but how bad will it be? So you’re always running your fingers over your scalp “checking”. Is that your hair smoothed out or is it a spot patch? And when your long suffering husband finally confirms that this time, the 1000th time you’ve asked, it IS a spot patch, then the panic sets in. You keep your eye on it to see if it’s growing. Problem is you can never tell if the spot is getting bigger until it’s MUCH bigger. And the knowledge that what you’ve used to treat it before may not work this time is frustrating to the power of 1000! My name is AfroBren. I have lived with rabid hair dogs since I was 11 and a few months ago, I found another. What to do now?
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There are certain things in life that I will NEVER get over. For instance, not turning around and looking when a car horn “toots” in the road. If they know you, they’ll shout either YOUR name, or address you as “Child/Mother of [insert the name of whichever parent or child you belong to here]. Avoid letting your neighbours see your white underwear/cloth nappies on the line unless they are WHITE! Off white is a sign of soft hands. Don’t have soft hands. This is a sign of being a lazy woman and a no-no and word will get out and you’ll never get married! Being judgmental about ashy legs/ankles/feet. This is commonly known as umdhlopha where I hail from, and is frowned upon. A sign of not being really clean, of course. Being equally judged in the playground about “shiny” Vaseline skin. An obvious attempt to cover ashy skin and a shame for those who had mothers who wanted to avoid the previous judgement and as such, were sent to school with a shiny face and dry ears. Using water like there’s a drought. In England. During the worst flooding for TIME! Shouting at your children to check their shoes for scorpions before they put their feet in them. In Winter. In England. And seeing snakes in the grass out of the corner of your eye and quick-stepping away from the danger. Then having to call out to your husband because you forgot to take him with you. It’s at time like this that I regret teaching my husband certain Zulu words. And ‘speaking eyes’. It will take a while to get over his eye roll as he held up the stick and shouted bakithi at me! My earliest memory of having my hair done as a young African child involved the pain of having my dry scalp "scratched". For those of you unfamiliar with the art of said "scratching", this is how it goes:
Method Scratcher is seated on their perch whilst the Scratchee sits at their feet, preferably facing AWAY from the Scratcher. Once the towel is positioned to protect knees and shoulders of both parties, the Scratcher then clamps the Scratchee's head firmly between their knees to prevent unsanctioned movement by the Scratchee (pleas to free folded ears are ignored). Using the tail of the comb, open "lines" from the top to the nap of the Scratchee - as if preparing to cornrow. Pressure applied varies depending on how inconvenienced the Scratcher feels. Once the line is open, angle the teeth of the comb along the line at approximately 30° - any more will result in more pain than necessary. A sure-fire way of knowing that the Scratcher doesn’t like you. Bleeding scalps are common and regarded by many as a sign of a GOOD scratching! The teeth of the comb are then vigorously applied to the scalp in a quick side to side action so as to dislodge the dry flakes, before they are then briskly brushed off the hair. This action is repeated until the scalp is completely scratched. N.B: The Scratchee is at the mercy of the Scratcher for the ENTIRE scratching session and for well after. From being sent to the bedroom to get the comb, to having your head pushed over the bath as they scrub your pulsing scalp with shampoo and cold water, before your hair is then sectioned, liberal amounts of petroleum jelly applied to the scalp, after which it is threaded for the coming school week. Obviously I’ve moved on from this as an adult – right? Wrong! My husband does it for me – I told him that in my culture, it’s a form of scalp massage that husbands perform for their wives to prevent headaches and it’s important to respect my culture. It worked. Until some jealous so and so told him otherwise! I should have scratched my sister’s head harder when I had the chance… I was born under the African sun, and raised in the ways of ubuntu from birth. Schooled in Zulu and educated in the Queen's language, I am daughter, sister, wife and mother of 3.
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April 2016
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