One thing you may have heard, or already know about me. I’m a snob. And it would appear that I have been one for a long time, which suggests that were this an academic programme, I would have several Doctorates. The book-writing, motivational-talk-giving, radio-programme-participating Dr of Letters. With a TED series never mind a TED talk! I believe it has something to do with my nose being in the air… One thing you may not already know about me? TemplePatch and NapePatch have been a part of my life since I was 11 years old. I’d always had good hair - although it was fine in texture, it was healthy, long and manageable. As the alopecia ‘gobbled it up’, its natural state meant that humidity would cause it to shrink, leaving Temple and Nape exposed. So my Mum bit the bullet and I went to the local salon. Sadly, it was the time of the curly perm – (ala Mukadota’s Katarina or Whitney Houston), or the straight perm (ala Pocahontas ). The best way to get a ‘sillyhairgoback’ style. So we went to the salon. The consultation began with my Mum explaining that ‘it’ wasn’t contagious, before leaving to buy the lotions that they felt they would require from the shop beneath the salon. Then the hairdresser called other people to come and have a look whilst moving my head backwards and forwards with my hair to avoid having to touch it. As if I couldn’t see that her face was screwed up in disgust in the mirror. As a seasoned African child, I was accustomed to having my head moved around as an older female decided what to do with my hair, but this was a stranger who was calling other strangers over to gawp. To add insult to injury, I had to explain what ’it’ was, why I had it, (Lord only knows!), and all whilst smiling and pretending I was fine with all the attention. My Mum returned with the requested gloves, creams and straightening lotions which then did their noxious job. As we left, I dutifully thanked the hairdresser as I smiled to show my ‘pleasure’ at the hair plastered across my scalp like a cheap greasy toupee. The patches were covered but the chemical smell soon killed my hair’s will to live and the Patches reigned. Pretty soon, I could barely comb over TemplePatch, and Nape had spread to such an extent that she was making her way UP to meet Temple in person. Strangers would point and laugh on the bus, so I began trying to hide NapePatch by scrunching my shoulders up to cover Nape’s nakedness. Which in turn would result in...my nose in the air. It helped to keep the tears from leaking. My name is AfroBren and I'm So Not (what) Others Believe.
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The other day, I found myself shouting out, “Who do you think I am, your maid?” But to be honest, in MY experience, nothing could be further from the truth because I actually grew up with people who my parents paid to help us in the home and they were treated better than these children treat me! Where I come from, the Maid is NOT called a Maid if you are a child whose last name originates in Africa. FACT! If your last name originates out of Africa, then you call her a Maid and you address your friend’s parents by their first name. For those of us born with an African last name? A stranger comes into your home and becomes ‘Sisi’ or Sister, and as for the parents? Good luck avoiding a beating whilst trying to explain why you even know an adult’s name, never mind having the nerve to use it! Sisi can only receive instruction from either the WagePayer or the Emissary of the WagePayer, usually a child sent to pass on instructions. Sometimes it was necessary for Sisi to verify the information the Emissary imparts to ensure, for example, that the WagePayer had really sanctioned the dispersal of Milo sprinkled ice-cream. More often than not, Sisi also had the power to allocate household tasks; something we were all keenly aware of because an annoyed Sisi could hand you the Cobra floor polish for the outside verandah. The RED one! A task NONE wanted to do because it was sure to leave you with waxy red residue in your nails for weeks! And woe betides anyone who kept her waiting once the WagePayer instructed her to do your hair! (I direct you to exhibit A –Aunties, scratching combs & throbbing scalps & Exhibit B – The Plaiting Saga). Sisi is treated with equal parts fear and respect by the children because she often holds the power to discipline, something many African children are familiar with after experiencing public telling offs from nosy neighbours and friends of parents alike. And God forbid your parents find out that Sisi or a neighbour had to tell you off. The resulting reprimands, hidings and recriminations for the shame that you would have brought upon the family was followed by threats of further harm if it were to happen again. I digress. I was shouting. Why? Because not only am I expected to trim/wash/brush/style their hair, but I’m also kept waiting by these children. So here I am. Still in the bathroom with my collection of hair tools. I SO get why she used the metal tail comb to scratch my scalp! On the 6th of July 2015, I posted the photograph of TemplePatch. The photograph had her covered in a filter because whilst I wanted to share my experience, pride dictated that I honour my shame. Who lets strangers see something that her own family haven't seen? So I uploaded it, clicked 'Post' and it was done. On the 6th of October 2015, I have posted a photograph of the area formally known as TemplePatch. Words fail me at this moment. I vacillate between euphoric relief and crying jags motivated by the little voice in my head that won't stop saying that "I'll be back!" Because it's been back. Many times. And just typing those words is making my eyes leak. But I will continue to do my best to ensure that I give my hair a fighting chance. I will use my Aphro comb to moisturise my scalp, Spirulina/Udo's Oil/Biotin & plenty of water my hair into better health. Here’s to hair being attached to my scalp until it’s long enough for me to toss it over my shoulder in a ‘silly hair, go back’ kind of fashion! |
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April 2016
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