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Actually, the ‘toosh-er’ headline will be ‘cluck cluck’ or a birdie chirpy chirp but since I’m yet to see a chicken actually cluck cluck….

I didn’t do it!

Yes I‘m chicken… all talk, no action, chicken, etc- I didn’t do it.

The ‘no time’ excuses wont work- I had an extended weekend (oh, dear, I forgot to mention Nigerian became three years to fifty on Monday) … but I just couldn’t.

Got home on Friday and told my mom I was going to cut my hair. She said something like ‘oh, you will eh?’ dismissing my ‘confession’ in an “I want attention too, but I’m not pretending I want to cut my hair to get it” tone.

On Saturday morning, the sanitation exercise meant I had to wait till 10am before doing the deed. So I took my time, washing and conditioning it- I wanted to have a befitting exit, like a convict’s last day before the execution of the death sentence. She asked me why I was washing the hair since it was ‘due’ and I reminded her that I was keeping it natural. Oh, so what are you going to do to it now? she asked me. I am going to cut it now, I told you yesterday, I said.

Eh?Eh, what?No, you are not going to cut your hair oh?Why now?Ha, ma she be, (don’t do it), the hair is the glory of the woman.Ha ha… which one is that now?

It went on and on, and you know what they say about women always getting their way- well, my mom is a woman… so.

I guess it also helped when I realised that my hairline hadn’t fully recovered from the last Ghana weaving I did so I decided to take her advice at least now, until I’m sure I wont look like one iya eko.

On Monday I decided to not look scattered to work so went to get my hair braided. I didn’t quite get to it because there were four women at the salon, by the time I got there, three of them wanting to get her hair in braids too.  I simply took the excuse – I don’t like making my hair, I like the finished look but not the whole 4-6 hour process. So I dropped a few words to threaten my hairdresser (not the one that made me leave dye in my braids) that I was going to cut my hair and then I went home to sleep. 

I simply decided to fall back on the odd wig. I can hear it in my head- sell out; traitor. I know. But what can I do? I have to go to work and my hair has to ‘conform’ in some sense. It’s sad that conformity makes me look like I’m trying hard to pretend I‘m one oyinbo (that’s why I hate weaves in the first place)

But I promise to make it up to my hair- next weekend; I’ll get it in braids or something ‘African’- I promise.

 

Have a lovely week

x