Afro Anonymous

Hi, my name is Ntsako and I’m addicted to my afro.  

Just like in Alcoholics Anonymous, the people there know that alcohol is bad for them.  Every time they drink, they remember why they love it, and every morning after, they remember why they hate it.  That’s the same relationship I have with my afro.  

My hair has a life of its own, it is the ultimate rebel, and it’s not even trying to know what ideas I may have for it.  My hair is a transformer, it goes from cactus to cotton wool as it pleases, and all I can do is watch.  Every time I think I have got it tamed, tied up with tight pantyhose, I remember why I love it.  It is thick and black, it’s shiny and healthy.  Then I go to bed and something happens at night.  Hair fairies go to sleep, and leave us to fend for ourselves.  I wake up, and all the good things I have said about my hair are the complete opposite.  It’s dry and brittle and coarse and dull.  I mean?  

Then there are those knots that have to be dealt with after removing braids.  You don’t even need to have an afro to know what I’m talking about.  Goodness.  The worst is when I try to comb them out under the surveillance of my Mum who has been telling me to relax my shrub ever since I started growing it.  And I have to pretend I’m not under excruciating pain because then she’ll just win.  

I’m a tough cookie though; I don’t want to straighten my hair with peroxide and other eye watering chemicals.  Okay no I’m joking; please don’t stop reading this if your hair is relaxed.  Not when I’m only on my third blog still trying to collect loyal readers.   I just prefer my hair in this state, I've found that my hairline behaves a lot more and having cactus hair is a small price to pay.  I’m clingy, really.  So over the years living with this stubborn hair, I have come to realize that I don’t need hair products.  I wash my hair with anything that makes bubbles and moisturize with anything with oil in it.  My favourite products are dish washing liquid and baby oil.  This is a top tip hey guys, I just hope I don’t see any of you featured on 1 000 Ways To Die with your cell phone logged onto my blog.  

So its bed time now and feel like the alcoholic who has taken shots of his favourite poison.  Just went through World War 3 blow drying my hair and shed a few calories while at it.  The grey smoke in my room looks like a scene from Lesilo. I look like somebody’s daughter again, almost like I would appreciate cows from a gentleman to my father.  I’ve tied my doek to retain the moisture and keep it approximately flat.

I really hope I don’t wake up with Scotchbrite hair. Why do I put myself through all this? !

Base your scalp while jamming to: 

 

Video- India Arie  

Talk soon!  

Ntsa