Numb bottom, tight scalp, hair all over the floor, 3 films
watched consecutively and a reflection that I don’t recognise. All the result
of me sitting for 5 ½ hours whilst I get my hair braded, African style! Warning
this post contains pictures that may scare, disturb or insult friends; family
or African people (who actually suit this hair) so click the little (x) now or
forever hold your voice.
So let me start from the beginning, well when I say
beginning I mean I’m going to bore you with my whole morning leading up to the
big hair experiment (as I will now be referring to it) So my housemate Bekah is
heading North to Kenya for a week to visit her Dad (very jealous, just saying)
and I offered to drive her to the bus station as her bus was setting off early.
(How early I failed to realise) So my alarm went off bright and early (well not
so bright as it was still dark) and I actually felt very awake. I was a little
nervous about driving, I mean I have driven before in Africa but this would have
been my first time in the busy town. After a big long prayer and the thought of
a cup of tea waiting for me at home the journey to town and back was a great
success.
After a morning full of planning my maths lessons and more
cups of tea it was time to wash our hair (sorry did I forget to mention my
housemate Melissa was also getting her hair done) we had to wash our hair
before we got our hair done as we would not be able to wash it for 1 week to
ensure the braids would stay in. But seen as we are in Africa the water ran out
just as Melissa had put shampoo in her hair. Thankfully there was a little
water left in the kettle from my last cup of tea, we then created our own
shower over the sink to wash out the soap. I therefore had to run over to
another Missionaries house in my pjs (okay so I could have changed but the
thought of putting clean clothes on before I’ve washed doesn’t sit right with
me) so anyway I turn up at their house and their daughter (who is a student in
my class) was having birthday party and there was only half my class and older
students from my drama class there all to whiteness me walk shamefully through
them all clinging to my big fluffy towel and slippers, red faced and stinky. (But
hakuna matattah)
So I was finally washed, dressed and ready for our hair
stylist Tracy to arrive at 12.00. We put a film on ready 27 dresses (love it)
the film started and finished and still no Tracy. So here we have something
called African time, in England we are so use to everything being at a certain
time and always have to be on time. Whersas in Tanzania everyone is so much
more laid back and isn’t so caught up on timings. Therefore, when arranging
something we say is that English/American time or African time, if the answer
is the latter you usually allow and hour here or there. That’s why when Tracy
turned up 2 hours late it wasn’t a massive deal. So here we go she starts to
separate my hair out and there’s no going back now. 2nd film has
started and we are onto Sister Act 2.
The pain of my hair being done was something that I was not
expecting. Ouch is all I can say. When ever I see a little African child with
braded hair I am going to make sure I appreciate it so much more now knowing
the pain they have gone through to have them done (unless I am just being a big
baby and it doesn’t bother them at all). Tracy was such a laugh and I was able
to practice my Swahili out on her (fyi I have been focusing a lot on learning
my Swahili this week ever since the embarrassment of Megan speaking so much at Massai
market, but ill save that for my next post)
For some reason it was taking longer than expected so Tracy
called in reinforcements so we welcomed Margret in too.
Third film went on and this time it was Legally Blonde (Tracy’s favourite by the amount of laughing she was doing) I was able to only listen to this film as I had braids all covering my face and eyes. (Not gonna lie it got pretty sweaty underneath there)
The film went off and after my 6th toilet break
the braids were finished.
I looked in the mirror and could barley recognise myself.
I don’t love my hair but I don’t entirely hate it either. It
has certainly been an experience and I am quite excited about feeling a little
bit more African and eager to try out different hairstyles with it.
