So last night, a certain talker with a long gang name decided to post a thread about women and weaves. What annoyed me was the context of the youtuber who was translating his own shit about it. The talker,whose name sounded like the peeps who live around dump sites, (Sorry Bro) merrily continued to state that black women are the scum of the earth.Sad.
Moving on, I thought about my own struggles with my hair since childhood. A young girl with afro kinky hair. I had to endure the 'hot comb' which straightened my hair,sometimes my sister put it on the fire for too long and my hair sizzled and burned. The 32 lines policy in Primary school which had me sitting on an uncomfortable small wooden bench, my head between the thunder thighs of our local salon lady enduring the tag and pull as she braided the lines ,withholding any cry of pain which would earn me a painful pinch from the woman because back then , these people had executive rights to punish cry babies...oh and woe! if the said lady was in her moons or had gotten dry fried(ofcourse as a kid I had no idea what that fishy scent was all about) and she was not so good on the hygiene department. I hated my hair as a child,a huge unmanageable afro and at age 10 I rebelled and my mum literally hacked it with scissors like a warden does in Kamiti prison.
High school- New life away from home and I discovered the joys and horrors of 'relaxed/permed' hair. My unruly mess could not be combed every morning and my mom and I opted for TCB relaxer...and for the first time I felt good about my hair. In school ,we became experts of 'retouching' and again that's how we discovered following instructions to the letter about timing was very important...but we wanted our hair to look miro miro- European like and the price we had to pay was burnt scalps and massive hair loss.
Campus- I was finally free to braid hair 'piece' on my head,the variety was vast. I could spot short curly hair pieces or sometimes the long ones that dropped to the small of my back ,making me look like a nubian/hebrew woman.The cons of this was a tribulation comparable to the Israelite's exodus in the desert. The head was a tonne heavier and sleeping was a nightmare and if someone yanked my hair,one was bound to come off with my hair leaving me with funny looking viparas on the side.
And finally I joined formal employment and I went to best lady supermarket to look for the perfect ,professional weave .Found the perfect one,long and curly and golden brown in color..[I]I look good [/I],I thought to myself...two weeks later the hot,humid coastal weather had me itching like a damn mutt with fleas..I could not stand the heat ,sweat and discomfort but I silently suffered it during my short lived career ,I even bought the wigs that once in awhile got displaced on the head and made me look like a bad joke unknowingly ...I bought 300 dollar weaves,after all,I was young and enjoying my freedom but still,a month down the line I looked like a tree with a fuckin bad nest on it's top. I finally gave up...I don't know when,but I suspect it was the day I gave my boss the finger and walked away. I had a kid to raise now and I shelved my weaves away when I started my own business...and slowly as days passed by I begun loving my natural hair, I did blow drying to keep it straight and tied it with a hairband. The Mombasa weather was not my enemy anymore. As time went by I went through a bad phase in my life...I entered a KINYOZI and got my head shaved clean...and my vibrant hair grew back,all kinky and strong and as it grew so did a woman from slumber emerge, A woke woman, I looked at the mirror and loved myself and when my hair was a few inches long I got it naturally dreadlocked...It grew and I grew. I loved it,all I needed was a quick trim bi annually.
Fast forward to now, bae loves playing with my hair. I remember the first time we met, my locks were short and unruly and he told me I had great hair.
I nervously twirled one strand and replied “Aah this mess?”. He reached out and touched it."It’s a beautiful mess. He replied and there and then I knew this man had game and oh did we play . The first time we made love, drenched and exhausted our bodies filmed with sweat, I moved closer and lay on his chest and his fingers through my mop,untangling the tangled locks and he whispered ;-
[CENTER] My mungiki woman…daughter of Mumbi…Aheri.
Is Aheri,kwaheri? I asked ,trying to hide the fear in my voice.
No babe…it means I love you. [/CENTER]
Sometimes we laze around on sunny afternoons watching telly...I put my head on his lap and his fingers find way to my hair...plays with it,massaging my scalp. It feels so damn good,relieving any tension on my mind and I moan softly as I relax. My moan causes his manhood to stir and I drop down on the floor and unzip his pants,reach out to his hardening phallus and caress it and bring my mouth closer and taste him and his hands grab my head..my hair pulling me closer as he groans in delight...[I]Jaherana..damn it! [/I]he harshly says and tightens his grip as I kiss him in the places that please him the most. He pulls me up,undresses me and pushes me down on him and his dick fills my cunt so nicely and I ride him until we explode.
There are times I annoy him as every independent woman does to her man once in awhile and he has to assert his authority and tame his wild cat.He grabs me by the hair and firmly pushes me on the wall,our anger and lust mixed up in an inferno .He quickly disrobes me and rams his phallus inside me until I am crying out his name in passion.Or he has me in all fours ,ass up and spanks and enters me while grabbing my hair,pulling my head back and hard thrusts that make me tremble and whimper. My hair is tough and can withstand the pull..I wonder how annoying and embarrassing it would be if I had a wig and he pulled it off,exposing a stockinged head. hahahah.
And when he spanks and fucks me he gruffly says "You have been a bad gal,pseudonym . " I yield , swear my fealty to him,my master, and my juices flow and I cum hard.
Ummm,so where were we? Hair....
All black women appreciate their hair.The love may come in phases like in my case but no matter what type of natural or unnatural hair we have,it identifies us and we adore it. I guess I can say I am my hair,it defines me...wild and carefree and an added bonus is that the son of the lake,descendant of the mighty Sidho clan loves it too.It is truly a beautiful feeling.
