Death After the Big Chop?

There is that assumption that once you chop your hair that you are done with the hair business. Done with going to salons or the expensive maintenance.

I have someone in my life that is dedicated to complaining about my worry over the hair.

When I ask her how much box braids would cost and she looks at me as if I cursed the ground under her feet. 

With which she answers. (I do not know. What ? Are you tired of your hair already? You chopped your hair. Forget about the salon.)

While in fact my head is swirling with countless ideas of what to do with my hair. 

What she wants me to keep to one style? Its not why I cut my hair. I didn’t chop my hair because I got tired of hair. In fact I love it and I chopped it for the natural hair. 

This is my journey where I experiment every shit available that’s going to make me and my hair look beautiful without relaxing my hair.

She then begins to mention how expensive short hair is. I want to tell her beauty isn’t cheap or easy. I don’t plan on staying short you know! 

I plan on loving the natural curls on my head because I got them. Patience. 

I am learning.

Learning about the hair products.

I have so Much planned for this head. 

When I had the relaxed hair. I was always worried about my hair getting wet. My hair cutting. Saving for my retouch after every two months.

Having limited styles on my head. Now I am all over Pinterest searching every thing. 

First days in my new job.

Well let’s say I said it was awesome soon.

Its just been three days.I am experiencing.

1: Doubt.

My  co workers all speak my mother tongue Kikuyu that I was not fortunate to speak. 

They speak to me in Swahili the national language and you can’t help it but think they speak about me when they turn to speaking Kikuyu. 

But I am sure they talk about Me because they speak in Kikuyu and lower their voice. 

My other mistake. This was embarrassing. 

I used the toilet which I hadn’t known at that time but it was the bosses toilet and there was no water. So imagine the horror of asking them where to fetch water and this woman had seen me and as I was walking out with the bucket to fetch. They were like (Oh my Godding) me in Kikuyu. *you know? Like OMG she didn’t go there! And she didn’t flash?* 

Like hello!! I was heading to fetch the water. 

Then they resulted to tell me that we don’t use that toilet. Too late. I want to bury myself underground.

I am tempted to snap at them to stop talking in Kikuyu but what can I do? 

Tonight i have a connection to you.

I hold her in my arms. She licks her hand and I look outside my curtain drawned window. So bare and I see you.

Shinning down at me like a beacon in the night. I always whisper words to you. Sometimes so nonsensical that I laugh. 

Tonight. I whisper to you. So bright giving me light in the dark. 

The clouds keep you from me. They like an army gathered together to block you from me.

“Baby girl. 

The moon…look. It shines just for us. Shines despite the obstacles. 

Look. The cloudy army guards again flowing past but look like they aren’t moving,  Keeping us from such beautiful light.”

Such a beautiful night.

Co-Existing together in Peace.

So, where I leave. Kenya, Nairobi. South C. As your heading to Bandari Villas. 

As i walk the long dusty stretch home. There is a sight that out stands me and makes me happy and proud. 

I pass a Catholic church and then next to it, I cross the Mosque next to it. 

And there has been no quarrel. There has been peace. They co-exist together. Makes me wonder why some in the world can’t.

I have a debt collector who I owe an unlimited amount of debt.

You gave birth to me. 

You went to a far way land to support me.

Years passed. Connection fell apart.

You became a stranger who is very familiar to me.

Pays the house I live in. The food I eat. My education.

I have been a stubborn girl.

I rebel.

I am an atheist.

I am undecided about my future.

I am 23 years old.

I really made you mad this time.

I made you mad because of something I don’t really see any wrong with.

You have to have everything your way.

You expect me to turn to your tunes.

I rebel.

You say you are fed up with me. You have been silent for a long time and you have kept it to yourself.

I want to move out so bad.

I want to have a job and just get out from under your thumb.

I just don’t know where to start.

I don’t Want the words to hear every time I upset you is “if you don’t like it. Then move out.”

Someone would think you live here with us but you still live in that far away land and still want to run this household. My life.

I don’t desire to go to that faraway land to you and go deeper under your thumb. 

Its scares me most.

I do not want to need you.

Needing you is scary.

I am supposed to need you. Want you. You gave birth to me.

But your like a debt collector to me. 

I want to repay everything you have Done for me. 

I got into an unlimited debt that can never be enough no matter what I do.

Your a debt collector I want to repay this unlimited debt and I want to stay away from you.

I don’t want to build my future around you.

Makes me such a bad daughter. I am a bad daughter.

8 Days after my Big chop. 

It feels like a lifetime and I suddenly have so much to do with my new look and hair.

Cutting my hair to my mom was a mute discussion. Not going to happen which happened. 

In this eight days. I have battled with everything. I have never had short hair and its a new experience. 

I always went to the salon to have my hair. So I don’t know what Shampo to use or conditioner and you google and you find all this hair products that have me wincing because I am in Kenya.Africa. 

All those recommendations are not going to help because they are damn expensive and the shipping costs too much.

I have a dictator in my life who is telling me none of the styles I see on Pinterest suite my face. That I should just chop it off and let it grow like Afro where I am gunning for a Tapered hairstyle.

Which she progresses to inform me that those hairstyle’s aren’t natural hair and if they are, our hair are not the same.

Which begs a question that I really wish someone will answer.

(Do we (meaning African women) have different hair texture from the African foreign? (Not only for the African American but also those in Europe, and Asia.)

I have read enough to see we do have the same hair texture. Different but similar.

So this new haircut of mine is something I want to experience. To experiment moderately and I am trying to tell her very politely that 

“Can I just like know my hair. Let me do my hair. Let me make memories and know what style not to put. Can I?)