Diary of an Honest Naturalista: Week 31

Finally, I am now working again. Whew! What a relief. I actually started a week before Christmas. Tonya and I were able to get ourselves to be rejected from the local government office we were posted to. Thanks to her influential father, we were able to get posted to a better place, Lagos state Ministry of Justice. I’ll pick a Ministry over a Local Government anytime.

The first noticeable thing about the ministry is the presence of many women old enough to be my mother. Some are really nice, while some are just… blah. There are the friendly ones, the loud ones, the nosy ones, and there is Madam Adams, my direct superior, whose full name is Mrs Adamolekun. Madam Adams physical characteristic is something that would take a whole diary entry by itself, so I would not delve into it, at a go.

We work in the same office, along with some other admin staff, since she is not really that high up in position, but the woman whom I actually assist in admin duties. I resumed my place of work, wearing neatly done, but shrunk loose twists, but by Friday of that week, my hair was already looking like dreadlocks. Ever since I started work, Madam Adams never ceased to stare at my hair every morning, and take glances at it during the day. On Friday, she couldn’t take it anymore, and finally let out what exactly had been bothering her.

“Come Anna, abi ki lo tie pe ra e gan (or what do you call yourself again)? Why is your hair like this? I don’t even understand it. Ever since you came, your hair has been looking somehow in my eyes. On Monday, o da bi nkan orisa tan lo po (it looked like something of the deities twisted around each other), and today, it is looking like fat mop threads that have seen better days. Please, make sure you do something to your hair this weekend. Abi o mo pe sisi ni e sha (Or don’t you know you are young lady)? You should look nice and pretty all the time.” She scolded, after she finished giving this speech in front of everyone present in the room.

To say I was shocked was an understatement. Her speech barrage got me going through 100 sequences of emotions in minutes, such that my face took all the expression transformations in the picture below.

Source

Where did all that come from? I stared at Madam Adam’s Parking Gel hair, with Darling Yaki extension hanging from the back of her head. Her hair was starting from almost the middle of her head, and I wanted to shake my head.

“Okay ma, I have heard.” If Madam Adams’ version of doing something to my hair was ending up having Mama mi l’eko Parking Gel style on my hair, I’ll gladly pass on the opportunity.

It's as if there's no escaping from people like this anywhere in the world. I don’t know who is worse, Thomas or Madam Adams. Only time will tell.

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