Diary of an Honest Naturalista: Week 55

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My hair is finally growing again, and life is going on great… well, sometimes. As you might already know, I hardly trim my hair. I recently thought it great to turn a new leaf, in order to reduce the number of frustrations I face in my hair journey.

This time, two unrelated circumstances came together, joined forces, and ended up making me look like a fool.

I had this interesting idea to trim my hair, just because I had about 20 minutes free time before heading over to Tonya’s place, so I could join her to work. The thing is, I was already dressed up when Tonya told me that I should chill a bit, so I unbunned my hair, which had been forced into a tiny pony tail, and started trimming my completely dry hair in very small sections. In about fifteen minutes, I was all done, and decided to wear my fro out instead. At least, Madam Adams had stopped bothering me about my hair, and joined me instead.

So off I went, with my freshly-trimmed fro, to work. It was in Tonya’s car that I found out that tiny wisps of hair were trapped in my hair, and falling out at intervals. It was by this time I realized that should have probably trimmed a moist hair. Or at least if I would trim on dry hair, I should have actually made effort to remove all trimmed ends from my hair, especially if I wasn’t planning to wash immediately after.

I decided to suffer it, till all the trapped wisps fell out, since there was nothing I could do. I got to work, and got ready for the second day of a two-day public sector training program a consulting firm was running for most of the staff in my ministry.

On this particular day, the commissioner and the permanent secretary decided to come for the training, towards the lunch break period. Before the day, I had been feeling a little uncomfortable, and my neck a little itchy because of the wisps of hair that grazed my neck.

Anyway, lunch break was a buffet, and everyone served themselves, including all the heads. I was one of the last people to serve myself because Madam Adams had sent me on a quick errand. I had no choice but to sit on the only vacant sit, which was beside the permanent secretary, who was seated beside the commissioner. I had hesitated before taking the seat, but the permanent secretary had seen my hesitation, and gave me a ‘why can’t you sit here, do I look like I bite?’ kind of look. So I had no choice.

The industrial fan was just right by our side, and was blasting at full speed. In fact, I was worried that such high velocity won’t distort the defined shape of my afro. I ate in silence, as I was careful to maintain myself in the presence of such Ogas.

After ingesting about four scoops of rice, the permanent secretary turned to me, and looked at my hair.

“I like your hair.” He said.

I was shocked. I never met him, and he had never met me too. “Thank you sir.” I said, kind of shakily.

“I actually like afros, with all the thick curls.” He continued.

My countenance softened a bit. “Thank you sir.” I said again. Or what more could I have said?

Then few minutes later, he dropped his cutlery completely and tilted towards the commissioner to discuss something. My eyes went to his head, as it drifted to his side burns, which I really admired, down to his plate of food.

What I saw next shocked me to the marrow!

Tiny wisps of hair… clumped together… somewhere on top of his white Chinese rice. I knew instantly that they were from my head. It was the fault of the trim!

There was no way he would have looked back at that plate of food without noticing them. The only way I could escape it was if he digs his cutlery into the dish, without looking at it. Once he sees those wisps, he would definitely know they are mine, especially because he had taken time to compliment them, and even mentioned the word ‘curls’. The hair that had garnished his food definitely wasn’t straight!

I started dancing azonto in my hair, shifting, and looking like this...

Source

What could I have done? Put my hand in his food to remove them, without getting caught? Push his plate down, so they would break, and I could claim it was a mistake? What? Whatever I chose, I knew there would be trouble.

All I did was sacrifice the exotic food collection on my plate. I stood up, carried my plate to the servers, gave it to them, walked to the office, carried my bag, and went straight home by public transport. I told the intern to tell Madam Adams that an emergency just occurred.

Or was this not emergency enough?

What happened after I left… whether this oga at the top ate my delicious hair, or whether he caught me at my game, I never found out. And I never want to find out.

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