Diary of an Honest Naturalista: Week 62

Okay, so following last week, I have been making adjustments when it comes to the appearance of my hair, and that’s going good so far. I just pray for consistency.

This week was a really boring one for me. My sister and her husband came home, along with Boma. I did not want to carry her for so long, but I was overcome by my love for the troublesome but innocent soul. I was busy playing with her, when my sister screamed my name from the kitchen.

“Annaaaaaa!!!”

I rushed down in alarm, wondering if my mum had suddenly slumped and died, because the intensity of the screams was off the roof. I got to the kitchen, and saw her looking down into a small glass jar.

“What is this?” She asked.

“What?” I was confused. I could see it was one of Boma’s food jars.

“This?”

“What?” I asked again. “Is it expired?” suddenly wondering what business I had with Boma’s food, and why it warranted such high-pitched scream.

“There’s hair in this thing?”

I was wondering whether to be shocked about the hair in the jar of food, or the fact that she seemed to be accusing me. I was momentarily at loss for words. I lowered my eyelids. “Okaaaaay. I think it is we should throw it away then.” I eventually said.

My sister lowered her eyelids back at me. “So you are saying you don’t have anything to do with this?”

I knew it! she was definitely accusing me. “Excuse me, I was in the living room.” I retorted.

“But you are the only hair-crazy person in this house, it can only be you, and your hair can fly around.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This is so typical of my sister. “But my hair is always covered at home.” I defended myself, pointing to my satin bonnet.

“So who else could it have come from?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it is from your weaves.” I said.

“But your hair is more likely to break than my weave. After all, you always say natural hair is the most fragile of all types of hair. And anyway, the jar was sealed when I got here, so it couldn’t have been mine.” She went on and on.

“Exactly! Sealed! So how could it also be from me if it was sealed?” I gave her that look that said ‘just accuse me one more time.’

I walked to where she was holding the jar down, dipped my finger into the pudding, and brought out the hair to examine it.

“See, the hair is even straight,” I showed her. “My hair is kinky and very springy. Your weave is curly. Anyway, now you know it’s definitely not from me. Satisfied now?”

She didn’t say anything, so I looked at her intensely, and eventually walked out. I've had enough of all this.

Source

I know her pride wouldn’t allow her apologise for the wrong accusation, even though she was in the wrong. She wasted all the energy she should have been using to think about how she’ll sue the food company, accusing me. She didn’t even think about the dynamics of the whole thing before she started screaming my name, as if I had set her baby in fire.

I wonder why naturalistas have to be the first suspect when it comes to hair-related matters wherever we find ourselves. Arrant nonsense!

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