My Hair
My hair has always
had a mind of its own
Stays doing whatever
it wants whenever
it pleases
Just never bothers to do
any of it, at my convenience
Will take its sweet time
to grow
When I'm most keen to
own a 'fro
Loves to split into these little
bushy clusters
Kept in their place by tiny lines
of bare skin,
They crop up unevenly
to cover my scalp
just like the scattered shrubs
that grace the plains of semi arid Nhabe
I love my hair the most when its short
that's when it gathers into ridges
that rest in little patterned furrows across my head,
They resemble the beautiful ridged
sand dunes I used to scale in Tsabong
When it feels neglected my hair
tangles up and literally cracks up
into woolen clusters in protest!
I often end up having to trim off the
tangled bits
reminds me of the mud cracks
at makgadikgadi salt pans
when it does that
Sometimes I coax it into braids
and traditional threading styles
But if not skilfully done
my hair slips out of its confines
and sticks out in open defiance
On a good day it can easily
steal the spotlight
Showing off its coils and gloss
as it coyly curls around
the neat rows of plaits
My hair couldn’t care less
about being defined by length
as is the current trend
Unless its lovingly crocheted
into dreads, it prefers to either
curl into tight little coils that hug my scalp like a knitted hat
Or billow out into a huge irregular
shaped halo of kinks and curls
similar to the cotton puffs harvested
from mbuya's farm in Chitomborwizi
That has to be lovingly tamed with
special butters and oils
Flowers and beads compliment
its unique beauty and texture well
I lovingly wrap my hair in turbans
and headscarves to protect it
during its treatment and conditioning
Or just to rock my traditional headdress style
My afro swishes, hisses or whistles melodiously
as the wind rushes through it depending on its mood at the time
Sometimes I catch it mimicking the thickset tree tops of the African jungle, causing my heart to ache with instant nostalgia
With its bushy top, that has kinks and knots for branches
sticking out to blatantly defy gravity
At times I style my hair into spikes and moulds just like the tsodilo hills
I even twist it into Bantu knots to honour my ancestors on occasion
When humidity rises my coils and knots
suck in all the moisture and shrink back to my scalp
snapping quickly into survival mode without warning
Saving all the moisture like we are still in the kgalagadi desert
My efforts to be stylish immediately rendered null and void
just like that
I never take any of my hair's antics to heart though
I love and accept my crowning as it is
It's a proud display of my heritage and my origin
An interesting conversation starter
A unique and under appreciated work of art
It’s a one of a kind crown of glory
That I’m honoured to carry and pass on to my descendants
A precious traditional sacrificial gift rich in tribal essence
that I burn as offering to connect me to my ancestors instantly
Resilient and wild, it’s as untameable as my Mother Aferika
Copyright © Stafish Olor | Year Posted 2021
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