My love-hate affair with weaves

It is said and I quote “a woman’s beauty is not complete without her hair” – Ronald Eyit

Before the digital ink of the last sentence dries up, this piece: wait; does piece refer to a weave term or written article? Where was I? this is purely not about you yes you my sister reading this but rather about how l got to hate weaves. It wasn’t a one off but rather a series of bad encounters till this most recent one sealed the deal so to speak. Plus my definition of weaves includes its other cousins with catchy names like brazillian et cetera not forgetting the many colors of the rainbow they come with.

First hear me out: one beautiful day l was running late for an afternoon meeting, l ran back into the house 3 times because l kept forgetting something, l didn’t know mother nature was setting me up.

By the time l reached the stage, l found myself standing next to this beautiful young corporate lady waiting for a taxi. Everything about her was in its right place from the shoes to the handbag to her dress with the sole exception of her hair. She looked like the hot windy dry season blasts of moody  African hurricanes had done a hostile coup take over on her head, it’s like she was driven through the desert streets in a convertible and the tribes of wind took turns yanking her hair left, right ,this way, that way. The mass of hair or whatever its name morphed into l don’t know. I saw a sight so hard to un-see: I don’t know but there was something else like her hair line was starting from the middle of her head and yet l could see her forehead had “other” hair with something to do with some places having threads like she was patched up in a rush by some gigantic sawing machine. l don’t know what to call it so l will stop trying to explain just know it was baya sana. She reminded me of the shaolin monks with a pony tail of hair towards the back of their heads. Honestly speaking she caught me dead starring at her head. l found myself mumbling  a good morning Madame in the afternoon (hihi)

That was just ¼ of my ordeal that was yet to unfold. As fate would have it, we were headed the same direction thus entered the same taxi, shared the same seat then my longest journey to Ntinda started. First l was accosted by some not so welcoming smell l guess coming from her side, my sense of smell was harassed and bullied because her perfume was testosterone spiking, l think my blood sugar levels shot up. Then l got those occasional “weave slaps” on my face by her hair thanks to the wind, l once thought of faking a stop just to jump into another taxis. Then she kept throwing her head backwards  like the way l see the other women with those natural long hairs do on TV to put right their hair. By this time, my immaculately white shirt had strands of hair like our laundry got mixed up or we woke up in the same bed. What would happen if l hugged her? Wouldn’t l walk away with half her hair?? How would l explain to nani where the hair came from??? I know too many questions

It gets worse – In the midst of all this l get a WhatsApp message that the meeting had been rescheduled to the following week, l didn’t read the details – because my mind kept reading weave this, weave that. I had had enough l turned to face my tormentor only to be disarmed by a smile and a question asking me if I knew where Capital Shoppers Ntinda is located, l nearly added “they have saloons there too”. I said a prayer to filter out poison from my loud mouth least l say ungentlemanly words to an innocent looking lady, I told her l knew the place and yes as a matter of fact l was going to that very building complex too so l could walk her there. We alighted, l pointed her in the right direction and wished her a good weave day, l needed to put much ground between me and her.  She should fire her stylist – I can volunteer….

I stopped short of inviting her for dinner @ Heritage Bar & Restaurant so l could rumble away about my anti-weave bill yet to be tabled in parliament yari yari. (Their chef prepares very tasty finger licking pork skewers – you gotta pass there one of these days. Freddo Advertisement Invoice coming…).

Before you judge me; know that l don’t hate women, l only don’t agree with the hair fashion sense of some women who subscribe to the weave movement. Their taste violates the rights of other citizens; the right to seeing pleasant optical nourishments without shedding a sad tear. You remember that Nigerian woman whose weave fell off during the long jump event??? Aya – I can see you wishing to jump on me an strangle me up with a barbed wire but hold your fire siste l’m angry but still love you with or without a weave.

Nothing puts a wide smile on my face on any given day than seeing a lady rocking a natural afro

DISCLAIMER: l have never put on a weave or ever convinced anyone to go for it. I can bet my lunch on that.

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