#envirizanacho

Women are ACTUALLY paying money to have African kaweke sewn onto their heads. You know, like a weave? Like extensions? The natural hair craze is upon us and its now fashionable, “healthier” and “African” to wear your hair nacho.
The kinkier, coarser and shaggier it looks, all the better. But they selfishly still want to keep their chemically-treated hair underneath, just in case of a rainy day when they need to go to a wedding or a baby-shower, or something like that.
I joined the nacho hair family—— Ta-nta-ntara!!! Drum-roll!!!—— a week ago. Not for fashion, or health or for more African-ness than I have in my blood.
I had worked the whole day and was exhausted when I eventually got home at 11:30pm. I had supper, then got the biggest pair of scissors I own, sat in front of the mirror, looked at my curly do for the last time and started chopping away. No. It was not a moment of madness.
Sides first. Front next. Then the middle. Then the back. And when I was done, the floor was peppered with small tufts of black.
When I came to the office on Tuesday, my boss asked if I was okay. I wondered, “Okay in the head? Okay-healthy? Okay-not-missing-my-hair? Or simply okay-okay?”
My Dad said I looked like my little sister.
Mum said “You look nice, you did a good job”.
This got me thinking of two things. That I can be a barber in my retirement. And two, what’s this obsession with women wanting to look young? I also started thinking I looked like Omulokole Omuzuukufu.
Some of my workmates looked at me in disbelief. I’m sure they had always thought me Ethiopian or Somali, or a misplaced mulatto. Now, they were seeing the real me.
Others have not said a thing and yet I know that my appearance has undergone a dramatic rebirth.
Now my small head, with the kaweke- and those small tight curls at the back are there for all to see.
I look in the mirror and like what I see. My real black hair for the first time in I do not know how many years. Some little grey. And I am happy, so happy.
Because now I don’t have to style my hair in the morning. Just comb out the stubborn kaweke. Once. No patting-patting.
Also, my pillow is safe from being clogged with hair oil.
Out with the elasticized hair-net that would not let me sleep like a baby.
No more five-hour trips to the saloon. Washing, chemicalizing, shampooing, rollering, towel-on-head- dryer.
Saving on the thousands of shillings for saloon, hair oil, treatment, shampoo, sijui conditioner.
No more worrying that I will get off the bodaboda looking like my head is misshapen.
Finally free of these things of breaking, split ends.