...Memory Lane...the Price of Beauty

....this is one of my fave pictures by Tony Gleaton 'cuz it reminds me of growing up back home in Nigeria. I remember the moments when my mother couldn't braid my overly thick hair & I would end up having to get it braided by my grandmother (...it hurt so bad I would feel like pissin' my pants)....or at the hair shop in the market. The moment of truth usally came when I i would have to turn my face around and tuck it in between the hair braider's open legs (...so she could catch the braids in the back....). I dreaded this moment with a passion. Until I grew older and learnt to take things like a black woman....this was the point where i'd usually bitch up like the child i was & either kick into the panicked high pitched shrill of someone gone completely mad or an incessant & incredibly annoying whine...much like that of a crippled puppy in the middle of a lonely highway....
My grandmother is the Queen of Scalp and Hair Follicle assault. She was famous for having no mercy as she tugged my hair off my scalp like it was made of steel & not skin and flesh. All the while hissing for me to keep my head still. On the other hand, the lady at the hair shop...while much softer on the scalp....definitely had a bit of a musk to her nether regions.

Come to think of it, I never could quite figure out which mental trauma I preferred.

All pain and discomfort aside....i definitely remember feeling like the --ish whenever the 'do' was all done. Traumatized, yes. but with a cool bangin' hairstyle like shuku, patewo, or sade adu to wear to school the next day. Man, you couldn't tell me a damn thing....

I---was---so ----fly....