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| San Francisco - Lombard Street (Crooked Street) |
A son: the one thing I always wanted to give my
husband. When I was pregnant with our first child I was convinced I was having
a boy, I had all the symptoms, according to the old wives tales (For example, I
am a chocolate a day kind of girl, but all I wanted was salty and hot spicy
food). I was so convinced that during the Cesarean (yes I am “too posh to
push”) when the surgeon said "It's a girl!", my response was
"are you sure??". I am sure you are thinking I should probably keep
that to myself, unfortunately my daughter will eventually know about this
because it was caught on camera. I can’t deny ever saying it. Why the obsession
with a son you ask? Well for starters, I’d always thought that if I gave my
African husband a son he would love me for life. I know - dumb right? We all
know that the counts for nothing.
You have to forgive me; I had been contemplating this
idea for a long time, since I was very young. The main reason for my preference
of the boy child was hair.
Yes you read that right hair (vhudzi). Anyone who
knows me will know that I could not care-less for my hair. I was happy and am still
happy to spot a bald hairstyle, it’s simple. I grow my hair and chop it when I
get bored. So the idea of having to deal with a baby girl's hair was a little
bit off putting, surely with a baby boy the haircuts would not be a stress? As
luck might have it, my husband and I have been blessed with two beautiful
girls. Ndana's hair is a big challenge, very kinky (thanks to mum) and sparse
(thanks to paternal genes), Atida's hair looks much better but she is still
young so it's too early to call it.
And so began the journey of discovering #naturesownsolutions, a journey as straight as San Francisco's Lombard Street.
As a mum, I want only the best for my kids,
therefore organic hair products were a no-brainer. I trolled the hair shops and
hair salons for "natural" organic hair products for black babies with
no luck. There are so many different brands to choose from it was mind
boggling. I finally found what I was looking for, I loved the products but it
costing me dearly. The products were a delight, they smelt good and after a few
treatments, the hair was more manageable. Being the penny pincher that I am, I
was not willing to spend that much money on hair products. I had to make a plan
because the mainstream products marketed for Black African children were not an
option. Having done a lot of research on hair care, looking at the various lists
of ingredients, I realised these products were full of "bad
ingredients". According to various sources, mineral oils / petroleum,
parabens, sulphates, fragrance, propylene glycol and others are no good for our
kinky hair. It was back to the drawing board for me and more internet research!
This time the results were more reassuring, the internet is full of natural
hair bloggers advocating for the use of nature's own products to grow and maintain
kinky hair. So, armed with virgin coconut oil, unrefined jojoba oil, extra
virgin olive oil (yes the one from my kitchen) and unrefined Shea butter, I
have the daily care of my girls' hair under control. Every weekend I am in my
kitchen cooking up a storm, no not to eat but to feed the hair. Alternating
between protein and moisturising treatments, the weekends are never dull. The
weekends in our household are now reminiscent of my childhood weekends when
Sundays were dedicated to hair plaiting to make sure everyone’s hair was nice
and neat for school. I have come from knowing nothing about hair to making my
own treatments and plaiting (kuraka mabhanzi) the girls' hair all on my own. We
don’t have it all figured out yet but we are getting there, part of the fun is
finding out what works well for one’s hair and in my case, three people's hair,
yes I said three, because I too have been inspired to grow my hair naturally.
As for the son that I so longed for, I live in hope.
Maybe if we are blessed with a son I can enjoy the same level of excitement
that my husband is greeted with every day when he comes home from work;
apparently mum's arrival from work is a non-event. I need to teach these girls
that mum's the word.
