Big chop

Posted in big chop by Jen

Dear world, I’m glad to announce that I’ve done the big chop! *moonwalks across your screen*. I did it at home, by myself(no one wanted to help just in case I regretted it and blamed them or just because they didn’t support my cutting my hair). I sat in front of the mirror and cut in sections. I used my spray bottle filled with water,a bit of olive oil and a bit of Giovanni smooth as silk conditioner to spray my hair so I could tell the natural hair from the relaxed ends.

My spray bottle(I’m a cheapskate so I just used an old body splash bottle that I washed thoroughly but if u want to buy a spray bottle, you can get at Sizzelle,The Kinky Apothecary or The Hair City)

For the back parts I couldn’t see in the mirror, I just felt the hair with my fingers and cut where the relaxed hair started(didn’t spray since I couldn’t see the hair).

Before I started cutting

Almost done

My hair!

I found out that it’s advisable to use hair shears instead of regular scissors because regular scissors can cause damage and split ends but I threw caution to the wind and used regular scissors that I got for N60 at a shop that sells tailoring supplies in my neighborhood. If you don’t want to use plain scissors, you can get hair shears for around N1400 and above at Sizzelle, a Nigerian online store that sells natural hair stuff.
After I was done cutting, I rinsed my hair for about 2 minutes with just water then I put a mixture of about 2 tablespoons of my Giovanni conditioner,1 teaspoon of olive oil and 2 teaspoons of honey in my hair to deep condition it. I didn’t have a plastic/shower cap so I just put one of those small black nylon bags that most traders/shops put what you buy in for you, over my hair and tied 3 or 4 scarves over that to generate as much heat as possible. I went about my business(watching TV. Lol) and then rinsed it out about 3 hours later and put some more Giovanni conditioner in my hair,combed through with my wide-toothed comb and rinsed it out. I patted my hair with an old cotton T-shirt(it’s better to use this instead of a towel because a towel can cause breakage. It’s also better to pat and not rub). I didn’t totally dry it, I left it somewhat damp. I then put some more Giovanni in as a leave in, followed by a mix of castor oil and olive oil and then some Shea butter. By this time I’d noticed that my hair wasn’t very evenly cut so I had my aunt trim around a bit. And voila! My end result

I think I look pretty good. I love it. Still getting used to it but I think it’s not bad at all. I got loads and loads of compliments and a few natural haired girls “welcomed me to the club” lol. As you would expect, I also got some why’s and I-don’t-like-it’s.

This is how I usually wore my hair before- braids and weaves but I left it alone most of the time in just a ponytail.

In case you’re wondering why I decided to take the plunge and go natural, my reason is really not that deep. I didn’t want to “stop using the creamy crack” or have healthier hair(well, I kinda did but that wasn’t my main reason) or whatever deep reason there is out there to go natural. I simply wanted a different look and a fresh start(sound weird? Lol).
So, this is newly natural me signing out! Until my next post!

13Jun2013

The Big Chop is tomorrow!

Posted in big chop, products by Jen

So my big chop is tomorrow! *happy dancing* I’m so excited! It’s the kind of excitement that gives you a funny feeling in your belly because it’s mixed with little doses of fear,anticipation,doubt and anxiety. So 5 minutes ago, literally, I decided to snip a small part of my hair to kind of prepare my mind a little bit plus I wanted to get a picture of what my length would be like.

(Ignore how messy my hair looks). My sister was looking at me like I was crazy! LOL!

In the time since my last post, I’ve been trying to find as much info as I can get on everything natural hair related from hair porosity(how well your hair absorbs and maintains moisture) to recommended products to hair care regimens.
From my research, I found so many product dos and don’ts and so many rules; even the rules have rules under them(LOL). Some examples of the rules I found are:
-don’t use shampoos with sulfates(they dry out your hair and are harsh. Find more info on sulfate in shampoos here)
-don’t use conditioners and other products with silicones(usually things in the ingredient section that end with -cone, -xane and -conol) but you can use products with water soluble silicones because they will be washed away when you wash your hair.(To find out more about silicones, check here)
-if you use conditioners with silicones(not water soluble) you have to use a shampoo with sulfate to get the silicones out of your hair if not you will have build-up(basically the silicones will coat your hair and scalp and create build-up making your hair dull and drab) but you might be able to get rid of the build-up using baking soda or apple cider vinegar.
-don’t use products with mineral oil, petroleum jelly and paraben.
-wear a silk/satin scarf/bonnet to bed or sleep on a silk/satin pillowcase because cotton can cause damage to your hair and suck out moisture.
-don’t comb your hair when it’s dry. Comb it when it’s wet and apply your products when it’s wet as well.
-always use an oil or(and) a butter to seal in moisture.

These are just a few of the numerous rules you will find. It’s very difficult, if not impossible, to follow every single natural hair rule you see because there are some conflicting rules, there are too many rules and we don’t all have the same kind of hair and what works for one person may not work for another. So what I’ve decided to do is to try as much as possible to follow the basic rules that are more common or that almost everyone follows as I try to find out what my hair likes and build my own regimen.

The major problem for me so far has been choosing products to use and where to find said products in Nigeria.
So far, these are the products I’ve gotten:

1) olive oil

With Olive oil, you need to get Cold pressed extra virgin olive oil to get the best results out of it. This brand, Goya, is widely available in almost all grocery stores and supermarkets in Nigeria. There’s always a bottle, if not more, of this at my house because we use it in church and I use it to cook(I’ve been on a weight loss journey and it’s one of the healthiest oil options). This brand comes in small, medium and large. This is the medium bottle and I got it for N500 at a small store in my neighborhood. I will be using this(mixed with castor oil) as my oil to seal in moisture, mixing it with some water to spray my hair when it needs a pick-me-up, mixing it with other things to deep condition my hair etc. There are so many uses for this so it wouldn’t hurt to get a bottle.

2)Castor oil

With castor oil as well, you need to get cold pressed/cold drawn. You can get this at almost any supermarket or pharmacy(because it is usually administered orally for constipation) in Nigeria. I got this for N450 at a pharmacy. Castor oil is great for sealing in moisture, can be used in a deep conditioning mix etc. It is also rumored to make hair grow, it reduces breakage and it makes hair stronger. It’s a thick oil so it’s highly advisable to mix it with other oils so it doesn’t weigh down your hair. I washed an old relaxer activator bottle and filled it with a mixture of castor and olive oil(1 part castor to 2 parts olive).

3)Shea butter(locally known as Ori)

This is one of the greatest blessings God gave us in this part of the world as far as I’m concerned. It’s very cheap and available locally. You should choose the unrefined kind. You can get it in markets and if you don’t, some salons sell it as well(if you don’t find it, you can always ask around or ask the market sellers or the salon workers where you can get it). You can use this as your butter to seal in moisture, soften your hair etc. You can use it alone or you can mix it with oils. It’s great for your hair and if it doesn’t work for your hair, you can always put it in your body lotion or use it as a lip balm.
From the picture above, you can see that the ones I have aren’t the same colour. I’m used to the colour on the left so when I bought the one on the right and saw the colour, I was worried because it looked odd to me. I asked around and the general consensus was that nothing was wrong with it(my mum even said the regular one has that colour because it’s bleached so the one on the right is the unbleached version. My friend said maybe they mixed something in with the one on the right). Anyways, I decided to stop fretting and I just mixed the one on the right with some of the one on the left. When I bought them, they were in nylon bags so I transferred them into these cream containers that I’ve washed and decided to repurpose. I don’t remember how much the one on the left cost(I’m guessing about N100) but the one on the right was N100(this is about half of it because I shared it with my brothers so I would say what’s in the container is actually like N50’s worth of Shea butter).

4) Giovanni smooth as silk deeper moisture conditioner

I read several reviews about this online and it seemed to rank high in the natural community. It’s silicone free and free of many other chemicals. I really like it. I’ve used it once to cowash my hair(cowasing or conditioner washing is washing your hair with conditioner only; no shampoo) and I’ve also been using it as a leave in conditioner(haven’t gotten a leave in yet and I read several reviews of people using it as a leave in and loving it). I also mixed a very small amount of it in a spray bottle with water and olive oil to spray my hair with whenever it needs a little more moisture or a pick-me-up as I said earlier. A little of it goes a long way(which is great because it’s kind of pricey) and it makes my hair soft and easy to detangle. It’s not so common in Nigeria. I got this at Casa Bella in Ikeja City Mall, Alausa for N3010. It is also available at Casa Bella in The Palms,Lekki, Casa Bella in Shoprite, Surulere and Casa Bella in Shoprite(Grand towers), Apo in Abuja. You can also buy it at this Nigerian natural hair store: The Kinky Apothecary

Casa Bella also carries many natural haircare products as well so you should definitely check them out. This is a picture of the numbers on my receipt in case you want to call them for enquiries

I also bought a wide toothed comb and a few hair accessories from a store in my neighborhood. I’m ordering shampoo and hair gel and I will keep you posted when I get them and anything else.

Tomorrow is the big day!!! *dances into the sunset*

29May2013

Alhaji Gafar

Posted in fiction, story, tragedy by Jen

Lying there, Alhaji Gafar could almost see his father’s stern face, hear his father’s deep voice telling him “Gafar, you have to grow up to be an upright man. Always do what is right no matter what it costs you. Be a good man. This is what Allah expects of us”. Alhaji Gafar had spent his childhood and teenage years trying to be good because it was what Allah expected him to be. As he grew older and wiser, he began to feel the joy of being good, the love for people and he realized that he shouldn’t be good thoughtlessly only because Allah expected it of him, he should be good because there was joy in being good, because it was good to be good and it felt good to be good. So Alhaji Gafar, armed with this epiphany, was the very definition of all that is good and upright.

When he was approached with the government job, he was reluctant because he knew that most people that held government jobs were deceitful,evil,greedy and had hands stained with the blood of many. But Alhaji Gafar told himself he would be different and he would try to bring positive change so he took the job. He didn’t care that many powerful men screamed death threats at him when he refused the cheques they pressed into his palm to change figures somewhere, put their names somewhere or remove someone they didn’t like from a job. He never embezzled money, never gave or received bribes, never used his position to oppress others.

And so lying here on the cold ground in a pool of blood, the knife of revenge sticking out of his belly, life seeping out of him and death breathing harshly on the back of his neck, he wondered if he should have been different but he knew he had led a life he,his father and Allah were proud of. He closed his eyes and let death take him by the hand and lead him away from this world where good was bad.

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Hi guys. I know it’s very easy to be bad and extremely difficult to be good but let’s all try as much as we can to do the right thing(Isn’t it a little funny that I’m saying this after the good guy died. LOL). Happy Democracy day Nigeria! May God give us more and more good people in the government with each passing year.

9May2013

Through the door

Posted in DPchallenge, fiction, story by Jen

Emeka walked tiredly to the coal black door with 17B written on it in gold, turned his key in the lock and walked into the overwhelming smell of incense, apples and something else he couldn’t make out but didn’t find pleasant. His wife, Halima, and his daughter, Julie, were praying in the living room. He wanted to go to the kitchen to drink water but he couldn’t because he would have to walk in front of his wife and daughter and he knew he wasn’t allowed to walk in front of people who were praying. He’d learnt that the hard way. So he sank into the couch and swallowed saliva repeatedly hoping to at least make his throat a little less dry while he waited. Not only was he greatly thirsty, he was starving. He had eaten an apple for breakfast and he had been so busy at the office that he didn’t have time to eat lunch. Confined to the couch, he had no choice but to wait till their prayers were over.

“Hello darling, dinner is almost ready. How was your day”, Halima said, after their prayers were done. Julie hugged him and ran upstairs probably to continue chatting with someone she’d put on hold for her prayers. “My day was long and tiring and I’m famished. What’s for dinner?”, said Emeka, all but whispering. “Aww, sorry dear”, Halima said, ladling something from a pot into a bowl. “We’re having Mama Aimal’s stew and some apple pie for dessert”, she said as she brought the bowl of stew to him. Emeka wanted to cry. He now knew what that smell he couldn’t make out before was; it was the stew. A blend of pig brains and intestines,weird spices and other strange things made Mama Aimal, Halima’s grandmother’s stew and it was a treasured family recipe. He hated that stew with a passion and always poured it down the sink when Halima wasn’t looking. He sat there with fake happiness on his face spooning the gross liquid into his mouth as Halima watched him, his soul weeping. He also hated apple pie; he thought it was just too sweet to be called food. After several spoons of the stew, Emeka couldn’t take it anymore so he pretended to doze off. He ignored Halima’s light taps until, finally, she carried the bowl of stew to the kitchen and started to load the dishwasher.

Emeka heard her make her way upstairs and only then did he rouse from his fake sleep and go upstairs. Showered and lying in bed next to a sleeping Halima, Emeka waited for sleep to come. Strands of Halima’s long, sleek hair tickling his face, he thought about his beautiful wife that his family disliked. When he told his mother on the phone that he had found the person he wanted to marry, she said ” ah, Chukwuemeka! I thought you would come back home to find a wonderful Igbo girl, preferably from our hometown to marry. Anyway, I trust you my son. I know you have found an equally good Nigerian woman over there”. When he said his wife to be was not Nigerian, his mother screamed as if someone struck her with a big stick. “Jehovah! Chukwuemeka, you want to marry an American. Do you want to kill me? Eiii God oh”. Emeka thought it wise to not divulge any more information so he told his mother he and his girlfriend would be coming to Nigeria to see her and his father. When his mother first saw Halima, she whispered to Emeka, “Why is she tying her head like all those Muslim people” and Emeka said “mama, she is Muslim”. His mother’s face wore the expression of one who had seen a ghost but she said nothing. Later that night, sitting in the living room of his family house in Aba, his father merely nodded while his mother told him they would not consent to the marriage. His mother, arms akimbo, said at the top of her voice,”We cannot agree oh,Emeka. Never! Not only did you bring a white woman home as a bride, you brought a Muslim white woman. You must be joking. You will not kill me; I did not kill my parents, so you will not kill me”. Then with tears in her eyes and palms raised towards the ceiling, she knelt down and said “God, where did I go wrong please. Did all my prayers for my son’s future go unanswered. Will my years as a devout Christian go unrewarded. Jesus oh! Father why me”. Emeka explained time and time again that he loved Halima and he would never marry anyone else but his mother just cried and screamed and his father just shook his head mournfully. Emeka still married Halima. And then they had Julie. They couldn’t decide on a name; he wanted her to have an Igbo name, preferably Ngozi after his mum as he secretly hoped this would make his mother accept his new life, but Halima wanted to name her, Aisha after her own mother. So they decided to just give her a neutral English name they both liked. Emeka had hoped that his parents would change their mind now that they had a grandchild but their stance on the matter remained unchanged. Soon, the void created by the figurative loss of his parents was filled by his growing love for his daughter. She was just like her mother, maybe that’s why he loved her so much. He was a little hurt when, 13 and bright eyed, she decided she didn’t want to be Christian anymore.

Emeka fell asleep and he dreamt of a different life. It was one of those dreams that you know is a dream from the get go but can’t seem to wake up from so you just go along with it till your alarm clock rings. He walked up to 17B, turned his key in the lock and walked in. Seated on the couch was his mother singing an Igbo lullaby to a new born Julie. But her name wasn’t Julie in this alternate universe, her name was Ngozi. “Papa Ngozi, welcome. How was work”, his mother said still looking at baby Ngozi. “Fine mama”. The appetizing aroma of food hung in the air like a thick comforting blanket. “Welcome darling, your dinner is ready”,said his wife. Her accent made it clear to him that she was Igbo, most probably from his village. She had dark shiny skin and a gap in her front teeth and she looked like Igbo personified. He could see why his mother liked her. “What’s for dinner, he asked”. “Oh, your favourite. Pounded yam and Okazi soup”, she said taking his jacket and briefcase. As the first bolus of pounded yam drenched in soup made its way down Emeka’s throat to his eager belly, Emeka woke up to the sound of Halima’s 5am prayer alarm.

His life was like punch at a college party: a mix of many things that boggled his mind. But, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Even though he had no one to go to Mass with him on Sundays, even though he hated the smell of incense, even though he’d prefer pounded yam and Okazi soup for dinner instead of Mama Aimal’s deadly stew, even though they stuck out in public like a sore thumb, one black, one white and one caramel, even though his family didn’t agree, he loved his life and that’s all that mattered.

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Hi guys, this was written a little hastily so I hope it’s coherent. It’s in response to this week’s writing challenge( http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/05/06/writing-challenge-door/?utm_content=bufferf4266&utm_source=buffer&utm_medium=twitter&utm_campaign=Buffer ). What do you guys think about marrying/dating someone who is different from you? Someone of a different race or even ethnic group, someone with different political views, someone with totally different religious beliefs etc?

18Apr2013

The bus ride

Posted in DPchallenge by Jen

Hey guys, *cough* *cough* this blog is so dusty! It’s really been a while. As this is the first post of the year, happy new year!!! *fireworks*.
So I decided to join this WordPress writing challenge that’s aimed at helping you post more and write better. Yippeee! Let’s see if it actually makes me post more often *fingers crossed*.
Today’s post is in response to the weekly writing challenge. This week, it’s a challenge to talk about a person, a place and a thing. ( http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/04/15/person-place-thing/ ). ENJOY!
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I walk briskly towards the multitude of parked yellow buses with black stripes and try to listen closely to the slurred names of places the conductors are calling out. “Sango, Sango Ota, Sango”, I barely manage to make out. I turn to my left and see him beside a bus as rickety as he. I walk up to him and ask “Sango?” just to be sure because with Lagos bus conductors, I’m never really sure what exactly they’re saying. “Yes, sister, enter”, he says in English laced with a thick Yoruba accent and he proceeds to dust my seat with his old palms before I sit down.
As I take my seat by the window, I begin to properly study this old conductor. He is bent over with age but I can tell that he was a tall and agile man in his prime. He is skinny and he has a crown of grey hair. He has tribal marks on both cheeks; each cheek has 3 horizontal black lines above 3 vertical black lines. His face is etched with wrinkles; I can tell that they are not only from age but also from worry. He is about 70 years old from my ‘guesstimation’ which makes his being a bus conductor so fascinating as bus conductors are usually aged 15-35. I wonder what his story is and I can tell it will be a very interesting one. Everybody on board the bus is calling him “Baba”(father), respectfully, as is customary. Under normal circumstances, there should be 2 seats left on the bus for passengers to fill as the conductor usually stands and clings to the side of the bus but this is not a normal circumstance. There is only one seat to fill as Baba will be occupying the second because he is too old and weak to stand and cling to the side of the bus like other conductors. Eager to fill the last seat, Baba is doing a funny dance to attract a passenger as he screams “Sango, Sango Ota, Sango”. Baba was obviously the life of countless parties back in the day. He successfully attracts a young woman and begins to collect money from the passengers. As he collects money and gives out change, I notice just how thin and shaky his hands are with many visible veins. I also notice that he’s missing quite a number of teeth as he smiles often. He is a happy old man. He is polite to all the passengers and in return, the passengers are polite to him. I imagine he’d be a pretty great granddad.
As Baba slowly collects money, I look out of the window at the area we are in. I had been in such a hurry to find a bus before that I didn’t look around much. This is the first time I have been to this part of Agege as I don’t come to Agege very often. To my left is the highway with cars racing by so I decide to study the area to my right. This area is quite filthy. It is muddy and there are heaps of garbage in several places and many stagnant greenish puddles with mosquitoes flying over them. The area is also rather smelly. I can only imagine just how horrible it is on a rainy day. It must be one of those parts pictured in encyclopaedias about Lagos that make you wonder why the wicked publishers didn’t use pictures of nice places like, Victoria Island and Lekki. The bus I’m in is next to a railway line befitting of the very old and sick-looking trains which are typical of Lagos. As usual with all the Lagos railways I’ve seen, it is a makeshift market place. There are women on the tracks selling things from mangoes to rechargeable lamps. When a train is coming, they pack up their goods and make way to return after the train passes. There is a child squatting close to his mother on the train tracks defecating as people walk by hastily in different directions, often bumping into eachother.
My thoughts are interrupted as the bus coughs to life and begins to speed down the highway, leaving Agege behind. Baba tries to close the door of the bus 3 times before it finally closes. Both Baba and the door’s feebleness contribute to this difficulty. I can’t stop staring at the door. It is extremely worn out and is just hanging on to the side of the bus for dear life. It has definitely had its fair share of forceful and careless opening and closing. Although closed, it seems like it is not properly closed as it looks rather wobbly. The door is all metal and has a few pointy edges on it and anyone who leans on it carelessly will probably reach their final destination with a cut or two as souvenirs from this trip. The door is shaking like a leaf as the bus speeds on like it has not a care in the world. The door is so frail that I keep thinking the wind will push it open or blow it right off the bus. We reach the next bus stop and old hands meet the old door as Baba opens it with great struggle for passengers to get off the bus. As Baba shuts it again and we continue on our journey, my only prayer is that Baba doesn’t fall out if this unreliable door bursts open.