Black Women And Hair Loss

What made me write this post is actually an observation one of my German friend’s made about Black women, and an article I read on Bossip about a study that has shown weaves and braids are causes for hair loss in women.Its a study that one Dr. Angela Kyei worked on. That tight braiding or pulling at the hair strands,leads to scarring. So I thought I’d share this with my fellow ladies. I remember ever since I was a child, I hated having my hair braided. It used to be a game of cat and mouse with my mum when I had to get my hair did for back to school. I don’t know how many ladies reading this experienced the pain that used to come with hot combs, way before Blowdrys came to exist.Black women we are blessed with kinky hair or as white racists used to call it, cotton hair. So when it came to straightening our kinky hair then, it took a whole lot of pulling and the heat from hot combs to make it straight.
What I’m trying to get at here is that our hair as black women started being pulled from childhood not just recently..going back to Dr. Kyei’s observation, apparently balding only occurs in black women, due to prolonged pulling of our hair. Back to hot combs, after having my kinky hair straightened, I remember mum sending me and my sisters to those women who used to braid hair under a tree for all lil gals going back to school. I used to loathe going there, I was a very stubborn child from way back, and I remember my mum had to drag me to go get my hair braided. First of all the women had a bad stench down there and the way they would force your head in between their legs while they plaited you.And back then, Pineapple was the hairstyle,you know those cornrows that meet in the middle of your head and then a round ball of wool holds them in the middle, so we had no choice but to endure the stench and have our hair plaited in between this women’s legs. They would plait hair so tightly that one couldn’t sleep that night, and the tighter it was, the longer your hair would stay neat for the rest of the school term. Thank God my mum was a hairdresser, she got tired of the fights and me throwing tantrums when it came to having my hair plaited, she decided to perm me and my sisters hair at such an early age. I was 8 when I had permed hair, the envy of all my friends back then. I never had to endure the trauma of plaiting my hair again, till one of my teachers became so envious, she had me sent home because I was “distracting” other students with my hair.Such bull crap! And I was back to having my hair braided again,sigh! I know a lot of black women relate to this, since most schools expected girls to have their hair braided. This is a lot of hair pulling that we women have subjected our hair to. And we still keep on doing it. The weaves we put on(I’m allergic to weaves so I exclude myself on that we)I don’t know if it’s a myth or if its true, but most of the time hair tends to grow and look healthy when you braid it. But the problem is most black women don’t have hair lines. Actually a friend of mine, one day while we were having dinner, she just kept looking at me and my friends and asked me:if it’s a ritual or a fashion statement for African women to have their hair starting from the middle.That if we shave it off to look good.She’ s German and she was perplexed by it. That’s when I started making that observation too. Most of us women don’t have hairlines as such, mostly because we tend to braid or weave our hair a lot and most hairdressers tend to braid you so tightly, you have to take painkillers after leaving the salon! That reminds me of my Salon escapades. I’m not a very patient person when it comes to having my hair braided, so I go to this Markets where women braid your hair in less than 3hours.But the trauma that comes from it. First, you have 3 women on top of your head,pulling it, and then woe unto you if you’re having it twisted. I always used to wonder why they wear shorts,till I found out the hard way, the shorts are worn for them to roll and twist your braids on their thighs much quicker!Now not only are you being pulled on top of your head, but you have other women’s thighs pulling and twisting your hair with their thighs, in turn straining your hairline. I got so tired of this, I decided to put dreads a few years back, but I’m not one to have a routine sort of hairstyle, so I decided to chop my dreads off and go for the shaggy afro hair look. Got bored of that too, and went back to permed hair, and then started braiding my hair again. I couldn’t take the pulling anymore I decided to chop off all permed hair and go all natural, and so far I’m loving it.I’m not saying that all women should go all natural, to each his own, aye?But the next time you have your hair braided or weaved, think about your hairline, make sure it’s not too tight in the front all that strain and tension is not good for your hair ladies!Black women have the kind of hair that all other races envy,a white woman cant have her hair kinky no matter how much she trys,so ladies,take care of your REAL AFRICAN hair,remember Black and natural is beautiful.I know I love my short afro

Peace and Blessings, Vionna
P.S here’s the bossip link to it


Kikambala Beach

Life is like a wave motion. We sit on life’s shores waiting to receive the waves and the motions. That is one epiphany I came up with once while sitting at the beach, just staring into nothingness. The beach has always been one of my gateway, release therapy when I’m down or going through some problems in my life. I don’t know what it is about the sand, the waves, the breeze, it just takes me to that tranquil place, like nothing else matters (and that’s why I love going to the Coast so much) Anway back to Kikambala Beach. I promised to do a post on this a while back, but somehow I lost my blog mojo and what not haven’t been blogging much lately. On my vacation to the Sun and Sand resort last month, I decided to do something different. No boat rides, no snorkeling just walk as deep as I could near the reef. I wasn’t trying to pull a Jesus by walking on water stunt, don’t get me wrong. I’m an eco-friendly enthusiast, in fact I’m thinking of going back to Uni and doing eco-tourism\studies , if I was abroad I’m sure I would have joined an eco terrorist group somewhere.Just kidding CIA don’t hold me in contempt;-)Back to my beach escapades and ahem not the over 18 beach after dark escapades here. Diani and Watamu have the cleanest beaches you would ever see, so I wasn’t keen on walking much along Kikambala Beach, but I was tired of lazing around the pool, salivating and stealing glances with some Italian Marine men at the resort, I decided to take a long walk along the beach. One of the beach boys kept bugging me about taking me for a walk till we reached the reef,deep into the waters for a fee of course. I decided what the heck, life’s short to be so uptight, let me live a little. So I asked one of the guards at Sun and Sand to keep his eye on me, incase the beachboy tried anything silly. I had a very short skirt on, and wasn’t too comfortable walking for an hour or so deep into the sea with this beachboy but I saw a few tourists ahead so I knew I was safe. I got rubber sandals for the walk ,I refused to buy the ones they told me they were selling and wore mine. Boy did I learn the lesson the hard way..but that is a story for later on. Kikambala beach is not so clean as such, and the tide was very far off,so the first few minutes of walking down I was regretting why I agreed to this on the first place. But I kept on going, I was about to walk till where you see that ka white line..;)

we weren’t even far off before we started meeting the little sea urchins and the red ones too look so cute as lethal as they are
The beach had amazing sea creatures..let me just post a few fishes and corals that i got to see along the way
saw the lovely of zebra fishes,and cute starfish too and this dude who has a sea kiosk in the middle of the beach,selling shells just made my dayi had walked this far off from the shore, and that’s when this terrible little creature decided to bite me leg and well i got all the R Kelly I was peed on jokes to last me a lifetime,but if i wasnt peed on the sting, would have caused damage to me wonderful legs;)maybe that’s why this beach boy had a big grin on his face but i do not regret the walk at all.I got to appreciate God’s wonderful creations firsthand,sure I came back with swollen feet,rashes all over my thighs thanks to stings from a Jelly fish,but it was one of those bucket list moments I fulfilled for myself and seeing the clean blue waves of the start of the deep-sea was just so relaxingso the next time you happen to be in Kikambala,or any beach for that moment..enjoy every minute of the waves,the crush and the motion..nothing like it
Peace and Blessings,Vionna

Strawberries and Whip Cream Season 2

Hey beautiful people, I know, I know. Some of you are exhaling like finally she posts the damn sequel! Well you know I love wetting your appetite and keeping you in suspense, that’s what makes it all so worth reading. So let’s pick up from where we left off on Season 1, shall we? For the millionth time, let me just clarify that this is all fiction. Any relation toward anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. Now that we have gotten that on the way, let’s continue with our story. Happy reading! 🙂

I looked at the pregnancy kit he was holding, I knew he was asking me questions but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. My mind was racing, there had to be a mistake. I couldn’t be pregnant, but the dizzy spells and morning sickness symptoms I was having lately been too obvious to the fact that I was. My ex hurled the kit at me, demanding answers and turning the blame on me, that he had come to make things right, and here I was busy getting knocked up with someone else’s child. He had some nerve! After all he did, finding out he was cheating on me and living with another woman, while all the while I was busy planning our wedding! His voice kept getting fainter and fainter, then I started having hot flushes, and the next thing I remember is waking up from my bed, with a glass of water by the side and a note written; Have a nice life, enjoy motherhood and know that I will never forgive you for this. I took one look at that note and tossed it away, I couldn’t be bothered right now with Mr. Ex’s tantrums. What mattered now was how I was going to tell Mr. Bastard that I was pregnant with his child. And how my girlfriends would have a field day when we had our monthly bitching session after hearing how I got knocked up by a guy I barely knew, and finally called it quits with Mr. Ex. Wow! What a weird turn my life had taken. I thought to myself. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into a month of me avoiding Mr. Bastard and making every flimsy excuse possible when he asked us to meet. I had to put an end to this cat and mouse chasing game; it was time for me to finally tell him the truth. I called him up, asked him if he would come to my house the next day, since we needed to talk. By the sound of his voice he was more than excited! This was not going to be easy.

The next day, I was pacing up and down the house wondering how I was going to break the news to him; my nerves had the best of me. I had to get out of the house for some air, I decided to go to our famous grocery store for some strawberries and whip cream. “This would lighten the mood much”, I thought to myself. I walked into the strawberry section of the store, and met this striking, tall, beautiful lady. . She was holding a child, and struggling to make a phone call at the same time, so I offered to carry the child for her while she made her call. Practice my soon to be mummy skills or so I thought. She finished making her phone calls and came back to the store to get her some strawberries. We carried on with a little chit chat, she told me she was babysitting her friend’s daughter for a few hours, and she wasn’t really good at it. She had this charming smile about her that would just melt your heart. What was wrong with me? Why was I admiring her in a sexual kind of way? I had to get out of the store. These feelings didn’t feel right. I was straight, I loved men, but somehow there was something about her that attracted me to her. I didn’t even think of getting my strawberries, I just had to get out of the store. She followed me outside, and gave me her number saying that I should call her, we meet up for lunch sometime. I went inside my car, took deep breathes and drove off. It was the pregnancy that was making my hormones act all crazy, I kept consoling myself. Just then, Mr. Bastard called me up. He was waiting for me outside my apartment. I hurried back home, feeling all awkward inside. My hands were shaking; I had to make me a drink, so I made a few Mojitos and kept drinking it as if my life depended on it. He was eager to see me, and told me how much he had missed me. That he couldn’t stop thinking about us, and just then I blurted out and told him I was pregnant. The silence after that was deafening. He gave me a blank stare, put his drink down, and told me that he needed to get out and get some air. I knew this was not easy for him to fathom, so I gave him his space. He went out and never came back. Later on that night, around midnight he sent me a text message saying he wasn’t ready for this, and how we need to sort it out before it gets out of hand. I was here, waiting for him to come back, and he had the nerve to send me a text message telling me we need to sort it out? Sort what out? I was keeping the baby and that was that. I was ready to be a single thirty year old mother, and he couldn’t change my mind about it even if he tried. I needed to talk to someone, and I didn’t want to confide in my girlfriends. I knew what they would say; “we told you he was just a rebound fling, nothing more” I didn’t want their condemning remarks tonight, but I didn’t want to stay at the house alone too, and I was out of strawberries, so no comfort eating for me. Just then I remembered the lady I met at the store earlier on that day. Sometimes talking to a stranger was much better than friends, she wouldn’t judge me much. I stared at her number for a few minutes before making that phone call. She picked up, elated to hear from me, and invited me over to her place for a chat, since she thought I could use a shoulder to cry on, and her man’s flight had been delayed. I took her up on the offer, quickly changed into something sexier and drove off to her place. What was I doing driving to a stranger’s house at this time of the night? I was nervous about meeting her again. This didn’t feel right. I was raised up a good Christian girl, why was my mind playing tricks on me like this? My hand was trembling, when I tried ringing the bell to her house. I was more nervous than a priest standing in front of Justin Bieber Finally I mustered up courage and rang her doorbell. She opened wearing nothing but red sexy lingerie on, with a tiny gown over it. She has stunning long legs. I pretended not to notice, gave her a light hug as she welcomed me into her house. We walked in straight to the kitchen. Her kitchen table was covered with large organic ruby red strawberries with forest green stems, the finest shaved dark chocolate, ripe red avocados and succulent black and brown figs. She had all the great aphrodisiacs any woman would need. I eased down near the table and took a bite from the nice big ruby red strawberries.

I noticed the freshly shucked oysters on the half shell were on ice in a cooler, and some beluga caviar in a separate cooler. This woman knew just what makes my libido high! Its like she read my mind, yet she dared not say anything. We walked up to the little wood paneled salon bar on the side of her kitchen as she poured me a glass of wine, while I told her all about Mr. Bastard. Maybe it was the wine, yes it was the wine. It always increases a woman’s testosterone levels after a few drinks. My desire to have sex was slowly increasing. She then brushed the hair from my ear, and melancholy half smiled at me. I did not push back; she then untied my halter, exposing my breasts. What was I doing? This was wrong. I was confused yet excited at the same time. Slowly her lips started caressing mine. I softly kissed her back. Passionately she pressed her outer lips against mine holding them there for a sacred moment, I eased the tip of my tongue into her mouth, savoring her taste buds like her tongue was the strawberry I was eating before. She tasted so succulent. Slowly her tongue traced my outer lips, as her hands roamed over my breasts causing me to gasp with pleasure. Her tongue found its way down my navel as she slipped her fingers inside me. We were too busy to notice, the footsteps that came into the room, until someone cleared his voice. I jumped up with fright. It’s bad enough what I was doing with her, and now someone else finding out about it? I hurriedly put back my halter and turned to walk out of the door, when my glimpse met the man who had rudely interrupted us. It was my ex! What was he doing here? This wasn’t any making sense. He was shocked to see me there. So this is the bitch he was cheating on me with while we were engaged? I couldn’t believe what just happened. She knew all along who I was, yet she didn’t utter one word about it to me? I was fuming with anger. How did I let them both make a fool out of me like this? I had to get out of there before I both did something bad to them. Mr. Ex tried following me outside, but I let go and ran as fast as possible toward my car. I was still intoxicated. I wasn’t in position to drive, but I had to get out of there, and fast. It started raining heavily, but still I couldn’t stand being there seeing them together like that. I had to drive off, as far away as possible from the both of them. Just then, Mr. Bastard called me up, I was angry and needed to let my anger out on someone. He tried calming me down, saying how sorry he was for walking out on me like that. How he couldn’t wait to be a dad. I started crying, if only he knew how I heard longed to hear those words. Just when I was about to hang up the phone on him, a trailer came out of nowhere, and the last thing I saw, were bright white lights…

This is Mr. Bastard. Well that’s what she liked calling me… I still remember the last conversation we had that fateful day, and her piercing screams as I held on the phone trying to hold on to the conversation we had. I dashed out of the house after that drove off to look for her in the rain. I knew something was terribly wrong. Yet I was still hoping I would wake up from this nightmare. But it was real, the raindrops falling down my face as I saw the accident scene ahead were real. That was her car I could tell all mangled up and her body covered in that white sheet. I felt the bile rising from my mouth as I approached the scene of the accident. She was playing a prank up on me, just as I was when I pretended she had hit me with her car from behind. But this was no dream. She was lying their, lifeless. I had lost her and the baby growing inside her. I noticed a couple who seemed like they knew her, talking to the police. I went over to ask them who they were to her, and that’s when the white guy told me what happened. I blamed myself for her death for months on end. Maybe if I hadn’t walked out on her that day, she would still be here, with our little bundle of joy. I couldn’t get myself to go back to the grocery store, where I met this stubborn yet sweet lady. She was forever etched in my memory just like a tattoo. The lady who loved strawberries and whip cream…