Natural Hair Rant Of A Misplaced Beauty

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This is a natural hair rant post,so please let me get a few things of my hair! Being natural,going back to natural hair is the most amazing experience ever. It’s an emotional journey that leaves you feeling free and your mind decolonized. With that said, I’m very happy that many women are embracing their nappy hair and going back to being natural. There are times when I made the big chop,I got the most stupid comments from my friends. Some would ask me if I was sick,what was wrong,was I too poor to afford relaxers. One even offered to take me to the salon and pay to get my hair done. Please note,all this comments came from black women. Women who have allowed themselves to be brainwashed into thinking that nappy hair makes you look shaggy,”poor”and sick! Why have we become so petty??God didn’t make our African hair nappy for no reason. Why would I want to have fake plastic /horse hair on my scalp,when I can embrace my natural curls?

I’m not done ranting yet. Hair product companies have discovered that natural hair is becoming a sort of movement. They’ve jumped in on the bandwagon. We now have thousands of options for nappy hair,which I totally love, but..and that’s a very big BUT,why would you bombard me with products on how to make my hair grow faster/longer? Did it ever occur to all this natural hair blogs that some people prefer TWAs(teeny-weeny afro)I’m sick and tired of all these rules around,oh you have to use this pudding cream,this type of conditioner ,a certain deep penetrating treatment,blah blah blah bla!Can’t we just be natural without having all these hair products in our face left,right and center? With that said, I’m glad I found the right products for my nappy hair without having to drain my wallet. Get what works for you and just do you. Whether you like your hair short or long,just be happy to be nappy! Let me repost a poem I did 8 years ago..the first time I tried going natural and had all sorts of issues with it! Enjoy!

MISPLACED BEAUTY

I’m stuck in a limbo,
To flaunt my African beauty,
Or hide my African booty?
They say I’m too ethnic, that I’m not authentic
To whose standards, theirs or mine?
So now they’ve got me bleaching my brown skin
I guess true beauty doesn’t come from within
I’m ashamed of my natural locks…they make me to shaggy to get an office job
My spring curled hair
Traumatized with relaxers
For it to be sleek and straight
Forcing me to give in to their bait
You see I’m not doing this out of naivety
But because I am a misplaced beauty

Giving in to their western cultures
My nose is too wide
My lips too luscious
My beautiful African behind too big and flabby for them
My wide African hips that ease my load while carrying their offspring, now too wide for them?!
Mama taught me to be proud of my roots
But now am acting all insecure about my looks
Trying to squeeze in into their mold
Of what true beauty should be…
They end up misplacing my beauty

You see they adored me before, with sweet names like ebony
They rode my hips like a sweet melody
The gap in between my teeth,
Was a marvel for them to see
My kinky afro, made their eyes glow
But then I gave in to their desires
And let them destroy my African beauty
Replacing it with an anorexic, plastic body, skinny looking malnourished African
Damn, I am a shapely African queen
I’m proud of my wide nose,
My big behind
My shapely hips
The gap in between my fine chiseled teeth
ooh my sweet pout lips
I aint getting rid of the cellulite, you see I’ve seen the light
I’m no longer a misplaced beauty
Because I know you are dying to caress
This beautiful African Goddess!

Peace and Blessings,Vionna

Had I Known

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Seven years ago on a day like today..It’s funny how time goes by so fast. They say time heals all wounds, but the loss and pain of a loved one never heals. You just learn to live with it and treasure the memories you had with them. I’m what you would like to call an introvert. I hide my feelings and hurt and always express it through poetry ,cooking or sewing. My dad died on January 5th 2006. It was one of the worst days of my life. He had been sick for a while, I never went to see him in hospital because I wanted my memory of him to be the strong papa who would carry me around as a little girl, not a frail man lying on a hospital bed. The day he kept asking for me, I decided I would go for the evening visit. As I was busy preparing myself that evening, my cousin called me crying saying how sorry he was. I was confused,I looked at my sister crying asking why he was calling to say sorry. That’s when it dawned on me he had died. I was angry at myself,confused in a daze wondering what had just happened. My mum and my other siblings came back home that night, and all I did was lock myself inside the bathroom, thoughts of ending my life too crossed my mind but only managed to cry my heart out. The guilt of not seeing him when I had the chance to ate me up, it still does sometimes. I learned to forgive myself for it recently and to treasure my family and most importantly my mum as much as possible. It has not been easy,but praying to God whenever I feel low,or talking to my mum has always kept me going,and of course poetry whenever I can’t express myself. If only I knew daddy..Forever Missed!    

  Had I known four years ago i wouldn’t have a daddy to call my own.
Had I known that my heart would break slowly,dismantling itself into unrecognizable plots of misery.
Had I known that emptiness would entangle itself upon me with a grip so strong I couldn’t break free.
Had I known that mama would never dance with my father again.
Had I known the pain would haunt and stifle it’s grip on me.
Had I known that I’ll get to walk down that aisle someday without you by my side.
Had I known that i’d never get to call you daddy again and hear u whisper “I love you baby girl”.
Had I known that seven years later,I’d still be shedding tears writing this down on paper.
Had I known,I would have told you how much I love you.
But I didn’t know,I couldn’t fathom the impact it would have on me,with it’s deadly blow.
Had I not known that one day this enemy death will be erased.
Had I not known and held on to the   hope.
But I do know,and it makes my heart glow.
I know,hope and pray,that I’ll get to see your face someday..
For now,I do know i miss you night and day…

What Twitter Taught Me

Warning, if you don’t get sarcasm please stop reading and continue tweeting. Thank you. Now that we have that out-of-the-way, I’d like to share a few things this addiction that is also known as Twitter has taught me.

1. Twitter taught me that High school never ends. We have the cool kids, the Goth kids, the blonde I will flash my boobs to become popular kids, the geek kids, the invisible kids and the ones that sound like they have cooties. Still wondering which cool kid to give it up to so that I can become famous.

2.Twitter taught me that you should not say a prayer before you eat, rather twitpic the food and send it to all your followers first, then maybe you can tweet a prayer about which fancy restaurant you’ve visited in the name of food, AMEN!

3.Twitter taught me it is cool to prevent prostate cancer. How you wonder? Well if I post a semi-naked picture of myself and a guy faps to it, I have saved someone’s balls. Plus, what could be more romantic than a random maybe creepy (but who cares) guy jizzes while looking at my photo?

4.Twitter taught me if you don’t have it, fake it until you sound like you’ve made it. You know, like (please insert a Blonde cheerleader’s accent here)OMG I’m so like cool, I have like an iPhone that’s so like 5 not 4s, and I like so don’t know Kaswahili, I’m like so raised in the suburbs. But they probably don’t know I get so broke trying to look rich though!

5.Twitter taught me to be an expert at playing the monkey see monkey do game.” Oh lookie! Here’s a random person I don’t know but since I want to be buddies with the cool kids, let me join them in insulting this person I hardly know.”This game is so fun!

6.Twitter taught me the best therapy to get over my insecurities is find a victim on the social network, tell them how ugly they are, or how fat they are and hide behind my computer and phone. See how macho I’ve become? I CAPSLOCKED them and showed them who runs this. I don’t need you Dr. Phil!

7.Twitter taught me to be very religious when I’m out in the real world having conversations with real people. I just bow my head as if I’m praying while I’m busy tweeting and caressing my phone’s keypad like it’s a rosary. It also taught me it’s ok to tweet Bible verses on Sundays and have nasty I want the D tweets during the rest of the week.

8.Twitter taught me that travelling by bus is not a means of transportation and being poor is a bad disease. Like who does that? You can’t afford a flight to Mombasa, Kisumu or Rongai? Euww that is so disgusting!

9.Twitter taught me that you don’t need a church to be a preacher. Just shout like you are in a bus station telling people how they should act and behave. Give them tips on how you are such an expert after all your online degree reading Bible verses course was so hard for others to comprehend.

10.Most importantly Twitter taught me to act like a Facebook girl and think like a Twitter woman (the movie will be out soon, I’m just looking for extras).

That’s what Twitter has taught me, what has it taught you?

Peace and blessings,
Vionna

Women Get Friend- Zoned Too

You had me right. Most of the time we tend to think that only women are the ones who decide whether the guy is hit it material, relationship material or the dreaded zone that all guys tend to hate, The friends zone!*inserts shudders*. In my 20 something years of existence in this world, I’ve seen a lot of things. And sadly I’ve been friend-zoned a couple of times. There, I’ve finally admitted it! Pheuwx! Feels good to finally have that out of my system! Well as a woman it hurts at times, we don’t dare admit it but we do get ticked off when we are relegated to the friend’s zone. It’s bad for our egos. Yes we do have egos as well and love feeding on compliments we get, not being one of the boys. So I sat down, pondered on what made me end up in the friend’s zone with one guy who I had put in the he can get it zone 6 months ago. Yeah 6 months later I still can’t get over the fact that I had been friend-zoned, I mean I ooze awesomeness! And no, I’m not being vain. Enough rambling let’s get down to business:

•Tomboy-ish traits. I think I was thrown into the friend’s zone because of this. Not that I walk around in jeans, Tim boots or sneakers. Far from it, I think I only own 2 pairs of sneakers and this is because I can’t jog in heels. Unless I knew a guy in a purple suit, haha get it? No? Ok then, moving along swiftly, I hate soap operas, Westlife and such shitty girly music and tend to love HipHop as much as Neo Soul and Jazz still top my list. But I guess when we were kickin it in Mr. Put me on the friend’s zone house and arguing about who was the illest rapper between Twista, Krayzie Bone and Busta Rhymes back in the day made him assume he was talking to one of his boys. Vionna, you should have shut your mouth.

•Laid Back Chic “ You’re so easy to talk to and laid back, you don’t have mad drama or act crazy like some women do.” As he said this I was beaming from ear to ear when he dropped the I like hanging out with you. We can just chill and talk. The fake smile I had as I stabbed his back over and over in my head when he said that.

•You Keep It Real- Dear men, I don’t get it when you say this. So fine, I might jokingly say that woman is hot when she passes or she has a nice ass, you compliment me for keeping it real and not hating then I’m still relegated to the friends zone? How in the name of zones is that possible? You tell me I’m awesome for hating on weaves, keeping it real then start flirting with that friend of mine who owns more weaves than a rancher with a horse stable!

•Flirts Without Benefits- So we would occasionally flirt, to him it was just flirting but sometimes he would send mixed signals and the limbo feeling not knowing if we are still “boys” or more than that gets a tad annoying. When he treats you like his down ass chic! And they say us women are complicated!

•One Of The Boys- And this just means that. One of the boys, I should have gotten the hint when I was introduced to the boys as just Vionna. He wouldn’t mind his boys flirting with me, we’d meet up to watch a football game together. Banter Arsenal together (sigh! Good times those were)But I should have pretended to be the I can’t stand Rugby, football kinda girls.

I could go on and on, but let me stop there. This guy more than hurt my ego if I’m still annoyed about it six months later. I mean who friends zones me, I should be the one friend zoning guys! But sadly ladies, we get friend-zoned too, whether we like it or not. Stop pretending you haven’t been. Yeah I see you! I finally accepted and knew the hurt men go through when we friend zone them, but that doesn’t mean some of the guys in my friends zone’s list will be promoted to he can get it zone. Enjoy the zones ladies, and don’t deny this has never happened to you once in your life. No he’s not gay, we can’t have them all 😉

Peace and Blessings, Vionna

Hair Raising Experience

Painkillers. Check! Phone battery full to listen to music and tweet the pain away. Check! Mentally and physically prepared. Check! Well, you might be wondering what I’m going on and on about ,aye? It’s the torture every woman who braids her hair goes through most of the time. Getting one’s hair did is really not a fun experience and braiding takes a whole lot of time, and if you are not the patient type like me, you prefer to have your hair braided in one of those markets that do it in a record three hours tops. I will stop yapping much and help you picture the scenario.

Scene 1: Alights from the stage at Kenyatta Market with my big afro and suddenly from nowhere a battalion of women bombard me each one calling me, aunty, mrembo and the guilt breaker mtoto wangu.
Me:”Hapana niko sawa sitaki kushukwa” (for my foreign readers it means, no I’m ok I don’t want my hair braided)
Women’s Army:“ Tutafanya kazi smart utakuwa mrembo sana. Sema tu uko na pesa ngapi hatuwezi kosana bei.” (ok I’m really tired of translating now, but it means the women then try to convince me saying how they’ll work wonders to my hair and I should not worry about the price we will come to some sort agreement)

Pretends to make a phone call while walking so fast like a killer with a saw is behind me waiting to cut me up. They finally get the hint and leave me alone. Sighs in relief, I can finally concentrate on who I was going to visit in hospital without thinking I’m about to be hijacked and held hostage with combs and braids on my afro. Poor lil afro all traumatized now.

Scene 2: Decides to finally get my hair braided and wakes up early on a Saturday to go to a different hair braiding market. Remembered to take my painkillers beforehand for the pain that I was about to go through. Alights at the Umoja Market Stage and before I can even blink, one woman jumps in fronts of me (tempted to show her my Ninja moves) another one grabs my hand all of them calling me aunty (ok why the hell do they insist on that name) manages to yank away from their grip and focus on who I was sent to get my hair did. I don’t know how she looks like, her phone is not going through and my selective amnesia forgot which stall no. she owns. Thank God for small mercies, I recognize that voice shouting; Aunty! Aunty! Kuja tukushuke. I ask her if she’s*censored* she says yes and I finally feel relieved as the women staring at my afro like they are lions and were just about to pounce on this powerless antelope(my afro not me)And the drama unfolds:

Miss Afro:” Nimetumwa na nani, kushukwa hapa since mlimshuka vizuri” (I’ve been sent by so and so to get my hair braided since you did her hair so well)
Braiding Lady:“Karibu sana, unataka za ngapi? Kuna za 5,6,7,8 na thao sema ile size umependa.”(wait am I choosing the braids I want as if I’m shopping for a dress? Oh my bad! For those who don’t understand Swahili, braiding lady asks me which size of braids I want and for how much since they come in different prices)
Miss Afro:“Nataka za 8. Na niko na haraka kidogo, kama mnaeza harakisha itakuwa vizuri.” (I’m in a hurry so if you can do a quick job, I would appreciate) Here I am thinking to myself that she is the one doing my hair, apparently she’s like an apprentice and her job is to scout for interns to do her work for her while she does a touch and go on your hair while gossiping.
I sit outside my braids snatched away from me, a towel thrown on my lap with braids smeared in Vaseline and I’m asked to divide for another braiding lady. Drat! There goes my tweeting away, and I can’t listen to music either because of the loud annoying station that acts like they have a 4gb flash disk worth of music also known as Kiss 100 on full blast. “Shoot me now!”I mutter to myself. I’m given an old Parent’s magazine that should be archived, to read. Finally braiding lady outsources two other braiding ladies and they are on top of my head, gossiping while forgetting it’s your hair they are pulling when they start hi-5ing each other. Suddenly, they get hungry and start eating chapatis on top of your head(this women can eat!)they then call for help to help with the finishing. Now I have four women on top of my head! Wait, scratch that, I have two women and four thighs on my face. You see, when it comes to twisting, the quickest way to finish them is by one woman applying Vaseline on her thighs, and rolling the braids on it. Mind you, it’s your hair being pulled like that to be able to reach one’s thigh. The braiding lady then demands;”Panua miguu” Ok, this now starts sounding like I’m auditioning for a softcore porn movie! My legs are spread in such a way her body can fit, and one of the finishers thigh can be up in my face, with a stench from her vajayjay that makes you want to pass out. There’s always a welding shop nearby, and the noise starts driving you insane, the gossiping and laughing on top of your head, the pulling and forced to do some Kama Sutra flexing muscles stunts is just too much. Once done in a record 3 hours, they pull your hair back, and dab a hot towel on your scalp. You leave there with your eyes looking all Chinese from the pulling, your hairline slowly fading and you want to kill someone.
Braiding Lady:Finally she comes back just to take the cash and says;” Na uko smart, utarudi lini tena nikushuke?”
Miss Afro now tightly braided: “I’ll call you.” As I leave there in so much pain and about to overdose on painkillers, vowing never to braid my hair again. Four weeks later, phones braiding lady again to make an appointment.

Peace and blessings always, Vionna.

Dear 2011 Perks and Flaws

As the year draws to an end, I still can’t quite come to terms with it. I mean it was just January the other day and now the month of debauchery, summer love, acting silly and such like things also known as December is here upon us. Since I’m in my happy place, Mombasa and I haven’t blogged in quite a while for losing my mojo reasons, I thought I would do one last post for the dramatic year that was 2011 and write her a letter.

Dear January, you started off so well, I thought for once we had quite a good thing going on, only for you to turn around and do what you do best. It wasn’t enough that I was recovering from the 2010 December debauchery with an empty wallet that now had cobwebs, you just had to add insult to injury and play the prank you played on me. But you taught me a lesson, I had made my bed with silly mistakes, I had to sleep on it and pay for the consequences.

Along came your sister February, you were not as harsh as your big sister January. We got along just fine like Sonko and stupidity. You came up with solutions that your sister Jan had caused and finally I could smile again. The one thing that you made me realize was that I wasn’t perfect. I made mistakes, I paid for them dearly and I either had to wallow in self-pity, pick myself up or move on.

March, April and May the three brothers that had my back. You really came through for me just when I thought all hope was lost. We had some fun times, we went out on holiday, rejuvenated and got back on track and left the past where it needed to remain. You taught me everything always works out in the end, it’s the middle that’s always the hardest to get through but once I did all was well.

My favorite twins June and July. This time around you were so full of surprises. You opened up two new chapters in my life that brought me so much joy and you managed to take something away from me that once brought happiness in my life. So bittersweet you were, but what I picked from you two, life is precious, I learned to forgive more, value the loved ones in my life and live each day without regrets.

August, the month of love you turned out to be, forget February you had it going on with weddings and romances I couldn’t keep up with you. Thank you for the eat, pray, love endeavor I went through with you. It was life changing. I became a better person thanks to you.

September, the black sheep of the year. Like Greenday, I just wanted to wake up when your month was up. You really lived up to your black sheep title. But lessons learned from August really came in handy while dealing with you. You were not so bad though, I learned something from you, losers are just afraid of doing what winners do, and I’m no loser!

October and November, you two turned out to be so witty, thanks for the gifts of wisdom you showed me, and teaching me to have a positive attitude regardless of trying situations around me.

December, the month that I turned sixteen again. The last born month that’s always so spoilt, bratty and fun. Well this time around, no more debauchery. You had to remind me that age has finally caught up with me, so I will behave and see what your firstborn sister January has in store for me.
Sincerely,
Vionna

PS: Next year please don’t snatch away so many people from us. Steve Jobs, Wangari Maathai, Heavy D, and all other fallen soldiers (well apart from the dictators you pulled a Mortein doom on)will be dearly missed.
Happy Holidays, bloggers and readers alike!
Peace and Blessings always, Vionna