What not to do when there’s a fire.

On Wednesday, I went to church without eyebrows. I was almost running late and didn’t have the time to draw them on before leaving the house. I figured I would do it in the bathroom in church, but then I got to church and just couldn’t be bothered. I’ve started to care less and less.

You’re probably wondering why this is a big deal, right? It’s a big deal because I have serious image issues. Although I don’t know how to wear layers and layers of make-up, I cannot, CANNOT, be caught dead outside without at least eyebrows and lipgloss, and of course my wig.

In my former compound, we had a number of couples who lived together. I used to be fascinated by how comfortable the girls got with their boyfriends. They would leave for work in the morning all dolled up, every strand of hair in place, but the minute they stepped through the gate after work, they would whip their wigs off their heads and walk into the welcoming arms of their boyfriend. When the cornrows are freshly done, it’s fine, cute even. It’s the three-week old dreadlock-looking cornrows that shocked me. And the scratching! I used to wonder how the boyfriends truly felt about it, if it was something they could openly complain about. Or maybe there was a secret support group for guys with wig-less girlfriends, where they could meet and let it all out.

However, it is true that often times, the things we hate are things we secretly envy. I envied their carefree, wig-free lives. Among all the couples, I noticed that even when there was a beehive nestled in her hair, and flies started following her around, it never took away from the love. It made no difference to the guys.

Still, I consoled myself. I’ve watched many relationships tank over time, and I’ve learned that those little things that used to be trivial, maybe even once described as cute or quirky, can gradually become annoying and irksome over time. One day, I thought, years from now, when their families and in-laws are trying to settle a fight, this boyfriend-turned-husband will list her larvae-infested hair as one of the reasons he no longer loves her. 

In January, I resolved to not do anything to my hair for at least six months… no weaves, braids, nothing. So when I went to see my ex, I dreaded taking off my wig. In his house, I locked myself in the bathroom and just sat on the toilet for a long time. I was giving myself a pep-talk.

Are you going to wear your wig forever? 

If you face him with only your good side, he won’t notice that your head is flat at the back. 

Life is more than Missionary. If you’re going to be swinging from the ceiling, you should be focused on your core muscles, not worrying about your wig falling off. 

He knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you ok? What are you doing in there?”

I answered, “I’ve removed my wig but I don’t know if I’m ready for this level of commitment.”

He laughed because he thought I was joking. Eventually, I came out wig-less AND without makeup. Throughout the evening, I kept trying to steal glances, to see if he was horrified or scared. In the end, it wasn’t bad. Even his friends saw me without my wig and just like that, I had become one of those girls!

I’m glad I’ve come a long way. Maybe I haven’t yet gotten to the level where I can fall under the anointing carelessly without the fear of my wig falling off, but I’m certainly not where I was around this time last year…

It was early one Sunday morning in April. I was awoken by the sound of sparks, like little explosions. I looked out my window and saw that a small fire had started from some cables under the circuit breaker box. In a matter of seconds smoke had filled the corridor.

Do you know what your favorite blogger did?

She jumped out of bed, reached up and grabbed her wig from where it hung on the wall. She adjusted it on her head before running outside and yelling, “FIRE O! FIRE!”