Adaora O.'s Blog: Adaora's thoughts

As a child growing up in Africa, I often wondered what I would not give for a chance to experience life on those other patterns on the world map; the people, what they wore, ate, how they spoke and thought. Soon, that hunger became somewhat satisfied, as morsel after morsel of literature filled my “emptiness”.

Have you ever stopped to wonder how a well told story possesses the ability to transport its readers to places unknown? The art of vicarious living becomes perfected wittingly or otherwise by readers who immerse themselves in depths of stories.

Differences in beliefs, cultures and traditions, will always be integral to our experiences as humans and how dull our world would be, if we all had a mono-directional point of reference, with no discoveries to further intensify our beliefs or shift our leanings. How less tolerant we would be were it not for illuminating literature!

My stories are inspired by African cultural narratives; beliefs and how they affect human relationships and interactions. With any luck, the ‘dark continent’ – Mother Africa, will through my written pieces, become better appreciated for Her iconic resilience and how She is able to rise from existence on the fringes of light to its apex, shinning forth to even the farthest thirsty minds and reaching out for a warm handshake with the other patterns on the world map.

Pamela checked the time on her wristwatch and yelped, “O my !” She could not believe how far after close of work time had crawled. Going to the salon sat pretty on her list of things to do before the end of the day.
As she took quick steps to her car, Pamela seemed both happy to leave the stress of work behind and somewhat puzzled at Zinny’s ‘off’ attitude today. Often bubbly and a joy to be around, Zinny her colleague appeared withdrawn today. After their routine cheek-on-cheek greeting this morning, not much by way of office chatter passed between the two ladies till the end of work. More so, Zinny put up a straight face each time their paths crossed as though to say … stay away! “I wonder if I did something to upset her?”, Pamela wondered as she pulled out of the car park. Deciding she did not have the energy to dwell on emotionally shifty colleagues, she flashed the security guard a bright smile as she slid into the fast darkening evening.
Mini-mini-manny-moe played in Pamela’s head as she tried to choose between going to the salon at the city mall or the one in her estate. “I do not have the wits for those oyinbo stylists in city mall. Cordelia would give my scalp the attention it deserves”, Pamela thought as she forced her nursery chant to rest on her estate salon.
Once inside the salon, Pamela grinned as jolly Cordelia scampered towards her. She collected Pamela’s handbag as she ushered her to a seat. “Aunty, what do you want to do after you remove the weave-on?” Cordelia asked her now-seated client. It had been a long day. Pamela only wanted her hair washed and styled. The hair stylist began to undo the stitches which held the hair extensions to her client’s weave.
Four stitches after, Cordelia mumbled and took off. Moments after, she returned, undid another six stitches and claiming to be cold, asked Pamela if the air conditioning unit directly above her could be turned off. But Pamela was having none of that…. She was sweaty and advised Cordelia to grab herself a cardigan. Jolly Cordelia heaved good naturedly and carried on with her work. Then came the wave. Cordelia either had a bad case of gas which she released nonstop, or had developed a terrible body odour. The rest of the twenty odd minutes spent in taking off the weave were unembellished torture for Pamela. With each undone stitch came fresh waves of stench. “If only she would stop moving her arms about so much”, Pamela grumbled within her as she marvelled at how such a beautiful and presumably neat lady could develop such horrendous body scent – she made no effort to hide her disgust
As though in response to Pamela's silent cry for help, the fragrance from the shampoo and conditioner came to the rescue and she could not thank them enough for even after her hair wash, the stench never returned. Pamela stuffed her securely tied hair extensions in her bag and paid her bill. But just when she got to the exit door, she gushed, “ Cordie, follow me to my car I almost forgot to give you something I bought for you.”Cordelia stuttered her thanks as her client drove away. Though wild with gratitude, she could not help but wonder at the timing of the gift, it was neither Christmas nor her birthday. She walked back into the salon, twirling the new bottle of deodorant she had just received.
A smile played around the corners of Pamela’s mouth as she let herself into her two-bedroom apartment. She thought the stench episode at the salon would serve as a good ice-breaker when she saw Zinny tomorrow. Pamela hurled her frame into her bed to join the handbag she had just tossed and began to kick off her shoes when she burst out in giggles. ‘Cordelia’s body odour could kill even a pig. Why else did the smell linger in her senses?’, Pamela thought, thankful for the lone bottle of deodorant which before a few minutes ago, lay useless in her car.
After her routine night shower and a bowl of cobb salad, Pamela decided to pack a new hand bag for work tomorrow and started to transfer a few essentials from the one she used today. Digging into her bag, the first item her fingers connected with was her just loosened hair extensions. A more apt description of the item would be…… the object of her discomfort at the salon. Yes, it was Pamela’s hair extensions that exuded the stench the entire time!
With all her superciliousness, putting Pamela’s mortification in perspective would be to hold the pacific in a pool. Done with her bag switch, she went straight to bed, making a mental note to give her estate salon a four-month break before another visit. As her eyes closed in sleep to wander into bliss land, Pamela ceased to wonder why Zinny seemed so ‘off’ today.