Combed the tresses out this morning to discover there was more left on the comb than on the scalp. Huge gobs of it that one rolled up between forefinger and thumb and chucked into dustbin, with requisite maudlin expression. And perhaps a wreath would have been more in order. The nice one with the ribbon and the orchids and appropriate message of how they had enriched my life by their presence.
Ever since I returned home, the world and my mother has been commenting on how much of my hair has diminished in volume, and the texture become like the straw one bales out to cattle on fattening farms.
Yes, yes, like I really need a Prince Charming to climb up my long roped braid and get me out of my castle anymore. I’ll just take the elevator, thank you. And dont even think of the snapping of the neck that will happen if my Prince Charming, 90 kilos plus, decides to have a go at using them tresses like a rope.
Once upon a time I had hair. Like really had hair. It needed a holiday to be washed and then another to dry. My social life revolved around the washing and drying of said hair. And needed four hands to do the job.
It fell to my hips, and was thick and luxuriant and black and I cried every night to be allowed to cut it. On a moonless night, I could wear white and hold a lit candle, and leave them tresses loose to bring ghost stories to life. That long.
I actually believed I was the college geek because my hair was bunned up in a stern topknot while the rest of the girls were tossing silken locks over their shoulders. And maybe I was.
Thankfully, I never appreciated it. Or would have hung onto thinning strands like a person I will not name, who though wonderfully turned out otherwise, had the entire building sniggering at her little straw rope that came down to her knees.
Unfortunately, the cruel woman who was the guardian and custodian of my carcass, being said mother, would threaten death and dismemberment should I ever take scissors to hair. Being the meek, obedient and sneaky soul I am, I got married and chopped my hair off a month into being another person’s responsibility. Other person being me. The husband of course, never volunteers any opinion on anything have done to hair, for which I adore him.
I’ve heard of divorce notices being served when women with long hair chop off tresses without prior written permission in triplicate from spouses. Even the day I came home blinded by tears with a perm gone wrong and an Afro in place of the lovely waves I had envisioned, he didnt blink. Or maybe he doesnt really look at me above chest level.
Over the years, the most abused part of my body, apart from earlier mentioned rapidly increasing waistline is the hair. Permed. Straightened. Coloured. Highlighted. Ironed. Curled. Streaked temporarily. Streaked permanently. Unstreaked. If I could be arrested for inflicting unspeakable torture on dead protein cells I would be.
But I have been responsible enough to ensure that I wash and condition my hair every single day. Or every alternate day if life is really really rough, and the morning the kind that goes into a frantic fast forward of the kind that has people slipping and falling over banana peels amongst others.
But this bout of hairfall is unprecedented. Change of water, air, food? My Post natal hairfall contributed its mite to my post natal depression by shattering dented body image completely and almost landing me in the loony bin.
I emerged stronger and vainer from the crisis to pamper hair with oil massages and regular washings and conditionings.
In the face of this current situation where the floor of my home seems matted with fallen hair and I dread combing out knots with the kind of shaking fear that braver women reserve for childbirth and fighting barehanded with lions, I am at a loss.
Multivitamins, I am told, are what I need to ingest. Perhaps I had a diet deficiency while away, which is why I am two kilos down. Or maybe thats the weight minused of all that hair thats fallen off.
Any tips to keep the head foliage intact will be welcomed with open arms. Or any numbers of good wig makers.