Driving By

I usually take taxis when I run errands. It's an extra excuse to squeeze in a couple of minutes of walking and reading [I realised that I read more when I was a more ardent taxi user]. However, today's errands were for someone else so I had to drive in order to keep time. My drive took me past my former school and, on the way, I saw three girls in uniform strolling lazily past the museum. Usually, that would never happen at 9:30 AM but I realised that today is the last day of second term. Their teachers are probably preoccupied with getting reports ready and printing bank slips for the next term. 

Traffic slowed down so I had enough time to notice the girls' hair. They all had braided extensions of varying lengths. How I envied them. When I was their school, mummy used to style my hair. It was always neatly plucked and tucked into cornrows [or biswahili, as we called them]. The favourite hair style was the pineapple. The cornrows looked like in roads leading from the front and back of my head and my ears winding upwards to the centre of my head. The ponytail formed by the ends of the cornrows [what we call a puff] looks like the leaves of a pineapple. Mummy made sure that it stayed in place by stitching it up with woollen thread. 

In retrospect, I understand why she chose this style. It kept the hair out of my eyes, it was easy to maintain and it emphasised my strong long neck :). I hated the pineapple. I envied how the other girls' hair bounced as the walked or how delightful it looked as they brushed their hair from their face or how they had the option to hold it up or let it fall. 

Every time my hair was styled, I prayed for anything but the pineapple. Half way through the process, I always knew where it was headed. Sometimes, I cried silently, mourning another month of non-bouncy hair. Mummy thought my tears were because of the pain of the plucking and pulling. I never mentioned any of this. I don't know who taught me to "suffer silently" but I did it quite a bit then. I suspect that being the eldest, I thought I was expected to be more mature and could not throw a tantrum over every little thing. 

Another memory came to me from a moment at the end of primary school [in another school]. I remember how much I wanted to contest for head girl. I wrote and delivered a speech that could rival H.E. Obama on important matters such as the lunch menu, new uniforms and removal of extra lessons after school. My mirror was most impressed with my eloquent, heartfelt and sincere delivery.  That was the only audience that speech was delivered to. Another silent moment added to my repertoire.

Later on in life, I tended to speak out more. Unfortunately, there are times I came across as harsh, and overly critical. This made me revert back to the safe silence. It's so serious that as a family, we've decided that the husband is the diplomat. If we want to retain a relationship with a person, he leads the conversation, otherwise I could burn bridges quickly and completely. I now know I cannot always communicate exactly how I feel without the risk of burnt fingers. I know I cannot afford to burn every bridge.

The drive took my past a couple of pastry shops and fast food places. I was tempted to reward myself with a snack. Though, when I realised there was nothing to reward myself for, I was a bit sad for not doing anything worth a reward. Then, I wanted to buy a bucket of chips to drown my sorrows. 

Just keep driving...