Love is in the hair

Love is in the hair not the air as many people claim. A woman’s hair is at the very core of her femininity. Imagine a lady looking like Jim Cramer? creepy. I remember culture week 2011 at KU. Students had gathered at the KU Bishop Square to witness the likes of Eric Omondi doing their thing. All of sudden, rain came down like a tornado and all the tents were carried away by strong winds. By the time I had reached the nearest shelter, I was soaked and so was everyone else

Hell hath no fury like a woman rained on. A certain girl came towards the building that I was sheltering under. She was all wet, cursing and crying. By wet I mean wet not ‘wet’. Except for her hair which had been completely messed by the rain, she was super-hot. Drops of rain water trickled down her fine supple golden brown skin and I felt touched. I felt like the Holy Spirit was within me and the more I stared at her, the more the raindrops seemed to trickle down her skin in slow motion. Funny enough a guy with an umbrella had walked past her, minding his own business. It seems the last gentleman died in a movie. It’s amazing how people let opportunities go.

I convinced my friend David who was also sheltering on the building’s veranda to offer her his jacket since mine was soaked up. He did so, though unwillingly and by that, I managed to get an opportunity to talk to the lady. She was so hot that I almost considered cheating. She told me she was crying because she had just been at the salon the previous day and now her hair had been messed up. She didn’t have any money to redo her hair. She didn’t have a boyfriend or reliable friend who could help her either.

As soon as the rain stopped I asked her for her number and promised to help her out the next day. Her name was Sandra.  Since I lived outside school and she stayed at Nyayo Hostels, I bid her farewell. I wasn’t willing to walk all over the campus with wet clothes. David offered to escort her to her hostel since he was also heading to Nyayo. I shouldn’t have let her out of my sight. It was a mistake, because when I tried calling her the next day, she never picked.

The next time I saw Sandra was on Friday night. I was in the company of my girlfriend. Friday nights of every culture week are usually the most hyped. I didn’t like what I saw.  A man gets jealous sometimes. She and David were holding each other tight, squeezing each other and cuddling. The same friend I had trusted to innocently offer her a jacket and escort her to her hostel. He was also busy rumpling her hair. Her hair looked fabulous and well plaited compared to the way it was a few days earlier. LOVE WAS IN THE HAIR between those two.

I kept staring in disbelief and rage. I was lost in another world until my girlfriend shoved me. She was angry after realizing who I had been looking at. I apologized but still went ahead to holla at the two. I pulled David out of his comfort zone in order to talk to him privately. The girl was surprised to see me but I acted normal. I was no longer angry. I understood. I just wanted to understand how the magic happened.

David claimed that he believed he wouldn’t offend me by hitting on the girl since I already had a girlfriend. His claim made sense.  It turned out he had taken her to an expensive salon the day after she had been rained on and even paid for her manicure and pedicure. As a result, he had hit it like a hammer on a nail that same night. I was amazed. I told David that he qualifies to be a character in a movie and one of my future novels. We were cool, fist bump and all.

The problem is Sandra was later signed up by a modeling company which wanted their models to shave their hair completely like the all-time famous Sudanese supermodel Ajuma. David dumped her. He said everything that has a beginning must come to an end and hairless isn’t his style. And it’s sad that it had to end that way. Truly, love is in the hair- maybe. It’s debatable.