I did not always sport the glorilicious Afro that adorns my scalp today. A long time ago, as soon as I had completed Senior Six, I hit the salon and had my hair relaxed to kingdom come.
This is a story of the traumatising day my hair got me a downright crazy fan in a taxi.
I had visited the salon the day before, and in addition to the usual ‘maintenance’ had also had my locks dyed red. The whole operation was finished off with a hair spray that smelled like apricots. I was rocking my hair.
I got into a taxi at Nakawa to go to Bweyogerere, and we were soon on our way.
What was that?
For a fraction of a second, I thought I felt someone’s breath on my neck. I whipped my head around but could only see a young man of Indian or Pakstani origin (let’s call him Rajeev) staring nonchalantly out of the window. I told myself I must have imagined it.
I turned back and one minute later, I yelped. Someone had released a breath of hot air directly on my neck! I turned around again, and Rajeev was looking at me guiltily. He stared out of the window again.
What was going on?!
I turned back, shaken. Again, only one minute later, I not only felt it, I heard it. The man was sniffing my hair!
“Excuse me”, I said. “Could you please not do that again?”
“Do what?” he asked.
Was I imagining things? I turned back, alert. He did it again! This time when I whipped my head back, I caught him leaning back quickly. I skipped the beginning stages of aggression and was screaming immediately.
“What the hell, man? No, seriously. What the hell?! Stop bloody sniffing my hair!!!”
My heart pounding furiously, I turned back and leaned forward to increase the distance between us.
I swear the man got off his seat, grasped the ends of my hair with his fingers and took a long deep sniff!
“Stop the taxi!” I yelled hysterically. “Let me out, for the love of Jesus, let me out!”
There’s a limit to what kind of compliments a woman will accept about her hair.