How my dreads almost ruined my life.

Hi guys, I have been gone for a very long time! But I am back, and I am alive, if I wasn't then I wouldn't be back, because, I mean... that's science right? 

Sooo let me tell ya’ll a story of how I almost became homeless.

*gets in position*

No, not living on the streets or under a bridge, no. I was at the village by then so we are talking about living in the tree tops feeding off raw eggs for birds and fruits, that stone age lifestyle with nothing but leaves for clothes and long ass hair looking like a badass nomad. That would have been very odd in a civilized community, but not as odd as the dreads that I had on my head, the ones that were solely responsible for my own mother almost kicking my silly ass self out of the only place I’ve ever called home.

See, I was an average youngster trying out every little thing that I perceived “cool” by then, little did I know that every “let me try this” was a shovel digging up enough earth to open up a little grave for me. Like every time I tried something knew, I was whispering to my guardian angel to cut me some slack and not stop me from doing stuff. My guardian angel kindly allowed me to “explore” and that folks… that was one terrible mistake. I decided to grow my hair and… *moment of silence to what the brother went through*, and that was enough for mum to decide that enough was enough!!

Growing my hair was already starting to annoy mum, but getting dreads, that was the cherry on this unwelcome cake at home, in the vicinity of an African mother’s territory, that was treason! The first day I came from town with my head looking like a !Nara plant with little dreads sticking out like germinating grass, mum gave me one look… one lookd and I knew I was in trouble, not for that moment only, for the next few days. I was in more trouble than I have ever been in my whole life, at that moment, not even making a wish over a shooting star or keeping my fingers crossed was going to save me the exposure to mum’s classified disciplinary and record straightening actions. Mind you, my guardian angel allowed me to walk into that mess so rest assured she was just going to sit back and let me go through it all.

Mum started off by asking me, “Who do you buy from?” I’m like what? What is she talking about, “drugs… who do you buy your drugs from?” the average conclusion in an African home when you get dreads is that you are definitely doing drugs. Before I even answered her that I AM NOT DOING ANY DRUGS, obviously the capital letters do not mean I was about to shout at her because shouting at your mother in an African home is bigger than going to war with American navy seals… before I answered her, she told me that I need to look for a new home. How?? This is the only place I have ever known to be home, am I supposed to go to radio stations and request any Good Samaritan willing to take in a boy with dreads or what? Imagine me on Radiowave, “hi guys this is Stef, I need a new home, I have dreads”

So while I was trying to reason with her, I called her “Mum”, because she is my mother. She replied with, “I did not give birth to a gangster or mafia member”, okay at this point I was starting to realize that if my guardian angel doesn’t step in, mum was probably even going to take away my middle name and probably even take away her looks from my face! I needed a new home, I needed a new mother! So getting dreads had me thinking that perhaps I was adopted from a family in Jamaica and my Jamaican vibes were starting to come out, I mean I was already very fast which I saw every time someone tried to whip me at home, so I could be related to Usain Bolt. Just saying.

I decided that I am not cutting my dreads just because mum isn’t comfortable with them. I don’t know what happened but what she did was looking like she just stepped up to stage 2! She told the kids to serve me food in one plate and one cup every time, that’s like being in prison or having a deadly infectious flu that is very contagious so you need to be in constant isolation from the human race. I was being isolated, if I don’t move out and get a new home and a new mother.

I was not about to break either, she wants to go to stage 2? I am going to stage 2 also, I decided to get my small sisters to “retouch” my dreads, that’s basically making them look all good and neat again. WORST MISTAKE, apparently her kids are not going to touch some dirty dreads at all. Not even if they wore gloves I assumed. I was in a chokehold guys, I was fighting a battle I wasn’t destined to win. It was written, “thou shall not win!!”, Like Liverpool’s fate with the EPL lately.

I could not even cough or sneeze without mum saying, “It’s those stupid dreads in your head.” My dreads were getting blamed for every little thing happening in the family. Kids come home from school and say that one of their classmates dropped out because she got pregnant, “it’s those things of people even getting dreads”.

My uncle who is a deacon in the Catholic Church was even called to interfere because the second conclusion of what has happened to me if not drugs was that I am possessed by demons. I knew that I was not going to win this, not at all. So before mum went to stage 3 which was probably to call the police to search my room for drugs or concealed bodies, I decided to throw in a towel and get a fresh fade. I tell you what, the day I went back home with a fresh fade, mum was all of a sudden the normal loving beauty, calling me her handsome son and all that, thinking I forgot that she had me hoping some family will come claim me or that I need to start living with the goats at the kraal.

Anyways, mum just needed to make sure her son isn’t branching off to the world of drugs (despite the connection to dreads just being a stereotype), I applaud her for the love she’s got for me and glad to say that I have no regrets, only love for every way she brought me up.

By the way, I may be needing a new family soon because I am not cutting this hair!!