Natural

Last December

A seed was sown

A journey began

A new life started

As tiny Zella grew from plum to mango to watermelon then out

Another growth coincided

Changing me from the outside in

I remember the day

Two months short of my 13^th birthday

My mum, aunt and godmother

Gathered busily in the bathroom

Reading box instructions intently

It was my time

My coming of age:

My first relaxer.

 

For those not versed in afro-politics

And wondering why so much fuss

What the big deal is

Relaxers take those tight, dark, young girl curls

And stretch them into

Straight “big woman” tresses

I looked in the mirrored eyes of straight haired me

And I felt beautiful

Gone, now, were the days of sitting betweenmy mother or grandmothers legs

With comb tugging and pulling resistant curls in intricate plaits

I was now in control

And would have hair like all my other lighter-skinned friends

Who wash and go’d in the mornings

Dutifully I did my time in the hairdresser's seat

The 2, 3, 4 hour process

Of white thick cream

Waiting for the burn

But letting it soak in some more

so that it was super straight

And although I had

bad reactions

burns and bumps

patches that didn’t grow

and awful breakage that robbed half the back of my head of growth

like a dog returning to its vomit

so was my foolishness in going back

For me

It was the only way to be pretty

Sold a lie by

Beyonce

Oprah

Janet

Tyra

That to fit into culture

I had to tame my mane

I took out the essence of my hair

And lost more of the essence of myself

As pregnancy hormones dictates

I gave up the “creamy crack”

Letting the natural roots grow out

And as my baby grew inside of me

And I excitedly wondered about the beautiful curls

that would no doubt come

I looked at my straightened ends

And wondered if I’d ever be able to look them in the eye

How would I encourage them to be natural

To love their own body

To be comfortable in their own skin

To marvel at their God-given wonder

If I was suppressing my own?

When precious babe was revealed as precious girl

Faced with the female perils

Of low self esteem and insecurity

I realised that if I wanted her to be confident in just who she was

Born just perfect

Then I needed to show her me

Just the way I was born

Just perfect

There is this wonder

With afro hair

And its curls and twist

Braids and locks

That makes it unique

And daily I now embrace

And so it grows

The afro puff

The 4c curls

My old hidden now rediscovered healthy mane

Surprisingly more upkeep

Surprisingly educating

Surprisingly freeing

Joneses

I want to be like the Joneses.

The Joneses are a great couple.

Fun, lively, adventurous.

And most importantly,

They have lots of money.

They’re both professionals, well respected in their jobs,

And at the end of the month, when their pay cheque arrives

They don’t weep with sadness.

The Joneses love to travel and go and see their friends all the time

They always buy everyone’s drinks at the bar

They produce the most unique and expensive birthday presents for friends

Their clothing is impeccable.

Parties, at the fancy hotels they hire, are an extravagant evening of outrageous fun.

Holidays are filled with business class jaunts across the world

And they can often afford to pay

for other members of their family to join them.

The Joneses are cool.

The Joneses are great.

But the Joneses are not the Millers.

And that makes me envious.

I have this nagging feeling that the Millers

will never be that couple who earn tons of money.

And I thought I was ok with that.

Neither one of us has a tremendous desire to climb the corporate ladder

After Miller man’s brief encounter of retail management,

he realised that he wanted to grow people and not profits

After Miller woman’s profound calling to youth ministry aged 15,

she knew that she was inspired by the thought of impacting the lives of the broken, young and hurting

Neither one of these comes with a massive pay packet

And that was ok

I thought

But five years following graduation

Not even earning enough to meet student loan pay off threshold

And you start to wonder

Is the life of the Millers that good

That effective

That profitable?

And you peek over the fence

And the grass looks lush and bright

And for just a day, or a week

It seems great to roll around

On the other side

Profound night thoughts make me ponder

What is true wealth?

For our wealth of experiences

Of travels to African continent

Jet set transatlantic life

Training people who impact a generation

Helping write book that calls others to action

Mentoring young people and seeing them thrive in their futures

Being told by non-Christians, that our faith seems so strong

Is there not a great richness in this as well?

And commitment made, and stuck to, alongside marriage vows

To live debtless

Unchained

Without credit card, store cards

Mortgage or car loan

And see the real freedom

That could be had

Are we not richer with bank balance that stays in black?

When Father’s holy word says

“fret not yourself”

and

“do not be envious”

I must remind myself

We are the Millers

Called to something different than the Joneses

Or the Smiths, or the Blacks, or the Scots

Our path is individual

And looking over fences

Merely distracts from the garden I am to tend on my own patch

Being rich is not a crime

Being poor is a not a sin

The real travesty of life

Is when I’m so blinded by the endeavour for the more and different to what I have

The world misses out on me concentrating

On the things I am called to

The things the Millers are meant to do.

Photo © Paul Green

Open

Touchdown landing

In a place I don’t recognize.

New people bustle around my new home

Bare feet hit earth unfelt before

Tingling, surprised, nervous.

This is it.

Horizon stretches far beyond the eye

Free from constraints, free from your man-made boundaries

your legalistic rules

your fence

your laws.

I step into it.

I tried to run but invisible string kept me back

From what I wanted

What I saw

What my hearts passion cried out for.

But those strings no longer will rule.

My feet, bare yet scarred

Walk that first

Timid

Step.

Anxiety seeks to devour me

But your bite marks will not consume me

Nor rule me

In your freedom I walk

In this new space

Wide place

Open path

Broad dream

And You smile.

(Poem inspired by reading: Psalm 31 v 8, Psalm 18 v 9 & Psalm 18 v 36)