My low cut experience 😞😞

   

   

     

      Back then in secondary school, there was a tradition in My house that every girl in the house goes through secondary school on low cut. My mum was so keen about that tradition that she could pick coming to pick you up from for a haircut rather than pick you up for a sick call. I felt like she had a sensor that detected the length of my hair throughout school. 

     Three of My sisters attended an all-girls school, so it was not really a problem for them because there was no one there to attract or be shy of. On the other hand, I attended a mixed school. Initially, I saw no problem with My mum cutting the Rapunzel hair I had managed to grow throughout junior secondary school, and My sisters always made me feel like an Agbani darego and at that point in My life, I knew no man ☺😌.

      My first night prep in school, I overheard two boys saying I had horns and that I should have come to meet them to barb My hair instead of going to someone that barbed My hair "two steps". I was broken 😥😞. I tried My best to take My mind off what I heard from those boys until a friend of mine who thought she was providing a piece of very vital information to my life came to add salt to my open wound by reminding me. The whole night, I kept thinking, "me? Horns? Two-step? Horns in two steps? "

      The next day was a Monday, and nobody had to remind me to put on My beret, I met a lot of mischievous boys who kept apologizing to me for making the mistake of thinking I was a boy 😥 even when I was obviously on skirt. People had already begun to form cliques, and all I had were people who like me, helped in completing the human skull 😭. We were four and each one of us was richly Endowed with a particular bone of the human skull in abundance. I got into an argument with two boys in My class one day and one of them said "shut up this Ekaite ". From that moment I started praying novenas for the speedy growth of hair.

     At the end of that term, when My mates were begging their parents for new Christmas clothes, all I wanted was for my mum to give my hair a chance to grow.  I narrated to my sister how a boy had called me Ekaite, she was so provoked, she held me and took me to My mother to talk to her. They even had an argument while I prayed silently that whatever the outcome would be my hair should just be left to grow in peace. My mum had already made the decision and wanted the tradition to go on, in her defense, making my hair in school would distract me, I'm still trying to understand why she felt that way, but to console myself I agreed that she felt I would suddenly transform to Adesua once I let my hair grow. I'm still waiting for that transformation now though.

      The dreaded resumption came again and My mom already assured me that since I had cut the hair during the holiday, there was no point lowering it, but as they say, never trust African mothers. My mum parked in front of a barbing salon 😭😭😭. She told me to come down from the car, she explained that she only wanted to lower some parts so I'd look smarter. I started struggling with her like a goat they were about to kill for Christmas. When we got to the salon, she allowed me to describe what I wanted which was actually of no use.  When the man had done what I wanted, she stood up and told him to go lower, she kept saying lower and lower and every time she said it, hot tears rolled down My cheeks. When he was finally done out of this own barbers' intuition, he felt he should carve his wonderful work. I walked out of that salon looking like bank W. Thanks to my sister seated at the back seat, she kept telling me how beautiful I was and how I looked more like Genevieve Nnaji 😥. I just kept crying uncontrollably like they had just used me to buy Benz 😢.