The Heat of the Moment

Entry via Letter

My students and I decided to prepare garden the day after a huge rain-storm hit Makong’onda. While trapped in my house with 12 students waiting out the storm, they all noticed a peculiar smell, and asked if the beans I had cooked for supper had gone bad. With a knowing smile I ushered them out the door after the storm and then decided something must be done about that smell. That smell was my hair. In my own defense, it’s incredibly hard to keep long hair clean in a culture where all people shave their heads; there is little shampoo and no hot running water. It’s also so hot here, that the long dripping mane of hair after a bath is utterly unappealing, and with the result of constant ponytails and braids- which breed unhealthy hair. Thus, in the morning before starting the garden, armed with a 7” round in diameter mirror and a pair of sewing scissors, I chopped my own hair 7 inches shorter, so that it rests right below my chin. Most of the Tanzanians noticed right away, and were horrified I had let myself chop that miraculous amount of hair. Others told me that I now completly looked like an American boy, what with my preference for pants and all. Still others appreciated the style, and now many students come to the house begging me to let them braid my hair. Its funny how little I care about this fashion faux-paw, I’m actually more excited about the prospect of getting my uneven hair braided than the reality of having to own-up to a pixie cut the moment I step off of a plane in America. Is she becoming assimilated into another culture? You be the judge.